howdy.

Easy for him to say.

The gala was all crystal chandeliers and whispered deals in dark corners. You wore a backless black gown that clungto you like sin, your hair pinned up to expose the vulnerable line of your neck. Bucky cleaned up in a tailored tux, metal arm hidden beneath sleek black fabric, hair swept back. He looked annoyingly good.

You hated it.

You danced once—stiff, close enough for cover. His hand on your waist burned through the silk. “Smile, darling,” he murmured against your ear, voice dripping sarcasm.

Your heel dug into his polished shoe in reply.

Halfway through the night, you slipped away to the upper floors, hunting the encrypted drive in a private office. The door clicked shut behind you. Bucky moved to the safe, hands quick and precise, while you kept watch.

Thirty seconds later—footsteps.

Too many. Too heavy.

“Shit—hide!” you hissed.

No time.

The only exit was the door they were now pounding on.

Bucky grabbed your arm, dragging you toward the far wall—the one fully visible from the entrance if it gave way. Voices shouted in Russian.

“Open up! We know someone’s in here!”

Your heart hammered. No windows. No vents. No way out.

An idea sparked—filthy and desperate.

You backed into the wall, chest rising fast. “Barnes. Come here.”

He shot you a look. “What—”

“Shut up and get over here.”

You grabbed his tie and yanked him forward until his body caged yours against the cool plaster.

“We make it look like we’re fucking,” you whispered. “If we're loud and convincing enough, they’ll leave.”

For once, the Winter Soldier looked completely speechless.

The pounding got louder. “Last warning!”

You didn’t wait.

Your head tipped back against the wall, lips parting. “Bucky…” The sound that left you was low, breathy, practiced—but it still sent a jolt through your own spine. Your hands slid up his chest, nails dragging lightly. “Harder—fuck, yes—”

His breath hitched.

His hands landed on your hips, gripping tighter than necessary.

The fake was supposed to stay fake.

But something in the way you said his name—soft and wrecked—flipped a switch.

“Damn it,” he growled, voice rough. One hand slid down your thigh, bunching your dress up to your hip. He pressed forward, thigh slotting between yours, rocking once.

The friction hit just right.

Your next moan wasn’t entirely staged.

Outside, the guards hesitated. One muttered something under his breath. Another laughed.

You doubled down. “Bucky—right there, baby—don’t stop—”

Your voice cracked.

His metal hand spread over your ass, dragging you harder against him. You felt him—hot, thick, straining through his slacks—and the realization sent a sharp thrill straight through your core.

“Fuck, doll,” he rasped into your neck, teeth grazing your skin. Not part of the act. Not even close. His hips rolled again, deliberate now, grinding against you through layers of fabric. Your back arched.

A real whimper slipped free.

The door rattled again. “Hey! People are trying to enjoy the party!”

Bucky’s mouth latched onto your throat, sucking a mark that would darken by morning. “Louder,” he ordered, voice dark velvet. His hand slipped beneath your dress, fingers teasing the edge of your panties. “Let them hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You obeyed—because you had to.

Because you wanted to.

“Ah—Bucky! Yes—fuck me—”

The words broke into something real as his fingers pushed your underwear aside and found you already slick. He groaned before sliding two fingers inside you in one smooth thrust.

Your knees nearly gave out.

He caught you easily, holding you up while he worked his hand between your thighs, pumping slow and deep. His hips kept moving, grinding against you, the friction relentless and filthy. The sounds—wet, obscene—echoed in the small room.

Your hand fisted in his hair, pulling hard. “More—please—”

No act left now.

Just want.

He added another finger, stretching you, his thumb circling your clit with devastating precision. The distant hum of the gala faded into nothing. All you could hear was his breathing, rough and uneven, and the slick rhythm of his hand.

Your orgasm built fast.

Outside, the guards were arguing now. “Probably just some horny guests. Waste of time.”

Bucky’s teeth sank into your shoulder as he drove his fingers deeper, curling just right. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let go. Let them hear you scream my name.”

You did.

The orgasm hit like a shockwave—your body tightening, trembling, breaking apart around his hand. A loud, wrecked cry tore out of you.

“Bucky—fuck—!”

It wasn’t fake.

It wasn’t controlled.

It was real.

