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Whoever made the seating charts for this wedding must’ve had it out for you. Because you somehow ended up sitting at the same table with your ex-boyfriend, Bucky.
He looks handsome. His hair is short now with a suit that fits him perfectly. You stare at the card with his name, knowing that any minute now he’s gonna come over and see it. And then sit with you because the universe must have some sort of vendetta against you.
He broke up with you almost a year ago and you still find yourself wondering when you’re gonna get over this. Your friends are beyond annoyed, your therapist doesn’t know how else to help you if you won’t help yourself. But you don’t want to help yourself, you want him.
You want his sad eyes and his soft smiles. You want those moments where you’d get him to laugh and he’d look at you in this way that made you feel precious. Like something worth looking at.
“Your name’s over here, I saw it earlier.” A guy gestures towards your table and you look up.
And when you look up, you swear you see his heart fall to the floor. And it did.
Bucky can’t hear anything his friend is saying once he sees you. He can’t even breathe. He watches as you look away, turning your neck to pretend to observe something on the little stage. Maybe the DJ or maybe the floral arrangements, anything but Bucky.
You look stunning. Still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. Your hair is neatly styled in the way that was always his favorite. He’s captivated all over again.
He breathes out your name as his friend walks away, unable to say anything else. All he can think or say or feel is you. Always you.
“Bucky.” You look up, unsure of whether or not you should stand or stay frozen in your chair. But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s already moving toward you.
And when he gets close enough, when you’re both standing and just looking at each other for the first time in nearly a year, the air shifts. Thickens. Everything around you blurs, dulls. He looks at you like he’s afraid to blink, like you might disappear if he does.
You don’t even realize you’re reaching for each other until you’re pulled in, his arms wrapping around you, yours curling up over his shoulders, fingertips gripping the back of his suit jacket like you’ll fall apart if you don’t. And just like that, your body remembers.
The way his chest fits against yours. The way his hand feels on your spine, steady, warm, reverent. The way he smells like cedarwood and something darker, familiar. Like home and grief and the past.
His breath hitches when your cheek brushes his. Your lips barely miss his neck. You feel the stubble along his jaw against your temple. His arms tighten just a little like he’s afraid if he lets go now, it really is over.
“Hi,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.
“Hi,” you breathe back, still not letting go.
You feel the way his heart is racing. He probably feels yours, too. The hug lasts too long for two people who haven’t spoken in months, and not long enough for everything that was never said. When you finally, reluctantly, step back, you don’t go far. His hands still linger on your waist. Yours still rests against his shoulders.
“You look…” he starts, but can’t finish.
“You too,” you whisper, because anything else would shatter you.
And the way he’s looking at you now makes your chest ache. Because it’s not new. It’s not something he just discovered. It’s the same way he used to look at you when you were tangled up in sheets or laughing in the kitchen or crying on the floor. Like you were his. Like he was trying to memorize you.
“We should sit.” You swallow.
“Yeah,” he swallows hard. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here. I probably would’ve dressed better.”
“Dressed better? Look at you, you look hot.” You gesture to his outfit and watch him try not to act too embarrassed.
“I have nicer, you know that.” He laughs.
“No need to dress up more for me, my opinion doesn’t matter anymore.” You wave it off.
“Your opinion’s the only one that matters.” He says almost too seriously.
Your breath catches in your throat. He says it like it slipped out like it was muscle memory. But the weight of it lands anyway.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.” You glance away, blinking quickly.
“Why not?” he asks softly.
“Because we’re at a wedding.” You struggle to stay composed.
“You love weddings.”
“Unfortunately.”
You stare at each other for another second before going to sit down. He pulls your chair out and you look up at him as you sit down. He is so confusing.
He broke up with you and now he’s acting like you’re still something to each other.
He sits beside you, close enough that your knees brush under the table again. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, smell the cologne he always used to wear, the one you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away for months after he left.
“I didn’t know you’d be here either,” you say after a moment, voice low. “I almost didn’t come.”
“Same.” He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but it’s hollow. “Would’ve saved us both some trouble, huh?”
“Would it?” You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.
He looks at you then, really looks at you like he’s reading every line of your face for the first time and the hundredth all at once.
“You look happy.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not,” you say honestly.
He searches your eyes for a second and he realizes that you are just as confusing as he is.
