Drifting (6)

Nicholas DADDY Fowler

'til the morning comes (8/10)

steve rogers x f!reader (fluff and angst)

summary: he's not supposed to see you like this.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of drinking

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

(part 7) (part 9) (part 10) (series masterlist)

 You tilt your chin, dramatizing your wide, shimmery eyes. “It’s bad luck, Steve.”

 He gives you a small pout of his own. “Let me see.”

 You poke his boutonnière weakly. Your bracelets brush against the throw pillows that your loyal bridesmaids have haphazardly clasped over your chest. “Please go away?”

 Sersi frowns. “Why is he even here?”

 Steve ignores her, and the lighthearted smack Helen lays on his arm. “Honey, this isn’t fair. You see me wear tuxes all the time.”

 “Rogers.” Natasha adjusts her protective cushion and pins him with a deadly glare. “Get the fuck out.”

 Besides one lingering look he gave the full-length mirror, appreciating the back of your wedding dress, Steve’s eyes haven’t left yours. “I didn’t think you cared about this stuff.” 

 You hug a pillow to your body, relieving Natasha and Sersi of their duties. “I don’t.”

 And why should Steve care either? Even if a groom seeing the bride too early means bad luck, your relationship doesn’t exactly resemble a conventional romance. You didn’t need luck, only a signed piece of paper, a hundred pictures, and the illusion of being a happily married, rock solid couple.

 Not that you weren’t happy, in your own way. 

 In his attempts to make things good for you, Steve doted on you almost to a fault, assembling your favorite dishes and insisting that you don’t lift a finger fixing or cleaning anything. He let you plan most of the wedding, a dangerous game given the large budget he offered and how you’ve dreamt about the day since you were little. You discussed your ideas once or twice when you were still with Shangqi, yet scarcely imagined much more than a modestly priced dress, fifty invitations, and casual catering. 

 But Steve said yes to everything. To test him, you once proposed something ridiculous: a tiara.

  You’d look nice in a tiara, sweetheart, he said absentmindedly, hunched over a report.

  It exhausts you to witness his devotion and to continually push against it, especially given the ten to twelve hour days he already spends working. The National Convention looms on the horizon, a dark cloud which has injected atmospheric pressure around this event for months. Because once Steve gets the nomination, he can’t step onto that national stage without a lovely wife by his side. 

 After a few dinner conversations, he promised to put away work at least two days prior to the wedding, and he appears visibly more relaxed now. But still. He should’ve asked, instead of casually waltzing inside your bridal suite, accompanied by Maria.

 “Then let me see.” He touches the corner of your pillow.

 You whimper. “I really like this dress, and if you say anything bad about it, I will divorce you.”

 “We’re not married yet.”

 “And we never will be,” you say, tugging his bowtie. He let you pick the color, and even bought socks to match. “Not even a twitch, okay?”

 He straightens his face, adopting his senator voice. “I promise.” 

 The pillow drops half an inch. Then, Helen’s palm connects with his bright white shirt and shoves. “Nope, as the maid of honor, I am intervening. You’re leaving, now.”

 Steve groans. “Cho.”

 “You heard her,” Natasha agrees flatly. Unlike Helen, her yanking actually knocks him off balance. “Let’s go.”

 He follows her dutifully, but not before throwing you a dopey smile. “Bye, honey.”

 “Bye, Steve.” Tucking your chin, you admire his wide shoulders, the crisply creased pants, and the flash of his green socks as he exits.

 Helen snaps her fingers three times in front of you. “Oh my God, you’re so fucking whipped.”

 You wrinkle your nose. “No, I’m not.”

 “You two are disgusting,” Sersi says, her inappropriately polite nod and English accent making you laugh. 

 You toss the pillow onto the chaise lounge. “Okay, well, I’m allowed to be whipped.” You smooth the front of your dress, ensuring no stray fibers got caught on your complicated bodice. “He’s gonna be my husband.” A new word to you, like fiancé once was.

 Mrs. Rogers. So bizarre. 

 “Speaking of husbands.” Sersi taps her keyboard, giggling to herself. “I think Dane is having a wardrobe crisis.” 

 You and Helen gather around her phone, bursting into laughter. Joaquín poses cheesily next to Dane’s gray slacks, which have split along the seam of his ass.

 Sersi swipes away Joaquín’s urgent texts. “He’s requesting a needle and thread, stat.” 

 Helen rotates, her skirt swishing prettily as she locates her bag. “I have some.”

 “We gotta go.” Sersi grabs both your hands, marveling at you. “I love you.”

 “I love you too.”

 Helen examines you seriously. “If Rogers comes back in here—”

 “Go,” you laugh.

 Which leaves… Maria.

 Who never seems to uncross her arms. “You look great.”

