Untapped Treasures, Diamonds In The Rough

“Barnes, I’ve seen you do a lot of dumb things,” Natasha muses, crossing her arms. “But this has to be a new low.” 

Bucky throws his head backwards onto the couch and decides he is definitely not in the mood for this. 

The team sits around the compound’s living room table, eating takeout and discussing their latest assignment: to infiltrate the gala of a secret crime syndicate.

This group specializes in art heists around the world. By hour three of debriefing, everything about intercepting small yet priceless stolen artifacts – on their way to be smuggled into some high-profile museum – was clicking into place. 

That is, until Bucky’s teammates determined he would be the one to go to the gala in person. And, looking for help, he messaged one of the retired Avengers – you. 

Now everyone wants to act like he’s the one who committed a crime.

They should be grateful you live in the same location where the event is taking place. And that you happened to be knowledgeable in the arts world prior to your Avenging duties. It’s not his fault they’re sending him to a huge city he’s never been to. More than anything, your stealth and background will be a perfect asset. Texting an ex-agent was a great idea. 

So you’re also his ex-girlfriend. What does it matter? 

Waving a utensil at him accusingly, Sam snickers. “Your brooding won’t get you out of this one.” 

“Whatever.” Bucky gives a singular roll of his eyes. “It’ll be fine. I’m over it.” 

“Right,” Natasha observes, judging how he very casually checks his phone for what must be the tenth time in the last two minutes. 

“Other potential contacts aside,” Steve – ever the mitigator – continues, “this is a job that’s a little out of our ordinary routine. That means we need to be precise. We’ve already established Bucky will infiltrate as a guest. We should also consider a group for surveillance, another for–” 

Bucky’s phone buzzes. He flips it over like it’s sizzling.

Shit. 

Shit. 

You agreed to help. 

Hell, you responded. 

This is good. Great! It’s exactly what he wanted! For the mission, of course. His flesh palm is only sweating because you hadn’t talked in a couple of months. Absolutely nothing to be– 

“Let me guess.” Sam’s voice goes sympathetic. “She said no?”

“Actually,” Bucky says defensively, “she said she’ll come out of retirement just this once. To join me on the field. That’s it. All business.” 

When the others stare blankly – expressions falling on along a spectrum of concern to amusement – he swallows. “You’re welcome.” 

“First of all, chill. Second of all, tell her we said thank you.” Turning to Sam as if Bucky weren’t even there, Natasha asks through a mouthful of food, “So how much are we betting?”

“Twenty five they get back together afterwards,” he declares.

“Alright, thirty if it happens before the mission’s even over.”

They lean over the table and handshake directly in front of him. Steve stifles a laugh with a bite. 

“Ha, ha.” Frustrated, Bucky feels his face flush. At least, he thinks it’s out of frustration. “You guys know you can trust me, right?” 

Natasha’s curls bounce when she nods exaggeratedly. “Oh, totally.” Then she leans back into her seat with a smirk. “Unrelated, but I think infiltration just became a three person party. You’re on it, Wilson.”

It takes everything in Bucky not to groan like a grounded teenager. That, quite possibly, is the worst case scenario. Sam was always teasing you two to no end even when you were dating. Not that Nat’s bluntness or Steve’s tendency to turn everything into a lecture would be much better. 

Quickly, Bucky shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll stay focused!” 

“Sure, now that I’m going,” Sam quips. 

“We have power in numbers here. Nothing personal, pal,” Steve offers – unconvincingly, given how his face still shows traces of the grin harassing Bucky since 1929. 

Sucking in a deep breath, he mumbles something about “being monitored” and “the audacity.”

The others go back planning or finishing up their food. After a few moments of moping, Bucky is about to re-engage in the conversation, but the reminder notification of your unopened message draws his eyes back to the phone. 

What he mentioned about your response was true. Mostly. He skipped over the last part. 

Glad to hear from you :) 

For a second, any mixed emotions dissolve into a different kind of blush. 

Reconnecting. That’s all this is. 

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚  

The breakup was mutual. Super amicable, as most interactions with you are. With your retirement and Bucky’s mental health, it was simply time to move on. He was finally starting to accept that as an ending, not a footnote or an introduction to the next chapter. So even though he is in a better place now, Bucky swears he won’t shoot any shots. 

Sam thinks that’s the biggest lie he’s ever said. 

Normally a stakeout car below a freeway overpass wouldn’t seem like the best place to discuss this. This whole time, they’ve been sitting without exchanging a word. But you’re about to meet them with intel, and the event is already tonight. Avoiding the elephant in the room forever is impossible. Sam needs to break the ice. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Did she tell you what time she would get here?” 

“No.”  

“Okay,” he says, dragging out the last syllable skeptically. “Did she…tell you anything else?” 

“No.”

“And you didn’t tell her anything else?”

The musty air conditioner buzzes louder for a second. 

“Nope.” 

Blood pressure rising, Sam realizes he has to cut straight to the point. “Come on, don’t have any feelings about doing a mission with your ex?”

“You’re only asking because you have money riding on this.”

“That doesn’t answer my–” 

“We’re friends.” 

Sam’s face goes deadpan. 

“Shh,” Bucky hisses. 

“I didn’t even say anything!” 

“Whatever. I’m saying she’s here.” 

Hunching over to see through the windshield – this car was not built with Avengers in mind – they watch as another vehicle pulls up. Admittedly, it puts their mini beat-up one to shame. Bucky wishes they had driven something else as a good first-impression. The polished exterior of your car is sleek yet low-profile, as anticipated. 

He also expected you would look drop-dead gorgeous, but that doesn’t stop his breath from becoming shallow as soon as you step out. 

Even though you’re wearing civilian clothing to blend in, the cunning agent’s sparkle in your gaze is as strong as ever. You haven’t changed at all. If anything, you  became even more beautiful. Only you could make a sketchy underpass look like a runway. 

Sam snorts. “Some friendly eyes you’re making over there.”

“It’s nothing,” Bucky lies straight through his teeth. Literally, since it only took an instant for him to fold and grin absentmindedly. 

And, while your gaze is partially guarded, you’re returning the gesture with sparkling teeth. 

“I cannot believe I’m already third wheeling,” Sam mumbles, with only a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Refusing to give him any other chances to comment, Bucky shoots him a dry look, opens the door, and forces himself to stroll across the clearing. 

“Hey!” he says as cheerfully as possible. This should be fine. 

Except that’s as far as his plan goes. Does he give you a hug? No, it’s too soon. A handshake is another option, but what the hell are you, bankers at a business meeting? 

He settles for shoving his hands straight into his pockets. “I really appreciate you helping us out with this. Thank you.” 

If you noticed him hesitating like an idiot, you don’t seem to mind. You still smile so widely. “Of course! No problem at all.” A beat. “Here’s, uh, the file you asked for.” 

He barely registers the manila folder you hold out, stamped and filled with information key to the operation. Right. How could he forget that while standing in the face of such a mesmerizing force to be reckoned with. 

“Yeah, I…probably need it, don’t I?” Bucky stammers, dragging his hands back out to take the envelope. 

You let out a breathy giggle. “Just like how you probably needed a bigger car.” 

The joke hangs in the air for a second, a test of the actual waters between you. At least the highway’s rumbling above is overwhelming enough to distract him from the violent pounding of his heart. 

Then, breaking into full on light-laughter, you punch his shoulder playfully. “It’s good to see you, Buck.”

He was not expecting that. The contact sends sparks flying throughout his entire body. 

Even if your hand might not have any rekindling intentions, looks like caution can be damned. 

“You too.” Bucky thinks another dumbass blush is coming on. But so far, so good (enough). An opportunity for small talk will not slip away. “I mean, it feels like it’s been forever! How is everything?” 

Much to his relief, continuing the conversation doesn’t change your relaxed demeanor. “Great! Retirement has been nice to me, thankfully. Pretty under the radar. How about you?”

“Same as always, you know?” He shrugs, as if nonchalance were his default emotion in this situation. “Been excited about this mission more than anything. I missed–” 

Never mind. He’s all over the place, and his mouth got ahead of his brain. It’s definitely overstepping to say you. 

Bucky blinks. “I missed, um, being covert. For once.”

Coming from a super soldier like him, that excuse is absolutely terrible. Your expression goes unreadable for a second. Maybe you had a hard cutoff for the number of questionable interactions you would accept from an ex today. 

Before he can collapse straight onto the ground, however, you offer a close-lipped grin. A bit awkwardly, which he’s surprised, and relieved, to see. 

“That’s good,” you respond with enthusiasm. “We’ll need that energy tonight.” 

Whatever’s happening, it makes Bucky more glad that your good terms haven’t changed. 

You clear your throat, gaze moving past his shoulder with an amused raise of your eyebrow. “Sam, you can stop lurking.”

“I was brainstorming,” he says. The gravel clicks under his feet when he comes closer, his tone as teasing as it is genuine. “And waiting for my turn to say hi.” 

Thankfully, Sam stays too busy catching up with you to make any obvious faces. 

After an exchange in friendly pleasantries, you motion towards the file threatening to crinkle in Bucky’s tight grip. “Speaking of brainstorming, this thing tonight is no joke, so…” A flash of what might be nervousness passes through your eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by a flame that’s unusually bold, even for you. “I have an idea. Hear me out.” 

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚  

Later that night, the three of you coordinate your disguises in the living room of the team’s safehouse, tucked away in the outskirts of the city. The other option was to stay at your apartment, which you did offer. Nobody wanted to risk drawing attention back to your home if things went awry, though. 

Thankfully, with your guidance, the chance of that happening is already very slim. 

The plan starts off with one person going in for recon. During the big art auction of the night, the other two replace the stolen artifacts with replicas (whose likeness is courtesy of Nat and, fun fact, her elite knowledge of one of Tony’s old 3D printers). Because the items are no more than a few centimeters at most, you said you would carry them in a small, unsuspecting purse. 

If anybody even notices the swap, it’ll be when you’re long gone. 

Now that everybody is dressed as cuttingly elegant as the actual attendees surely will be, you can sneak in without a hitch. Asking for your help was indeed the move. Foolproof plan. 

Bucky, running his gloved metal hand through his hair, just wishes it wasn’t so excruciating on his part. When you mentioned splitting up for this plan, you wanted the pair replacing the artifacts to look as non-Avenger as possible – something you could see at any party. 

So, with his luck, you pitched an undercover couple heist. 

Anybody could guess which third-wheel genius volunteered to be in charge of recon right away. 

“I’m heading out now,” Sam announces. He stops by the full-length mirror near the door, adjusting his sleek suit with confidence. “You guys almost ready?”

“Almost!” you respond. “I need a couple more precautions.” 

Excitement radiates from your face at being back in the swing of things again. You hide weapons and gadgets beneath the folds of your dress, in secret holsters that not even the most trained mercenaries would suspect. Propping your leg up on the table, you strap the latest knife through the slip of your dress and onto your thigh. 

Bucky looks respectfully, but damn, is his mind overflowing with hot static. 

It’s barely occurring to him how difficult it would be for you to see each other so tastefully dressed. Maybe a skim through this list of big criminals in attendance tonight can keep his eyes from bugging out of his head. 

Rereading the same sentence on a file for the thirtieth time, he chokes out, “I’ll review this information one last time, then I’ll – be good to go.” 

The shabbily disguised statement prompts a knowing glance from Sam in the mirror. He nods towards your back with his eyes and, humiliatingly, wiggles his eyebrows.

What is he, twelve! 

Silently begging him not to say anything, Bucky gives a hard glare. Which, of course, is ignored.

“Hey, uh–” Sam starts, turning to face you. “It’s been great to have you back. Like old times, huh?” 

To be fair, he isn’t joking when he says that. Your bond in particular was really tight. It goes without saying that the compound is far from the same when you’re not there, and that’s not Bucky’s own bias speaking.

You pause your weapon packing to share an honest smile. “Yeah. Definitely.” 

“Tonight’ll be fun! Really. We missed you.” Unfortunately, the sentiment that doubled as the temporary exemption from bullying is over. “And believe me, I mean we.” 

Just as Bucky is overcome with the urge to, say, tackle him from across the room, Sam’s lips curl into his classic smirk. “Good luck tonight, guys. See you there!” 

He rushes out with a gentle slam of the door, leaving nothing but an electrical charge in the air. Bucky swallows whatever the hell he was feeling. 

Now that makes space for the questions. Would you have felt more comfortable partnering up with an uncomplicated friend like Sam? Why did you suggest this idea in the first place? Does this all mean you’re actually interested again, or that you think of Bucky so painfully platonically that pretending to be back together is easy? 

You step off the table as if nothing, heels quickly clicking as they carry you across the room towards the mirror. He begins to worry that it’s an attempt to establish distance – because being caught looking at you earlier would be so embarrassing – but a huff of a laugh leaves your mouth. 

“Classic Sam,” you say softly, meeting Bucky’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror.  

Any remaining energy he has goes towards a lopsided smile of his own. “Gotta respect his honesty, I’ll say that much.” 

“Mhm.” Sighing, you smooth out wrinkles in your dress. “I’m really happy to be here with you guys, honestly. Guess I couldn’t stay away for long.”

“Glad you didn’t,” he blurts. 

The statement would have sounded casual if his voice didn’t waver in the middle. Looks like he’s already fumbling through this anyway – might as well throw in a compliment. A friendly, innocent compliment. 

Ignoring the blaring thoughts that tell him he shouldn’t, Bucky says, “You – you look really good tonight, by the way.” 

“Thanks.” You bite your lip. “So do you.” 

Something shifts. Suddenly making eye contact with you in the mirror is making him sweat. You look away at the same time. 

“Okay, um…” You quickly grab the purse off the bag hanger hook by the door. “We should get moving.” 

Bucky nods weakly. Fixing his tie when he stands up off the couch, he shoves away whatever just happened. Maybe he imagined it. 

One thing is for sure: the toughest part of tonight isn’t going to be putting up a convincing front. On the contrary – it’s going to be denying you still look good in each other’s arms now. 

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚  

The party is overrun with security. Limousines pull up through the mansion’s roundabout driveway, and out step people who ooze high profile aura. Designer clothes probably paid in blood money, entourages that scream well-trained-assassins. They go up and down the wide marble staircase in the middle of the grand foyer like they mean business. 

You fit the environment perfectly. 

As you two make your way through this lobby, your arm interlinked in his, Bucky tries to ignore the knot in his stomach. Even though it’s part of the plan, being seen with you so publicly – when you look like this tonight – is intoxicating. 

With impeccable timing as usual, Sam speaks into Bucky’s individual earpiece channel. “Coast is clear so far. Keep me posted.” He snickers. “And remember you’re on a mission, not a date.”

“Thank you, I’m well aware,” he murmurs, trying not to make it obvious to bystanders that he’s communicating with someone. 

“Sure.” Sam purposefully coughs into the mic. “Nat hacked into surveillance back at the compound, by the way. This is your first and only warning not to do anything you wouldn’t want caught on camera.” 

The image that instantly popped into Bucky’s mind should not be there.  

He clears his throat. “Muting you now.” 

As soon as he hangs up, though, the ideas prompted by Sam’s stupid joke resurface. Particularly the sight of your figure leaning while you prepared your weapons, the dress’ slit falling around your knee and calves like a delicate silk waterfall. 

Bucky can’t help but glance at you from the side now. Every part of him is pulled towards you like a magnet – including his eyes, which are starting to wander down to the neckline of your dress.

Then he processes you’re already staring right at him.

Fuck. 

Nervous that he crossed a line, the beginning of an explanation starts to tumble out. “I, uh – I was just–” 

“Uh huh,” you muse. “If this is to sell our act tonight, then you’re doing a great job.” 

You seem a bit more relaxed than earlier. A look you haven’t given him in ages appears on your face, the teasing one that always used to make his mouth go dry. It still does.

And it almost makes him forget that you’re supposed to be through. 

As you stop at a small standing table covered in expensive appetizers, Bucky realizes you do have a good point about selling the act. You’re surrounded by all kinds of extravagant, flashy art looters and criminals; this makes it seem like it’s another day on the illegal-activities job for you. 

If it makes the mission more believable, then…it’s fine, right?  

Mentally flipping off his better judgement, Bucky lets you go temporarily. Careful to avoid the bag on your other shoulder, his arm snakes around your waist instead. The sleeve of his suit gently brushes over your silk. 

He pretends to care about hiding his grin. “How’s this, then?”

“Perfect,” you hum. “Your act’s definitely convincing to me.” 

The encouragement suddenly pushes Bucky into his old element, with that flirt that comes back ten times stronger. He brings you in close, and the side of your body presses flush against his. It’s not a possessive signal for any potential onlookers – rather, a silent personal follow up. 

Leaning in, he drops his voice to a whisper. “Who said I’m acting, sweetheart?” 

You are not about to be one-upped in this game. Feigning innocence, you tug at your dress neckline to readjust it. Excruciatingly lower. You don’t even have to say anything. Your eyes are on fire. 

Not that this was a competition, but you just beat him at this interaction.

He’s so tempted to keep fanning the flame, except a well-dressed assistant comes up to your table with a tray of champagne glasses. “Would you all like anything to drink?”

“Oh, no thank you! We’re good for now,” you respond, your words instantly becoming polite and losing whatever undertone you were using with Bucky. 

Your body stays pressed against him all the same.

The assistant – who, upon further inspection, is one of the higher-up mercenaries in this syndicate – nods. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He looks like he’s about to laugh. “I’ll let you get back to your…conversation.” 

As soon as the man leaves, Bucky exhales heavily, releasing the tension pent up in his body from the interruption. 

“So it’s working,” you say in a low voice.  

Bucky chuckles, still breathless. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Your eyes twinkle. “Then let’s keep it up.” 

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚  

An announcement for the beginning of the art auction eventually places your little show on hold. People begin to filter out into the area functioning as the exhibition hall, with their fancy shoes clicking across the spotless tile floor. 

Through all the commotion, Sam emerges seamlessly from the crowd on the other side of the room. 

“In position,” Bucky hears you whisper into your earpiece. 

Doing one last scan around, Sam nods towards a hallway next to the staircase. With that, he disappears back into the wave of individuals headed towards the big event. That’s your cue. 

It’s easy for you and Bucky to slip out into the hallway. To stay close in the bustling transition, he makes sure to place his hand on the small of your back. He feels you tense up – a bit of friendly payback for your teasing earlier. 

All for the act, of course. Even if no one else is watching at the moment.

As you sneak through, you both take mental note of the decorative archways that lead to other rooms – full of crime-paid treasures, no doubt – in case you need to duck away. The rest of the area is exquisitely adorned with expensive artwork and old collector’s weapons that stand out even in the dim light. 

Your artifacts of interest are on display in a glass case down the back, exactly as your intel revealed. Now your countdown to make the swap has begun. 

“Get me the code,” you command, already taking the replicas out of your bag. 

Bucky reads out the combination to the case – another courtesy of Nat’s sleuthing – without missing a beat. Simultaneously keeping an eye out for any passerbys, he watches in awe as you swiftly switch the items out, being careful not to leave fingerprints. Within minutes, the replicas are in place, while the originals are safely tucked away in your bag. 

“Damn, you’re good,” Bucky says under his breath. 

“Thanks.” You exhale proudly. “I missed this so bad.” 

Pure determination in your voice makes his chest ache. Your intelligence, your effectiveness out on the field – they were always some of his favorite things about being your partner. And obviously not just in the mission sense. 

The realization that this ends after tonight is crushing. 

“You know…” He rubs the back of his neck. “When this is all over, I was thinking–”

The words die on his lips instantly. Several voices are carrying down the hallway. Including that of the assistant from earlier.

“Shit,” you hiss. “We have to go.”

Within the second, you both start walking as quietly as possible. Yet picking up the pace would only make more noise. Reality dawns terrifyingly – it’s no use. You cannot be seen. You have to think of something, and fast. 

Before Bucky can even blink again, he’s yanked by you into one of the archways. The agent in you truly kicks in as you throw your arm across his abdomen, backs rigid against the side wall. Your breath slows. On the other hand, his breathing can’t stay steady. 

Not with your hand splayed on his body like this. 

You have bigger problems, though. The conversation is growing louder. Frantically, your free hand leans towards the doorknob next to you. It wiggles slightly, but to no avail. You look back at him, eyes screaming. 

“What do we do?” he whispers, barely audible. “Why the hell would we be here anyway? There’s nothing…” 

It hits you both simultaneously. There is an excuse you could use for being here alone. 

And it’s the one prompting you to pull him closer by his tie. 

Oh, bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. 

You’re breathless. “Kiss me, Bucky.”

He probably shouldn’t. 

But you’re staring so intensely. His brain shuts off. You throw your arms around his neck, exchange a nod. Permissive. Dangerous. Necessary. Not for the mission, or for the act. 