“Yeah, well, me too.”
“Still seeing your therapist?” You ask.
“Yeah. She’s just as brutal as ever. I think you were right though, I probably don’t need a therapist softer than she is because I can’t walk all over her and pretend I’m fine.” He admits.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please find your seats. We will soon be announcing the newly married couple.” The DJ’s voice rings through the venue.
The lights dim slightly as the music changes, a soft instrumental swelling through the room. The clink of silverware and murmurs of conversation settles into a hush as everyone begins to turn toward the dance floor.
Bucky shifts in his seat beside you. You feel the movement in your periphery, but neither of you looks directly at the other.
“They did a nice job decorating,” you say lightly, fingers skimming the edge of your napkin. “It’s not too much.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Kind of reminds me of that one wedding we went to in upstate New York. Remember? The one with the goat?”
You let out a surprised laugh before you can stop it. Bucky practically feels his heart dying in his chest knowing that laugh used to be his.
“God, yes. That goat hated you.”
“He tried to bite me,” Bucky shakes his head, mouth twitching. “You told me not to go near him and I said I’d self with worse.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘he’s just a little guy. What’s he gonna do?’ and then he just snapped.” You laugh again.
He grins, and it feels like something soft cracks open between you, brief, tentative. The DJ’s voice comes back over the mic, announcing the couple’s entrance. Everyone stands, cheering and clapping as the newlyweds sweep into the room, glowing and radiant. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your chest.
When you sit again, Bucky does too, this time a little slower. He fiddles with his glass of water, watching the couple as they move to the center of the dance floor.
“They look happy,” he says.
“They do.”
“Makes you wonder if that kind of thing’s still possible.”
You glance at him, but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking somewhere far away, beyond the candles and centerpieces and champagne flutes. Somewhere only he can see.
“Maybe,” you say, voice soft. “I guess it depends on the people.”
A beat of silence stretches between you. The music swells again as the couple begins to dance, slow and deliberate, faces close, arms wrapped around each other like nothing else in the world exists.
You feel Bucky’s eyes on you, and when you look over, you catch him already looking away. You both pretend it didn’t happen.
“Do you think they’ll last?” he asks after a minute, his tone light enough that it’s almost casual.
“I hope so,” you say. “They want the same things.”
“That helps,” he murmurs. “Wanting the same things.”
Your throat tightens, but you don’t say anything. The conversation dies there, comfortably uncomfortable. The table around you starts talking, someone comments on the cake, and someone else makes a joke about wedding playlists.
You hear none of it.
You just sit there beside him, knees still touching, hearts still racing, words still unsaid. And unlucky for you, it seems he’s the only other person you know here. Other than the groom, a SHIELD agent you both know.
There are other agents you kind of recognize but not enough. When they announce that the bar is now open and they are gonna start serving food, you jump out of your seat. You almost start to walk to the bar before you stop and sigh. And then you turn to Bucky.
“Do you want a drink?” you ask, already halfway turned toward the bar.
“Yeah. Just- whatever I used to get.”Bucky looks up at you.
“You don’t even remember?” You arch a brow at him.
“No, I remember,” he says, smiling a little. “I just wanted to see if you did.”
“Old fashioned. Orange twist, not cherry.” You roll your eyes, but it’s half a smile.
“There she is,” he murmurs, like the memory of you has just stepped into the room for the first time.
You pretend not to hear that.
“I’ll go,” he offers, already starting to move.
“I’m already up,” you say quickly. “And I don’t trust you not to accidentally get me a gin and tonic.”
“That happened once,” he says, hand over his heart.
“You said it was the same thing as a vodka soda.”
“Still don’t get the difference.”
“Exactly.” You give him a look and turn before you can smile any wider.
The bar is crowded, and it takes a while to get the drinks. You steal glances over your shoulder once or twice, just to make sure he’s still there. He is. Talking politely to someone else at the table, but his eyes keep flicking toward the bar, like he’s keeping track of you.
When you finally make it back, two drinks in hand, you see him. He picks up the plate that’s in front of your seat and switches it with the one in front of him. You step closer and when you go to sit down, you know why.
You glance down at his plate, mashed potatoes, grilled chicken, green beans, and…mushrooms. Sautéed and slippery-looking, scattered right on top of the potatoes.