 You barely shrug; any sudden movement could send your hair toppling down. You silently thank Dane for taking the brunt of the wardrobe malfunctions today. “Thank you.” 

 You fidget nervously. The ceremony starts in almost half an hour. You’ve paced circles all day to soothe your anxiety, mostly looking forward to the reception. With a bit of patience, you’ll soon be surrounded by drinks and friends and food and a far more comfortable party outfit.

 Steve must feel the same. You wonder again why he couldn’t wait a little longer to see you.

 Maria, manager extraordinaire, is just as aware of the time as you. “Here.” She lifts the veil off the nearby vanity table, gesturing for you to crouch so she can affix it. “Are you nervous?”

 “Um, yeah.” Your traitorous eyes catch your reflection and, without warning, your thoughts swim with uncertainty. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

  “You’ve come a long way if all you care about is him liking your dress.” She chuckles. “He’ll love it.” 

 Maria forms a half-circle around you, correcting the train of your skirt. Honestly, you’ve never witnessed her so chilled out either. Maybe the campaign has affected her more than you realize. She must enjoy some sense of victory by attending this momentous wedding, the product of the blind date she arranged.

 “Maria.” 

 “Mmm.”

 “Why did you choose me?”

 Maria pockets her hands inside her jumpsuit. “Not to insult you, but…” She pauses. “You’re not the only one we asked.”

 You nod. “I know. He told me.”

 “He’s not very smart, that one,” she remarks dully.

 “Who were they?”

 Twisting your fingers together, you imagine the weight of an elaborate flower bouquet between them. Then the cold surface of another ring, a shiny and steadfast reminder of the promise you’ll soon make.

 Sometimes you still wonder what the hell you’re doing marrying Steve Rogers.

 “Two friends of mine,” she says carefully. “I was honestly just looking for people I could trust to keep a secret without forcing them to sign an NDA.” 

 You stare at her blankly.

 Maria clears her throat. “Darcy, and Hope.” 

 “Why did they say no?” 

 Maria blows a short stream of air, pretending to be deep in thought. “Well, Darcy works for SWORD and already likes her government work.” She purses her lips. “Um, Hope owns a tech company with her dad.”

 A sensible answer, and a good sign that neither had anything against Steve personally. You should feel satisfied. Shut up, and go into the wedding certain that you’ve always been the best candidate for his partner. 

 And yet, these women’s personalities echo someone else equally independent and dedicated to her work. “Would you have asked Helen?”

 Maria holds your gaze, her tough love unwavering. “Yes. I was going to.”

 You let the diamond of your engagement ring catch your thumb, rotating it over and over.

 It seems like forever ago when you posted pictures online gushing about your new fiancé and proudly displaying your diamond. You and Steve fended off questions from friends and curious paparazzi alike, telling everyone that his proposal was intimate. That all-important question would remain concealed behind the walls of your shared home. 

 In reality, early on, you and Steve sat down with a laptop and he requested that you order whichever ring you wanted.

 You’re going to wear it. I want you to like it.

 He meant it well; he means everything well. But Steve was staying late at the office when the jewelry arrived inside ugly cardboard packaging. You ripped it open, slipped the thing on, and continued with your nighttime routine.

 How would Helen have reacted, in your shoes? You wonder if she would’ve stumbled into a brief but intense bout of crying the same way you had. 

 More likely, she would have overcome the feeling, like she overcomes most things. “Oh.”

 Maria responds gently. “I could tell Steve needed a break.”

 No shit, you think kindly, never knowing Steve for his laidback nature. “From what?” You scoff. “All the beautiful, powerful women?”

 At least, you imagine the others to be beautiful. Stunning, probably.

 A small crease forms in Maria’s perfectly smooth forehead. For the first time, she seems disappointed in you. “Steve has spent his entire life trying to live up to people’s expectations. Mostly his own.” Again, she busies herself with your veil, the silky fabric brushing the inside of your elbow. “He needed to get out of his head.”

 And look after some washed-up school teacher. “So me, floundering without a job—”

 "No,” she interjects. “He needs someone who sees him. Beyond his job, beyond what he can offer." 

 Doubt spins itself into a tight ball, lodging inside your throat. “You don’t sound like his campaign manager.”

 Because… why did you and Steve get together at all? It was a trade. A change in the trajectory of your life, in exchange for your presence in his. Helping boost his campaign. Your signature on the non-disclosure agreement as the cherry on top.

 “I’m a strategist, I’m not heartless.” Your eyes connect in the mirror. Hers are blue, as blue as Steve’s. “You make him happy.”

 Do you?

 You make him smile, sometimes. And laugh, when you force him to watch your favorite sitcoms instead of parking himself in front of the twenty-four hour news. Some invisible burden ascends off his shoulders when you compliment his cooking. A pink tinge rises in his cheeks whenever you tie his tie, or take his hand and hold him close. Months and months later, that still hasn’t dissipated.