For each other. 

Fuck it. It’s fine. 

Every simmering spark explodes all at once. After months of agony, your lips are reunited in a kiss, hot and blinding, that ignores the very idea of knowing better. His hands run endlessly over the material of your dress. Your fingers intertwine in his hair. 

As soon as he hit send on that message and you shot back a reply, you both hoped for this exact moment. 

If it weren’t for the bag bumping gently against your side like a reminder, you would lose all self restraint. The sounds of your lips and tongue are practically echoing off the walls. You wrap your leg around his waist, and he grabs your hip in response. To make it really convincing, you throw in a few broken gasps. 

But Bucky knows damn well you’re not just acting. It makes him dizzy. 

The intensity does definitely sell it. Your unwanted guests pass by as if nothing, save their disgusted looks. Disappointed, somebody points out that you must be the third couple they’ve caught doing this tonight. 

“Saw those two earlier in the lobby,” the assistant grumbles. “I’m not surprised.” 

They come and go, footsteps disappearing down the hallway until the door closes. 

Not that either of you care. You’re still a mess, tangled in the darkness of the archway. 

Eventually, your kisses lull – only to catch your breath. Foreheads pressed together, you are utterly drunk on each other’s proximity. 

But this isn’t quite over. Bucky’s metal hand, cool to the touch even through the glove, tilts your chin upwards for better access to your neck. The increased air exposure feels raw on your skin.

He gets back to work right away. 

Slowly, he presses a trail of several kisses up and down, from your jawline to your collarbone. Each is more agonizing than the last. You can feel the way he grins against you. It gives you goosebumps. 

“Bucky.” You grip his shoulder. “I think they’re–” Wow, his mouth is really distracting. “I think they’re gone.”  

“Oh, are they?” He plants his latest kiss below your ear. “I didn’t notice.”

He’s not letting up. Hmm, what a shame.

With a long sigh, you move your hand to the back of his head for stability. “Hilarious.” You make a sound halfway between a laugh and a gasp. “I knew you’d be good for this job.” 

“For which part?” Now Bucky lifts his head to look you straight in the eye. “Being undercover, or…” Putting an arm next to your shoulder, he pins you in with a smirk. “Being believable?” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Mind you, this was my idea, babe.” 

“And it was a goddamn genius one,” he exhales. “Because you’re the perfect partner.” 

Your breath hitches in unison, vulnerability suddenly laid bare. 

“On that note, I–” Bucky clears his throat. Inhaling sharply, he pushes himself off the wall. “I understand if this whole, um – partnership thing was for the mission. So if you don’t want to–”

Your hand flies to his shoulder again. He gasps quietly. 

“I appreciate that, but…it was never just for the mission, Bucky. When I said I was glad to hear from you, I meant it.” You giggle. “Not strictly in a business sense, in case you couldn’t tell.”

He must look like he lost the ability to hear his own thoughts – which he did – because you throw your head back in another quiet laugh.

“I think this can work again,” you whisper. “Now that I want to come back.”

Bucky freezes. “You mean you want to rejoin the team?”

You nod. “It feels right. Everything about it.”

The air stills. Once again, you have a point. Everything does feel right. 

There is a default part of him that still nags about all of this. What if this is another disaster waiting to happen, an increasingly terrible idea? 

He feels a tug on his tie again. 

“So, in the meantime…Sam hasn’t contacted us yet.” A smirk dances on your lips. “Any objections for round two?” 

Strength dissolving, he leans back within inches of your face. It’s your back pressed against the wall, but you’re in complete control this time. 

Grinning stupidly, Bucky shakes his head. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚  

By the time you reconvene with Sam and head back to the safehouse, nothing feels real. Your table has several orders of milkshakes and fries, ordered on your phone in celebration of a job well done. The artifacts are organized, labeled, and packaged to be shipped to research facilities accordingly. Now you’re on video call with Steve and Natasha, their holograms hazy under the kitchen overhead light.

You and Bucky both hope the marks on your necks aren’t visible yet. On camera or otherwise. 

Except everybody is already ecstatic since you broke the news of your return. That is, in fact, a major reason why you’re giddy. Surely it’ll pass as the sole explanation. 

“Excellent work, everyone,” Steve declares with a smile. 

Nodding, Natasha adds, “That was one of our cleanest missions yet. By far.” 

“Hell yeah,” Sam says. He raises his milkshake towards you in a toast. “Special shoutout to our un-retired agent of the hour.” 

“Thanks, guys.” You beam. “This was definitely a team effort, though. You made it even more exciting than I already knew it would be.”

You press your knee against Bucky’s under the table. He wants to faint. He has to keep reminding himself to pull it together. 

To his dismay, the zone-out celebration is cut short. He notices a glint in Sam’s eye that he really doesn’t like. Everyone else must have recognized it, too, because the table is strangely silent. 

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Don’t give me that look.” 

“What look?” he asks. “I’m not giving you a look.” 

“If you have something to say, Sam, just spit it out.” 

“That’s okay, I’ll do it for him.” Natasha grins wickedly. “He’s mad he owes me thirty bucks.” 

You’ve been around them long enough to know when something is up. Cautiously picking up a fry, you add, “Do I want to know what this is about?” 

All of the color drains from Bucky’s face. There’s no way. 

He forgot Nat was on goddamn surveillance. 

The woes are immediately interrupted by another whiplash – a complete outburst of laughter from Sam. Like, full-belly, tear-inducing laughter. “I don’t – I don’t even care about the money,” he manages to get out. “The story, it – it was too good.”

“I didn’t see much, if that makes you feel better,” she says. “Don’t worry, I gave you enough privacy.” 

This time, Steve’s attempt to hide his laugh is very poor. 

“Besides”– Sam elbows you with a wink –“from the sounds of it, you had fun.” 

“Oh.” You pause another fry that’s midair on the way to your mouth. “I see.” 

Bucky can think of a million other places he would rather be than here. Probably somewhere with only you, first and foremost. 

Then, running your free hand over your face, you laugh. Nervous, but not quite ashamed. “Well.” You turn towards Bucky and tuck a piece of stray hair behind his ear. “In my defense, he was reminding me what a good partner he can be.” 

The kitchen erupts into a chorus of either groans, fake gags, or laughs. 

Still, humiliation aside, Bucky smiles. This mission left him silently hopeful from the word jump – no matter how much he denied it. Now he can’t believe you’re finally coming back into their lives. 

If these are the worst consequences of your (sexy) little stint, then this whole idea really wasn’t that bad after all.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆

You’ve been tracing the line of his hip for a while. Fingers light as a feather, lips carving and swiping over the sensitive dips of skin, over his stomach, lazy yet reverent. Bucky lays with his head against the pillows, content to let you touch, one arm slung beneath his head, the other rest over his chest, twitching with the urge to caress your hair, to guide you lower.

But, he doesn't push. He never pushes.

However, you shift your weight. Sliding down, laying your chest against the mattress where his thighs opened, until your face is pressed into the junction of his hip and groin. Bucky’s breath hitches, sharp and sudden, an inhale that makes his ribs rattle and stomach coil, tightening hard with anticipation.

He expects you to keep going, to reach for the waistband of his boxers — that were already pushed sinfully low for your kisses — but you don’t. Instead, you settle in deeper, nose brushing against the soft, dark hair at the very base of his stomach, seeking out the heat that radiates from him, breathing out a long, shuddering sigh of pure contentment. You turn your head, pressing your cheek firmly into the fuzz, settling in deeper like like a comfort you've only just found after a millennia of searching.

Bucky’s brow furrows. His heart thumps a frantic rhythm against his ribs. It’s a sensory overload of the strangest kind.

The softness. The delicate need you show — no use for words.

Decades of his body handled and used to smite or a thing to be studied. Even since coming back, home felt like a story, a memory locked behind frosted glass, and he’d been so used to being touched with either caution, searing intent, or harshness.

Sweetness was never required, nor was it needed for a weapon like him.

But that was miles away.

This is devotion. Dripping from you like pure honey, hot and sugary from your mouth and fingertips and skin. And it's all deserved.

"Sweetheart?" he rasps, cracking with a sleep-heavy, yet fervent, gravel.

A hum replies, low and resonant, a sound that vibrates through his skin and settles deep in under his skin. Nuzzling your face further into him, your lips brush the warm fabric over his pelvis, right where his need perks up, as you find a comfortable pocket of warmth.

To you, he's all home. Built from small pieces of the both of you, and experiences that brought you two together. It’s the scent of him; his musk that sticks to his skin, that blooms stronger as you rest, and the faint, lingering hint of his bodywash. It's all thick in a way that feels like safety.

His flesh hand comes down, fingers trembling, debating, just a fraction, before they dive into the hair at the nape of your neck. He expects to feel a surge of arousal — heavier than the soft eagerness his body previsioned — but instead, what washes over him is a stinging, heavy heat behind his eyes.

"You're weird," he grumbles, though there's no bite in it. His metal hand rests gently next to his fingers, stroking tenderly, allowing the sounds of vibranium in your locks, the feel of your warm cheek against his groin and breath on his skin to anchor him in the moment.

He feels your breath hitch, warm and damp. Inhaling him, memorizing the scent with a tiny huff of amusement.

"Hmph… I like it here," you mumble, voice muffled against him, "You're so warm, Buck. You smell like everything good."

Bucky closes his eyes again, your voice tickling down his thighs, but this isn't about that — not right now, anyway. A small, genuine smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He stops overthinking the mechanics of it all; why you'd do this, why you're with him, sharing a life, a house, a bed, why you'd choose him. He stops wondering if he should move or if he should be doing something for you.

He simply lets himself rest and be a pillow. He then lets his right hand join, slowly massaging your scalp, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear in slow, hypnotic circles.

"Yeah?" it comes out more breathlessly and less like a question, his voice softening into something tender and raw. He shifts his hips just an inch, giving you more space to rest, more of his heat. "Stay as long as you want, weirdo."

"Hm," you hum, "You're the one letting me."

"S'cause I love you," he sighs, words whispering out like a breeze, "I'd let you do anything to me."

"Bucky—"

You go to move, but his palms stay firmly on your scalp — not painfully, just a force to halt you, and you make no protest.

"Shh, just… just stay. Please." His voice wavers ever so slightly, a dip at the end that scrapes your heart like a hairline fracture.

Staying is better than moving up to face him. Allowing him to be vulnerable and feel your presence where he's only really known hurt is better than feeling useless while coming down from a nightmare.

So, you stay. "I love you too."

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Tearing your gaze away from him, you explain, “It’s a social media platform, where people would post status updates about their lives or follow other people. You can choose a song to represent you on your profile!”

The befuddled look clings to his face. Social media has always been a strange concept to Bucky, who is used to living incognito; he thinks it’s a security risk, has even made you share yours so he can vet it.

“It’s not a big deal, we can go to the next question,” you say, increasingly flustered the more Bucky stares at you as if you have all the answers.

“Hold on,” he murmurs as he settles back more comfortably into the couch. He tilts his body to face you, elbow propping up on the back as his head leans against his balled fist. His messy hair, wind-swept still from the mission earlier, falls across his forehead.

Your finger actually twitches with the urge to brush it away from his face.

“What do you think my song would be?” His lips are curled into that smile — mysterious, almost teasing, like he’s relishing watching you squirm.

A nervous laugh escapes you as you look towards that deck of cards again. “I don’t know, it certainly won’t be Sabrina Carpenter.”

“It’s… not my thing,” he presses his lips together. You bite down a smile. The scandalous lyrics had, well, scandalized Bucky. He’s no prude, but he also isn’t very used to people singing about how tears run down my thighs on the radio.

“We’ll figure out a song for you, Buck. Maybe one of those sad white boy ballads you’re always listening to in the shower.”

His cheeks flush pink. “They’re good songs!”

“I’m not saying otherwise, don’t worry.” You hold your hands up.

“I don’t like this game already,” he grumbles under his breath.

“Well, would you rather have me destroy you at poker again? Or Risk? Or monopoly?”

Bucky’s mouth curls into the cutest little pout. You don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it; the great Bucky Barnes wouldn’t ever be caught dead pouting. Sulking like a child.

“You don’t even have it hard! You don’t even feel the effects of alcohol so, even if you don’t want to answer, you won’t get drunk from drinking. When I think about it, that doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“You were the one who made the rules.”

You hum, stroking your chin thoughtfully. Bucky still regards you with that amused tilt of his lips. “Alright, then how about this — you get another penalty if you don’t answer.” His eyebrow raises in question. “Maybe I get to make you do a dare instead.”

Bucky immediately scoffs. “Now that hardly seems fair. You get a sip of a wine that you like and I might have to potentially backflip off a roof if you dare me to?”

A laugh bubbles up your throat. “First of all, you’ve survived literally jumping off a moving plane,” you point out and he makes a face. “Second of all, are you scared of a little challenge, Buck?”

For a second, his eyes thaw into a calmer blue. The sharpness gives way to the warm pools of his irises. You blink at him in surprise and he jerks back to the present, coughing as he looks away from you.

You swear his cheeks are tinged pink but maybe it’s because of the heat running on full blast. “Alright, fine,” he grunts, “Dare. But if it’s anything too crazy, just know that my liability waiver only applies to the Avengers, not you and whatever game you’re makin’ me play.”

Snickering to yourself, you miss the way his grin stretches a fraction wider. “You’re lucky the legal team’s asleep, Tom would definitely take my side.”

The corners of his lips tighten. You’re once again caught off guard by the shift in his expression. You almost hate how sensitive you are to his changing moods (this is a lie, you love that you notice these things about him; it makes it easier to discover his feelings about certain things — like how he had balked at your first attempt at lasagna but had politely said “delicious, I’ll take another slice”).

He was being kind. Bucky’s always kind to you. It’s why you find yourself so enamored with him.

Maybe you’re a little silly — mistaking goodwill gestures for something more — but you can’t help the way your poor little heart dreams.

“You and Tom close?” Bucky asks, drawing you out of your thoughts. His voice is low, almost contemplative.

“We chat.” You shrug, flipping open another card. “Oh, what’s the first thing you noticed about me?”

Bucky flushes a deep shade of scarlet, colors reaching the tip of his ears. Your heart stutters against your ribs.

“Damn, that bad, huh?”

“What?” He blanches. “No.”

“Why do you look like you’re about to run away then? It’s an easy question.” His lips twist together in disagreement. “It is! You really want to pick up your dare on this of all questions? You do realize we’re only on Level 1?”

“There are multiple levels?” Dread settles hard and fast on his face.

“Yes, so you might want to save those for actual questions you don’t want to answer. What? Are you scared of offending me?”

His tongue digs into the inside of his cheek as he relents with a deep breath. His gaze flies to the ceiling as he mutters, “Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“You’re very…” he pauses, “expressive.”

“Expressive?” you parrot again, still confused.

“I can tell how you’re feeling based on your eyes alone.” Your head tilts in question. Bucky’s lips tip up. “First time we met, it was right here on campus. I was coming back from a debrief with Steve when Tony introduced us.”

You remember that day. You had been so overwhelmed with meeting everyone on your team, not to mention running into one Avenger after another, heroes you’ve idolized for so long. The final whammy was bumping into Steve and Bucky on your way out.

“Your eyes went wide, size of saucers,” he chuckles, “I didn’t even need to hear you stutterin’ to know you were scared of me. Couldn’t even look me in the eyes.”

At that, you frown. You seem to remember this interaction very differently.

Before you can question it, Bucky continues, “When you’re upset, you have this little pinch between your eyes and it’s like all the light goes out. Your eyes usually just kind of — I don’t know — sparkles? When you’re irritated, you have this dead look; if looks could kill and all that. When you’re sad, it’s similar, like you lose your shine, but softer in a way. Your eyebrows go like this—” He angles his index fingers downwards to represent your supposedly upset brows. He chuckles then, “But when you’re excited, you take in all the light, absorbing all that sunshine that you become it yourself.”

You’re at a loss for words. How do you even respond to that? You didn’t even know Bucky really knew you existed, not until the two of you found company in your fellow insomniac. But the way he talks about you, how well he can differentiate between your moods, you almost feel… seen.

Bucky stiffens when he realizes how much he’s said, quickly casting his gaze away to the coffee fireplace crackling before the two of you. “Anyways,” he swallows, “that’s it. That’s the first thing I noticed about you.”

Heat licks up your skin and you’re sure it’s not from the burning embers.

“I wasn’t scared of you,” you blurt out and Bucky perks up. “It was my first day and you — well, you’re you. You’re an Avenger. I was just in awe that I was going to be working for the Earth’s mightiest heroes.”

“I wasn’t a hero,” Bucky corrects a little too quickly, a little too harshly.

“Yes, you were and you are, Buck,” you softly admonish him. “Give yourself a little more credit. You’ve done a lot for everyone. I’m grateful that I get to work with someone like you.”

His eyes flicker between shades of blue before the fireplace. For a moment, he’s silent like he’s appraising you and you wonder if you’ve said something wrong. Just because the two of you have formed some semblance of friendship — or so you think — in the late hours in this building doesn’t mean that you can speak out of turn.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to— forget I said anything,” you look down at the deck again, “your turn.”

“Thank you,” Bucky murmurs and your gaze immediately lifts to see him. Him smiling so gently at you. Without addressing it further, Bucky picks up another card.

Level 2

The first question in Level 2 leaves you wondering what has been your happiest memory in the past year. The first one that comes to mind is immediately when you and Bucky took an emergency trip to the farmer’s market to pick up groceries for an abrupt birthday celebration for Bruce (Tony did not clue you in early enough for you to plan). It was a simple afternoon but it was one that left you feeling all fuzzy inside.

After all, you did have Bucky all to yourself for a good two hours — and he was following you around like a puppy as you bounced from stall to stall, carrying all of your purchases with one hand.

“I see you smilin’, what is it?”

You realize that you do in fact have a shit-eating grin on your face. Bucky must think you’re a lunatic. How embarrassing.

“Uhm, I need to think about this.”

He smirks, zeroing in on the shame quickly etching itself across your face. “Oh no, you were already thinkin’ of something.”

“But what if that wasn’t the happiest?” you whine, an attempt to deflect.

Bucky doesn’t let you. “It’s the first one you thought of, it should be. Come on. What is it?”

You don’t think twice as you pick up your glass and take a swig. A big gulp, actually. The wine slides with a slight burn down your throat, acidity melting on your tongue. You wince.

“Really? You’re drinkin’ to that?”

“My choice,” you huff, “next question.”

You reach for a card and turn it over.

“Has a stranger ever changed your life?”

Bucky hesitates, eyes flicking over to you briefly. He looks deep in thought, you can almost see the gears in his mind turning as he calculates the risk between a dare from you and being honest here. He likely makes the right call when he simply says:

“Yes.”

You wait for him to elaborate.

He doesn’t.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a spoil sport. Tell me.”

“It’s not a big deal! I answered the question, didn’t I?”

You cross your arms over your chest. A few more voluntary sips of your wine have made you bolder in the face of Bucky Barnes. “You know, for someone who can talk nonstop during missions and debriefs, you sure keep yourself pretty tight-lipped about personal things.”

“Such a brat,” Bucky mutters, low enough that he thinks you don’t hear him.

But you hear everything.

You gasp, a smile on the cusp of breaking across your face. “Excuse me?”

Instead of addressing it, he continues, “It was during my first month here. First few weeks and I could barely sleep. The nightmares were— they were still rough. I kept waking up. One of those nights, I got a phone call.” You perk up. “Just happened to be awake so I picked up. Someone I considered a stranger then was babbling to me, drunk, about my schedule the next day.”

For some reason, his words trigger a blurry image. You with your friends. The first night you have off on a Friday. You blink and the image is gone.

“That, um, doesn’t really sound like a stranger. I don’t know if that counts.” You crinkle your nose. “Also, how does someone calling you drunk change your life?”

“Well, they were a stranger to me then,” Bucky smiles, a touch of smugness in the curl of his lips, “and they told me to stop listening to all the noise. Focus on the present. There was a lot of press during that time about me joining the team, a lot of very displeased people, particularly politicians. And — I don’t know — somehow, after that call, it was just… quiet. I didn’t think about it too much. Like they said, focus on the here and now and, eventually, all that noise just disappeared.”

Your heart melts, tinged slightly with guilt. There’s a contented look on Bucky’s face, a peace that you didn’t know existed amidst the constant onslaught of war. You remember how brutal the press was during that time, article after article with his face splashed across the front page, accusations of his involvement with the Russians and the assassinations over the years.

You cannot count the number of times you’ve collected all the newspapers in the building to feed them to the furnace in the basement. At least those tabloids should serve some purpose after destroying forests to print absolute garbage.

