[complete!]
"𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔."
𝐌ace Wilcox had a heart full of revenge. For almost her whole life. Because when the person she loved most was killed, her life was turned upside down. She was turned into a killer.
Sh...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Morning," Mace whispered softly.
Having been tangled up in the sheets, Bucky turned to face her and smiled. She put her hand on his cheek.
"Hi," he replied.
"You did it," she commented. "You slept through the night. On the bed."
He looked up and smiled a little.
"Why didn't you have a bed before, anyway?" she asked. "Or even slept on the couch?"
Bucky took a deep breath. "I... I'd have nightmares," he began. "Of the war. I'd toss and turn— and fall off the train again. And the bed."
"So by sleeping on the floor you thought the nightmares would stop."
"It didn't work," he commented. "But you helped. Even just you being there."
"Or it could have been the other thing," she implied.
"That too," he laughed.
Mace turned on her side to face him. "I think you helped my nightmares, as well. Usually I wake up at four in the morning breathing heavy like I had just been in a fight."
"It's scary, isn't it?" he asked. "It always feels real."
"Every time," she said. "And yet when I wake up, I never feel relieved it's over."
"'Cause it's not," Bucky said.
"No," she agreed. She turned back to look up at the ceiling. "It's not," she whispered.
She almost believed it.
— —
Mace walked into the kitchen about five minutes after Bucky got up. She wore Bucky's shirt over her undergarments, as he'd never put it back on— as of now he wore only his jeans from yesterday.
She rubbed her eyes as she walked through the room and toward the smell of breakfast food.
"I didn't know you cooked," she said, coming up and hugging him from behind as he fiddled with a pan and spatula.
"I don't, usually," he smiled. "For you I try." He kissed her on the cheek.
"I want more," she whispered in his ear.
"More what?" he asked. He flipped a pancake.
"You," she said.
He smiled, realizing what she meant.
"Later," he said. "I'm cooking here."
"What is it?"
Mace peered around his figure at one pancake in a large frying pan.