He worked you through it, slower now but no less intense, until your legs were shaking and you were barely upright. Only then did he pull his fingers free—bringing them to his mouth without breaking eye contact.

The look he gave you while licking them clean made your stomach flip.

The hallway outside had gone quiet.

Footsteps retreated.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell, his eyes blown dark. “Mission’s not over,” he said hoarsely.

But he didn’t move away.

Instead, he kissed you.

All teeth and tongue and months of tension snapping at once.

You bit his lip, tasting copper, breath mingling with his. “Then finish the job, Barnes,” you muttered. “And make it quick.”

Your hand dropped between you, palming him through his slacks.

“I want you inside me before they circle back.”

A dark laugh left him, already reaching for his belt. “Yes, ma’am.”

The drive could wait.

Five minutes.

Maybe ten.

It started with coffee.

You worked at the little café just off NYU’s campus, paint smudges on your fingers half the time, sketchbook permanently tucked beneath the counter. Arts major. Barista. The antithesis of the revolving door of women Bucky entertained.

Bucky Barnes: serial dater, allergic to commitment, campus heartbreaker, realized he was completely, utterly screwed.

Suddenly the rules felt stupid.

“Large black coffee,” he’d say every morning.

“You know, for someone so handsome, you’re remarkably boring.”

And every morning he’d scowl while handing over his card. Every morning you smiled. Every morning he came back. Three weeks later, his teammates noticed.

“You’re whipped,” Sam grinned as they changed in the locker room.

“I’m not.”

“You literally changed coffee shops,” Steve quipped. “It isn’t even on your route to campus.”

Bucky glared. The idiots weren’t wrong. Things got worse when his parents came down for Parents Weekend. George and Winnie Barnes arrived from Glen Cove, Long Island looking like they’d stepped out of a country club brochure. They were meeting you for the first time for lunch.

You were in paint-splattered overalls. Bucky thought you looked beautiful.

His parents looked horrified.

You smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

Winnie’s gaze dropped briefly to the tattoo peeking from your wrist and then to the chipped nail polish and then to the sketchbook under your arm.

“Oh.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened immediately. The rest of lunch only got worse.

“What exactly are you studying?” George asked.

“Fine arts.”

Silence.

It was the kind of silence that wasn’t really silence. No, it was the kind that was packed full of judgment.

“That’s… interesting.”

Every smile you faked was done out of sheer politeness. You knew the implication. You wanted to hear them say it anyway.

“Translation?” you asked. “Not practical?”

George looked startled. Winnie laughed nervously.

“Well, our James has always been ambitious.”

There it was.

Engineering student. Hockey captain. Future six-figure salary. His entire life mapped out from conception.

And you?

Just a lowly barista who painted.

Bucky spent the next ten minutes looking like he was considering committing a felony. You kicked him under the table every time he opened his mouth. Eventually the visit ended and his parents left, leaving you and Bucky alone in his apartment.

You immediately sighed. “Well…”

“Doll,” Bucky began but you shook your head, raising a hand cutting him off.

“No, it’s okay.”

“It isn’t.”

You shrugged. “They don’t like me.”

“They don’t know you.”

“James.”

That got his attention. You only used James when you were serious.

“They want someone different for you. Not me.”

He stared at you for a long moment before bursting into laughter. “You think I care? Do you know how many girls they’ve tried setting me up with?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. I stopped counting.”

Before you, Bucky’s parents actually liked all the girls he dated. They were exactly what they expected.

Pre-med. Law school. Finance. Country Club. Perfect hair and manicures. Beautiful. Polished. Accomplished.

Meanwhile Bucky was bored out of his mind. They’d laugh and preen as they poured over their resume for the Mrs. Degree. Then came the other women who warmed the bed but not his heart. The ones he tried to connect with, but couldn’t no matter how hard he tried.

Bucky leaned down until his forehead touched yours.

“You know what I want?”

“What?”

His smile softened.

“You.”

The artsy barista with paint on your jeans. You who can and will argue with him. You who teases him on the regular. You who steals his hockey hoodies.

Your heart skipped.

“And if they don’t approve?” you whispered.

Bucky’s grin turned positively dangerous. His chest did that annoying thing again. The thing only you caused.

The thing that made a serial dater, commitment phobe hockey captain start browsing apartment listings with two bedrooms and wondering what your last name would sound like attached to his.