“So, yeah, it wasn’t this seismic change that shifted the trajectory of my life but, at the time, it helped.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” Bucky chuckles, hand reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I’d ask the exact same question in your shoes.”

You press your lips together into a thin line. Reluctance tugging at your heartstrings. “I’m glad that they called you and told you that, because it’s true. It’s all stupid anyway. We know who you are. That’s all that matters.”

Bucky softens. “Thanks.”

“Also, a stranger saying that to you? Cool, but bold. Very bold. How do they even have your phone number?”

His lips quirk up with the ghost of a smile again. “I wonder.”

He reaches for another question.

“What questions are you trying to answer most in your life right now?”

You let out a little huh and lean back, taking yet another sip of your wine. The buzz is helping with the proximity. Being this close to Bucky, getting a whiff of his clean scent, isn’t great for your fragile heart.

“Thinking about my career,” you murmur. Bucky’s eyes flit up to meet yours at that. You look away.

“What about your career?”

“I don’t really know where I want to take it next. I’m enjoying being here, I’ve learned a lot, but I can’t help but think that maybe I should try something else.”

Bucky is quiet for a moment, a pensive look in his eyes as he stares at the flickering flames. “You thinkin’ about leaving?” He asks, quieter.

A sigh heaves from your chest. “I don’t know yet. Keep thinking there’s more to explore out there. I love being part of the team though, it won’t be easy.”

His arm on the couch extends a little further, enough to brush over your shoulder. The gentlest of touches. You might not have felt it if it weren’t Bucky, if you weren’t so hyperaware of him. “I—” he stops, “we all love having you here. You’re one of us. It would be a real shame. Anything I can do to convince you to stay?”

The words catch in your throat, letters tumbling into the void as your lungs constrict. Bucky’s fingers ghost over your shoulder again, the cotton of your shirt is a flimsy barrier against the warmth of his touch.

“I, uhm—” you try but stop again, “I’m not leaving yet.” A nervous laugh. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it a bit more.”

Bucky hums, his hand reaching a little more to brush the hair off your shoulders, the barest of a graze along your neck. “Well, if there’s anythin’ I can do, I’m here. You can always come to me, yeah?”

You nod shyly. “Yeah, thanks, Buck.”

Clearing his throat, Bucky draws his hand back almost reluctantly. He pauses for a second, like he’s about to say something else.

But the words never come.

So you pick up the next question for him.

“What has been your earliest recollection of happiness?”

At first, you think the question is sweet. Nostalgic in a way that makes your heart ache. But then you remember who you’re talking to and how Bucky has been through countless rounds of his memories, his happiness, being washed away again and again.

“You don’t have to answer this one,” you say gently.

“No, I like this question,” Bucky hums, leaning back and looking out to the fireplace again. “Makes me think a little harder.”

You can only nod in agreement.

“Probably me and Stevie. First time we went to the movies. It took us some time to get enough money to afford a couple of tickets but we splurged on snacks and the latest Hollywood production. It was… simpler back then. Steve got beat up in the alley afterwards because he picked yet another fight against some asshole with a loud mouth. I had to beat up the other guy. Mom was none too pleased about two young adults coming home, one with a split lip and the other with split knuckles.”

Bucky looks fond, the usual frown lines on his face dissolving into wistfulness.

“Sounds like a good time,” you whisper, “what movie did you watch?”

“Don’t remember. Some western comedy thing. It was a popular name and we thought it would give us conversation starters with the ladies.”

You giggle, “Ladies’ man Barnes. Steve did mention you were a bit of a player back then.”

“Stevie’s exaggerating.”

“You’re handsome, so there’s no surprise there.”

The amusement slips away from his face, freeing his lips to form a circle in surprise.

Heat immediately floods your cheeks. How could you be so careless? Flirting — or at least trying to flirt — with your boss? A colleague? Bucky? You must be out of your mind.

“You think I’m handsome?”

The teasing lilt in his voice has your blood freezing. “I—”

The corners of his lips lift a little higher.

“I think we should read the next question,” you declare and launch for the card first.

This has to be some sort of sick joke.

When you take too long, Bucky slips the card from your fingers and reads it out loud.

“Are you lying to yourself about anything?”

You immediately lift your wine to your lips, Bucky’s hand darts out to wrap around yours.

“Already? Seems like a simple enough question.” He cocks an eyebrow.

“My choice, right?”

Bucky’s lips twitch. “What are you lyin’ to yourself about, sweetheart?”

Oh. Oh. He plays dirty. How could he use such a heart-wrenching nickname with you? How dare he make your heart flutter with one simple word?

Sometimes, you tell yourself that you’re not in love with Bucky. Because you’re not. He’s a friend. He’s part of the team. He’s a colleague. That’s all.

You tell yourself this enough times, maybe one day you’ll believe it.

“You keepin’ secrets from me?” Bucky smiles.

“No,” you answer too quickly and his lips tug wider.

You take another sip of your wine.

Level 3

Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so generous with the wine for yourself, because now you’re swaying a little bit going into the final level. Your body is alert, but your mind feels a bit hazy. Like you’re floating on a cloud. A very fluffy cloud.

“You’re drunk.”

“No,” you deny with a huff, then laugh, “just a little tipsy.”

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“Too good to be true,” you mutter under your breath, low enough that Bucky misses it and raises an eyebrow at you. “Let’s finish the game first. Let’s do a few more of the Level 3’s. This is where it gets real serious, Buck.”

Bucky shakes his head but the fondness in his expression is undeniable as he regards you carefully, measuring whether this is truly a good idea. You don’t give him time to doubt you further, instead asking your first question.

“What insecurity of yours holds you back the most?”

A choked laugh spills from his lips. “We’re going straight into it, huh?”

“Level 3 ain’t no joke, bucko.”

“Bucko—” Bucky repeats in a choked laugh. “Alright. Clearly.”

“Well, answer the question,” you widen your eyes, wiggling the card before him.

This time, he only gives you a wry look. Not a word. Just a look. The Bucky look.

You frown at him. “What?”

“Do I really need to say this one out loud?”

Your brain may be functioning at half the speed it usually does, but you’re still at a loss with the way he’s staring at you — like the answer is right under your nose and you can’t even smell it. “I’m… confused,” you drawl out.

“Really?”

“I— is it supposed to be obvious? You have insecurities?” The two of you are sharing matching expressions of disbelief, both for entirely different reasons. “That just— that feels unbelievable for you, Buck. Come on. You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re the Bucky Barnes. An Avenger. A superhero. You take down bad guys with one arm. You jump out of planes. You somehow keep Captain America, of all people, together. Plus, you make a killer sourdough loaf — oh yeah, buddy, I know it’s your starter that’s sitting on the counter. I can smell when you bake at night.”

Color rises on his cheeks again at the accusation, but he doesn’t deny it. Not the last part at least. He opens his mouth then promptly clamps it shut again.

“So tell me, Buck, what insecurities do you have?”

“Nothing,” he flushes, “next question.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Bucky reads the next one, “How does one earn your vulnerability?” You pinch your lips, thinking. “This, I’d like to know as well.”

“I’m vulnerable with you!”

“Are you? Or do you deflect with compliments about other people to avoid shining light on yourself?”

You gape. Well, you do do that. Sometimes. Not all the time though. Scowling, you grunt, “I don’t like this game anymore.”

Bucky laughs again and the sound is delightful. “Answer the question. Don’t drink. You’ve had enough.”

“Okay, Dad,” you roll your eyes. You see his lips and fingers twitch. “Vulnerability,” you hum to yourself, “I feel like I’m plenty vulnerable.”

“Yeah? You trust me? Enough to be vulnerable?”

“I’d think so.”

“Then what are you lying to yourself about?”

Your jaw drops. “That’s not fair. I drank to that!”

“I know you did.”

Pursing your lips together, you squint at him. “I think… I’m quite vulnerable with people I consider friends. If we talk enough and I sense that you can trust me, I can trust you back with my heart.”

Bucky’s silent to that. His blue eyes are warm as they assess you, assess your words. There’s a weight in the air, a thickness that constricts your lungs. It’s the way he looks at you, carefully. Thoughtfully. You try to force yourself to look away, but you can’t.

“Do you trust me?”

“‘Course I do.”

“In a way a friend would?”

More than that. I’d trust you with my life.

“Let me ask you this, do you think I trust you?”

Your lips part, a yes on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s that niggling skepticism that questions why on earth would Bucky Barnes trust you? You of all people. Then you swallow. “I don’t know, do you?”

“I do.”

Simple. Fast. Your heart beats a fraction faster. “Why?”

“Because you’re you and I don’t think I’ve ever trusted anyone as fast.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is to me,” he shrugs. “Can’t tell you why exactly, but something about you makes it really easy to trust you. Ask anyone in this place. They’d give you the exact same answer.”

Your chest tightens with an unnamed feeling. Awe? Surprise? Fear? You’re grateful most of all.

“So, I’d like it if you could trust me a little bit more with your feelings too. I want to be here for you, the same way you are for me.”

Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the fact that Bucky’s looking at you with such sincerity, but tears prick your eyes and you’re quick to swipe them away with a cough. “I appreciate that,” you whisper.

Your next question has him grinning.

“How would you describe me to a stranger?”

“Cute.”

He stops there and you quirk an eyebrow. “Well, how would you describe me?”

“I answered. Cute.”

“Oh,” you stiffen. “Why am I cute?”

“It’s self-explanatory.”

“Nu-uh, I don’t think so.”

Bucky chuckles, “You just want me to compliment you.” Your responding grin has him rolling his eyes in amusement. “I’d tell them that you’re one of the most considerate people I know. I don’t think anyone knows this team better than you do. You keep things running. You’re the only one who can keep up with Tony’s crazy, who can make Natasha laugh until she spits water, who can ground Steve to the earth and realign his moral compass — and even after all that, you still manage to make room for me.”

Your heart seizes.

“I’d tell them you’re perfect.”

A laugh bursts from your lips. Bucky’s not doing the same. He’s serious. “Buck, you can’t be serious. I’m far from perfect.”

“Well, you are to me,” he mutters then quickly grabs the next question. His ears are stained pink. You don’t comment. “What would be the perfect gift for me?”

Your lips stretch into a smug smile. “This is easy. A day off. You and your bike, full tank. You— you’d want to go somewhere quiet. Away from the city, or at least Manhattan. I’d think you’d go down to Brooklyn but you think that borough’s too gentrified unless you go all the way down. You probably want more nature instead, so you’d go upstate. Rent a cabin for yourself for the week. Ideally, all comms would be off but your strong sense of responsibility means you’ll never leave this team stranded, so you would… keep it on you at all times.”

There’s pin-drop silence for a few heartbeats. As time passes, the more silent Bucky is, the less confident you become. Worry that you’ve gotten it completely wrong has you opening your mouth.

But Bucky beats you to it — “That— does actually sound perfect.”

Your heart skips a beat, a quick pulse that you’re not sure Bucky can hear.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, surprised, “I think you should suggest that to Tony for my birthday.”

“Putting that down on my list.” You’re onto the next. “Based on what you’ve learned about me, does my social media portray me accurately?” You set the card down and nearly reach for another.

Bucky stops you. “Wait, why aren’t you letting me answer that?”

“You do not use social media. You rarely even check the group chat.”

“That’s because Thor spams it with those images with words. It’s too much.”

Memes. He means memes.

“But I check sometimes. Your Instagram.”

That surprises you. “Oh, you do?”

He nods, smiling as he leans back. In the time the two of you have chatted, his fingers have drifted along the back of the couch again. Once again gentle over your shoulder, like he’s simply trying to remind you he’s there — as if you can forget.

“‘S cute. I like seeing your life outside of here.”

“I barely have a life outside of here,” you point out.

“Touché, but the life you do have — I like seeing it. I like seeing you enjoy yourself. You post silly pictures with friends who clearly love you. Food you eat, so many of the things you eat. It’s a nice, curated version of you. So I do think it portrays you accurately.” He pauses, “I like that you don’t show too much though, like there are parts of you that you keep to yourself.”

“Hm, like what?”

“Like how you take your coffee in the morning, milk with lots of sugar. Or how you refuse to fold the pages on a book so you carry around ten different bookmarks with you at all times. How you’re secretly competitive but never boastful, even when Thor posts about how he wins one time against your five times. Little things.”

Heat kisses your skin. “I… didn’t realize you noticed.”

“More than you think,” Bucky smiles.

For a brief moment in time, the two of you are simply coexisting. Sitting together as if Bucky isn’t a superhero constantly saving the world and you aren’t part of the team that sits behind the scenes. Playing a game like you’re two friends who met under more normal circumstances. It’s a feeling that sits heavy in your chest. A good kind of weight.

He flips open a card and grins. “What would make you the happiest right now?”

Oh.

Oh.

There’s one answer that comes to mind. And you shouldn’t say it out loud because your judgment is partially impaired by the wine and you’re really just feeling warm and fuzzy from the fireplace and the smell of Bucky’s detergent. And this could risk everything but you don’t think about that right now because all you want to be is honest.

Vulnerable.

So the words leave your lips before you can think twice.

“If you kissed me.”

You watch in real time as Bucky’s entire body tenses. His face morphs into a wince.

You feel in real time how your heart plummets to the floor, the small smile wiped clean in dismay.

“Sweetheart, I— we shouldn’t. I can’t do that.”

He’s pulling away, curling into himself. He clasps his hands together, fingers digging into the back of them so tight, you can see the way his skin pales.

No, no, no. You were making such good progress. You were friends. Now you’ve gone ahead and ruined it all. Ruined this perfectly good friendship. All because you were too selfish to keep your own desires at bay.

Shit.

“No, of course not,” you immediately sputter, embarrassed. Your heart is falling and it’s falling fast and you can practically feel it in your gut. You feel nauseous, stomach churning with guilt and regret as you shuffle your feet closer together, facing the fireplace instead. “Sorry, that was stupid I shouldn’t have—”

You can almost hear him flinch. He’s trying to be kind. He’s always trying to be kind with you. “It’s not stupid. It’s not.”

“I’m going to go, um, to bed. I’m pretty tired,” you rise to your feet, the sudden height making you dizzy and you almost tumble back down.

Bucky moves faster, hand latching onto your elbow to steady you. “You’re drunk. Let me walk you.”

“No, no, I’m okay. I promise. I just— I’m gonna go.” Mortification is rooted deep in your skin. Your feet are weighing you down as you force yourself away from Bucky. You can’t even look at him again. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

Without another word, without another glance, you leave.

Level 0

Sleep evades you for the remainder of the night. Twisting and turning in bed for hours on end do nothing to distract your mind from the absolute humiliation of what had happened with Bucky. As if it can’t get any worse, your mind pulses with the aftermath of your terrible consumption habits as you go into briefing the next day. 

The team is supposed to go on a mission tonight and you’re there to support with anything they may need prior. 

The team includes Bucky which means he is also one of the first faces you see when you arrive at the conference room. 

One of the first faces means you and him literally arrive at the exact same time. Bucky freezes, so do you. 

“Um, morning,” you croak, wincing. 

Bucky frowns then looks away. “Morning,” he coughs, “how are you feeling?”

“Miserable, but I deserve it,” you laugh and it sounds bitter. 

“Maybe we can get you some Advil, I think there should be—”

“No, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” you smile weakly up at him. 

Bucky stiffens, gaze dropping to your mouth before flying to the door. “Okay, let me know.”

How can he still be so nice to you after the absolute humiliation ritual you put yourself through last night? You’re a fool to think that just because Bucky’s nice to you that he likes you — likes you enough to kiss you. 

As you’re handing out the briefings, you reach Bucky with your heart beating against your ribs. You hope he can’t hear the rattling inside your body as you pass the pages over to him. Bucky tenses again when your fingers brush, eyes quickly shifting away from you.

Your soul slams into the ground. 

He’s uncomfortable. You’ve made him uncomfortable around you. 

It feels as if someone tore your heart from your chest and twisted your insides with something ugly. You try not to let your trembling fingers show as you complete the rest of the distribution, tucking yourself into a corner for the rest of the meeting.

Bucky’s eyes wander to you a handful of times throughout the meeting. You don’t have to look up to see it, you could feel the weight of it burning into your core. But you refuse to return the gaze, fearing that you would be upset by what you see. After your fumble last night, you wouldn’t be surprised if he looked at you with disappointment or worry.

Or worse, disgust.

You don’t want to remember Bucky that way, you don’t want to think of him being repulsed by you. Ignorance is bliss.

When the meeting concludes, you’re immediately dashing out of the room. You make a beeline for literally any deserted hallway that you can hide in. Bucky calls out your name, you pretend not to hear it.

It’s stupid and childish, but you’ve never claimed to be anything other than. When you’re ready to face Bucky, you will.

In ten, twenty years. Maybe.

Avoiding him is easier than you expected. You don’t live on campus and you busy yourself with tasks that do not involve him. He’s gone for a few days on a mission anyway. He texts you, asking if the two of you could meet before he leaves, but you miss the message in your attempt to keep your hands occupied.

Bucky goes near radio silent in his absence. However, he never fails to check in at the end of the night.

Back at base.

Arrived safely. No injuries.

Steve says hi.

It’s not out of the blue that he sends you these messages. The first time they went on a mission and went completely AWOL, you were a nervous wreck. Your team tells you that this is normal and you had asked them how is that possible? You don’t even know if they’re alive!

Someone told Bucky afterwards, how you had been restlessly pacing, wearing out the carpets until the day they all returned. Since then, he’s never missed an evening text just to check in.

Your jittery heart only calms when you see the text from him.

It’s cordial, like he always is when he sends these. You don’t give it much thought. The last one did get an eyebrow raise but you suppose he’s simply being kind. An olive branch to return things to normal.

You can be normal.

When he comes back, you can be normal.

Except, you’re a lying liar because when he comes back, you avoid him like the plague again. Your phone is constantly on do not disturb to avoid temptation of checking his messages throughout the day. Every time he comes to find you at your cubicle, you’re off doing field work; things that aren’t usually part of your dailiy routine.

Again, immature, but it’s better than the alternative.

Bucky telling you that he’s uncomfortable around you.

Bucky telling you that he needs distance.

Bucky telling you that he can no longer be your friend.

You had seen the way he stiffened, how he couldn’t even look you in the eyes. Whoever said it would be worth it to ruin the friendship has never risked it themselves.

Steve runs into you once, seeming surprised that he even catches you in person. You haven’t been to the team outings in a while. The Avengers are Bucky’s friends first; you’re just another staff member supporting the team.

“Hey!” He beams, “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are you doing?”

Your lips tilt in a wry smile. “Hey, Steve. Good. Busy. You?”

“Yeah, good. Are you taking care of yourself? Do you need anything? Are they working you too hard?”

You blink at him in surprise. Sure, you’ve made conversation with Steve but he’s usually too busy to be peppering you with inane questions about you. It’s a strange feeling you can’t shake. “Uhm, it’s fine. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? We missed you on game night.”

Wincing, you shake your head. “Sorry about that, duty calls.”

Steve hesitates, like there’s more he wants to say but he stops himself. “If you ever need anything, let me know. Or Bucky — you know he’s—” Steve’s words die out when he sees you stiffen at the mention of him, “nevermind. Just— we miss you. Come hang out with us again.”

“I will,” you smile weakly. You don’t say when.

When all is said and done, the Avengers are his family and you — you’ve got your own life. And maybe that’s okay.

Even if you miss him. Even if you really fucking miss him.

Level 10000000

Your evasion attempts last a couple more days before it all comes to a climax. You’re getting yourself ready for a potential night out. You’re not in the mood for it, you would rather sulk alone at home in your feelings, but your friend refuses to let you drown. The makeup does its job of hiding the weariness behind your eyes and the dress you slide on has you feeling put together for the first time in a bit.

You always dress up for work, but it’s different when you’re dressing for yourself.

You’re halfway through putting on your earrings when the doorbell rings. Frowning, you glance at the clock to find your friend a whole hour early. She’s never early.

The door swings open.

It’s not your friend.

Well, not the one you’re expecting at least.

Bucky stands on the other side of this threshold. You haven’t seen him in quite some time and the sight of him leaves your heart aching. There are shadows under his eyes that you’ve never seen before, rimmed slightly red from what seems to be exhaustion. A slump to his usually straight shoulders.

“Bucky? What are you doing here?”

Some light returns to his eyes when he sees you. It goes out just as fast when he finally takes a good look at you.

Damn, that bad?

“Are you going out?”

“Um, just with a couple of friends.”

Bucky presses his lips together, gaze shifting behind you then back to you. “Not on a date?”

A snort leaves your lips. “No, definitely not.”

His shoulders sink a little lower.

Was he hoping that you were? Maybe he was hoping that you got over your crush on him. Maybe he was hoping that you would move on so that things could go back to normal. So you’d stop making things so damn awkward for everyone else.