 You have a crystal-clear picture in your head of how he would react to your dress: the open fondness in his eyes, his lips falling open for a second before curving into a smile.

 You’re so beautiful, he’d say. I’m so lucky. And he’d mean it.

 Maybe that could be enough. Maybe you could be enough.

 Your chest pinches sharply, your vision blurring at the edges, yet only when she hands you a tissue does it all spill over. “This might come as a surprise, but Steve was such a sad little shit before—” You toss your arms around Maria, laughing tearfully while she awkwardly pats your waist. 

 After a moment, your chiming phone brings you out of the embrace.

 “Told you,” she says, somewhat smug. Then, with tenderness: “Aren’t I the best manager ever?”

 You grin at the screen too. Sleep-deprived Steve. 

 She arranges your skirt again, then moves toward the exit. “I’ll see you out there.”

 It’s a video call. Grateful for waterproof makeup, you dab at your cheeks before answering. “This doesn’t count, right?” He’s grinning.

 “No, I don’t think it does.” You tilt your camera. Not the most flattering angle, but you avoid capturing the neckline of your dress. “Helen’s gone though, if you wanna see.”

 “I’ll wait for the big reveal.” The chaotic bustle inside his room obscures his words. You picture Dane in his boxers and Joaquín mending his pants while your friends snap photos and chat with Sam and Natasha. Steve turns from his phone briefly, situating himself elsewhere. The hallway, you’d guess, given the wallpaper and the significantly lower volume in the background. “I wanted to check in. How are you doing?”

 “I’m good.”

 "Yeah?”

 "Even though this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.“

 He chuckles. "Me too. And I’m running for President.”

 "It’s not a bad thing, though,” you reply. Luckily, you sit alone in the bridal suite. No one hears how soft and high your voice gets, talking to Steve. “How are you?”

 “Nervous. Excited.”

 You wanna kiss that nervous-excited smile off his face; he can’t seem to get rid of it. “What for?”

 “Seeing you,” he answers honestly.

 You bite your lips, a fruitless attempt to muffle your shy hum. “You saw me like, ten minutes ago.”

 Maybe at last you understand why he barged into your room. 

 You’d need to travel down half a dozen corridors, and add in a few left turns, and eventually you’d find him. Leaning against the wall, the screen illuminating his face. Easy in theory. Yet, the journey seems to drag on for miles. He’s too far from you, from where you want him. Right here, right now.

 You check the time. Ten more minutes, then all you have to do is walk down the aisle.

 He’ll be yours.

 Steve softens. “I like seeing you, sweetheart.”

— — —

masterlist

current mood

Omg, batmom verse is literally my favorite, I'm actually so happy it gets a reboot, I'm sure it will be just as good as a reboot of arranged verse. Thank you for your writings, I love them very much! 🩷 (english isn't my native language, I'm sorry for any mistakes in text!)

Here goes

"Run."

Your voice is hoarse. It hurts. But there's only one play left in your playbook. And it's to put yourself in the way.

It works.

It usually almost kills you but it works.

Thankfully the kid is too scared to do anything but run. Streaking into the dark. His stupid yellow cape streaming out behind him like a goddamn signal flare.

Fucking capes. Fucking embarrassing. Impractical. Stupid.

You haul yourself to your feet using the wall. Ignoring the black at the edges of your vision. Jamming your fist against the hole in your side as you pull the gun from the inside pocket of your jacket.

It's a full metal jacket and there's racks of metal industrial racks. If you're going down, this son of a bitch down with you. The world will be a safer place with one less of your targets in it.

That's all there is to it.

Okay, but seriously. When was the last time the fandom went so feral over a character? 😂

false god | rockstar!bucky

pairing: rockstar!bucky x popstar!reader

warnings: smut (18+), thigh riding, enemies to lovers, sexual themes, toxic behaviour, swearing, discussions of miscarriage

masterlist (false god)

honey, hell is when i fight with you, but we can patch it up good make confessions and we’re begging for forgiveness, got the wine for you … but we might just get away with it, religion’s in your lips even if it’s a false god …

Keep reading

See you on the other side!!

Honey Girl.

Synopsis - The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5.1k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content towards the end. mild alcohol consumption. age gap. smut in next chapter(s).

Author's Note - it's finally here!! thank you so much to everyone who asked to be tagged, and who liked and reblogged the masterlist. i am SO excited to share this with you. i've built this world in my head and trust me it is gorgeous - salty ocean breezes, sunsoaked sailboats and billowing white linen shirts. i hope you can lose yourself in my little seaside town with bucky for the time it takes you to read this, just as i did while writing it.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Requests. Series Masterlist.