“Well doll, they’re gonna have a really rough time at our wedding.”

"This is stupid!" Sam yelled, waving his gun in the air.

"The games the game." Bucky chuffed with a smirk.

"You're the one who suggested this." Yelena chuckled alongside Bucky.

"Yeah a nice normal game of Lazer tag. Not Lazer tag with the world's best assassin!" Sam continued.

"Look man," Joaquin huffed as he joined Sam's side, "Maybe we just call it quits, we've gone 5 rounds, we keep losing."

"No we go again." Sam replied sternly, pointing at Bucky with narrowed eyes, "You, left hand only."

"Fine by me." Bucky grinned before jogging back into the darkened zone laughing.

Thankfully, the doctors assured Sam that the young man will be out in no time. That gave him enough hope to not worry his ass off. After all, the young body heals faster, right?

Right now Sam was free from any missions and that could mean only one thing – paperwork. Gosh, he hated that stuff. Especially when right now there wasn't anyone who he could share the comfortable silence with. Body doubling really worked wonders for both of the winged heroes.

Sigh.

𝙁𝙤𝙘𝙪𝙨, 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣.

Sam hunched over the desk, writing yet another report, rubbing his neck anxiously, when his phone buzzed with the incoming call.

𝙏𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙨🐤

Sam picked up immediately, eager to hear the news from his teammate.

“Mornin', Falcon Junior. You good?”

Joyful chirping coming out of the speaker filled Sam's ears, making him pull the phone away for a moment. He shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. That boy... Sometimes he's like an actual bird, really.

“Woah, slow down, Quin. Your old man can only understand this much.” Sam pleaded with a fond smile. Thankfully, Joaquin understood the assignment and actually slowed his happy rambling.

“Sam, Sam! They said that they'll let me out next week!” He announced proudly. “My physical therapist said that I've been an exceptionally good boy and I can finally leave the hospital, but I'll have to visit PT sessions every week. Is that okay? I can return to the base, right? Right? Please please please, say that I can!”

Sam actually beams at that and lets out a small giggle.

“Yes, 'course you can, Quin! 'Course you can. Do you need me to pick you up or anything...?”

A week later, still rugged but pretty much alive Torres was finally sitting at his desk and rambling about new video games that were released since his hospital trip started and that he was eager to play.

“Oh, by the way.” Sam perked up with a proud grin. “You know you're being promoted, right?”

That made Joaquin stop in his tracks and gaze up at Sam with the most surprised expression of all times.

“Really?!” He asks, a dopey grin splitting his face. “Bro... If you're kidding you gotta tell me right now! If it's April Fools' or something, I swear…”

“Funny that you mentioned that... Because the ceremony is on the 1st of April, actually…” Sam retaliated with a wide smile. “Get your service dress uniform ready! And don't worry, I'll get you on April Fools' one way or another.”

“Buck, I need advice from someone experienced. No, that's not about... Oh my god, you're impossible…” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes and gripping his phone firmer. “I need your help with pranking Torres on April Fools', alright? I really could use some words of wisdom from the past, if you catch the drift.”

Bucky on the other side of the line snorted. “You should've started with that. And I'm not that old, you know... Do you have any ideas already?”

“Well, first I was thinking of messing with his computer desktop, you know, setting the screenshot as the wallpaper and hiding the icons. But that could be not safe, even considering the fact that the kid is a tech prodigy. The sticky note on the back is not nice, he has a promotion ceremony that day, I can't risk him getting publicly humiliated at this important date. I need something innocent yet silly enough to make him laugh. So, waddaya think?”

“He's getting promoted?”

“Yup.”

“Good for him. The kid risked his life for the sake of all of us. Well…”

Bucky hums to himself, then suggests a brilliant idea. “How about a good ole whoopee cushion?”

“Seriously?” Sam whips an eyebrow up, puzzled.

“What? It's a classic!”

“Fine. Whoopee cushion it is, then. But you'll have to be there.”

“Me? Why?”

“Well, do you want to see Torres fall victim to your genius prank or not?”

“Dammit... Fine, I'll be there.”

“Yessss!” Sam exclaimed giddily, pumping his fist into the air. “See ya then, Buck.”

“Only Steve could call me that.”