“But I’m back on the apps so maybe soon!” You try. It’s a lie. You haven’t touched dating apps in years. Not since you met Bucky. Everyone else paled in comparison.

Bucky’s lips part before they twist again. Irritated. He looks irritated.

“So what are you doing here?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Bucky—”

“You have.”

You lick your lips, the strawberry gloss now tasting sour for some reason. “I have.”

“Why?”

“Bucky,” you sigh, “it’s really not a big deal.”

“Do we need to play that game again for you to be honest with me?”

Oof.

“Fine, then ask me one of those questions.”

“What? Why?” You frown.

“Just do it.”

You sputter, panic clawing at your chest. You’ve never been that good at being put on the spot. “I don’t know! What are you most scared of?”

“Can’t answer that.”

Now, you’re the one exasperated. “Then why’d you make me ask you?” You huff.

“I’m not answering,” he says resolutely, “so dare me. Anything. Anything at all.”

“Bucky, what the hell are you going on about?”

It’s his turn again to apparently be peeved with you. Why? You have no clue. “If I don’t answer, you give me a dare, right? So dare me. Anything you want. Anything your heart desires.”

You hold your hands up. “I’m actually very lost right now.”

“Dare me to kiss you,” Bucky blurts out then goes taut. “Actually, no, shit. I don’t need you to dare me. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”

For a moment, you’re stood still. Frozen in time. Then your blood boils over because what the fuck? Is this some kind of sick joke? “I don’t need a pity kiss, Bucky,” you spit out, “I’m a grown woman, okay. I was tipsy and stupid. You don’t have to feel bad for rejecting me.”

“I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t want to—”

“Yes, I know!”

“No, I mean I didn’t want to not kiss you! I wanted to. I still want to. Desperately. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”

“What?” You balk, disbelief coloring your features. “You literally said—”

“You were drunk. I wanted you to be sure. I wanted to make sure you weren’t just asking me to kiss you because — I don’t know — I was convenient?”

“You think I’d ask you to kiss me just because I thought you were convenient?”

Bucky pales, “I’m going about this all wrong. I’m stupid. I’m sorry. The point is, I wanted you to be really sure that that’s what you wanted. I was going to talk to you about it the next day but you were pulling away from me and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Me? You looked uncomfortable! You tensed up whenever I got close. You wouldn’t even look at me.”

His hand flies to his face, rubbing in frustration as he lets out a groan. “You— every time I saw you, I had to stop myself from looking at your lips. I couldn’t stop thinking about— all I wanted to do was kiss you. I didn’t know how to approach you. I should’ve kissed you that night but I wanted you to be a hundred percent sure because if I kissed you, I wasn’t going to let you go.”

You falter, knees weak.

There’s barely any distance between the two of you but you still feel miles apart.

“And then you were calling me Bucky.”

“That’s your name.”

“I’m always Buck. I’ve always been Buck to you.”

Your lips part. You hadn’t even realized you had shifted.

“If I haven’t completely fucked up this situation, I’m hoping you could give me one more chance. Just one more to make things right. I’ll do it right this time. I can’t promise you I’ll be perfect, because I’m far from it, but I can promise you that I’ll do my damndest to do right by you. To make you happy. With me.”

“Buck,” you whisper.

He takes a step forward, hands sliding up to cradle your face. His thumbs brush the apples of your cheeks, warm and certain and present. “Can I kiss you now?”

You nod, barely trusting your voice.

And he finally, finally closes the distance between you.

The kiss is soft, almost like a dream that’s long been out of reach. Then he deepens it, apprehension melting away into conviction. Suddenly, your hands are in the clouds and you’re floating. He tastes like every desire you’ve never had the courage to say out loud. He tastes like sunlight and hope and promises of forever. His lips move with yours in perfect rhythm, heartbeats syncing as one.

When he pulls back, it’s brief, barely a whisper of a distance, and it’s only enough for him to rest his forehead against yours. His breath mingles with yours as he murmurs vows — of you and him, of the rest of your lives.

And the thought doesn’t terrify you the way it should — grand desires when you’ve barely had a day — but you believe him and you trust him.

You always will. 

bucky is kissing (taglist): @superbassbuck @earthsmightiestbenders @houseofhyde @its-in-the-woods @flockoff-featherface @winterdecember18 @chateaubarnes @54nboo @barnes-babydoll @phoenix-in-writing @tofuonfaiya @avengersfan25 @miraclediviner @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @heldbybarnes @blowingbarnes @stanmarvelous @pinksplace @lunexiax @54nboo @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @esunarint @nikkitabarnes @captain-shannon-becker @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @alli0-0 @amoremarveloustime @avgdestitute @natskisses @sarah1barnes @parker-barnes-af @sarah1barnes @onecojg @iamthatonefangirl @wildflowersandvibranium @stegosaurussims @angelryex @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @mathcat345 @flippedccc @lynnidc @winnichu173 @singulartoast @zhaixiaowen @c3liaaaaa @Buckysdecaflove @epiphanyrogers @larissabarnes @itsmadamehydra @cutttteeee

You should be surprised.

Really, you should.

But you truely- stupidly- perhaps…Impossibly thought that your crush on your leader/boss/mentor was completely and utterly under the rader

You couldn’t have tried harder in all honesty. You could’ve stared at him like you wanted his clothes to burn just to see the golden ray of JACKPOT hidden underneath. instead, forcing (with every fibre of your being) to look away within two seconds of spotting him enter any room, and perhaps that might count as the bare minimum, but when it comes to James Buchanan Barnes?

Who doesn’t want to see him naked.

You could’ve followed him around like a puppy with every step he takes- crowding yourself within his personal space just to be around him- but no, instead, you exit any room he enters that you so happen to be in as quick as water soaks a sponge. Going as far as sitting the furtherest away from him during briefings and meetings, avoiding him on missions and refusing to walk anywhere near his room

You’ve gotten so desperate to hide your feelings that you’ve gone as far as mesmerising his daily routine just to avoid him.

What times he wakes up so you can avoid the kitchen. What time he works out in the gym so you can avoid the whole second floor. What times he goes for runs, gets lunch, goes out and comes back, and it works- it really does, and of course…the biggest part of you hates that it works, that the universe isn’t shoving him into your face so you have no choice but to accept your object of desires.

All of this just so nobody will know of your crush

But somehow- some frustratingly, annoyingly- irritating to the point where you have a migraine and a fraction of breaking everything in sight way-

Yelena Belova, you hate to say….knows.

You’d been apart of the Avengers team for six months now- just like all of the others, falling into the palms of Valentina’s hands when she had you at your most vulnerable- sending you to end any person that was left breathing in the place you didn’t know she was sending to be your own demise too.

After You, Yelena and the others all saved eachother after back and forth trying to murder eachother, meeting Bob, and figuring out how to get out of there- it was a whole ordeal, meeting Alexi- figuring out a way to save Bob who…shot up into the sky

Then Bucky stupid Barnes showed up on his motorbike, 5 foot 9, hair like a bloody commercial, sunglasses on just for extra sexy points you suppose, revving the engine of his motorbike because why the hell wouldn’t he?

You weren’t even sure if ‘sexyback’ started playing on the limo radio when he flipped the tanks- or if it was all in your mind, either way, you definitely heard it playing

“Please don’t tell me you’re getting a lady boner for a man more ancient then John F Kennedy” You remember hearing John say, despite being relieved Bucky had showed up to save (or not save) the day

“Shut the hell up Walker” You had responded- right as Bucky….well…flipped the limo, sending you all unconscious, all awaiting into the hands of the Winter Soldier

Now, six months later, living in the same tower- breathing the same air- learning that he takes his coffee all black and he’s almost always buried in books or newspapers- You know that Bucky Barnes isn’t just a pretty face with a cute little bad boy attitude

He’s a man righting all the wrongs he never chose to wrong.

Somehow? It makes this all the more bittersweet. He just wanted to be a Congressman- because it was finally something HE got to choose- even if he was berated for his strange choice, and now he’s stuck back fighting more wars that aren’t his to fight, ripped from his campaign and position with the click of fingers- or cameras, should you say.

Even thought you were a vigilante, working for Valentina and doing things for money nobody should be doing, you always admired Bucky when he appeared on your television as an awkward freshman congressman with little to no words and more jaw ticking then answers

You admire the way he never had a nasty or controversial thing to say, part of you was sort of excited when you heard he had a particular interest in taking down Valentina De Fonte- your boss, part of you was scared too, that he would be your end.

Not physically of course, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he found out who you were and threw you behind prison bars, but he didn’t. He didn’t dare do anything to any of you- he could’ve- but he didn’t.

Last night you were avoiding everybody as per usual, studying on the towers balcony because fresh air is the best thing for a clear mind. It was cool, no need for light when you’ve got the city lights to use, no need for a blanket and no need for a fan. You realised that this might become your new study area- it’s perfect

You had decided to try and study law while doing all of this too- the whole ‘Avenger’ thing. It- definitely wasn’t easy, in-fact it felt near impossible sometimes- reading trials on your iPad while trying to take down some intergalactic space villain who’s trying to take over the world. Attending classes and having to rush out due to some global problem that ends up being Alexi not knowing how to use the new fancy coffee machine-

It’s all too much sometimes. Being questioned and made fun of by your fellow law students because of who you are and how badly your Avengers team has started going down with the press ever since Sam’s clear disapproval for the group-

Too much. Too fast.

So the balcony has become your safe haven, the one place in the tower you actually get to just- be, breathe, have some form of peace. The sound of sirens and honking and people below is your safety net- even if sometimes people call out at the tower because of you all who live inside it, some horrible, some not.

It was around 11:13, early for the others- late for you. On your third cup of coffee, some white noise playing on your phone while you studied for your upcoming exam- when the sliding door opened, quiet, reserved- yet loud enough that it caught your attention

Bucky stepped out, not noticing you yet, careful and light, holding a plant in his hands, wearing a simple black t-shirt and some dark grey sweatpants, hair longer then when you’d met him- face calm and soft, like he could finally let go of the stoic man you’re used to seeing, clearly used to being relaxed on his own and without the weight of everybody else on his shoulders

You watched as he placed the plant on the concrete table at the other end of the balcony, directly where the sun loves to shine- adjusting it so the leafs that were reaching out the most were in the shade to let the other smaller ones have a turn to shine.

Your heart was beating so fast you’re sure it was about to burst- how he grabbed a small water can from next to the tap- filling it up with water and slowly pouring it into his plant, slow and steady as to not over water it

“There you go” He murmured quietly, only meant for his own ears “I’ll get you some friends soon, as soon as I figure out how to take care of you”

He was so soft, so gentle, waiting until water begin to drain from the bottom of the plant until he finally set the watering can down, watching the plant silently, looking more reserved that you’ve ever seen, like a man who’s not holding onto the weight of his past for just a moment

You knew you should’ve stayed silent- maybe pretended you hadn’t noticed him- you couldn’t have snuck inside, he would’ve noticed you in the corner of his eye of course- but then- if that were true, how hadn’t he noticed you there yet?

“Does it have a name?”

He spun around as if you’d quite literally- shocked him. Eyes wide, hand instinctively gripping the balcony railing, back bumping the concrete table but not tipping it. You grimaced at the sight- probably not a good thing to do to a trauma ridden ex-Assassin…

“I didn’t know anyone else used this balcony…”

“I uhh- use it every morning” You mumble nervously “it’s the only place on this tower where I can get any quiet…”

He swallows, the gentleness vanishing and turning into his usual stoicism, hands awkwardly and instinctively reaching for the pockets of his leather jacket that he definitely isn’t wearing at the moment- so he opts for the pockets of his pants

“Your balcony too loud?” He offers awkwardly, eyes averting away and you nervously shift on the seat, you feel like you’ve been trapped into a corner

Maybe you jinxed yourself earlier when you said you wish the universe would shove him into your face- because now? You’re not used to socialising with him that it feels so strange and nerve wrecking

“Your balcony not big enough for your plant?” You offer back, not knowing what else to say, what else to do, where to put your hands or how to smile

“Doesn’t get sun” He says and you close your eyes for a moment- duh, his room is on the darkest side of the city- the side that never sees sun like yours does

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your space-“

“-I went for lucky.”

You were packing your things, ready to bolt and leave like you always do when Bucky Barnes is in proximity, when you smell his scent or hear his voice- and now? He’s the one heading to the door

“Pardon?” You mumble, bag halfway on your back- papers scattered in your hand- phone about to fall from your pocket

“My plant” He says softly, lingering halfway in and halfway out of the door “It’s name.” He simply says before stepping away, quiet and weightless

You were stunned. Frozen in place- bag finally falling from your shoulder, phone landing on the ground with a thud, papers slipping from your hands and scattering by your feet as your face turned red

Lucky?

God he’s adorable. The super soldier, 108 year old man with more baggage than an airport- is adorable.

You were quick to gather your papers, re-pocket your phone and pick up your bag, opting to evacuate the balcony in case Bucky came back to check on Lucky, blushing like a schoolgirl, butterflies in your stomach- horribly sweet smile on your face as you think about the fact that- that might be the first time you’ve actually talked to him about something other then saving the world, the weather, or the way Ava accidentally sleep-shifts

“Somebody’s got a crushhhhhhhh”

Re-dropping everything again- you’re horrified to find Yelena standing in the kitchen beside the balcony, tea in her hands, wearing a knowing grin as if she saw the whole transaction- and you know she did, unfortunately Bucky isn’t the only ex-assassin on the team

“I do NOT have a crush” You lie weakly. But six months of being under the same roof means she knows everything about you now, especially when you’re lying

“Come on” She scoffs playfully, rolling her eyes “Redder then a tomato, I bet you’ve got a zoo in your stomach-“ She makes a point to poke your side making you slap her hand away “Don’t be so embarrassed, It’s cute”

“Cute?” You scoff, placing your hands on your hips, ignoring your mess on the floor “Yelena nothing about this is cute-“

“-THIS? So you DO have a crush-“

“-please keep your voice down!” You beg, gripping her arms- tea not even flinching in her cup, she only smiles teasingly and tutters you

“My lips stay sealed? Hmm?” She winks “I’m no snitch, especially when it comes to uhh- what did you they call it back in his time? Oh yes…Courting”

“Lena” You groan, picking up your things one, last, time “Just drop this okay? Drop it” you say, walking away, leaving her grinning and of course, scheming.

Your heart flutters and you mentally beat yourself up for slipping up and allowing your feelings to get caught red handed. Maybe changing your schedule wasn’t a good idea- then again it’s not like Bucky taking care of plants was on his schedule either

Maybe if you had’ve been more careful, more stone faced, Yelena wouldn’t have found out

-

Three days later- you’re under fire, knives firmly in your hands while Yelena is above you- taking out drones with her gun, bricks and concrete dropping. Dodging them is a pain in the ass- but turning up with the wrong weapons is even worse

“I have to say- you’ve handled it well!” Yelena calls out over the ear piece, sounding mostly amused which nerves you as you’re busy trying not to get crushed to death.

Today was supposed to be a simple recon mission- Bucky and John were taking down enemies on the other side of the the building while you and Yelena were busy dealing with…Drones? For some annoying reason. Knives are kind of pointless against robots, especially flying ones

“Handled what?” You ask back on the ear piece, rolling just in time for Yelena to yell ‘SHIT’ as more of the buildings roof collapses- most likely due to whatever the hell Bucky and John are doing to take down the enemies across the building

“Your feelings!” She speaks hastily but also as if she has all the time in the world. You groan in annoyance, is she seriously talking about this right now? “It’s adorable really, I’ve seen it since he took us down the day we met- love hearts in your eyes” She giggles into the ear piece- legitimately giggles “You’re not very good at hiding it-“

“-okay I’m offended!” You call back out, urgently hiding behind a wall as drones begin shooting at you “I’ve done nothing but try to hide it, okay! I don’t look! I don’t go near him and I definitely don’t talk to him!”

“Babe, that’s even more obvious!” You watch her drop from the second floor- landing a few feet away, groans when she runs out of bullets. It’s your time to take over- catching the gun from her thigh holster she throws at you while she quickly ducks to reload her own gun “Fleeting glances? Feeling too nervous to be around him? All those romance novels make millions on that shit- you’re nothing but obvious”

Taking down drones left and right- you finally admit that she’s right. Maybe you’ve been too obvious while trying to be dead set inconspicuous

You never meant to avoid Bucky- well, maybe a little, but avoiding him seems more prideful then embarrassing yourself by saying the wrong thing

“Shit” You whisper to yourself, the word echoing on the ear piece

The roof finally collapses and you rush to Yelena, grabbing her arm as you both rush out of your side of the building that collapses just as you both jump to safety, landing two stories below, groaning and panting beside eachother

“You think Barnes doesn’t notice? Doesn’t look everytime you rush out like he’s a bomb about to detonate?” She pants out, rolling her side to look at you, rubble and dust coating her face “You’re hurting him ты идиот, He thinks you don’t like him, or worse- scared of him.”

Your heart sinks and you collapse fully onto your back, ignoring the headache- the forming dread in your stomach and the fact that John and Bucky’s side of the building is collapsing too- the both of them easily out of harms way, making their way to the jet to head home

“I’m not scared” You whisper to Yelena. You’re not at all surprised when she takes your hand and squeezes it supportively

“His birthday is next week you know?” She murmers softly, shrugging beside you “Maybe it’s finally time you jump head first, stop being so scared to just…be happy”

You hate the suggestion. Hate that you already know Bucky’s birthday like the back of your hand. Hate that you think about the plant- About his quirks and the idea of actually confessing to him about your feelings- but mostly?

You hate that….You’re going to do what she says.

-

You had spent the rest of the remaining week planning with Yelena, from what you were buying Bucky for his birthday up to what you were going to wear for the ridiculous extravagant party Valentina was throwing him for press and attention from the media despite the teams protests to let Bucky have a nice, stress free day.

The morning was casual. Pyjamas. Something silk- maybe a little teeth and tongue- you hated creating attention towards yourself- but you were okay if it meant that it was Bucky’s attention…or, maybe you weren’t, but you would be. This was all to ‘woo ’ him, or whatever Yelena mumbled about.

You had planned to be on the balcony, hopefully at the same time he’d come to water Lucky- but…he never came. For two hours you waited, sipping coffee and scribbling your notes about constitutional law- but he never came- and then you realised that maybe he was avoiding leaving his room due to the anxiety of the day being all about him, maybe he just wants peace- to be left alone

It aches to think about him being all alone when he should be celebrated and accepted, but you understood all too well the pressure attention can bring.

Afternoon swept around- he emerged from his room, jeans, leather jacket over the top of his black t-shirt, hair pulled back into a man bun and jaw clentched with irritation as he entered the kitchen where you were sitting at the counter, already stirring coffee

You hated the feeling in your stomach that he was preparing to be mobbed, that he glanced at you like he was waiting for something that wasn’t going to come- a ‘happy birthday’ wouldn’t hurt, right? Or maybe he’s hoping not to acknowledge the day at all

Despite your best efforts to remain silent, you can’t but offer a small smile even with his back turned and the sound of the kettle sizzling into his coffee cup

“One hundred and nine, huh?”

The silence is deafening. You hate how he freezes like you’ve struck him. How tension fills his posture and he deflates like a balloon. Setting the kettle down with a silent sigh

“Yep” He hums quietly, turning to face you. When he notices your smile- something he had never seen you wear so beautifully before since all you seem to do around him is run away and awkwardly grimace like his existence offends you- he can’t help but soften and realise that maybe you’re trying to be nice to him “Though technically, I’m only forty one”

You can’t help but smile more, loving how he can joke about his age and the fact that he doesn’t mind you talking to him about it either

“You don’t look a day over twenty”

That gets a laugh out of him. Surprising, Stomach fluttering- and beautiful. Something you wish you could hear on repeat for hours and hours.

“Yeah? Even with all the wrinkles and bad knees?”