You frown a little.
And then you notice the plate now in front of your chair. It’s nearly identical. Except these potatoes don’t have mushrooms on them. Just a clean scoop, plain and neat.
“You traded our plates,” you say as you set the drinks down.
“You always hated mushrooms.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, but he’s caught.
“I didn’t even say anything.” You blink.
“Didn’t have to.”
Your heart does something complicated and inconvenient in your chest. He takes his drink from your hand without looking at you too closely, just nods once in thanks. You sit back down, and for a second you don’t speak. Then, quietly, like the clink of silverware might drown it out, you speak.
“Thank you.”
“Always,” he says, just as quietly.
And suddenly you’re not hungry anymore.
“I had to ask,” He starts to explain himself. “But I couldn’t ask for yours to have no mushrooms since we aren’t…together, so I asked for mine. And then swapped.”
“I only like the kind of mushrooms that mess with my head.” You joke.
“And you know- I knew you were gonna say that too.” He can’t help but laugh.
“Glad I’m still predictable.” You laugh, quietly.
“Not predictable,” he says, swirling the ice in his glass. “Just…familiar.”
There’s a weight to the word that makes you stop breathing for a second. You cut into your chicken just to have something to do with your hands.
“Feels weird being here. Like we’re sitting in someone else’s memory.”
“Yeah. Like we walked into a dream that used to be ours.” He hums in agreement.
“Used to be,” you echo.
The conversation fades again, but it’s not awkward. It’s full. Full of things neither of you are ready to say, of years and tears and late-night arguments and quiet mornings and all the spaces in between.
At one point, he quietly slides his glass toward you without looking and you take a sip like you’ve done it a thousand times before. Like nothing ever changed.
“You still wear that perfume.” He speaks up. You glance over at him. “I noticed it when we hugged. You always wore it for events.”
You don’t answer right away. Just twirl your fork through your potatoes, the ones he made sure you’d eat.
“It’s the nicest one I own,” you finally say.
“I love that perfume.”
You don’t smile, but your eyes flick to his, hold for a moment. There’s so much in them. So much you’re both still carrying. And it would be so easy to just fall back into him, to lean over and kiss the mouth that still knows yours like scripture. But you don’t.
The more Bucky looks at you, the more he feels his heart breaking all over again. He didn’t want to break up with you. Didn’t want to break the heart he had been so gentle with for two years.
And when it’s time for speeches, he knows it’s over for him.
The clinking of glasses quiets the room when most people are done eating. A tall, lanky man in a navy suit stands and clears his throat, a notecard trembling in his hand.
“Hi, uh, I’m Connor, the best man. I wrote this at, like, 3 a.m. after a bottle of wine, so…apologies in advance.”
The crowd laughs. You try to, too.
“When Marcus told me he was going to propose to Liv, I asked him if he was sure. And he said, without even blinking- ‘She’s the only person who makes the world make sense,’” Connor chuckles to himself. “Which was wild coming from a guy who couldn’t even pick what socks to wear.”
More laughter. But your heart has already stilled.
“He told me, ‘I don’t feel like I’m being watched with her. I feel seen. I feel like she knows every part of me, and she still chooses me.’ And I think that’s what love is. Not the big gestures, not the flowers or grand speeches, but the quiet choice. Over and over again. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
You hear Bucky exhale beside you. Slowly. Deeply. Like he’s trying not to feel anything.
“Because let’s be honest, life is messy. People screw up. We let each other down. But the real thing, the real kind of love, doesn’t scare easy. It doesn’t walk away when things get heavy.”
You don’t even notice you’ve stopped breathing. Your eyes sting.
“So here’s to choosing each other. Over and over. Even on the worst days. Even when we don’t deserve it. Especially then.”
The room erupts in applause. Everyone stands, lifting glasses, and toasting to the happy couple. But you’re already standing for a different reason. You don’t say anything. You just grab your purse, push in your chair, and slip out the side door without looking back.
Bucky doesn’t even hesitate.
He’s out of his chair before he realizes he’s moving, murmuring something to the table as he rushes after you. The evening air outside is warm but sharp. You’re already halfway to the fairy-light-covered parking lot when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t turn around.
“Wait,” he calls, voice strained. “Please.”