Tethering /tɛð(ə)rɪŋ/

An event in which two soulmates are bound together forever. Only occurs when the Universe decides it is time. No sooner, no later.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The gentle ocean breeze gives you a moment of respite from the scorching sun that's beating down. You're half asleep, laying on the cool tile of your balcony when your phone rings.

"Babe! Babe! Babe!"

"Lacie? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I am freaking out right now, oh my god. I didn't know who to call. You'll never guess what just happened to me!"

You can guess. In fact, you already have.

Lacie's Tethering. It's finally happened.

You're taught, growing up, that your Tethering is the biggest moment of your life. It shapes who you are forever. Sets you on your eternal path. You're presented with your soulmate in a big display of love and affection and metaphorical fireworks. It's supposed to be magical.

You wish people would shut up about it.

The World seems to be split into two categories - the people that have been Tethered, and the people that haven't.

You fall into the latter.

You're repeatedly told it'll happen one day. It'll happen when the time is right. It'll happen when you least expect it.

You're not sure you ever want it to happen.

The idea that the Universe determines the person you're with forever has never sat right with you. What happened to free will? What happened to personal preference? You believe you should at least have a choice in the matter. It's your future, after all.

Not everyone shares the same sentiment.

"Babe, you still there?"

Lacie's excitement filled voice pulls you back to reality.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you busy? Can you meet me for coffee, like, now?"

You take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on your face.

"Sure. I'll see you in ten."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Oh my god babe, it was just incredible! You won't even believe it. There's nothing like it, truly."

You remind yourself quickly that Lacie is your best friend, and that you owe it to her to be happy for her. Personal feelings about soulmates aside.

"Tell me all about it, Lace!" you encourage, grabbing a hold of her hand excitedly.

The blonde girl squeals before shuffling closer to you, pressing her knees against yours.

"Okay, so. Picture this. I'm at my gym, doing my usual routine. I'm wearing my super cute pink Lulu Lemon set, you know the one with the flowers?"

She waits for you to nod in affirmation before she continues.

"So, I accidentally drop a weight on the ground, and it makes the biggest noise. I'm super embarrassed, and I'm trying to pick it up, but it's so heavy. And then, the hottest guy I have ever seen appears. Like, seriously gorgeous."

As much as you despise the whole soulmate thing, you can't deny how happy Lacie seems. She's almost vibrating with it, bouncing up and down in her seat.

"He comes over and picks it up for me, sets in back on the rack. And then he introduces himself, and shakes my hand, and it happened."

"What was it like?" you smile, eager for her to carry on.

"Like fucking magic."

You've heard that before. A million times. From literally everyone. Surely it can't be that magical if billions of people have experienced it.

"Magic?" you prompt.

"It is indescribable, babe. It's like... it's like everything just falls into place. Like everything finally makes sense!"

She jumps out of her chair, hugging you tightly. She's practically sat on your lap in the coffee shop, but neither of you really care.

"So, what's his name? What's he like?"

"His name is Cameron. He's new in town, he just moved here for work. He's a personal trainer, so he's like, super fit. And gorgeous. Did I mention gorgeous?"

"Maybe once or twice," you laugh.

"I'm so happy," Lacie whispers, emotion choking her voice. "I can't believe it finally happened. This is the day I've been waiting for since I was a little girl."

You hug her tighter, and ignore the look you get from the barista.

"I love you," she declares, suddenly serious. "You know that me being Tethered now doesn't change that, right?"

"I know," you confirm. "I love you too, Lace. I'm really happy for you."

You genuinely mean it. Lacie has talked about meeting her soulmate every day since you met her in the 3rd grade. You may have never quite shared her enthusiasm, but you admire her passion. And you adore her, more than anyone.

"So, what now? Are you gonna get married tomorrow and run off into the sunset?"

"I'm choosing to ignore your sarcasm because I know you're using it as a coping mechanism," she tells you pointedly. "And I know that there's a tiny part of you that wishes you'd been Tethered already, so you don't have to deal with everyone talking to you about it."

Jackpot. She's read you like a book.

"No, we're not getting married tomorrow," she rolls her eyes before continuing, "but we are going on a real date tonight. We're gonna get dinner and get to know each other. Isn't this crazy? I'm going on a date with the guy I'm gonna to be spending the rest of my life with!"

"That is kinda crazy, actually," you laugh. "What are you gonna wear?"

"It doesn't matter - we're going to be together forever anyway!"

You make Lacie promise to send you a picture of her outfit as you're leaving the coffee shop, which she agrees to with glee. On your way home, you pick up some of your Mom's favourite wine, and prepare yourself for another soulmate based conversation that will inevitably happen when you tell your parents the events of the day at dinner tonight.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hi, sweetheart!" your Dad beams as you step through the front door of your childhood home.

"Hey, Dad," you greet, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. "Where's Mom? I brought wine."

"Kitchen," he gestures with a nod of his head. "She's making that mango dessert you like."