“Especially then” You giggle back, the feeling so foreign with him yet so utterly natural it’s like it’s a common occurrence “Who on this team doesn’t have wrinkles and bad knees? John’s a dad- Alexi is heading into his elder title now, Yelena jumps from buildings all the time- Ava and Bob are constantly stressed out by Valentina and I’m so overwhelmed by this mid term I have coming up that I’m sure stress lines are now permanent on my face”

Bucky stares at you, hands curling into the counter behind him, coffee steaming and lips frowning a sort of pout that you just want to kiss away, then he shrugs softly and and grabs his coffee

“I guess I’m always thinking about my technical age that I forgot I’m only biologically a few years older then John” He admits, sipping his drink, the smell of it making a blush creep onto your cheeks because the smell of coffee will always remind you of the man standing infront of you “He’s what- 39? Served and was a Captian in the army, got married, had a kid, was Captain America- even if that was a fluke…And I’m only technically 41, with nothing to show for it-“

His vulnerability catches you off guard. You’re so used to his handsome scowl and professionalism that you’ve never once heard him talk about himself like this at all, though maybe that’s your fault, you’ve been so avoiding him worse than the plague that you’ve probably missed all the important moments

“-You served in World War Two and you were apart of the Howling Commanders. Not only did you survive Hydra and help take them down but you also helped defeat Thanos and bring back half of the worlds population, Bucky you…sell yourself short”

“I mean the simple stuff” He shrugs “The stuff that matters, the family- love- marriage and kids- that kind of thing. It sticks. It always sticks-“

John and Ava enter the room arguing before you and Bucky can continue your conversation and your heart sinks

Bucky offers you a one last glance and exits, nodding at John and Ava who mumble ‘Happy birthday fossil’ at the same time before bickering again.

-

His words swirl around your mind like a storm

‘the family- love- marriage and kids- that kind of thing. It sticks. It always sticks’

The vulnerability. The raw disappointment with himself. The self loathing for a life he never chose to live- the idea that he would’ve lived it so differently, with a wife back in the 40’s, maybe some Barnes running around

It’s all too much. To real. To raw.

You force yourself to enter the ‘gala room’ as Val calls it, wearing a dress too fancy for your liking and your hair down for once, sporting uncomfortable heels and lipstick that makes you feel like you’re already dreading the night. It all feels too little compared to Bucky’s words, to bittersweet, a party for a man who shouldn’t even be in this decade.

“Just remember- you have to try and sneak him out of the party” Yelena goes over with you again as crowds of people flood into the room, all dressed to impress because paparazzi and press will be here “This might be his birthday but it’s your night”

“Lena…” You say nervously as your eyes flicker between all the people and cameras. People already buzzing with alcohol and some even taking to the caterers. She grips your shoulders, shaking them to get your attention

“Get a grip! Your night, okay? Sneak him out. Give him the presents and tell him how you feel, just how we practiced yeah? I make distraction. You rush him out of here.”

It feels monumental, standing here with her while surrounded by a flood of people who don’t care about Bucky and only care about the fame and being seen interacting with heroes- attending a party for a man who was once Capitan America’s right hand man. For a man who wants a wife and family-

Yelena shakes you again- then cups your face, forcing your eyes to meet her own excited ones

“How will I know what the distraction is?” You ask, nervously shifting on your feet

“Oh trust me….” She grins, mischievous and knowing “You’ll know.”

You don’t like the sounds of that- but you also like the idea of not knowing- perhaps it’ll make the distinction more fun or noticeable- or maybe you just don’t want to know incase it’s something you definitely should not let go ahead

She’s walking away before you can stop or question her- and then you’re left on your own, dodging congress men and women. Purposefully trying to stay out of view from Valentina since she loves to parade you and the team around- But then you spot her…and her unfortunate victim

Bucky offers an awkward and uncomfortable smile, body tense, jaw clenched as he wears an elegant suit, bow tie tight and hair slicked back- impossibly neat. Valentina has her nails digging into his bicep, gripping it as if she had any right to do so

Infront of him are the press- asking questions that they have no right asking while Bucky lets Valentina handle it- clearly wanting to be anywhere else but there

Your heart beats faster, thighs embarrassingly pressing together at the sight of him. It’s one thing seeing him panting and restless during a mission- but like this? All neat and slick and shiny? Maybe you did make the right choice attending tonight

“Champagne?”

You grin as John hands you a glass without waiting for your response, leaning on the stair railing next to you, looking every bit of uneasy as you feel too, slacked in a half ironed dress shirt and jeans, clearly he didn’t feel like trying much

“Rough day?”

“Understatement” He bites back a scowl, downing his champagne in one go “You think Val dressed and dolled him up or you recon her assistant did that?”

You wince at his words

“Uhh neither?”

“Come on” John scoffs “Val’s up all our asses but Bucky? she has some sort of special thing for him or something” He says, shrugging with integrity as if anything he’s saying is right-

And it is.

Val has always been stranger with Bucky…more…influenced to be physical. Arm squeezes, gazing at him like she owns him- maybe it’s because of their shared history, him trying to take her down- maybe she’s just trying to stake her claim and remind him that she won, that he didn’t get the chance to take her down.

Or maybe-

“I agree with John” Ava says behind you, dressed in one of the waitresses uniforms so she can get by unnoticed by press and Val herself which is actually very smart and you’re mad you hadn’t thought of it fist “She’s touchier then a sensitive topic- and do you see the way she eyes his metal arm?”

“Val’s always like that-“

“-Look at the vice on her grip! Her feet are angled towards him!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“The theory about if somebody is into you their feet are always pointing at you-“

“-that is so dumb-“ You scoff, realising your feet are angled at where Bucky stands on the gala floor, hands clutching your champagne tighter with every second this horrible conversation lasts “This isn’t New Girl”

“-come on guys, it’s clear as day that it’s Mel” Bob cuts in shyly, appearing with Alexi by his side who’s giggling like a schoolgirl, clearly already halfway drunk

“Mel? Melissa? Val’s beloved assistant?” Alexi leans on the stairwell, his suit crumpled, balance worse then a toddlers “No no no, The Winter Soldier does not have time for all of that” He gestures to Mel “He would be more into- what is that they call it? Uhh! Cogars! You think a man from his time would-“ He hiccups “-Be into younger woman! No no no, the Winter Soldier is a cougar hunter- Val is his choice-“

“Cougar Hunter?” Ava scoffs with disgust

“Absolutely not” Bob shakes his head “Bucky and Val doesn’t even make any sense”

“Sure it does” John shrugs “Bucky would want a women who’s dangerous, lives on the edge” He gestures with his hands and your heart sinks

Dangerous? Lives on the edge?

You study law and watch plants as your hobbies- boring is basically your middle name- unfortunately you know deep down that Bucky would want a woman who’s unmovable, incapable of giving up or letting down

You’re the opposite of what he’d be into and as much as you hate to admit it- you just know.

The whole conversation is making you woozy- so much so that you’ve all been too busy gossiping to realise Val was making her way to you, Bucky beside her with a grimace and a look that says ‘please end my misery’

“Oh shit-“ Ava mumbles as you all try to scurry off- unfortunately too late as Val stops infront of you all and you all gather back together with smiles so fake they might as well be labeled plastic

“This is your fault” You whisper to John who huffs and nudges you with his shoulder which makes you accidentally nudge into Ava who then nudges you back- nudging Alexi in the process who then nudges Bob just for fun

“There’s my trusty superhero’s” Val says, fingers firmly around Bucky’s bicep as he stares off into space with the look of a man miles from this building “Come on, I want you all to make your rounds- Ava why are you wearing a waitress outfit? Anyway- I want to you all to make my people trust you-“

The lights go out. Rave music begins playing and a fire dancer appears in the middle of the gala making everybody gasp and turn to watch

Yelena is by the doors, holding a walkie talkie with a grin, clearing using it to communicate with the fire dancer and DJ

“This is your distraction, get moving little mouse” She mouths through the light of the fire and your eyes widen as you move before you think

“What the hell is this?” You hear Val whisper to Mel who’s desperately trying to figure out that exact question on her trusty iPad

Val let’s go of Bucky for just a moment, allowing you to swoop in and take his hand in yours, quickly leading him through the crowd of people

“Woah- okay-“ He murmurs behind you as you guide him to the exit of the doors, passing Yelena who winks at the both of you as you pass “What are you up to?” He asks Yelena as you push open the doors just as the lights turn back on and the fire dancer is escorted out by security, lead by Val who’s laughing nervously, trying to keep her cool

“Have fun, Birthday boy” Yelena simply says as the doors close behind you and Bucky.

The hallway feels loud in that eeary way. Sure- you and Yelena’s had planned everything…except for this, the whole after math part where you have to explain to Bucky how you’re a horrible communicator and you actually are only like a ticking time bomb around him because every aching minute you just want to jump his bones or kiss him breathless or admit that you’re pathetically in love with him

He looks at you with half admiration and half confusion, clearly still stunned about the fact that you and Yelena managed to pull something so elaborate off that you got him to slip away from Val for five seconds

“I’m assuming that was Yelena’s idea?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow

“Yeah” You smile shyly as you lead him down the hallway. He lingers by the closed doors, taking a minute to gather his thoughts before being tugged by you “You looked so miserable” You tease softly and he chuckles under his breath, a long flight away from his usual thousand yard stare “Didn’t think Val was going to let go at all tonight”

You hate the bitterness in your tone- the way you tense at your own remark as if you had any right to react like this

Bucky doesn’t respond and it makes your stomach sink- until you looking at him in your peripheral vision and notice the way his flesh hand nervously fixes the cuffs on his metal wrist, neatening his hair, trying to steady his breathing and your chest fills with hope

Is he trying to….impress you?

“I think I would’ve ended up faking a heart attack” He jokes and you chuckle, now nervous yourself, he hesitates for a moment, and then gently- ever so gently, you feel a coolness seeping between your fingers

Holy shit- you’ve been holding his hand this whole time!?

You completely forgot in the mitst of rushing him out of the gala like he was some damsel in distress- you hadn’t even had a second to let go. You blame your own selfish body and it’s wants and and needs, but….wait was he just adjusting his hold on your hand so your fingers are now intwining?

You meet his eyes and realise he had no intention of stopping, and god- you’re more than okay with that.

You fall into nervous silence as you reach the compound floor, messy in a neat way, windows still open allowing the cool air to seep throughout the floor

You sadly let go of Bucky’s hand only to allow him to take his suit jacket off, eyes never leaving yours

“I keep thinking about your words” You blurt out, nervously smoothing down your dress as he sets his suit jacket on the kitchen counter

“My words?” He opens the fridge to grab some water, grabbing two glasses

“About family, and love, and marriage, and-and kids” You mumble, turning red with embarrassment as he pauses what he’s doing to let out a shaky breath, placing the water down before looking up at you

“Not something you expected me to want?”

“No” You shake your head “I’m not sure it’s something any of us would admit to wanting- doesn’t mean half of us haven’t thought about it” You say quietly, sitting down on the couch as he grabs both glasses and moves to sit beside you

“It’s hard to want things you keep getting ripped away from” He admits, shrugging. You turn on the couch to face him, face softening with with confession as his eyes land on his hands “Congress wasn’t the best career choice for a man with my past” He begins “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t like it, even if I was uncomfortable because I can’t remember the last time I got to do something that I chose”

“You were good at it” You admit, sipping your water tentatively because if you don’t you might just reach out and touch him- do something but sit and act as if you don’t burn for him “I used to watch you on TV, how you acted, the way you spoke- nervous but correct” You shrug

“I was a mess” He chuckles and you laugh too, shaking his head as he shrugs “But I liked it. I really liked it. I liked doing anything other then fighting, then having to stop wars or creating more messes for the world to clean up” He sips his water, hand quivering with nerves “My point is…that job was my first bit of normal I’ve had in over decades, I saw myself…imagining things I never allowed myself to think about before, and then I became this and…it’s gone”

“It doesn’t have to be gone” You fight back softly, hand reaching for his own

For somebody who constantly avoids him. Refused to breathe in the same room as him and expected everything to be okay afterwards- bravery seems to be your bestfriend tonight.

You hate how confusion washes over Bucky’s face. How he politely doesn’t pull away from your touch but doesn’t lean into it either

“I thought you didn’t like me”

“What?” You mumble, partially shocked with how open he is about such a confrontational subject. Placing your water on the coffee table- his eyes meet yours and his face turns back to stoic. Back to the man you’re used to seeing, thousand yard stares and tension riddled within his body

“I’m sorry, I’m just tired, it’s been a long day” He sighs, pushing his hair from its face as his neat hair begins to grow weary “I kind of forgot what day it was” He chuckles, clearly not amused “Thankyou for being nice, it was good to talk to you”

“I’m not- this isn’t- I usually don’t-“

“-usually don’t ignore people and purposely go out of your way to avoid them?” He asks. Not harsh just…tired “I get it, no hard feelings, I’ll stay out of your way”

Your heart sinks when he stands. Falls even worse with every step away he takes away from you. How his head is hung low- the way he reaches for his suit jacket and doesn’t turn to look back at you to see if you’re affected at all by his departure- as if he expects you to not be, or worse, as if he expects you to be relieved

You let him go. For only a moment. Because his words- his vulnerability- the fact that it’s his birthday and all the feelings you’ve bottled up long before you met him finally come to surface, and then you’re finding your footing and rushing after him

Pride be dammed. You’re done pretending like you can live another day not knowing how he feels- how he tastes. If he likes his showers warm or cold. How he takes his nights- light on? Off, if he sleeps with his metal arm on or if he rests is on his bedside table

All the questions- all the selfish parts of you desperate to know all the answers- sure, he was right. It is his birthday, yes you are being nice to him and talking to him on this particular day- but it’s not a one time thing and it’s certainly not something you’re only doing to ‘be nice’ or ‘be charitable’

“Bucky!” You call out as he opens the door to his room- he turns, because of course he does, and his eyebrows knit together, blue eyes searching yours for answers you’re too out of breath give “You’re not an easy man to run after” you pant, shaking your head “Especially not in a dress and heels”

“Did I forget something?”

“No.” You take a deep breath “But I did”

Once again. His hand is in yours. And as much as he’d like to ease you away and promise you that you don’t have to prove yourself to him or continue to be nice just to make him feel better- he likes it. Likes how perfect your palm feels against his, how gentle you are and how determined you look to fix something he doesn’t need you to fix…even if he really wants you too deep down

He’s a little skeptical when you lead him towards the kitchen- even more so when you walk straight through it and to the balcony instead

The sliding door opens- Bucky expects to see nothing but stars and the moon- maybe you just needed fresh air and the only way to obtain that was by going to the balcony- but-

Balloons. Gentle hung fairy lights along the top of the balcony- small colourful banners along the balcony railing, and on the table- the table with ‘lucky’ on it…is some potting mix with a bow around it, some gardening tools, some seeds, and some pot plants- lots of them.

“I noticed you were afraid to get more plants because you’re scared that they’ll die” You explain nervously, fiddling with your fingers and only then does he miss the warmth of your hand in his “Lucky is all alone out here and looks like he needs some friends”

“You…you brought all this for me?” He ignores the way his words catch in his throat as if tears might take over, ignores the way his plant is left untouched- as if you knew it was something of his own and you wanted to support this hobby instead of taking over it, buying him the necessity’s for plants instead of buying him already potted and seeded plants, letting him choose what he wants to do

And right now? All he wants to do is to take you to his bedroom and give himself the birthday present he really wants

And by the way you’re looking at him- he’s assuming you want that too. The careful way you’re searching his face to see if he likes your gifts, the relief that crosses your face when his own eyes meet yours- the gasp that escapes your lips when his metal hand doesn’t reach for the plants- but reaches for you, cupping your cheek tenderly, thumb brushing across your skin that sends goosebumps across your arms

“I’m sorry” Your voice cracks through the silence, interlay sincere and apologetic “I was so scared of- of you or anybody finding out I-“ You shakily close your eyes “-I avoided you in order to keep myself from ruining you- ruining me- ruining the team-“

You expect him to interrupt, to tell you how you’re making no sense or call you out and tell you that he doesn’t want to hear it- but he’s listening, patient and understanding, eyes never leaving yours as his metal knuckles brush gently against your warm cheek

“Keep going” He encourages softly

“Yelena found out” You sniffle, because despite your best efforts- ever giving Bucky the impression that you dislike him in any shape of form breaks your heart, and you have nobody to blame for it but yourself “This whole night was a plan for me to confess my-“ Your breath hitches at your own words and then you remember everything

“The stuff that matters, the family- love- marriage and kids- that kind of thing. It sticks. It always sticks-“

“Val’s up all our asses but Bucky? she has some sort of special thing for him or something”

“Bucky would want a women who’s dangerous, lives on the edge”

All the conversations- all the realisations, all the haunted words lingering in your mind, your own insecurities and fears begin to surface right as the truth is on the tip of your tongue- and unfortunately tonight…you’re going to dissapoint Yelena

“Your?” Bucky brings you back to reality, and you realise that both of his hands are cupping your face now, grounding you when you hadn’t even realised you needed it

The way his eyes search yours- the way his face is mere inches away…hits something inside your brain that makes you finally realise…He’s scared too. Terrified, but because you can see that in his features- see that clearly something about this particular stance and conversation is affecting him-

It means he loves you too.

Maybe it’s not your smartest move- definitely your bravest, but not your smartest. Hands bracketing his shoulders, you lean in- and at the last second swerve from his lips and kiss his cheek instead, embarrassingly, slowly- so slow in fact that you’re sure a long ten seconds have passed

The feeling of scruff against your lips, how warm he feels- the warmth you’ve only ever imagined in your dreams

He doesn’t let you go very far when you pull back- his hands finding the back of your neck to pull you in for what might be the most delicate yet beautiful kiss you’ve ever experienced

Your heart is racing faster then formula one races, You’re not sure what to do with your hands so they slide down and grip his waist while his own hands move to pull you closer

You kiss him back tenderly, not daring to pull back in fear that this is some rouse or moment with a lapse of judgement

But when he backs you up against the balcony railing, the banner brushing your thighs as the kiss quickly turns heated? That’s when you know that there’s no lapse of anything, no miscommunicating this kiss

It’s real, and it is wanted.

“Bucky” You whisper as he pulls back for a breath, forehead resting against yours, chest heaving as he looks into your eyes, fingers moving to run through your hair

“Tell me what you had planned for this night” He murmurs quietly, tenderly brushing his nose against yours

“Confessing my feelings for you” You finally admit, fingers tightening on the back of his dress shirt

He kisses you again, hands moving to pick you up by your thighs making you gasp, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck

“Tell me you want this” He pleads, kissing you again, and again, and again

Your only response is the swipe of your tongue along his bottom lip and your own fingers moving to mess up his hair, the smell of him filling your nose and making your thighs instinctively squeeze around his hips making him groan into the kiss

His tongue quickly meets yours in an eager ‘hello’, you’ve never been more turned on in your life and you now know that there’s no questioning his feelings or your own

“Please Buck” You whisper, pulling back, lips swollen, aching to be touched by him in the way you’ve desired for over six months, wishing to know if he tastes sweet or salty, if his metal hand will feel better then his flesh one

Nothing in this moment can stop what you both need now, and the way his grips your thighs just a little bit tighter and grinds against you with furrowed eyebrows clearly shows that he needs you just as desperately

You do not need to beg or plead much longer, he’s already striding back inside the tower with purpose, you in his arms and his steps echoing within the silent floor

He kisses you again before you even make it to his bedroom, both of you now needy and uncaring of how unhidden you’re being- your back softly hits his closed door while his metal hand pulls away from your thigh just long enough to fumble with the handle of the door, opening it with a chuckle into the kiss when he nearly loses his balance

He kicks the door shut and moves to set you on his bed, pulling back to take off his dress shirt- his eyes never leaving yours

Your breathing hitches at the captivating sight, hands steadily moving to run across his chest, not daring to look away for a moment as your fingers trace his scars, sitting up to press a tender kiss to where his neck meets shoulder, lips moving around the delicate chain of his dog tag that hangs perfectly between his pecs

When you pull back only to look into his eyes and see that you hadn’t crossed any line- his blue is almost completely gone, pupils blown wide with lust and want that makes your body ache with need

You stop him when he reaches for your dress- shaking your head as you pull him closer by his pants until he’s straddling your hips

“Birthday boy gets a birthday present” You say, fingers already fumbling with his belt, still in awe with how quickly this night escalated

“You are my birthday present” He argues weakly, hands on either side of your head as his hair begins to fall infront of his face. You make quick work of his belt and then make quick work of tenderly pushing his hair behind his ears

“Let me taste you” You insist softly. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t tell you that he doesn’t need you to offer to do anything you don’t want to simply because it’s his birthday- because truthfully, the hungry look in your eyes is all the proof he needs to know that this is what you want

His breathing hitches when your fingers tangle in his belt- undoing it with shaky hands before sliding it out of his pants

His hands cover yours and gently guide you- easing your nerves and reminding you to stay grounded in the moment

“Don’t disappear on me” He coaxes softly as your fingers finally unzip his pants, his hands move to push your hair behind your ears, thumbs brushing across your temples as you shove his dress pants down, allowing him to stand up and shove them off leaving him in nothing but his boxers

“You…..you’re big” You mumble, seeing his length through his boxers which are now noticeably tight and showcasing everything

He blushes, glancing down at himself before looking back at you, hands moving awkwardly to his hips

“We don’t have to do anything you-“ His breath catches when you finally pull yourself together and shove his boxers down, pulling him closer by his thighs until the tip of his cock is inches from your face

He gasps as you start with kisses around his cock, brushing your lips along his thighs- marking him with faint lipstick that you’re shocked is still there after he kissed most of it away

His metal fingers hesitantly tangle in your hair and immediately sends a jolt between your legs- now you’re just interested in tasting him

The tip of his cock leaks onto your tongue the moment they collide, swirling around the sensitive head and tasting all he has to offer, salty yet not overly so. He tastes better then you imagined, so much so that you’re licking the underside of his cock while he mutters under his breath and tries to hold his cool

Pulling back only to plunge between his legs and lick a stripe along his balls- he gasps immediately, fingers tightening in your hair as he bites his bottom lip

“Sweetheart-“

You moan around his orb, swirling your tongue around it and watching as his cock leaks profusely, pulling back with a gentle smile before taking his cock back into your mouth again

Your fingers wrap around the base of his shaft, pumping it experimentally before getting the hang of moving your hand and using your mouth on him

There’s not much of him you can fit in your mouth of course- he makes it to the back of your throat and he’s not even halfway in yet, but you don’t mind- and he doesn’t seem to mind either by the way his head falls back and he lets out a groan so wrecked you suck harder just to coax another one out of him, and it works.