“Yeah, yeah... Because he knew you longer and he had a plan. But now I have a plan!”

“It's my plan.”

“Whatever. Be there at 8 AM sharp, sarge, don't be late!”

And there it was. The big day.

Sam and Bucky already gathered at the office, both looking sharp and fresh. Bucky in a suit, Sam in his service dress uniform.

“Huh, Wilson, never thought I'd have a chance to see you in 1620, but here you are…” Bucky mused, tapping the desk with vibranium fingers. Sam chuckled low, shaking his head.

“Shush, you... I'm not the man of the day, y'know. Speaking of which... where is he?”

As if on cue, the office door creaked open and Joaquin slowly walked in, smiling nervously and fidgeting the peaked service hat in his hands. Both men let out a low whistle. And honestly? The reaction was well-deserved.

Torres was standing tall, the uniform fitted him perfectly. Three silver-coloured buttons with Hap Arnold wings and silver mirror-finish “U.S.” lapel pins on his coat were shining bright, bringing out the glint in his dark eyes. Both the coat and the trousers were pressed and spotless, the soft dark blue shade of which—accompanied with the light blue shirt—was complimenting his tan skin. The silvery metal 1st Lieutenant rank insignia—which soon will be changed to Captain one—was pinned onto both of the epaulets of his coat. And, just to add some more charm to it, a ½ inch wide sleeve braid loops precisely 3 inches from the cuffs of the coat sleeves.

Sam's jaw dropped. He was wearing a similar uniform, but surely his wasn't looking so chic.

“Damn, boy... Have you escaped the runway just to bless us mortals with your presence?” Sam hummed, nodding appreciatively. Bucky was silent, yet he nodded along. Joaquin giggled at that, shuffling around and giving them a slow spin.

“Well, Torres, you look so good that I suggest you do everything today: get promoted, graduate from somewhere, propose and marry a pretty lady while you're at it…” Bucky added.

“Bucky!” Sam and Joaquin both yelped in unison.

“What? Just sayin'...”

Despite Sam and Bucky's humorous remarks Joaquin was still fidgeting nervously, a light sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Of course, Bucky's supersoldier nose immediately picked up a trace of adrenaline and cortisol in Joaquin’s scent.

“Hey…” He cooed gently. “What are you nervous about, kid?”

Joaquin gulped and pinched the bridge of his nose before muttering low. “The oath of office. I keep messing up the line about ‘mental reservation or purpose of eva… eba… evasion’!”

“It's alright, really.” Bucky replied calmly. “Everyone's nervous about the oath and promotion in general. You should've heard Wilson's heartbeat when he was giving his big Captain America speech…”

“Barnes’s right, Quin. You can do this. Calm your nerves, take a seat.” Sam added, glancing at Bucky with an absolutely shit-eating grin, which Joaquin would've noticed if he wasn't so distraught, and gestured towards the computer chair where, under Torres's usual orthopedic cushion, was carefully tucked a rubber whoopee cushion, waiting for its time to shine, per se.

“Thank you, Sam, you're so thoughtful…” the young man mumbled, lowering himself into the chair, careful not to wrinkle his trousers. When he finally fully dropped with a sigh, he was met with a god-awful, embarrassing sound of flatulence that echoed off the office walls.

PBRRRRRRRRRRRRT!

For a long moment after that—deafening silence. Sam and Bucky exchange concerned glances and then… Joaquin snorts. Then giggles. Then laughs out loud, clutching his stomach and doubling over.

“Bahahaha..! Fu— Haha..! Ughhhhahahaha! Bruh— Ahahaha, Dios mio… Brooooo, seriously? Tee hee..! A fart prank? That's…hahaha…Captain America's level of humor?” Joaquin was laughing-crying at this point, tears of joy falling from his lashes and running down his cheeks.

“It was his idea!” Sam retorts shamelessly, pointing in Bucky's direction.

“Me?! You called me, asking for advice, Wilson!” Bucky huffs indignantly.

“Oh my god…” Joaquin wheezes. “You two… are insufferable… Woo… Damn it… Alright, I need to calm down…” He finally decides just to fall into the pit of giggles right after.

“Well, happy April Fools'! It's the only joke for today, Quin. You still have your promotion ceremony soon. Need help with that oath?”