You stop, but you don’t turn around.
“You okay?” he asks softly, like the answer isn’t obvious.
“Fine,” you lie.
He watches your profile in the orange wash of the parking lot lights. The way your arms are crossed. The way your eyes stay on the ground like if you look at him, you’ll come undone.
“You left,” you say, voice sharp and quiet. “You didn’t choose me. Not when it mattered.”
The words hang there. Final. Heavy.
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Just a quiet, helpless kind of pain. And you don’t know what to do with it. Don’t know what to do with him. With the truth. With all of it.
“What are we doing? We get drinks, you swap our plates, you talk about my perfume, I- what is this? Because I don’t know about you but I’m not over you yet, Bucky. And this is killing me, being around you is killing me. You’re the one that left so can you please just stay away from me because I-“ Your voice breaks and you suddenly feel nauseous from how badly you want to cry but don’t.
“I didn’t want to break up with you, you’re the love of my life!” He bursts, his posture failing him as he says it. “I thought you deserved better. You do deserve better. I am severely damaged and traumatized and-“
“And what am I? I’m an Avenger too, goddamn it and we are all insane amounts of fucked up. You broke my fucking heart, Bucky.” You cry out and he steps closer.
He steps closer like he can’t help himself, like your pain drags him forward.
“I know I did,” he says, and his voice cracks. “I know. I haven’t slept right since. I haven’t been right since.”
“Congratulations. You broke both of us.” You laugh bitterly through the tears brimming in your eyes.
He flinches.
“I used to think,” you continue, voice shaking, “that you were the one person who’d neverleave. Because you knew what it felt like. And you still did. You still chose to.”
“I didn’t think I had the right to hold onto something good,” he says, barely above a whisper. “You were the only soft thing in my life and I- I didn’t think I deserved it.”
“So instead of trusting me to love you through it, you decided for both of us.” You blink hard, fists clenched at your sides.
His jaw clenches. He looks like he wants to reach for you, like it’s taking everything he has not to.
“You didn’t even give me the chance to fight for you,” you whisper.
“I was scared,” he confesses. “That loving me would ruin you. That you'd wake up one day and regret choosing someone like me.”
“That wasn’t your choice to make.”
Silence again. A silence that shakes.
And finally, he breaks.
“I never stopped loving you. Not for a second. I see you and it’s like my body remembers how to breathe again.”
“Then why does this still hurt so much?” You shake your head, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.
“Because we were real. And we still are.” His eyes are shining now, too.
You both stand there in the soft golden glow of the parking lot, hearts bared, years between you collapsing into this one moment.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Bucky,” you say, voice quiet, broken.
He looks at you for a long, unbearable second.
“I want you,” His voice breaks. “I thought breaking up was the right thing. I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“You don’t get to decide what’s good for me.” You blink slowly, forcing your voice to stay steady.
“I know,” he nods. “I know that now.”
“You can’t just say things like that and expect it not to hurt,” you whisper.
“I say them because they still matter,” he says. “Because you still matter.”
“Then why did you leave?” You swallow. Hard. He’s quiet for a long time.
“Because when I looked at you,” he says, “I saw a future. Wrinkles. Gray hair. Kids that looked like you. And I didn’t think I was allowed to want that. Not after everything I’ve done. Not with the kind of man I am.”
You freeze.
Because that? That was the cruelest and most beautiful thing he could have said. Your chest tightens, your breath catches, and you can feel your pulse in your throat. You try to keep your voice steady, but it comes out like glass, sharp and fragile.
“When I saw your face,” you echo, “I saw that too,” A breath. A break. “So where does that leave us?”
He steps forward, slow, careful, as if he knows the ground between you might collapse.
“I don’t know. But I just…I don’t want to be away from you anymore. I want this. I want this with you,” He breathes out. “And maybe it’s the wedding but fuck, don’t you feel it too?”
You stare at him, at the man who shattered you and is now standing in front of you, bleeding honesty like it’s the only language he has left. And then you say it. Quiet, but fierce.
“Of course I feel it.”
It’s all it takes.
One second, you’re standing three feet apart, and the next, your mouths are crashing together like no time has passed at all. Like grief and guilt and distance never stood a chance. His hands are in your hair, on your back, like he can’t hold you close enough. Your fingers curl into his jacket, pulling him in with years of ache behind it.