Bobbing your head, both hands now tangled in your hair, he spreads his legs wider and begins slowly thrusting his hips- not enough to give it to take over- just enough to help you multitask in his pleasure

“God- just like that doll” He groans, biting his lip as he watches you look up at him through your eyelashes “So pretty for me, pretty lips wrapped around me- fuck that feels so good”

His praises send your hand between your legs until you make contact with your wet heat through your panties, rubbing yourself, jerking the base of his length while taking his gentle thrusts into your mouth

Bucky’s never seen something so beautiful- so raw and intimate it makes him realise just how close he already is to cumming down your throat. You feel it too, in the way his hips stutter and his cock throbs in your mouth. He tries to pull back- much to your dismay

“I don’t mind” You mumble, thumbs stroking his thighs

“You….want me to-“

“-Please” You plead, nodding as you open your mouth again

He bites his bottom lip with lust as he guides his cock back into your mouth, thrusting his hips again and groaning, holding the back of your head- fingers gripping and twirling your hair softly

Within a minute you feel the warmth of him hit the back of your throat. Some spills out the corner of your mouth as you try to keep up and swallow it all- he looks awestruck and also guilty as he slowly pulls out, wincing as you choke a little but offer him a smile when you finally swallow it all

“You okay?” He asks tenderly, leaning down to kiss you before you can answer. He groans- tasting himself on your tongue as he slowly lies you down on his bed, happily falling on top of you

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time” You admit, pulling back to look into his eyes, your hands resting on his lower back “A good birthday present I hope?” You joke and he cracks a smile

“It was” He kisses the corner of your mouth “But what I really want- what would make this day the best birthday ever-“ He kisses down your neck, over your breasts through your dress making your breathing hitch “Is tasting you”

You don’t have a moment to collect your thoughts before he’s maneuvering you around- hands bracketing your thighs and immediately twisting you to lay on your stomach

His fingers make quick work of unzipping your dress and pulling it down, chest pressed to your back as he kisses along your bare shoulders with every inch revealed, smiling against your skin when your thighs instinctively press together

“Relax for me, I’ve got you” He coos softly, finally peeling your dress down your legs until it hits his floor beneath. Only then does he gently turn you back onto your back, taking all of you in

“I- didn’t expect this tonight” You admit with embarrassment as you look down at your boring panties and bra- nothing like lingerie or lace in sight, just plain old garnets covering your skin

You gasp when he surprises you by reaching underneath you, unclasping your bra before kissing you tenderly

“You could be wearing an inflatable dinosaur costume with a trash bag on underneath and I’d still find you the most enduring, beautiful, earthly woman I’ve ever met”

Your fingers move to his hair as he kisses down you stomach, pausing to take in your breasts before placing a kiss to each nipple making you gasp

“What about the ones you haven’t met?” You tease and he smiles agaisnt your nipple, looking up at you through his eyelashes

“You’re testing me doll” He whispers, kissing both nipples making you blush deeply. He trails his kisses down your stomach, looking up at you as he does so “I don’t see any other woman whenever you’re in my facinity” He murmurs, fingers smoothly pulling your panties down “I never see anybody else but you”

You gasp when he throws your legs over his shoulders and immediately dips down- tongue snaking between your folds with a hunger so eager it already has you arching- fingers moving to grip his hair

“B-Bucky-“ You gasp out in pleasure- shuddering as he circles your hole with his tongue before slipping a finger inside, sucking on your clit while he does so “Oh- oh right there-“

“-Here?” He murmurs into your flesh, tongue greedy and finger moving in and out, preparing you for god only knows what comes after this “Need another one doll?”

“Please” You whimper out, tugging a little harder on his hair as he adds a second finger inside of you, grinning into your heat smugly when you spread your legs wider with desperation, clenching around his fingers making him groan with pleasure into you

You’re a whimpering mess when he pulls his fingers out and plunges his tongue deep inside you, he’s quick to change the silence- making you gasp loudly when he suddenly flips you both over, hands gripping your hips until you’re now straddling his face, thighs on either side of his head

He pulls you down firmly onto his face, not allowing any other air then you to seep into his lungs, guiding you to move your hips with his hands while watching you with his darkened eyes

“B-Bucky-“ You moan, grinding your hips as he laps at your heat like a man gone mad, eyes squinted with lust- one glance over your shoulder and you see him already hard, leaking at the tip merely from eating you out

You cum the moment he swirls his tongue around your clit and murmurs ‘smother my face doll’, fingers digging into his palms that quickly move to steady you by your wrists, holding you upright as you fall apart on his face

He only removes you from off of him once you’re shaking and overstimulated, helping you onto your back beside him while you’re busy panting with shock and pleasure

“Still with me pretty?” He coos softly, swiftly moving behind you, kissing up your spine

“Barley”

“Hey- you wanna stop? We can stop”

“I don’t want to stop” You reassure softly, gripping his greedy hand that slides along your stomach as his hips bracket your own from behind, guiding his hand to your lips to kiss, kissing each knuckle and scar, not stopping until he turns your head to kiss you, stubble scratching deliciously

“How do you want me?” He asks softly, not daring to peel his eyes away from your own, kissing your jaw- cheek and chin, slow and steady, allowing you to recover with his tenderness and patience

“Whatever the birthday boy wants”

He smiles against your chin and gently helps you onto your back, moving between your legs, hands on your knees- leaning over to his drawer, and that’s when you notice him falter, freezing like he’s not sure what to do

“You okay?” You ask softly, scared that he’s overthinking this, or realising that he doesn’t want this after all-

“-I don’t….I haven’t- I don’t have any condoms” He murmurs nervously- or in embarrassment perhaps “Haven’t needed one”

“You’ve been celibate all this time?” You ask a little too bluntly and watch as he smiles in embarrassment, hands still on your knees but less so “I’m not meaning it like that- I just mean you’re so- you and- and how could any girl not have climbed you like a tree yet?”

He chuckles dangerously handsomely, shaking his head with amusement as his hair falls over his face and his dog tag glints with the moonlight

“You’re the first woman I’ve wanted since 1930” He admits softly, pouting his lips in thought “I’m not exactly an open book”

Leaning up- kissing him softly, he melts into you immediately and frowns when you pull back

“I’m on the pill, I’m sure we’ll go okay”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod. Laying back down as he kisses both of your knees and settles back between your legs

“You’re so beautiful” He praises as he guides the tip of his cock along your folds, coating himself in your wetness, groaning with pleasure when it nudges along your clit

“Buck-“ you moan, hips instinctively grinding against him until he finally pushes inside you, slow and steady

You both gasp- his fingers tangling with his own as he pushes further and further inside you

“God you feel-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, gasping when he’s fully seethed and meets your own dazed out eyes, clearly to drunk on him inside of you to care about anything else “Oh baby”

The nickname sends butterflies wild, you’re sure your cunt clenched around his cock with approval- and by the way he curses under his breath- you know you’re right

“You’re so- so-“

“-Use your words pretty girl” He teases, thrusting slowly, hands never leaving yours as his hair falls further into his face and his dog tag hits his chest with each thrust “That’s it sweetheart- keep your legs up for me”

Your legs oblige at his words as they seem to move on their own, spreading wider so he can hit deeper- thrust faster

“Bucky” You moan, arching your back as your eyes roll back- the moment his cock brushes your g-spot you feel like you could cum right on the spot

“Right there doll?” He asks, thrusting deeper- faster. Your breath gets caught in your throat when he leans down to fuck you harder, your leg hiking around his hip as he hungrily kisses you, never faltering his movements

You moan into the kiss, pulling your hands away from his own to dig your nails into his back making him groan with pleasure

You gasp in protest when he pulls back- immediately your cunt drips with excitement when he flips you onto your stomach and then helps you onto your hands and knees- immediately sliding back into you

“Fuck sweetheart” He groans, hands gripping your hips, cock nudging your spot deeper this way “You feel like home”

He spreads your legs wider and starts thrusting, his hips meeting your ass with each thrust, he leans down, kissing along your spine, dog tag brushing your skin as the room echos with your moans, his hands move to knead and squeeze your ass cheeks, giving a gentle snack making you clench around him

“I’m- I’m so-“

“-Me too” He promises, speeding up, hand snaking around to rub your clit in fast circles enough to send you spiraling. You clench around his cock as you cum, falling face first into the mattress as you shudder with pleasure. He thrusts a few more times before pulling out at the last minute and cumming onto your lower back, gripping your hips gently to stabilise himself “I’m sorry”

“Don’t apologise” You mumble as you weakly push yourself back onto your elbows while he immediately moves to grab tissues and clean you both up

He lays down on his bed, pulling you into his chest, apologetically kissing your head as if he had done anything wrong

“Stay the night?” He asks, metal fingers brushing along your bare back making you smile into his chest, nodding

“Least I could do”

He chuckles at your words and fluffs both pillows, helping you lay on the other side before you cuddle up again, his chest to your back, his nose brushing the back of your head, dog tag cool against your warm skin

“Can I tell you something?” He asks reluctantly and you nod tiredly, loving the feeling of his metal hand on your stomach while the warmth of him contrasts to the coolness of it “I don’t have feelings for you” He murmurs- quickly continuing before you can spiral into embarrassment or fear “I’m in love with you”

Your breathing stops and you close your eyes for a moment before opening them again to make sure this is real- that this isn’t a dream

“I…I’m in love with you too” You admit softly, feeling his chest relax with relief “If tonight wasn’t any hint of that then I’m not sure what is” You tease and he smiles against your head

“All this time…” He trails off, shaking his head “It doesn’t matter anymore, nothing else matters but this” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade “Best birthday ever doll, thank you.”

-

The next morning when you wake- Bucky is gone. The emptiness on his side of his bed is prominent- the sight of his wrinkled sheets and used pillow- but no him.

He’s left his clothes neatly folded on the nightstand beside you and you can’t help but smile and smell his shirt- asking the scent of his cologne before you slowly pull his shirt and a pair of his boxers on

It’s 6:23am so nobody should be awake to catch either of you- you can only imagine the scandals the team would have to say if they ever caught you in Bucky’s clothes

You exit his room, smiling at his bed one last time and praying to the gods that you’d end up sharing it with him permanently with time to come before you make your way around the compound quietly, checking the gym- the living room, your room- and lastly…the kitchen

You spot him through the glass doors, broad muscles on show for you and you alone, he looks so peaceful- so unlike the thousand yard stare man you’re used to seeing on his handsome face

And last night? That was a brand new Bucky that you’ve never seen before, and you loved it.

Stepping onto the balcony- you spot Bucky by his plant, blushing furiously with a smile as you realise he’s setting up the other plant pots you brought him- adding seeds and soil and watering them, putting them on the sunniest side of the table

“There you go” He murmurs to himself, softly patting the leafs “Now you have some friends Lucky”

Stepping up behind him, he immediately senses your presence. A blush creeping along his cheeks as he notices you wearing his shirt and a pair of his boxers

Your smile eases his uncertainty and he reaches for you, pulling you into his side, nose brushing your temple before pressing a gentle kiss there, your arm slipping around his waist like it belongs there

“Did you name them?”

He smiles against your temple, then tips your head back- fingers under your chin so he can press his lips to your own, tasting you- allowing himself to sink in the feeling of his new normal- his dream come true

Somebody clears their throat and you and Bucky pull away from the kiss- your faces flushed at the sight of being caught red handed by Yelena who’s standing in the kitchen with a grin, a clear view of the two of you while she bites into her avocado toast

“Good birthday Barnes?” She teases and Bucky’s metal hand finds your hip, thumb brushing back and forth as he smiles awkwardly at Yelena

“I owe you” He simply responds and Yelena winks, using her coffee cup to ‘cheers’ you both as she struts away with her breakfast, singing

“You owe her huh?” You tease him and his eyes meet yours as he smiles, kissing your nose

“She helped push you into my direction” He murmurs affectionately, kissing you again- slowly, tenderly, so full of emotions that it makes your heart race. Your hands move to wrap around his neck and his fingers tangle in his hair “Maybe…I can finally have those things that stick”

“The family? The wife?” You whisper hopefully, breath hitching as he nods, sure, affirmative yet nervous

“Only if you’d want that, only if you’d ever have me like that-“

“-In every timeline.” You cut him off “I want it all with you, whatever life gives us, yes. Everything-“

He kisses you passionately, hands bracketing your thighs until they’re wrapped around his waist and your own fingers cup the back of his head

You pull away this time to rest your forehead against his as he looks up at you, eyes watery with hope and fear, but most of all- love.

“I love you” He whispers softly, terrified that this is all a dream

The air around you feels damp and raw now in a way that has very little to do with the early summer heat. You force yourself onto your stomach and stuff your face into your pillow.

You can’t keep doing this to yourself. 

Or, rather, he can’t keep doing this to you. However excruciating his presence is when your family is around, it’s so much worse when they’re not.

Most of the time you want to throttle him. It had been that way since you were kids. You can still feel the grovelling embarrassment of being somewhere close to ten years old and begging him and your brother to let you tag along with them to do something stupid like peeking through the dirt-grimed windows of a neighbour’s house or sneaking into a derelict, moss-eaten hotel until someone called the cops. In defiance of all stereotypes, your brother never had a problem with it. He has doted on you since you were in the cradle.

Bucky, though. He was never receptive to it. He would let you make your case, watching you humble yourself with calculating, amused eyes that looked slightly wrong on a boy of only twelve years. You can still remember how he would make a big show of deliberating, before simply handing out a ‘no’, and moving away. Your brother would shoot you a remorseful grin but always followed after him without hesitation.

On the rare occasions he did let you trail after them, he made you regret it. He would poke and prod at you, pulling lightly at your hair or making fun of you until big, fat, brutally-resisted tears would well up in your eyes. Oh, you remember how much he used to enjoy that - the mean smile he wore while he called you a crybaby. It always ended with your brother sternly telling him to lay off, before walking you home.

Your parents refused to hear a bad word about him. They still won’t. 

You’re not really sure what is up with Bucky’s family and his home life. You just know that he had always spent more time at your house than his own. Once summer rolled around, it was like he forgot he even had a house of his own to begin with.

Your parents treat him less like a guest and more like a favourite son. The guest bedroom became Bucky’s room when you were eleven. When he tinkers around and puts together your mom’s overly-complicated coffee machine or fixes the hot water or - the very worst - mows the lawn, your parents treat him like a king. They rave in public and private about how they don’t know what they would do without him. When you had tried to tattle as a kid, the most you would get was a patient rub on the back.

It was a push and pull between the two of you. Always had been. Bucky was either acting bothered at your presence, poking and prodding at you cruelly - or irritating you with his own presence and annoying taunts.

And all of that was annoying. Is annoying. But nothing compares to that feeling. The one you’re experiencing right now.

It started when you were pushing sixteen. You had stopped asking to tag along a few years ago but that summer was different. Bucky was told by your brother, firmly and categorically, that you would be hanging out with them whether he liked it or not. He stared at you with odd fixity but made no protests and suddenly you were part of the friend group. Your brother had a crush on your best friend Wanda, who was also hanging around a lot that summer. That played into it. But you took it as a win regardless.

You spent most of your time that summer hanging out in a clearing in the woods by your house. There was nothing else to do and even if there was, you had no money to do it. Most of the details of the day itself now evade you - they’re blurry around the edges. There was a new addition to the group whose name you cannot now remember. A persistent, uncomfortable pass made for you. Your brother distracted by Wanda. A few coarse comments made, before the new guy began to touch.

What you do remember - what you well and truly cannot forget - is what happened after that touch. The way Bucky propelled up from where he sat on tree branches and lichen. How he grabbed the collar of What’s-his-name and flung him to the ground with one heavy, solid punch. The silence afterwards. The crawling shameful pang of excitement in your gut.

You never looked at him the same. 

It’s not for lack of trying.

God - you try. You try so hard. You have tried for so many years. But every fling you had in college ended up wearing his face when you closed your eyes. 

Thoughts of him run through your mind while you fill your pillow up with gasps. You’re sure that if you wrung out the fabric or pressed down hard, those sighs would have to spill back out, surround the room with breathless cries of his name.

But you have graduated now. You’re back home until you find a full-time job and this childhood crush will no longer do. It’s remarkably inconvenient, the way your knees go weak and wobbly when he walks in the room, even while you paint a snarl on. The way a hot, sticky warmth begins to flood the space between your thighs when you watch him work like he is today. 

And you’ve tried everything there is to try. You’ve tried dating other people - it usually ends sour. You made a trip or two to the counsellor on campus. You had even left stop-sign stickers around your dorm room as a reminder to snap out of it when you are thinking about him.

At Wanda’s recommendation, you have started a diary. Every time you think about him or let yourself get stupidly, fantastically turned on by him, you create a new entry. Not all of the entries are about him - some are flimsy little notes to distract yourself - but they all lead back to him one way or another. Once the book is full, you will burn it. You started it just before you left campus three weeks ago and the book is almost half-way full.

You know it’s a stupid idea. It won’t work, which is why you have already sought out a witch on Etsy for when this fails.

The deep, low tingle at the bottom of your stomach hasn’t ceased, because even while deep in thought, the image of Bucky’s strong back and his bold, lopsided smile are still running behind your eyes. You become suddenly aware that you’re lightly sweating. Your underwear is warm and damp.

You glance over at your diary on your bedside table - most recent entry late last night, courtesy of your traitorous imagination. You sigh and pick it up. 

Bucky sees you in the window to your bedroom. You’re just a little floating head above the window sill. He can’t make out an expression very clearly. He waves and forces back a laugh when he sees your bratty eye-roll, the way you flop away dramatically.

You’re back home. For the summer, at least. Until all those fancy graduate jobs in New York or Boston or Philly start opening up.

He doesn’t need to be here, if he’s being honest. Has no reason to be. The lawn has no need for mowing and there’s not a damned thing left in the house to be fixed. His own apartment isn’t exactly a paradise, but it’s not bad either. 

You won’t be here forever, though. He’ll take what he can get in the meantime.

He likes how it feels to annoy you without a buffer. With no parents to be on his best behaviour in front of, no brother to shoot him warning glances when he pokes too hard. 

He regresses slightly every time he floats back into your orbit. Falls out of adulthood and back into the familiar rhythm. The push and pull. 

His childhood crush has matured into something deeper, but his actions haven’t. He still tugs your pigtails in a metaphorical sense. It’s much too late to get you to see him as anything but an annoying, big brother-type figure now, but he can deal with that. He likes watching you get riled up, anyway.

You regress around him too. He takes great satisfaction in that. You walk into the house after months of being away, haughty and put-together, like you had finally done all your growing up in college. A few grating words from him can make you twitch a little bit while you fight the urge to snap, irritation spilling through the cracks. And you eventually do crack. All the way. Every single time.

He mows until the short tufts of grass turn to clippings. He spares no blade, weed or flower and thinks about you, lying up on your bed. Probably doing something dumb. Probably scrolling on your  phone or flipping through some magazine. He remembers when you were thirteen and he found that stash of teen-pop magazines in your room, the pages with boyband members dog-eared, hearts circled around their pictures. He smiles, thinking about the way you screamed when you caught him red-handed. How you told him to “stop being such a pain in my ass”, pushing him out your bedroom door and slamming it shut behind him while he laughed. You were sulky at dinner afterwards.

He rolls the mower back into the shed, ties the padlock and tugs at it twice before walking into the house through the sliding glass doors.

He’s sweating lightly. He takes a quick swallow of water from the glass on the counter - whether it’s yours or his, he can’t remember - and licks a few beads of moisture from his upper lip. He feels good. 