Walking into your Mother's kitchen is like dipping your feet into a pool on a scorching hot day. The windows are propped open, curtains billowing softly in the wind. The ocean breeze drifts through the room, ruffling your Mom's dress and floating the hair away from her face. The evening sun beams in, illuminating the space with a golden glow. It smells like fresh fruit, mint, and salt water. It's a haven.

"Hi, Mama."

"Oh, my love! Just in time. I was about to call you to see if you were alright."

She makes her way over to you and kisses you on the head swiftly, before walking to the cabinet to grab wine glasses.

"Sorry I'm a little later than I said. I changed my outfit three times - it's warmer than I thought it was going to be."

"I know! Summer, finally. We've been waiting long enough."

She takes the bottle of wine from your hand and pours it into the glasses.

"You've poured four, Mama."

"Didn't your Dad tell you? Bucky's joining us for dinner."

"Oh. No, he didn't mention anything."

"He's back from his vacation. He promised he'd show us all of the pictures he took!"

She grabs the glasses and floats out of the room, leaving you alone in the kitchen, thoughts of Bucky Barnes swirling around like dust in the sunlight.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.

Your Dad's best friend.

They met a few years ago, when Bucky moved to town. He said he was looking for something quieter, sick of city living. He wanted to slow down a bit, finally take a breath.

He was out for a run around town, getting his bearings, when he stopped your Dad on the driveway to ask about his car. They bonded over their love for motorcycles and vintage vehicles, and the rest is history.

Bucky's been a regular fixture in your life for so long, you can't remember a time before. All you know, is that it was probably a little more peaceful. His boyish charm is infectious, bringing out the youth in your Dad. They're like teenagers, when they're together. Long lost frat brothers, your Mom jokes.

She's got a soft spot for him. Most people do. It might have something to do with the fact he's devastatingly handsome.

It's no secret that Bucky Barnes is a ladies man. He is without even trying. He's charming, gorgeous, funny in all the right ways. He's mysterious, but not disarming. Tough, but not scary. Rebellious, but not a liability. He's a catch.

A catch, with a taste for beautiful women.

Your Dad always jokes that he's the towns most eligible bachelor. You can't count on two hands the amount of women you know that have dated him - but nothing seems to stick. He isn't Tethered, after all.

Some people choose not to date, if they haven't met their soulmate. They wait and wait, and when the time comes, they're complete. Others take pleasure in dating before it happens. Might as well make the most of the freedom, Bucky said once. You can't help but agree.

Might as well make the most of the freedom.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hey, buddy!" you hear from the hallway. You make your way out of the kitchen to be met with the sight of Bucky, sun-kissed and practically glowing. His hair has a few light streaks from the sun, and the faint freckles on his cheeks are more prominent now. His steel blue eyes meet yours, mischief rife in them.

"Hi, honey," he greets, draping an arm around your shoulders. He kisses you on the cheek, light stubble scratching your skin. You throw an arm around his back and look up at him.

"There's no way this tan is natural," you tease, nudging him slightly.

"It makes me even more gorgeous, doesn't it?" he jokes, winking at you. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go, grabbing a bottle of wine from his bag.

"I brought your favourite, Lori."

"So did I," you echo, laughing.

"Great minds, honey. Great minds!"

"You can never have too much wine," your Mom yells out from the kitchen doorway. "Bring it in here, Buck. I'll put it in the refrigerator."

"Yes ma'am," he obliges, making his way to her with a smile on his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Guess what happened today," you begin, in between bites of your strawberry salad.

The three of them look at you intently, urging you to continue.

"Lacie got Tethered."

"How exciting!" your Mom squeals.

"That's a long time coming," Bucky chimes in. You look at him and smirk.

"Tell me about it."

"Here we go," your Dad smiles. "Our two anti soulmate protestors."

"Don't make it sound so political," Bucky laughs. "She's the only one that gets it."

"I've said it a thousand times, and I'll say it again. Just. You. Wait," your Mom lectures. "The two of you don't get it."

"Magic, fireworks, eternal love, blah blah blah. Trust me, I get it."

"She gets it," Bucky echoes. "And so do I. The Universe decides our fate, and we get no choice whatsoever. I don't believe in it, is all. I have no faith in the system. I should get to choose."

"But you feel like you are choosing," your Dad defends. "It didn't feel like it was being determined for me. It's hard to explain."

"It's just so... backwards," you justify. "I can't believe we live in a Universe where we have all the choices in the world, but don't get to choose the person we spend the rest of our lives with."

"It's worked out pretty well for us," your Mom smiles.

And it has. The first thing anyone notices when they meet your parents is that they are undeniably in love. You've never met two people more perfect for each other - which should solidify your belief in the Universe, really. But it doesn't. You can't explain where your lack of faith in it came from. It just appeared one day, and you haven't been able to shake it since. You're grateful every day to have two Tethered, happy, smitten parents. You've seen how hard it is for people with Untethered Mothers and Fathers. The judgment, the uncertainty, the hushed whispers. It sounds unbearable.