The kiss isn’t soft. It’s not sweet. It’s everything you didn’t say, everything you’ve been swallowing since the day he left. It’s a kiss that says you broke me and I still want you anyway.
You don’t remember who moves first, but suddenly you're fumbling for the car door behind you, hands everywhere, breath ragged. You barely break apart long enough to climb into the backseat before you’re pulling him in after you, tangled up in each other like muscle memory, like instinct.
The door slams shut behind you, muffling the music from the reception hall, and the only thing left is the sound of your breathing and the desperate slide of your mouths colliding again.
Clothes shift. Hands tremble. And you don’t say I love you, not yet. But it’s there, in every inch of skin, every press of your lips, every whispered gasp. You were always going to end up here.
You let your heels fall to the floor as he lies you down, pressing the lock button by the window while he leans over you. Your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer and he completely melts.
“You-“ He breathes out something between a whisper and a moan as your lips drag along his jaw. “So pretty. So warm. I missed this, I missed you.”
He leans down to pull your legs up and hike them around his hips. Bucky’s hands run along your thighs as he pushes your dress up to sit around your hips. You reach up to push his jacket off and he lets you. It falls from his shoulders and he tosses it away, coming straight back down to you.
He still knows your body like the back of his hand. He knows exactly how to touch you and have you screaming his name. And he loves that it’s you, that you are the only person who has him like that. He rests a hand on your hip as he drags his lips down your neck.
His breath is hot, his lips hungry. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had sex since the breakup but he’d also be lying if he said he didn’t burst into tears during that one time he did. And then he didn’t touch anyone else because they weren’t you.
Your fingers begin to quickly unbutton his shirt and it’s already hot in this car. Luckily, you’re parked near the back so no one could see what’s happening. And since you’re an Avenger, you can legally have slightly more tinted windows than the rest of the world.
“You want this?” Bucky breaths out, fingers gently pulling down one of the straps by your shoulder.
“Yes, Buck, I want you.” You whine as he runs his hand under your dress and up to rest on your stomach as he leans down to kiss you again.
His hands are large and warm and feeling them on your skin again after so long feels like a high. Your head tosses back as he begins kissing by your collarbone, teeth dragging just enough to have you a mess.
He’s intoxicating in this whole quick thing. Right now, it’s like you’re both getting something out of your systems that’s been building for a long time. Bucky feels so much for you, so much love, but he just needs to fuck you right now and you need him to fuck you even more.
He’s fast, lowering his kisses to your chest. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to take your nipple in his mouth, his fingers rolling the other. You slightly shiver from the contact of his hot mouth meeting your skin. You push your fingers through his hair and he’s already moving his hands lower. You sit up the slightest bit as he kisses the middle of your chest and down your stomach. You sit up to lean against the other door, reaching behind you to unzip your dress.
The other strap falls and Bucky helps you push up the bottom more.
“So fucking sexy, love,” He sighs before you unclamp your bra from where he already pulled it down to your waist and toss it into the front seat. You pull the dress that was barely even on that this point off too and toss it away.
Bucky’s shirt is open but not off yet and when you look at him, he knows you want it off. And he wants it off too when he sees you in his favorite pair of sexy black underwear.
“Take off your pants.” You tell him as soon as his shirt is off.
“Been a while for you too?” He asks as he sits up off of you more to unzip his dress pants.
“That’s an understatement.” You reach down to slip off your underwear, sliding them down your legs in a way that has his eyes tracking your every move.
“I’ll be careful, dollface.” He hums.
“Don’t be too careful.” You say and he gives the smallest and softest smile for you.
Because he meant what he said. You are the love of his life. You are the one good thing about this world to him. And being here with you in this cramped and hot car has his heart resigning itself to you all over again.
He pushes his pants down and comes back to you in just his tank top, boxers, and socks. You don’t hesitate to stick your hand under his tank top and slide your hand over his abs. Over his warm body that’s slowly but surely melting for you.
“I want to taste you, doll. Miss that taste more than anything.” He looks at you with pure lust in his eyes that’s only ever meant for you.
“Fuck, please,” You cradle his jaw as he starts to lower his body.
You spread your legs from him and move your hips forward. He looks between your legs like a shark looking at his meal. You look heavenly. Like the closest thing to heaven.