He flops down on the couch, puts on some show indiscriminately and wonders what you’re doing right now. He wonders if you’re on the phone with your college friends. Or with that Matt guy he had heard about through the grapevine. He wonders if you’re wearing the same tight shorts you had on yesterday.

He considers going upstairs to annoy you but thinks better of it. He will wait a while to see if you come downstairs on your own.

He imagines Matt as some football player. He can’t picture a face - just some obscure blur - but he’s probably handsome. Definitely blonde. Social butterfly. Good grades. He can’t see you going for someone without good grades. 

Bucky’s grades were never great, but you were such a little swot. He used to sit alongside you while you did your homework. When you would tell him to get lost, he would shoot back that he had homework to do too. It’s probably the only reason he graduated high school.

Matt is probably biding his time right now until you both have steady jobs so he can propose. He’s probably boring as shit. Fucks you missionary for thirty seconds before rolling over onto his back. He probably asks you whether you came afterwards, and you probably talk to your stupid college friends about how much he cares and how respected you feel. 

But that’s a dangerous avenue to walk down. Because now he’s thinking about how you would look afterwards, naked and unsatisfied. Would you ever think about shooting him a text when Matt drifts off to sleep after getting his rocks off? See if he could sort you out any better than your boring fuck of a boyfriend? 

Obviously not. But it’s a nice thought.

You probably don’t do any of the things that Bucky would want to do with you - and definitely not with Missionary Matt. You’re too fucking prissy. No way in hell are you letting anyone take you the way Bucky wants to.

He doesn’t even understand why his brain has chosen you of all people to be the star of every daydream he has had since he was old enough to know what a crush was. You’re arrogant and spoiled and you think that just because you attract men like flies to shit that you can bat your eyes and get whatever you want. (You absolutely can. Bucky has tried to be the one exception to that rule, but he’s also just a man.) 

Unfortunately, he knows all of this and still desires you desperately. And the want that pours out of him in waves isn’t strictly sexual - in fact, it’s mostly something else - but he’s not sure how to define it. He likes you, except ’like’ doesn’t seem strong enough to cover all he feels. So it’s easier to focus on the sex. Maybe that way he can convince himself it’s all he wants.

He has run out of patience. You still haven’t come downstairs and he can only deny himself for so long.

He takes the stairs two-at-a-time, but paces himself so you don’t hear his footsteps and think he’s eager. Your bedroom is at the very end of the hall. When he approaches your white door - still adorned with stickers and tags from every phase you ever went through - he thinks about knocking. He doesn’t.

He can’t remember the last time that he was in your room, but it is exactly as it always was. Pink wallpaper. A white desk in the corner armed with perfectly positioned sticky notes and neat, alphabetised folders. Stuffed animals perched in a line atop your bed like marching soldiers. Posters on the walls from films you thought made you seem edgy when you were fifteen, in direct opposition to the frilly pink decor of the room. 

The only thing missing is you, but he can hear the shower going in your ensuite.

He goes to sit down on your bed and focuses deeply on not getting a hard-on while he watches the bathroom door. But he lands on something solid.

Reaching underneath his thigh, he picks up a little pink notebook, turns it over in his hands. More little stickers plastered to the front, hearts scribbled onto it with a pink gel pen. He knows instantaneously that he has gold dust in his goddamn hands. He expects to feel at least a little guilt or shame for what he is about to do and is mildly surprised to find he doesn’t.

This is your diary.

The first entry is from three weeks ago.

22 May I just broke up with Matt. It was awful. He kept asking me why. I had to say that I didn’t want to live in Boston like him. He said he would find a different internship and we could go to New York instead, and then I really had no idea what to say. It’s not like I could tell him the real reason. He cried. I’m just glad it’s over.

I think I should feel at least a little bit sad about it, but I don’t. I’m just relieved and feeling awkward. I don’t think I could let him fuck me one more time without going out of my mind. This really is a curse. I hope he moves on quickly. I think Suzy is into him.

Bucky can’t help the stupid grin that breaks out across his face. Looks like Missionary Matt was too boring, even for prim little you. No engagement on the horizon after all. He shifts around slightly on the bed in the guest bedroom and tries not think about what might have been so lacking in the bedroom with Matt for you.

23 May My family are ditching me. They’re all heading off to the south of France for three weeks, but I won’t be home from college early enough. They fucking suck. I wonder if Bucky will still be hanging around. Three weeks of torture incoming.

He laughs, loud and long, at that. What a spoiled little brat. Still, it’s kind of cute.

Bucky was asked to join your family on their holiday and declined. Partially because he still, after all this time, doesn’t quite believe them when they say it’s not a bother. But it was mostly because of a selfish hankering to be able to hang out with you alone. To not have to check himself when his gaze lingers a little too long or when he presses you a bit too hard to be able to convincingly feign disinterest. He reads on.

23 May Now that I have thought about it, I can’t stop. Bucky is going to be hanging around the house. He always hangs around the house, even when nobody else is there. Dad said he’s going to help him with building a new shed outside. I wonder if he will be doing that while they’re gone. I remember that one time he helped Dad with that old vintage car he bought on a whim. I could see him from my window. He was shirtless and working under the car from a skateboard like something out of a goddamn porno. I think I’ll die if I have to see him do something like that again. 

Bucky’s grin is frozen on his face, skin heating up around his bones. The shed would be a good excuse to stick around now that he’s done everything else - he had forgotten about that. 

He wasn’t aware you had been watching him fix up that car from your window. That must have been, what - two? three? - years ago. Old Pontiac runs like new now. His eyes catch on the word ‘porno’, scribbled in your pink, curly writing. He thinks about you watching him from above.

24 May I might be going insane. I shouldn’t have let myself think of the visual of Bucky under that stupid car last night. I think it’s a good thing I dumped Matt. I would have let him fuck me and felt so guilty afterwards for imagining someone else. I handled it myself but I woke up feeling just as riled up. My fingers aren’t big enough. Maybe I should buy a dildo or something. Bucky’s fingers are huge. One time he put his hand over my mouth because he said I was whining too much and it covered more than half of my face.

The blood rushes to his cock so fast it leaves him lightheaded. He has to read the entry twice to make sure he didn’t black out and invent something out of wishful thinking.

25 May This stupid diary isn’t doing shit. It’s making it worse. Every time I write something down, it just makes me think about it more. I spent all of yesterday thinking about Bucky’s stupid fingers. I hate him so much. I want him to bend me over something and fuck me until I’m an inch from passing out. Maybe that’s all I need to get this out of my system.

26 May Today I thought about that time last summer when we were at the bonfire and I made out with that guy in the Bulls jersey and snapback. I forget his name.

Bucky looked so angry. I think that’s why I did it. I think I wished he was jealous, even though I know he was just pretending he’s my fucking brother or something. It made me think of that time he punched that other guy in the clearing in the woods just for touching me. I forget that guy’s name too. 

Bucky hasn’t forgotten either of their names. The bonehead from the bonfire was Jon and the asshole from the woods was Robby. And he was jealous. He was so fucking jealous. His dick is hard as a rock in his jeans, head spinning.

28 May Yesterday was ok. I kept myself busy. Today has been terrible. Mom sent me a group picture of everyone eating dinner out in the back garden and Bucky was wearing a tight, white t-shirt. He looked so big, even bigger than when I last saw him. I just kept wondering if his cock would be big too. I zoomed in and took a screenshot like some fucking pervert. I got myself off so many times and I still feel like I haven’t gotten it out of my system. I literally fingered myself until my sheets were-

“Fuck,” he grunts, strained even to his own ears. His eyes squeeze shut and his dick throbs violently at the idea of your little fingers pushing themselves into your pussy at the thought of him. He’s not sure how much more of this he can read before jizzing in his pants like some kind of virgin.

Who knew? Who fucking knew? His stuck-up little priss isn’t so prissy after all. He’s a bit dizzy with want and some other unidentifiable sensation. Something warm and gooey in his chest.

He almost likes how ashamed you are of it. It makes it that much more satisfying - like he’s won some game that he didn’t even know he was playing. He’s dimly aware of the fact that he lost the very same game himself, but he ignores it. 

You would be so embarrassed to find out he is reading this. You would yell and scream and throw shit around the room in a tantrum like a toddler. You might never speak to him again. Even so, he can’t help himself but flick over the pages to the most recent entry. It feels like a spoiler to a book he hasn’t finished.

14 June He came around with the lawnmower again. It’s getting harder every day not to get myself off to the thought of him-

He clearly missed that part. He wonders how long ago you made that resolution. He will find out soon enough.

-when he looks that good. I could literally see the fucking muscles in his back through his t-shirt and it was black. I’m so fucking wet. I’m going to have a long, cold shower and tonight I’ll cum to the thought of someone else. Literally anyone else.

Then and there, Bucky decides that won’t be happening.

You feel better after your laborious shower but only for a matter of minutes. You walk into your room wrapped in your bathrobe and notice that you can no longer hear the lawnmower. Bucky must have finished the job. He’s probably in the shower now, washing off the pollen and sweat.

And that does it. You sigh at the stickiness forming between your legs and reach over to your bedside table for your diary.

Except it’s not there. 

You open and close the small drawer underneath. Ruffle around in your sheets and pick up your stuffed animals one-by-one to look make sure they’re not sitting on it. Eventually you get up and remove the duvet from the mattress, pull the bed frame away from the wall, crawl to the floor. You even go to the bathroom to make sure you didn’t carry it in with you. It’s not there. It’s not anywhere.

You must have left it lying out somewhere outside. Your stomach lurches into your throat. Except that’s not possible, because your last entry was written right here on this bed just before you went in for your shower. You had left your room to get a towel and steal some of your mother’s hair stuff - maybe you had inadvertently carried it out with you. You had been severely distracted.

You dress as quickly as you can physically manage, ignoring the way your wet hair is soaking through your cotton sweatshirt, but when you leave your room your footsteps are hesitant and careful. The idea of Bucky picking up your diary somewhere and deciding to give it a browse sends a cold sweat of terror up the knobs of your spine. Oh god, don’t let him find it. Please don’t let him find it. 

You tear the linen closet apart. You even pick up the piles of towels that you know you didn’t touch and shake them out. Nothing. You fold them in a way that would make your mother wince and put them back.

Your parents’ room wields no results either. You run your fingers over the wooden bannister faintly while you walk down the stairs. Bucky isn’t there - thankfully - but neither is your diary. You hadn’t even come downstairs between writing your last entry and going for your shower. That, you’re absolutely certain of. But you’re running out of options.

You have one room left to check, but you will have to play your cards carefully. One wrong move, a bit too much information, and you could find yourself on the receiving end of questions that you would really prefer not to be asked. Or of a bit too much curiosity for your liking.

Your fingers linger over the wood of Bucky’s bedroom door for a whole minute before you can bring yourself to commit to a small, tentative knock. Bucky grunts on the other side and it’s untranslatable but you take it to be an in invite.

He’s lounging on his bed, one ankle hooked over the other, head reclined back to rest lazily on the headboard. He doesn’t move his bored gaze from the television, where some reality television documentary about the daily lives of zoo veterinarians is playing. You’re distracted by it momentarily. You didn’t think this would be his sort of thing.

“What’s up?” he asks you, still not looking your way. He didn’t shower. He’s still sweaty and tense, the smell of grass sticking to his clothes and skin. You try not to look.

“Just saying hi,” you say, shifting feet. You look at the door for a brief moment before deciding to close it awkwardly behind you.

He looks at you then, one eyebrow and one side of his lip quirking upwards in tandem. “Just saying hi.”

You nod. His smile breaks free then, but it’s not altogether a nice one. “Well, hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you mumble back. You continue to look at each other while you fidget, stepping forward cautiously until your knees hit his bed. You look at him expectantly and he rolls his eyes before moving his own legs so you can sit.

“What’s got you all buggy?” he asks sardonically, giving you a light tap on the side with his foot. He’s not wearing his boots anymore, but some grass still rubs off on you somehow. You rub your side and shoot him a look as if it hurt, even though it didn’t. 

“I’m not buggy.”

“Yeah y’are. You got bugs.”

“You got bugs,” you snap. “I’m perfectly fine.”

He laughs. “Alright, you don’t got bugs. I have bugs ‘cause I was out there mowing all day. Now what do you want?”

Your stomach gives an odd jerking motion at the memory of him out there mowing the lawn. You try to keep any guilt from showing on your face. “Maybe I just wanna talk to you.”

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t seem convinced. You nod.

“Yeah,” you say, picking at a loose thread his bedsheet. “So what have you been up to?”

“Sweetheart, what’s goin’ on?” he chuckles, turning slightly on his side so he can see you. “You know what I’ve been up to. You saw me out there.”

“Duh,” you say. You roll your eyes again and you can feel him laugh more than you can hear it - the minute little vibration through the sheets. His skin is inches away from yours. If you reached out just a little bit, you could touch his hand.

“Duuuhhh,” he mimics you with an exaggerated Valley-girl drawl. “Why’d you ask then, smartass?”

“I meant, like, after that.”

“After I finished the lawn?”

You nod. You are so desperately bad at this.

“Not much. Watched this,” he says, pointing at the TV. He gets distracted by something there and begins to watch it again. “Did a bit of light reading. What about you?”

Your heart is moving up in a slow but steady elevator to the base of your neck. “I’ve been in the shower,” you say casually. “What are you reading?”

“Long shower,” he says.

“Well it was an everything-shower,” you say defensively, forgetting yourself for a moment.

“The hell is an everything shower?”

“Don’t be dense. It’s literally in the name. It’s called an everything shower because you do everything in the shower.”

His gaze flies back to you then, dark and questioning, eyebrows raised slightly. It takes for his lip to twitch into a small smile before you come to your senses.

“A-as in,” you stammer. “You do all your self-care stuff. Like shaving and exfoliating and hair masks. That kind of everything.”

His smile widens and he nods, half sarcastically. “Right. That kind of everything.”

Your face heats up. There’s a brief pause. 

“So what are you reading at the mo-”

“Y’know I think you’d like this,” he says, pointing over to the TV again. You glance over distractedly. A giraffe is giving birth standing up. You can’t help the way your nose twitches slightly as you take in all the blood and goo onscreen.

“Why is that?” you ask.

“There’s this one girl who cries every time an animal dies. She’s been working there five years and she still cries every time. She’s like you.”

“I’m not like that.”

“Yes you are,” he laughs and the sound travels through you. “Remember that one time you cried because your dad asked me to catch and kill that mouse?”

You do. He had been strangely nice about the whole thing. He made a makeshift humane trap and brought it to the old railway line a few miles away instead. 

“I was sixteen-”

“And if you’re tryna tell me you wouldn't react the same way right now, I say you’re full of shit.”

You look at him resentfully. “Like you’re any tougher. You’re the one who saved him.”

“Well you know I can’t help but give you what you want once the waterworks start. You’re a pretty crier, sweetheart.”

You just look at him, feeling a bit dazed and uncomprehending. Saliva floods your mouth and you’re forced to swallow. He just glances over at you for the smallest of instances. You like the handsome, self-satisfied smile he gives himself before turning back to his programme, even though it’s at your expense. You know instinctively that you’ll be failing at your new resolution tonight. 

“Shut up. Don’t be weird,” you say, because you can think of nothing else. He huffs with humour and there’s something in his expression that you don’t like.

“So you said you were reading something?” you say. You’re aiming for a casual tone but you think you might be overselling it.

“Mhm,” he says, nodding once. The programme can’t be that interesting, but he seems absorbed in it.

“I didn’t think you liked reading.”

“I have a newfound appreciation for it.” He smiles at the screen and maybe you’re feeling a little jealous. You snatch the remote out of his hands, careful not to let your fingers brush, and blackness eats the image of a family of monkeys. His eyes snap to you with amused surprise. 

“What are you reading?”

Your heart is pumping while Bucky appraises you for a second, eyes sliding their way around your flustered face. He licks his bottom lip slowly before sucking it into his mouth. He speaks low.

“Don’t worry about it. ’S’too dirty for you, sweetheart.”

You really fucking hope that doesn’t mean what you think it does. He has the book. Oh dear god, don’t let him have the book.

Your voice comes out weak and fractured. “Are you… reading smut?”

He laughs again, face lit up. Eyes still on you. “That what you call it? Sure. Something like that, at least.”

“Bucky,” you say, voice no more than a horrified whisper. There’s a brutal heat curling in your gut - embarrassment and something else. “What are you reading? Please.”

He looks at you for just a second longer before reaching under the blanket beside him. His hand reaches out again, fingers curled around a book that looks incredibly small in his large palm.

You blink at it for just a second, as if concentrating hard enough might make it disappear. Please make it disappear. Please make it nothing at all.

But then you’re rolling forward, hardly aware of what you’re doing until your back is bowed, a low, despairing groan escaping you while your limbs slip away from you. Eventually you’re played across the bottom of the bed, face firmly pressed to the soft memory foam. If you stay here long enough, your face might imprint itself there. A garbled, monotonous litany is spilling from your lips. You’re not even sure what you’re saying.

Your stomach is going haywire. Bucky is laughing like you knew he would - you fucking knew he would be an asshole about this - and you would go running from the room if it didn’t mean that you would have to move your face from the bed and look at him. 

You suppose it’s better that he’s laughing than looking at you with the raw kind of disgust that you had pictured whenever you imagined him finding out about your feelings towards him. Maybe it means that you two can go back to normal at some point, even if the humiliation raging through your body begs to differ.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Bucky says and you hate him. Your face pops up to look at his. Still amused. Still wicked and gleeful. 

“Where did you get that?” you bark.

“Your room,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “Interesting read. You should be a writer with that vivid imagination. What did you call it, smut?”

“Fuck you!” you screech, and Bucky physically recoils at the loud noise, irritation crawling onto his features for the first time in this interaction. “You had no right to go into my room and invade my privacy. What the hell is wrong with you? You are such a piece of shit!”

Bucky rolls his eyes while you make your way up the bed and take a swing for his chest. He catches your wrists in time and your traitorous body pauses at the touch. 

“Like I said,” he says sternly. “Don’t be such a baby. You need me to help you get this out of your system? What was it you said again? Bend you over and fuck you until you’re an inch from passing out?”

You give one last valiant jerk to break free, but he has a death grip with seemingly minimal effort. You go still while the fight leaves you. Hot humiliation and more than a little arousal course through you.

“Fuck you,” you say again with considerably less vitriol.

“I will,” he says, eyes locked on yours punishingly. “If that’s what you want.”

Your breath stutters, heat rising up the length of your face. You’re not sure if he’s messing with you, but the words are having the intended effect regardless. Your thighs press together gently to alleviate some of the pressure that his words and his eye-contact are creating. His eyes flicker down quickly, following the movement, before moving back up to meet your own gaze.

“Got nothing to say now? That’s ok, baby. I saw enough in that little book. Let’s look.”

He lets go of your wrists and you immediately lurch forward to grasp the diary, but he gets there first. He opens it at a random page.

“I came home from college today,” he starts to read, voice low. “Everyone else was gone, but Bucky was here. I don’t know how it’s possible but he’s so much hotter since I last saw him. He wears a bit of stubble now and his muscles were almost bursting out of his t-shirt. We bickered a little bit in the evening, but the whole time I was just wondering what he’s like in bed. I don’t think he would be sweet and soft all the time, like Matt. Maybe sometimes but I think he would be so mean and rough most of the time. He seems like he knows how to make a girl cum.”

He looks up at you. You feel tears prickle behind your eyes, shame steamrolling through you. You reach for the book again but he moves it out of your reach effortlessly.

“You’re goddamn right I do,” he says, smiling as if he’s talking about something totally innocent. “You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your brain is scrambled and the only thing escaping your lips is a garbled mess of vowels. You’re still suspicious. It wouldn’t be entirely unlike him to get you to admit to this and then pull the rug out from under you a moment later.

He huffs an impatient sigh. “Don’t go dumb on me already, silly girl.”

He flicks to another page in the book, smiles, and finally hands it over to you. You take it uncertainly.

“Why don’t you read that for me? Out loud. Jog your memory a bit.”

You’re not sure what you’re doing, but at this point it’s easier to follow instructions than to figure out what to do yourself. You look down, take another hesitant glance at an encouraging Bucky and begin to read with a sheepish, shameful tone. Your face is burning.

“I want him so bad. I think I’ll die if I don’t have him. The orgasms I’m giving myself aren’t enough. I need him to fuck me, even just one time. I’ll never ask for anything else again in my life if I can get his cock inside me just once. I’m going so deranged, I actually pictured him choking me yesterday with those huge hands and it made me cum so hard.” 

Your own words have done a number on you. You are stupidly, ridiculously turned on by his eyes on you and your own words echoing around the room. You raise your eyes slowly and sheepishly to meet his and the look on his face is nothing short of starving.