"Yes it did," your Dad confirms, shaking you from your thoughts. He reaches for your Mom's hand and kisses the back of it tenderly, eyes never once leaving hers. You look to Bucky next to you, who smiles at you gently. Feelings about soulmates aside, the both of you love these two people sat across the table with all your heart.

"Trust me, sweetheart," your Mom begins. "I know you're against the idea now - God knows I was the same at your age. But when it happens, you'll forget about all of your rebellion. You'll just be happy."

You nod in agreement, praying for the conversation to be over. As if he can read your mind, Bucky pipes up.

"Let me show you some pictures from Italy. I did promise I would."

You shoot him a grateful look before picking up your empty wine glass and making your way to the kitchen for a refill.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dining room is now lit solely by candlelight, wax dripping onto the white lace tablecloth like condensation on a cold glass. The sun fell asleep hours ago, the four of you enjoying each others company with no regard for time.

"Oh, shit. It's late," your Dad says suddenly.

"You got big late night plans?" you tease.

"We have Clara and Mike's wedding at the weekend, so we're flying out tomorrow. We should probably get some sleep, so we're not exhausted."

Your Mom rises from her chair and kisses you on the head, before grabbing the dessert bowls from the table. Your Dad helps, smiling every time his hand brushes hers accidentally.

"Thanks for coming, kiddo. Your place next week?"

"Of course. I think I'll try that salmon recipe you sent me."

"Can't wait," your Dad assures you, giving you a one sided hug. He squeezes you once before letting you go to grab your shoes.

You can hear your parents saying their goodbyes to Bucky as you tie your laces, smoothing out the skirt of your dress as you stand. They all join you in the hallway, Bucky leaning over to grab his jacket from behind you. Fuck, he smells good.

"Have a great time at the wedding, you guys. Send me pictures, please!" you say as you hug your Mom goodbye.

"We will! Drive home safe, the both of you!"

They shut the door softly, leaving you and Bucky stood on the porch. The evening air chills your bare legs, salt in the breeze sticking to your lips.

"Where's your car?" he asks, looking around.

"Oh, I walked. It was a nice day, and I'm trying to be a little greener. Save the planet, and all," you chuckle.

"You want a ride, then?" he offers, leaning against the side of his truck.

"Uh - maybe," you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You feel antsy, for some reason. There's a buzz flowing through your veins, making you a little restless.

"Maybe?" he smirks.

"I just, I'm not sure if I wanna go home yet. It might be that I've had three glasses of wine, but I'm kinda... jittery? Think I need to burn off some energy. Maybe I'll walk home."

"Like hell you will," he grumbles.

You quirk a brow in confusion.

"It's dark, and all those college kids are in town on their break. I don't trust 'em."

You fight to keep the grin off your face. You weirdly like it when Bucky gets protective. He's always so calm, so relaxed - it takes a lot to rile him up. He looks hot with a clenched jaw.

"Why don't we go somewhere?"

"Where?" you ask tentatively.

"I don't know," he thinks for a second. "How about the beach?"

You smile, gazing at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"I fucking love the beach."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The ocean waves break the shore steadily, the repetitive pattern calming you both. You're sat on the sand, grains slipping through your hands where you're pouring it out through your fingers. The light of the moon reflects off the surface of the sea, illuminating the abandoned cove. It's just you, Bucky, and the night sky.

The alcohol in your system has evened you out, warm buzz keeping you sheltered from the chill. Bucky's stretched out next to you, strong arms folded underneath his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a slither of sun kissed skin. You pretend not to notice his Adonis belt, or the little trail of hair that leads down into his waistband.

The silence is easy, comfortable. You don't get to hang out like this often, just the two of you. It's nice.

A notification on your phone breaks through the tranquility. You both flinch.

"Sorry," you mutter, checking the screen. "It's Lacie, telling me about her perfect date."

He chuckles lowly at your tone, sitting up to look at you.

"This is hard for you, isn't it?" he asks. "You hate the whole soulmate thing, but you like seeing her happy."

Bingo. It's like he's read your mind.

"I don't know why I hate it so much" you confess quietly. "It's a part of life. I can't avoid it. I just think - what if... what if I'm like, the exception, or something? What if I never meet my soulmate - or - what if I meet them when I'm like, seventy? That happens, you know! And then I'll be fucking cursed to spend my entire life feeling like this."

"And what is this?"

"Hopeless. That's what this is. I just feel pretty fucking hopeless."

You're not sure why you're baring your soul to Bucky tonight. You could blame the wine, but you know that's not what it is. Maybe it's because he seems to be the only one that understands.

"Me too," he whispers.