“Good morning everyone! We're pleased all of you could join us as we recognize one of our own, first lieutenant Joaquin Torres, on the occasion of his promotion to captain…” The ceremony officiant's voice boomed across the ceremonial hall, echoing in the ears of the present guests. Everyone's attention was glued to the young man on the stage who was trying to keep a serious demeanor despite the happy grin splitting his face, making his cheeks ache.

“Attention to orders,” the officiant continued after the comment from Torres’s superior officer. “The president of the United States, acting upon the recommendation of the secretary of the Air Force, has placed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, integrity and abilities of first lieutenant Joaquin Torres. In view of these special qualities, and his demonstrated potential to serve in the higher grade, first lieutenant Torres is promoted to the grade of captain, United States Air Force, effective the 2nd day of April, two thousand and twenty seven, by order of the secretary of the Air Force.”

The hall erupted with ovations from the present Airmen and such, while Sam, prompted by the officiant, stepped forward to do the honor of pinning Joaquin's new rank insignia onto his coat. And then came the time to take an oath of office. And it was brilliant. Because sometimes a little bit of genuine laughter might actually help to calm your freaking nerves.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Captain Torres.”

© 2026 lonelypony-m. this work is protected by copyright. unauthorized use, reproduction, distribution, or training of artificial intelligence models with this content is strictly prohibited. all original elements of this fanfiction belong to lonelypony-m. characters and settings derived from original works belong to their respective creators.

Likes and reblogs are highly appreciated ✨🫂

Cloud dividers. Paper plane dividers.

JULY 21, 2024 — DELACROIX — DANICA

When I wake again, the room is bright with morning sunlight. I’m still curled against James with my head still tucked into the crook of his neck, but at some point in the night I must have shifted, because now my right arm is draped over his ribs.

As I awaken fully, I remember the events of last night…and the wee hours of the morning.

‘He loves me…he loves me!’

Something bright and warm unfurls in my chest, and I cuddle just a little closer to him. I inhale deeply, and as I breathe in his comforting, familiar scent, I can’t stop a smile from spreading over my face.

“Good mornin’, doll,” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly with sleep.

His tone causes heat to flood my veins, and when I lean back to meet his gaze, I realise it’s not just me who is affected. His pupils aren’t completely blown, but close…and there’s a stark hunger in his eyes.

“Neets…” he trails off, his eyes dropping to my lips. “Sweetheart, I’m trying to be a—”

“A gentleman?” Feeling bold, I glide my tongue over my bottom lip. Letting my voice turn sultry, I continue. “Maybe I don’t want you to be.”

Before he can respond, I crush my lips to his. Immediately, he kisses me back, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. His left hand slides into my hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilts my head back and deepens the kiss.

Fervently, I kiss him back, my arms twining around his neck as I press myself closer to him. I feel him hard against me, and the knowledge that I can still affect him like this has a burst of feminine pride swelling within me.

He lightly nips at my bottom lip, and a breathy moan slips from me. An answering groan escapes him, and he rolls so I’m beneath him, his hips settling between my thighs. I rock against him, elation coursing through me as his right hand grips my hip, pulling me tighter against him. His lips leave mine as he begins to trail kisses down the column of my throat, and I tilt my head to give him better access.

“God, Danica,” he murmurs as he gently scrapes his teeth over the spot where my neck and shoulder meet.

“Wait,” I pant, moving my hands to his chest.

‘What are you doing?!’ something inside me shouts. ‘Why are you stopping?!’

James immediately stills, lifting his head to look at me.

“Are you alright?”

I nod. “Yes. I just…this is…”

“Fast,” we say together.

“Yeah,” I reply with another nod.

James rests his forehead against mine, his hand moving from my hair to my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone as our breathing slows.

“I want to. I do. I just…I don’t want to make any more mistakes,” my voice is soft. “You’re too important to me. And we’ve had the uncomfortable, difficult conversations. We don’t have any secrets between us. I feel like…I feel like we have a chance to be happy together. And I don’t want to muck it up because….” I trail off, falling silent as I gather my thoughts. “Because we do this without talking about it first.”

He moves off of me, sitting on the side of the mattress. After he helps me sit up, he speaks, keeping my hand in his.