“Fuck it,” he breathes, pulling you forward and into a kiss.

Your unsuspecting mouth meets his with short, stabbing gasps. His right arm moves to the back of your neck, pulling you against him firmly, while the prosthetic arm pulls you onto his lap. His lips move against yours and the only word to describe it is filthy. His lips are still wet from licking them and his tongue is sliding over yours delicately but expertly.

You’re in a state of euphoria. Part of you always wondered whether you had played this up too much in your head. You wondered - if you were given the chance to finally touch him like this, whether it might be a bit disappointing after all you had imagined. 

If possible, it might be the opposite. Your body is shaking with adrenaline. Without thinking too much about it, you grind down on his lap and feel his hard length through his jeans. A bolt shoots up your spine. Has he been hard this whole time?

He grunts at the friction, calloused fingers tightening their hold on you. His hand glides slowly down from your neck, through the valley of your breasts and over your stomach, playing with the waistband of your cotton shorts. You’re already so riled up, it makes you press down on him again, clutching at his shoulders as if you could possibly pull him any closer. You’re high off the feel of him when he pulls away, just a few inches.

“You ready to admit it yet? That you want me?”

“I want you,” you breathe. It’s almost embarrassing how automatic the response is. How little you even have to think about it.

You feel his smile spreading against your own face. “I know, sweetheart. Of course I know. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Bucky is on the warpath, tearing your sweatshirt and his t-shirt off in quick succession. He takes a second to zero in on your breasts and you feel mildly self-conscious about your plain black bra, but he seems adequately distracted by them.

He slows down. Unclips your bra with languor. You shove away the sick, jealous feeling that creeps up when he doesn’t fumble even remotely with the clasp.

Once you’re bared to him, he seems to move slower. His hands go up to fondle them with uncharacteristic gentleness and you suck in a breath. His eyes darken to black, shiny knobs at your reaction and he maintains eye-contact with you while he presses a gentle kiss over your nipple, pulling it into his mouth.

A moan slips out at the sensation. So that’s what that should feel like.

“Wanna know a secret?” he murmurs between kissing and sucking, moving over to your other breast. You nod, uncertain whether or not he can see you. 

“Want you too. Wanted you since we were kids.”

You look down at him. He is seemingly avoiding your eyes. Your brain is a little hazy but still operational for the most part.

“Since when?”

“Just fuckin’ told you,” he says, moving a warm hand up your thigh. It’s a distraction tactic.

“No but when? What age?” Your voice is coming out breathy with the way his thumb is creeping underneath your shorts, stroking the sensitive crease between your thigh and the hem of your underwear. You wonder with some apprehension if his fingers can sense the warmth radiation from you. You’re soaked through.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, moving back up to kiss you. His thumb strokes over your panties now and you gasp into his mouth.

“Yes it does. Tell me,” you say. Because you’re muddled and jittery and incredibly fucking worked up, but more than all of that - you’re stubborn.

He gives you a hard look for a second, likely deciding whether he will be able to get you to let this go. You’re not.

“Was sweet on you when I was ten,” he says, rubbing you over your underwear harder now. Stars are exploding in your eyes, but the heavy, sluggish machinery that is your brain in its current state still chugs along at its steady, slow rhythm.

“Isn’t that when we first-”

“Yes.”

The shock almost overrides the sensation of his thumb slipping under the waistband of your underwear. But not quite. A loud, whining moan makes Bucky smile, but you still haven’t lost your head completely.

“You’ve liked me since we first met as little kids?”

He makes a loud, frustrated noise that vibrates through you and flips you over so you’re on your back. It happens so quick that it makes you dizzy. He folds himself over you and presses a vigorous kiss to your lips.

“Can you shut the hell up for two seconds?” he grunts, yanking your cotton shorts and underwear over your legs until you’re completely bare underneath him. “Tryna do something here.”

You laugh at him, but it doesn’t last long. He palms your breast briefly before trailing his fingers down, down, down. His fingers just barely graze over your clit and you buck up with a moan. All the humour is gone - you’re struggling to remember what you even found funny in the first place.

He brings his fingers up then to show them to you, glistening with your wetness. “You see how fucking desperate you are?” he asks. “Barely touched you and look how you’re reacting. Nobody’s ever touched you right, have they?”

You shake your head unthinkingly and his smile widens. It’s almost predatory.

“Poor thing,” he says with a smirk, lowering his hand once again to stroke over your clit. “I can tell. All jerky and twitchy. Just wait ‘till I get my cock in you.”

The whine you emit at his words slowly turns itself into a moan as he dips a finger into you. Slow, just feeling. He adds another when he sees how easily you accept the first. You had been right in everything you had ever thought about his fingers and how good they would feel inside you, how much they would stretch you out. Except it didn’t quite cover it.

None of the other college boys you had fucked had fingers like this. Calloused and big and rough. You clench around him when he begins to stroke, expertly curling into the perfect angle to hit that spongey spot inside you. Where the fuck did he learn to do this?

He presses you down with his other hand splayed over your stomach, stopping your hips which are moving down, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers. The pressure it puts on your lower stomach makes you clench around him.

“Y’feel so fucking tight,” he grunts, eyes on your lips. “This what you wanted, huh? This what you touched yourself thinking about?”

You nod, but it’s not enough. He pauses his ministrations and raises his eyebrows for an answer.

“Yes, I- fuck, yes keep going - I thought about this when I got myself off.”

“For how long?” he demands.

“I- what?” you ask, feeling a bit dumb. His lip twitches impatiently.

“How long have you been thinking about me like this? With my fingers stuffing your tight little pussy?”

Your face heats up with shame, but you know if you don’t answer him, he will stop again. And that’s a lousy deal. 

“A long time,” you say, hoping he will accept it as an answer. Thankfully, he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Should’ve told me. Wouldn’t have let you go unsatisfied like all these other assholes. Would’ve kept this pussy so busy, you wouldn’t have had the time to write in that silly little book. Would’ve put you in your place.”

“Put me in my place?” you spit, dragged out of the floaty headspace you had been in. Unfortunately you can’t concentrate too much on your anger and indignation. The pleasure he’s giving you is too much to hold on to anything else but him. It does nothing to stave off your incoming orgasm - if it wasn’t so fucked up, you might admit that it probably brings you closer to the edge. His fingers push into you smooth and hard. He grinds his palm against your clit.

“Yeah, put you in your place. Such a fucking spoiled brat, always throwing tantrums and bitching. Whole time you just needed a good fuck. Well I’ll give you plenty, baby. Sort you right out. Your family can thank me for your good behaviour when they’re home.”

There’s something fucked up about the way his mean - and undoubtedly problematic - words push you over the edge. You clench down and all but explode over his fingers, bright spots in your eyes. You’re not sure if you’ve ever come so fast before, or so intensely. Your head is still spinning while you come down, twitching around his fingers until he draws them back out.

Your vision is still slightly blurred, but you see Bucky sliding his fingers into his mouth. He doesn’t even make a show of it - he’s not even trying to make you watch him. He’s just tasting you for the pleasure of it. Your pussy jumps.

When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue. You should be spent by now, or at least somewhat less horny but you’re not. Your brain and body have clearly made a pact to make the most of your time with the man who has been driving you crazy for years. You begin to gush again when he bites your bottom lip. He releases a smoky chuckle against your mouth when your hips twitch against him.

He pulls up, standing over the bed to unbutton his jeans.

You’re still a little mad at him over that boorish ‘putting you in your place’ comment, but it does not stop you from getting dizzy when his cock is bared to you.

He’s the biggest you’ve ever seen and it’s not even close. Part of you knew he would be, but you didn’t think it would be this pretty. You didn’t even know a cock could be pretty.

It’s huge and rock hard where it presses up on his stomach. It’s very slightly curved with veins running up the flushed, heavy length. Your arm raises upwards unconsciously just to see how it would look in your hand, but you think better of it and quickly tuck it away again.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks and you realise he has been watching your reaction the whole time. Your face burns. “Feelin’ shy?” 

Your mouth opens and closes. “I don’t know how much…” you trail off, uncharacteristically nervous. You’ve never had a problem butting heads with Bucky before. Why is he so intimidating like this?

“Y’don’t know if it’ll fit?” he asks. You nod lightly and watch his cock give a small, light twitch. He takes it in his hand and gives it one slow pump. It makes your mouth hang open.

“Don’t worry, angel, we’ll take it slow. Don’t want to break you. Not this time, anyway.”

Feeling brave, you reach forward and take his warm, heavy cock in your fingers. It looks so much bigger in your hand than it does in his own and the sight makes your gut curl in both dread and excitement. He throws his head back, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

You give him one small pump and he grabs your wrist, shaking his head at you. You glare up at him.

“What the hell, Bucky? Don’t-”

He leans forward, grabbing your jaw in his hand roughly. “I know you wanna play with it so bad, sweetheart, but you can do that later. I’ll let you play with it as much as you want. But I’ve waited long enough and I’m not wasting another second. Gonna fill that tight cunt now. You hear me?”

You’re back in that floaty headspace, body feeling light, head feeling dreamy. You nod.

He smiles, using his leverage on your jaw to bring you in for a kiss while he climbs on top of you. You can feel the head of his hard cock pressing against your stomach.

“Good girl,” he says, moving away to lather kisses over your neck. His hips move to press the tip of his cock against your clit and you gasp. “My good girl You’re so sweet when you’re doing what I tell you to. Wish I’d known I could shut you up like this.”

You’re trying to be pissed off. You really are. But if you can be completely honest with yourself, it’s just turning you on more.

Your brain is almost gone, but you have one last spark of sentience. “Condom,” you gasp. “In my room.”

Bucky laughs against your neck. “You think I’m wearin’ a rubber with you?”

“Wha- yes?” 

“Don’t fuck with me, sweetheart, I know you’re on the pill. Seen it in your bathroom.”

“What were you doing in my-”

“I’m clean, just got checked. And I’m willing to bet you’ve never let anyone use this prissy little pussy without a condom before.”

You take a second, trying to assess how you feel about this. He really is such a douchebag, but he’s a douchebag you know incredibly well - he wouldn’t lie to you about this. You’re sure you could talk him into wearing a condom, but it might take a lot of back-and-forth. And his cock is teasing your hole now, and you’re squeezing around nothing, trying to suck him in. His cock is fully lubricated, all from the wetness between your thighs. You don’t say anything, but your body goes a bit limp.

“Yeah?” he says, celebrating his victory with a smile. You feel it against your collarbone. “You gonna let me skip the rubber?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Just stop fucking around Bucky. Please.”

He laughs lightly and begins to press in, the tight ring of muscle protesting against his size. You seize up while he stretches you out. It’s leaving a tight and uncomfortable sensation in your abdomen and you let out a quiet yelp.

“Such a good girl,” he says, reaching down to stroke your clit. He’s thrusting in slow, giving you just a little bit more with every press. His voice is low, as if he’s trying to comfort you, but it’s still coming across slightly patronising. “Letting me fuck you raw. Gonna take my cum like the good girl you are.”

You’re loosening up with the help of his dirty words and his fingers on your clit, drawing tight circles. It’s starting to feel good - more than good. But he’s still not in all the way. You have no idea how you’re going to take him.

His cock is insistent inside you, pressing in further and further while he whispers filthy praises and encouragements on your sweat-glistening skin. You brain is becoming jumbled with pleasure and the overwhelming sensation of fullness.

“This what you pictured when those other limp-dick assholes used to fuck you?” he grunts, bottoming out. You yelp at the angle he hits, body squirming around him. You thought you knew what getting fucked deep felt like, but you had never felt this. 

He pulls out and presses another punishing thrust into you. You gasp. “Answer.”

“Yes,” you say and you might be on the verge of tears. You can’t wrap your head around what’s happening. Everything feels a little blurry and his finger on your clit is still drawing tight circles. You just know that you need him to move. “Pictured you every time.”

He rewards you by beginning to slowly pull out and in, gently getting you used to his size. You’re filled to the brim with him. “I know. Read all about it in that dirty little book. Made them take you doggy so you could pretend it was me. So fucking desperate.”

Shame and pleasure are amalgamating in your stomach. It’s creating something more powerful than just the feeling of him moving inside you. It’s all becoming a bit too much, but in a way that you can’t help but love.

“It’s okay, angel. I’m no better than you. You turn me into such a fucking creep. Picking up girls who look like you. Leaving the dinner table to jerk it in the bathroom when you get all bratty and whiny.”

Just the thought of that makes you startle, pussy clenching around him. He looks so pretty, blue eyes dark with want, pink lips crushed between his teeth, gaze zeroed in on where you’re taking him, the light imprint in your tummy. The pleasure of it - the culmination of all your want - has you gasping, tears leaking from your eyes and trickling down your cheeks.

He sees it and startles. You can read it all on his face now - the awe and adoration.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooes, thumb reaching up to brush a fat tear from the corner of your eye. “Always been such a crybaby. You’re so pretty like this, such a pretty crier.”

It makes the tears puddle faster, the pleasure bordering on too much.

“I know, baby. It’s so much, isn’t it? I know,” he soothes you, while his hips work in direct opposition - fucking into you with brutality. It’s not just the pleasure, but the overwhelming emotion. You can’t work out exactly what you’re feeling, and you know that now isn’t the time to figure it out anyway.

Instead, you just let yourself feel it. The way his hips grind against yours, the feeling of him stretching you out, the crescendo of all that pent-up want finally bursting into song. You can’t stop looking at him, how pretty and fucked-out he is above you, even when he’s still pretending he hasn’t lost an ounce of control. 

“Stop with those fuckin’ eyes,” he grunts, catching your gaze. You’re still teary-eyed and pouty. “Gonna make me lose it early.”

The thought of him spilling inside you does nothing to curb the feeling. Your eyes widen and he grunts, pulling out of you and sitting up with his eyes squeezed shut. He takes a deep, dogged breath.

“Turn around,” he bites out.

With the way his face is pinched, eyes squeezed tight, he might be greatly suffering or experiencing a euphoria of pleasure. You don’t disobey a man at either point.

You spin around, face-down on the bed. You can hear him shuffle around, but seconds pass where you don’t feel his skin on yours. The anticipation makes you shiver.

When you finally do feel his touch, it’s his two hands slowly stroking down your hips. You lean backwards into his touch, whimpering just a little.

“What you whining for now?” he asks from behind you. You hear the smile in his voice.

“Put it back in,” you moan, pushing back on him until you feel his cock prod against your ass. You’re no longer feeling any shame at your desperation. You’re too far gone.

He takes your hip firmly with his prosthetic hand, the other moving down to give your ass a loving pat. “You need it that bad?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

He laughs low. “Still so fucking bratty. Think I can fuck it outta you?”

You can do nothing but nod, head rolling forward while the thick tip prods your entrance, sliding in slowly once more.

“That’s it,” he groans. He feels so much deeper like this. You can feel him all the way up your stomach to your throat. “Knew you’d take my cock like this. Knew you’d feel this good, just didn’t think you’d be this fucking dirty.”

“Fuck, Bucky, I need you,” you moan. You’re obscurely aware of the fact that you’ll probably be cringing at the memory of saying those words later, but it matters very little to you in this moment. “Needed you so bad.”

“Yeah?” he grunts. “Why don’t you tell me what you needed so bad?”

Your brain is moving like slow, heavy machinery again - too slow to come up with anything. “I- no, Bucky, I can’t-”

“Let me help you out.”

His arm reaches out in front of you, pulling out the godforsaken book that started this entire mess in the first place. You’re still a bit dumb, watching him pull open the book and flick to a page he has ear-marked - like a significant page in his favourite book. He slams it in front of you palm pressing it open until you take it from him cautiously. You look down at the book uncomprehending, body still jostling with the force of his thrusts.

“Read.”

Your head spins back, even though you can’t see him from this angle. He can’t be serious. 

One firm pinch to your ass confirms that he is.

Face burning and stomach clawing with shame and arousal, you clear your throat. Your voice comes out breathy and high.

“Matt always wore a condom but I think Bucky would be such a jerk about it. I wouldn't even mind. The thought of him coming inside me turns me on so- ooh!”-

Bucky’s hand reaches down below you, stroking at your clit.

“- so much. I really want him to fill me up. I wonder if he - fuck, Bucky - cums a lot. Whenever I think about him fucking me, I picture him filling me up to the brim until I’m dripping with his…”

You can’t go on any more. It just gets filthier from then on and you’re already on the verge of coming again. Thankfully, that seems to do enough for him.

“Jesus, you have a thing for this shit? That’s real fucking dirty, sweetheart. I promise I got a big fucking load for you. You’re the only one who is gonna take it from now on.”

You want to snap that he clearly has a thing for it too, judging by how riled up he is. He’s panting behind you, losing his rhythm. But you can’t do any such thing. All you can do is moan unintelligibly. You feel the familiar prickle behind your eyes, tears spilling out while you sniffle.

“Aw angel, you know what those tears do to me. Can’t help but give you what you want. You want my cum?”

You nod enthusiastically, spasming around him. You just wish you could see his face right now, but you can picture it.

“Fuck, yeah you do,” he growls. “Such a good girl for me. My good girl, all mine. Gonna give you my cum now, never gonna let you go empty from now on.”

With a firm hand between your neck and shoulder, he drags you upright against him. Your hands reach out to balance yourself against the headboard and he moves your jaw back until your mouth meets his. The kiss is brutal and sloppy, the angle not-quite-right, but just the feeling of his lips on yours and the movement of your tongues against each other makes you tumble off the edge.

A surge of unbridled want courses through you. You cry into his mouth, tears spilling between your lips until you can taste the salt. It’s either the taste of your tears or the sensation of your walls fluttering around him that causes Bucky to grunt, dick twitching once before spilling deep inside.

You had thought about this almost obsessively since you were old enough to understand the possibility. Somehow, you underestimated what it would do to you.

You might be floating or flying or drifting out of consciousness, but you are very conscious of the fact that you had never really known what it means to experience true pleasure until this moment. The noises he makes are filthy while he pumps you full of him, but you’re sure you’re likely giving as good as you’re getting. Not that you have the faintest awareness of what you’re saying.

Bucky wasn’t lying. You can feel his heavy load dripping out of you you, messing your thighs and the sheets. He continues to bounce you on his cock slowly and gently even after you have both come down from your highs. You’re sensitive and sore, but there’s something comforting about small, shallow thrusts, even if the squelching noises it’s making are obscene.

Eventually, he slides himself out of you and wraps himself around you instead. He envelopes you in a sort of gentle tackle, pulling your exhausted body with him deeper into the sheets.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. You can feel his stubble against your temples, his breath on your skin.

“Uh huh” you try. It comes out as more of a garble. He laughs, light and airy.

You open your eyes, take in his tired, happy grin. His blue eyes have gone bright again.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna break me,” you say sardonically. 

He plays with your hair, twirls it around a finger. “Might have gotten carried away.”

You roll your eyes. He does a poor imitation of you, rolling his eyes all the way back into his skull in mockery. You try to glare but it doesn’t work against your smile. You settle back down against his chest. Feel it vibrate while he laughs.

“You really meant that?” you ask after a moment. You cough away a scratch in your voice. “About wanting me since we were kids?”

“Hell yeah,” he chuckles. Your head bounces against his chest lightly. “I was so crazy about you when we were kids. Can’t believe you didn’t know.”

“How could I know? You were always so mean to me.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what that means in kid-language.”

“You still are. Sometimes.”

He raises his head to look down at you, searching your face. “Old habits.”

You nod, but you’re still working through everything in your head. Your post-orgasmic brain is working no faster than it was ten minutes ago. 

“I’m sorry for reading your diary,” he says after a few seconds and you swear you might see the raw edge of panic sitting somewhere there on his face. “It was a shitty thing to do. I don’t regret it, because I don’t know that I would have ever had the balls to make a move otherwise, but I am sorry.”

It’s so bizarre, so completely unexpected, you can only stare. He’s looking back at you with an uncharacteristic nervousness that makes you slightly uncomfortable. Truthfully, you had forgotten you were even mad about the privacy violation in the first place. Maybe it’s the two orgasms.

You still don’t want to have a heart-to-heart with Bucky - that might be pushing things a bit too far, a bit too early. Instead you lean forward to give him a small, chaste kiss. He smiles.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, pressing small kisses to your lips, moving down your cheek and on to your neck. “Just wait ‘till I get my tongue on you.”

You tense up, resolutely ignoring the heat pooling low in your stomach. There is no way in hell you can endure another round right now. Your limbs are still shaking.

Whatever expression is on your face makes Bucky laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll give you a couple hours. We got two long weeks in this house by ourselves.”

a/n: the diary entries are basically just my dms with my moots lmao

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