You whip your head around to stare at him in shock. He laughs at the look on your face, and continues.

"You're young - you have time. I'm forty in a couple of years. Every single one of my friends is married to their soulmate - except for me."

You bite at your lip nervously, but refuse to tear your eyes away from his steel blue ones. His face is lit by the glow from the moon, and it takes your breath away for a second. He looks almost ethereal.

"You always act so... unbothered. I didn't realise... I guess I just, I didn't -" you try to gather your thoughts before continuing. "This fucking sucks, huh?"

He laughs with his whole chest, and you're convinced the sound is so special, so rare, that you should bottle it. Sell it as medicine. It'd cure anything, you're sure of it.

"Yeah, it does," he agrees with a chuckle. "It's the waiting around that's the worst part. The unknown. It could be minutes, it could be decades. I just don't know."

"At least for now, we have each other," you joke.

"Every cloud has a silver lining, huh?" he teases, nudging you with his shoulder.

You allow your weight to press into his side a little, leaning in. He's warm, and he's familiar, and in this moment, he understands you better than anyone else in the world.

"We'll be okay, honey," he murmurs. "It'll all work out the way it's supposed to."

You close your eyes, and allow his words and the breaking waves to calm your nerves. Bucky wraps an arm around you, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're not sure if it's the honest conversation, or the brisk ocean breeze, but you've sobered up in record time. Your body registers this, and sends a shiver down your spine.

"You cold?" Bucky asks you. "You wanna go home?"

"Not yet," you whisper. "Not yet."

He shrugs off his worn brown leather jacket and slips it over your shoulders. It smells so strongly of him that it makes you dizzy. Bucky settles back down in his original place, returning his arm to where it was draped over you. His rough fingertips rub patterns into the material that now covers your arms, and you wish, for a fleeting moment, that it was your bare skin instead.

"You been working on anything new recently?" he enquires in a hushed tone, careful not to ruin the atmosphere.

"I made a damn good batch of macarons yesterday," you reply, beaming smile etched across your face. "Raspberry and lemon. I'll bring you some, next time I pass the Garage. You're gonna love them."

"You know, I think the only reason I ever get Mechanic of the Month is because you bring by all of your sweet treats."

You laugh melodiously, and the sound makes Bucky's heart stutter in his chest without warning.

"Happy to be of service," you tease. "I take requests, too, if you ever want something specific. Just let me know."

"You're the best, sugar."

You sink into Bucky's hold a little, daring to rest your head on his shoulder. When he doesn't stop you, you exhale, and relax even more.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asks.

"Nope. You?"

"Nah. I'm going sailing, finally. It's been way too fuckin' long," he grumbles. "Your Dad's usually my right hand man, but he'll be in Ohio. You wanna come?"

The idea of laying on the deck of a boat in the blazing sunshine with a shirtless Bucky Barnes sounds like heaven. Who could say no to an offer like that?

"Yeah, of course. I'll bring a picnic, if you like. It's the least I can do."

"Sounds perfect," he replies, squeezing your shoulder.

Suddenly, he rises to his feet, extending a hand out to you. You grab it, and he pulls you up, the both of you shaking sand off yourselves.

"It's late, and dark, and a little cold. You ready to go?"

You nod your head, and make your way over to his truck, ignoring the heat that blooms over your chest when he opens the passenger door for you before his own.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Thank you, for tonight," you say as he pulls up in front of your apartment building.

"Thank you," he replies, killing the engine. "It's nice to have you back, you know. Wondered if you were gonna finish college and stay out there in California. Thought we might not see you again."

He almost sounds... relieved. The idea that he might have missed you if you didn't return effects you more than it should.

"I liked it there, but... I don't know. My family's here. I'm only twenty three. I've got time to move around the country. I missed this place too much when I was away."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," he chuckles.

"I know, trust me. They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Yeah, they say a lot of fuckin' things," he jokes.

Bucky swings his door open, hopping down from the drivers seat. He makes his way over to your side, holding out a hand so you can jump out.

"Careful," he warns. "It's higher than it looks."

You grab his hand, and step onto the metal sill. Your foot slips slightly, sending you tumbling down and forward, out of the truck. Luckily, Bucky catches you, one hand in yours, other on your hip.

"Woah, easy. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you breathe.

He places his hands on your cheeks and cradles your face, searching for any signs of distress. You place your palms over his, silently reassuring him.

And then, it happens.

Warm, golden, molten electricity surges through your veins, lighting up each and every one of your nerve endings. Your surroundings explode into glorious technicolour, everything suddenly brighter and more vibrant. It feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest, only to be replaced by one that beats in a slightly different rhythm. There's flowers blooming in your ribcage, new life happening inside of you. You catch eyes with Bucky, expecting to see his stormy blue ones looking back at you. Instead, all you see is your future.