He begins to kiss all over the inside of your thighs. His lips are wet from yours as he does but it’s perfect. This whole thing is still moving fast. It feels like pure adrenaline, like drugs coursing through your body. He can feel his erection full force just from this.
When he presses his mouth to your core, it sends a light shockwave through your body. His mouth is warm and wet and feels just as incredible as you remember. Your hands instantly find his hair and your head tosses back.
He reaches one hand up, running up and down your body, the other holding your hip in place. He completely licks a stripe up before delving his tongue into you. You let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard as he slowly presses his tongue around your folds.
His hands move back down to hold onto your ass, lifting you that smallest bit closer to his mouth. He’s hungry for you. Hungry in a way no one else has ever gotten him. His nose presses against you as his tongue brutally licks every spot he knows makes your toes curl.
You press your hips closer to his mouth, his tongue fucking into you before coming up to kiss just under your clit. He slowly drags his lips to touch your clit and as soon as he starts lightly sucking on it, your moans pick up.
The car is filled with your soft gasps and moans. It’s perfect to Bucky. He’s never wanted anyone more than he wants you right now. He wants to kiss you, to fuck you, to hold you, and promise that he’ll only ever be your guy.
You feel it coming stronger than ever as you push your hips more and more against his mouth, fucking his face. You hold onto the headrest as you feel your stomach curling and everything coming all at once.
That orgasm quickly snaps through you, you calling his name as it does. Bucky slows his movements down but doesn’t completely stop as he rides you through it. The car windows are already fogging up.
He sits up a little, his breath gone as he just looks at you.
“You are incredible, sweetheart.” He breathes out.
“Bucky, you are the incredible one,” Your chest rises and falls as you look up at the ceiling of the car for a second. “I haven’t cum that good or that fast since…you.”
“I’m trying not to cum now from just looking at you like this.” He admits.
“Stop trying not to,” You hum as you pull him back down to you by his shirt. “Fuck me.”
“Do you…need a second?” He asks.
“I’ve had a second. Now, I just need you in me.” You run your fingers through his hair that’s more than messed up now as his hands find your waist.
His dick is throbbing from your words and he wants nothing more than to slip into you. He presses his hand to your stomach as he looks at you like his world is in front of him. And you are his world.
He sits back and pulls off his tank top, tossing it with the rest of your clothes. He knows the windows are gonna be completely fogged up in a minute but he hopes that no one walks out to see the car shaking in a minute.
He frees his dick from the fabric of his boxers. You watch it twitch as he watches the way you drag her hand down your body. You reach to touch him, your fingers lightly grazing along his shaft. He’s so achingly hard for you at this point.
That’s only made worse when you reach your hand further. You take his balls in your hand and gently rub them before coming back up to his shaft, your thumb rubbing across his pretty pink tip.
You rest his dick on your stomach as you look up at him. You are a complete temptress with that look in your eyes.
“James,” You cradle his face as he comes down to you, your chests pressed together. “I want you. Please.”
“Please, what?” He asks, pushing hair out of your face.
“Please fuck me.” Your voice is warm and hypnotic to him.
He shuts his eyes for a moment, feeling like he could lose complete control at any second. He takes his dick in his hands as he sits up. Her legs are spread for him again and he places his tip only into her. She’s warm and soft and she already feels good.
“I’m gonna fuck you, baby. Just how you like. I still know how you like it.” He breathes out.
“Mhm.” Your voice is light and airy before he pushes into you.
And fuck, you missed this.
The way his dick fits in you. The way it’s always this perfect stretch and how he always fills you so nicely.
And Bucky? His head drops from how incredible you feel. Your walls squeeze around him and his heart flutters. He loves you. You are the only person he’s in love with and he gets to do this with you again. That means more to him than anything.
“You feel so- fuck, so good,” He groans as he presses his fingers into your hip. “Still take me so well.”
“Bucky-“ You place your hand on his arms and your voice already sounds completely fucked out.
He pulls out of you and immediately slams back in. Your hips meet and the feeling is immediately everything you needed. He’s slow and deliciously careful. His dick is deep in you, feeling every single pulse of you and the warmth that he wants to bleed him dry and leave him with nothing.