“I understand. And I agree with everything you said.” He swallows audibly. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a second chance, but I’m not wasting it. And I’m not going to mess it up.” He grasps my other hand. “I’d like to take you on a proper date.”

“A date?!” I can’t keep the excitement out of my tone.

The adorable, lopsided grin I love so much curves his lips. “Yeah, Neets. A date.” There’s the briefest hesitation before he continues. “How about tomorrow evening?”

Smiling brightly, I nod. “Yes! I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll make the arrangements.” After placing a kiss to the tip of my nose, he stands and offers me his hand. “C’mon, doll…I’ll make you breakfast.”

Three weeks later

Bucky sat on the couch next to Joanne, frowning while they watched the newscast. The story, starting with footage showing him waiting for pickup after shooting the disc grenade at Nick Fury's vehicle, segued into the attack on the car carrying Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and the third individual identified as Sam Wilson, a former Air Force pararescue specialist. The final segment of Bucky in action, was at the Triskelion showing him attacking SHIELD pilots and technicians at the airfield beside the building. All throughout the footage, the reporter's voiceover spoke about the dangerous individual who had now been identified.

The masked man, originally known only as the Winter Soldier, a HYDRA operative whose existence was known in the intelligence community, has been identified as James Buchanan Barnes, of Howling Commandos fame. Acting on a tip from an unknown source, the FBI ran facial recognition software on the cell phone and news footage of the Winter Soldier comparing it to known film footage of Barnes from World War II. The positive identification was announced this morning in a news conference where it was asked how a man thought killed in 1945 could still be alive in 2014, while appearing to be in his early 30s.

An FBI spokesperson, standing in front of a World War II image of Bucky placed beside an image of him that looked like the screenshot the newsroom took, answered the question.

"We believe that HYDRA had technology that extended the life of Barnes by placing him in cryogenic stasis, bringing him out for missions as needed. It is speculated that he also received a similar treatment to that of Steve Rogers, Captain America, endowing him with super soldier abilities. This would certainly explain the superior strength and physical abilities shown in all known footage of him."

The spokesperson looked directly at the camera.

"James Buchanan Barnes is considered extremely dangerous and should not be approached by the general public. If you see him, you are to phone local police immediately."

He sat back against the sofa, running his hands through his long hair, then placing them in his lap, both curled in a tight grip. His silence was understandable. Joanne watched him, then gently put her hand on his. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, a haunted look in his eyes.

"They'll shoot first," he said. "Even if I stand out in the middle of the street with my hands up, they won't hesitate to take me out."

"I won't let them."

He smiled slightly, then kissed her hand.

"You won't be able to stop them. Maybe I should give myself up to Nick Fury. At least, he won't kill me outright."

"No, there has to be a way to make them know that you had no choice," she said. "We could contact Steve Rogers. He would believe you."

Bucky stood up, then walked over to the window, pulling the curtain aside to look at the farmland, then glancing up at a private plane that flew overhead towards the airport. Just as he turned towards her a bullet came through the window, striking him in the temple. Joanne jumped up, then watched in horror as the bullet came out of the other side of his head, knocking him sideways. Screaming as she ran to him, she didn't even get a chance to touch him as a number of black clad officers stormed through the windows and doors, yelling at her to get down on the floor. One of them grabbed her, forcing her down as she cried and begged to go to Bucky who lay there looking at her with his lifeless eyes, a pool of blood forming under his head.

🎞️ 🎞️ 🎞️

"Joanne," said Bucky, shaking her. "Wake up. You're okay, you're having a nightmare."

She opened her eyes as she sat up in a panic, sobbed out loud then found his worried eyes in the dark, before bursting into tears. As he wrapped his arms around her, she grasped his T-shirt, bunching it into her fist while she shook from the latest nightmare out of several she'd suffered for the past week.

"You were dead," she snuffled into his chest. "They shot you in the head through the window. The FBI received a tip and used facial recognition software to compare all the footage of you as the Winter Soldier with filmed footage of you from the war. Someone must have given them the screenshot we took of you in the newsroom. It's all my fault."

"It's okay. It was just a dream. We're safe."