Vivid, flashing images of Bucky Barnes fill your mind, each one of them tinted with a warm, rosy hue. You feel like you're being reinvented. Your skin is alive, hyperaware of the way Bucky's palms are still gently cupping your cheeks. Your fingertips tingle with anticipation where they rest on his, itching to touch every inch of him. You feel as if the oxygen has been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with love.

Your knees are the first to buckle, the weight of the moment taking you down. You hit the ground, and so does Bucky, his palms not once leaving your face. You're both kneeling on the warm concrete, ocean waves providing a distant soundtrack. Blood is rushing in your ears, and you wonder for a second if you're about to pass out. You squeeze Bucky's hands so hard, it's a miracle you don't break his fingers. He squeezes back, eyes locked on one another.

After what feels like an eternity, you both break out of your reverie. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Bucky's, both of you panting.

You're trying to catch your breath unsuccessfully. You move one of your hands to rest on Bucky's chest, right on his heart. You swear the steady beat of it spells out your name.

He mirrors you, and moves his own hand to rest above your frantic heart, the other still glued to your cheek. You both breathe, in and out, trying to match each other. When you finally do, it's as if time stops. It's just you and Bucky. One heartbeat. One soul.

You break away from him to look into his eyes again. They look different, you think. He looks different.

He gazes back at you, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The moonlight dances off your faces, illuminating the moment both your lives changed forever.

"It's you," he breathes in disbelief.

A laugh escapes your chest, surprising you both. He chuckles with you, and before you know it, the both of you are in hysterics, sitting on the sidewalk at three in the morning.

"Of course it's me," you giggle. "The two people that hate soulmates, Tethered together. You couldn't write it."

Bucky grins at you, clutching at his stomach.

You both take a breath, and realise your surroundings. Bucky gets up first, heaving you up by your arms. He towers over you, suddenly close. Not close enough, you decide. Never close enough.

You lurge forward and crash your lips to his. Bucky instinctively wraps one arm around your back, moving his other hand to hold you by the back of your neck. He tastes like salt and spearmint and every kiss for the rest of your life.

Bucky presses himself into you, attempting to tangle your bodies together. He wants to feel every inch of you against his skin, willing you to come closer. He aches to climb into you, sew himself into your ribcage. He'd be content to live there, beating your heart, forever.

You whine, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You tilt your head back, and fist your hands into his shirt, plastering yourself to his front. He shoves his thigh in between your legs, the rough denim a welcome contrast to your soft skin. You buck your hips forward, and the friction is so delicious it makes you dizzy. You've never been kissed like this. It's almost feral. You're both surrendering to your fates, giving in to the animalistic urges coursing through you.

A seagull caws on a nearby street lamp, and the sound makes you both jump. You suddenly realise your scenario. Your dad's best friend, who also happens to be your soulmate, has you pressed against his truck in the street, kissing you like he's running out of air and you're his only oxygen source. If it goes any further, you'll both get arrested for public indecency.

"Fuck, sugar," he murmurs against your mouth. "My pretty girl. My honey."

"My soulmate," you whisper.

The reality of it comes crashing down like a tsunami, drenching the both of you.

Bucky kisses you again, gentler this time. The tenderness makes you want to cry.

"What do we do now?" you mumble, fear coating your voice.

He senses your trepidation instantly. He feels it, actually, right in the front of his chest. It's like you suddenly share one body. There's no guessing, anymore. He knows exactly how you feel.

He takes a deep breath, trying to settle his building anxiety. He knows that if he stays calm, you'll stay calm. That's how Tethering works, right? He has to keep it together for the both of you, despite the panic that's rising in him, vibrating in his bones.

"How about... how about we both go to bed, get some sleep - and then we go sailing, later on today, just like we planned? And no matter what, we take everything one step at a time."

"One step at a time," you repeat, attempting to pacify you both.

"We'll figure it out," he reassures. "I know we will."

You find the will to step apart, which proves harder than you thought. It's like Bucky's an anchor - fastening you to peace, to happiness, to serenity. The more distance you put between your bodies, the more unsettled you feel. When you're not touching him, it's as if everything becomes unsteady, more difficult. You feel like you're on a rogue sailboat, battling the waves, threatened to be thrown overboard. Bucky is your lifevest, your lighthouse in the dark night. You're not sure how you're supposed to live your life any more than two feet away from him at all times.

You breathe, and smooth down your dress, running your fingers through your hair. You reach out and adjust Bucky's shirt where it's been wrinkled due to your tight grip.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmurs, fingers tangling around your own.

"Goodnight, Buck," you echo.

He leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips, savouring the taste of your cherry lip balm. He wraps his arms around you, unable to resist. Bucky breathes you in deeply, smiling uncontrollably. Nudging your nose with his, he murmurs gently against your mouth.

"My honey girl."

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