He grunts into the air as he fucks you deep and slow. It’s almost agonizing with every push how amazing he feels and how perfect his dick hits every spot he knows you love. He lets your arms wrap around him as he rests his forehead on your chest for a second as he keeps smacking his hips into yours.
His pace starts to pick up as he gets closer. It builds up for you so easily. He gasps from the feeling of being so deep in you. In the person he feels everything for. It’s not just about hot car sex, it’s about you. His ex. The girl he’s still so hopelessly in love with and who he hasn’t stopped loving since he broke your heart.
And he swears to himself that he will put it back together. That he will be so good to you. That he will kiss you and make you laugh whenever and fuck you like this whenever you want because you are it.
“I- I can’t- I have to-“ He moans as he pumps in and out of you, his hand desperately pressing onto your stomach which only has you feeling more.
You feel your second orgasm coming on strong. He feels his coming too, him brutally fucking into you with no remorse after you told him not to be too gentle. Everything is hazy, the car is completely fogged up now.
He pushes up and into you again which snaps your second orgasm through your body. He’s long and warm and has you feeling fuzzy. Your hearing is barely there when you feel it and your mind is hazy when you feel him finish in you. He fucks his cum into you more, marking you as his. And it feels incredible.
He slowly comes to a stop before he rests his forehead by your neck, resting his weight completely on you for a second. He’s warm and it’s like the outside world is gone.
It’s just you and Bucky. In this small car with every window fogged up, just holding on to each other.
“Shouldn’t have done it like this,” He looks up at you, holding your cheek as his eyes bore into yours. “I should’ve taken you home. Had you in my bed. Been more…gentle with you. Because I- I’m so in love with you. I’m still in love with you.”
His eyes are soft and slightly glossy as he looks at you. His heart is breaking for you all over again because if this isn’t what you want, then this just made it worse because his heart is in your hands.
“I want to be so good for you,” His voice breaks. “I shouldn’t have broken up with you. I should’ve bought you a ring. I should’ve told you exactly how I felt about you, even if I thought I didn’t deserve you. I should’ve promised my everything to you, this should’ve been our wedding.”
Your breath catches. His words hit harder than any kiss ever could. You blink up at him, chest rising and falling beneath the weight of everything, his body, his honesty, his regret. The warmth of his hands, the tremble in his voice, the ache in his eyes. You’ve waited nearly a year for him to say something like this. And now that he is, it doesn’t feel like closure.
It feels like a door cracking wide open. Your fingers lift, thread through the short hair at the back of his neck as you stare at him, raw and real.
“I would’ve said yes,” you whisper. “If you’d asked. I would’ve said yes without even blinking.”
His face crumples just slightly at that, like he’s not sure whether to cry or kiss you again. You press your forehead to his, closing your eyes. And he hates it. That he was so close to a life with you and he fucked it up. But he’s here now and he wants you even more.
“I’m not asking for a ring right now,” you murmur. “I’m not even asking for promises. But if you mean what you just said…if this isn’t just the wedding or the night or the sex talking…”
“It’s not,” His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the tear you hadn’t even realized was falling. “It never was. It was never just sex with you or just nostalgia. I want a life with you. I want kids with your eyes and your hair. With your nose and I want them to be ours. Me and you. I want the rest of my life with you. This past year has nearly killed me. I just want to be yours again.”
You nod, barely.
“Then don’t leave again,” you say. “Stay. Start over with me. Try.”
His exhale shudders against your skin, and he kisses you, soft this time, reverent.
“I’ll try every day,” he breathes against your lips. “For as long as you’ll let me.”
Outside, the music drifts faintly from the reception. Inside the car, the world is still. Your legs are tangled. Your hearts, slowly stitching. And for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so far away.
“I want it with you too,” you admit. “Except I hope they have your eyes. Your smile. I want you, James. I want to be your girl again.”
“Then you will be,” He takes your hand and places it on his heart, his hand over yours. His heartbeat is quick, his face pink for you. “I don’t ever want to be away from you. One day, I swear, we will do this right. I’ll give you a ring, I’ll buy you a nice, quiet, house for us to raise our babies in. And maybe we’ll get a cat or a dog or both because why not? And I will love you so deeply, baby. I will never, ever, stray. I’m yours. For as long as you’ll have me.”
And this time, you believe him.