He rubbed circles on her back, lowering her back onto the bed. Ever since he was pulled over for failing to come to a complete stop at a stop sign, Joanne had developed a fear that the police check done on his fake licence would lead to the FBI finding him. She had phoned Fury after they got back, taking the satellite phone outside and begging him to make sure that the traffic stop didn't evolve into something worse. Since then, she had watched all the news channels they could get on the satellite dish, fearing that she would see one of the same news stories that she saw in her dreams.

It took several minutes for Joanne to settle down, still clinging to Bucky. They slept together most nights now, starting after they first made love on their arrival to this safe house. His nightmares and related sleep disturbances had lessened although there were times when she woke up in the night alone. The first time he left their bed she got up and padded barefoot through the house looking for him, before finding him outside when she saw him in the yard through the window. He was just standing there, looking at the stars. Slipping on her shoes and pulling a jacket on, she came outside. Before she even got close to him he glanced back, reassuring her.

"I'm alright. I just needed ... space."

Swallowing her slight trepidation at his use of the term, she approached, slipping her arm around his waist as he put his around her shoulders.

"Am I being too needy?"

"No." He squeezed her shoulder. "I'm just not used to sleeping with someone. It's also the longest time I've been unfrozen, from what I can remember so that's made me a little anxious. I know that when I was out of cryo for too long before it made me jumpy. I'm a little nervous about it affecting me."

"Uncharted territory," she murmured. "Are you worried about hurting me?"

"A little." He looked up at the sky again, his attention caught by the brief flash of a meteor. "What woke you up just now?"

She breathed out, wanting to get rid of the dark thought that had reared its head. "Did I push you into having sex? Was I taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state?"

He pulled away slightly to look at her, concerned that she thought that.

"No, you didn't. I told you since then that I dreamed of you. Some of the dreams were of us having sex. I was ashamed of that, thought it was proof that what they did to me made me into someone disgusting. Making love with you that first time made me feel better about a lot of things." He kissed the side of her head then whispered. "Go on back to bed. I'll join you soon." He kissed her again, cupping her face as he did it. "Really, I'm alright."

Leaving him there, Joanne returned to the house, getting into bed, trying to stay awake for him. Since then, she was sometimes aware of the mattress dipping as he returned to bed and spooned behind her but there were times when he didn't return until she was already asleep. Being honest with each other had been the right way to handle it then and it still was.

Now Bucky was the one doing the comforting as Joanne dealt with the nightmares. While she breathed in the unique and comforting scent of him she found it odd at how their positions had adjusted for their situation. He had been very comforting to her.

"Thank you for being here for me," she murmured.

"Just tryin' to help," he answered, his Brooklyn accent slipping out. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart."

It didn't take long for her to fall asleep again but Bucky didn't have the same luck. He was concerned about Joanne being agitated enough to have these frequent nightmares. Surely the traffic stop wasn't the only reason she had the fear of him being identified. Whatever it was, it was deeply embedded in her, affecting her emotionally. He wondered if it was also changing her unique body scent slightly, into something richer and more intense. He smiled in the dark at how hard it was to keep their hands off each other. It was almost a craving for how much he wanted her touch and to touch her in return. Which reminded him that they would need more condoms soon. As he thought of other things that they needed, he felt himself drifting off to sleep, amused at the thought that assembling a shopping list replaced counting sheep as a means to get to sleep.

When Bucky did wake up in the morning, he was alone, but heard the sound of music playing downstairs. The DVD player not only played movies, it also played what Joanne called CDs, discs that looked like the movie DVDs but only played music. She picked up several for herself; an assortment that included what she referred to as rock, pop, and R & B. For him, she found some compilations of 1940s music that included some artists that sounded familiar like Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Duke Ellington and Tommy Dorsey. A few of their songs had definitely produced more memories for him, visions of dancing in crowded clubs, full of cigarette smoke and the scent of perfume.

That had led to memories of dating and making love to many different women, which confirmed to him that he was a ladies' man. When he first thought that, after watching the Howling Commandos documentary, it bothered him but Joanne found some biographies about him that clarified that he was popular with women for several reasons. First, he was handsome, a thought that amused him considering how different he thought he looked now compared to then. He was seen as a gentleman, who treated the women he dated with care and concern; always making sure they were safe. Joanne assured him that hadn't changed. Several accounts said he was the type of guy who would stand up for any woman, often intervening against unwanted advances or defending a woman facing abuse at the hands of another man.

There was also speculation that he was a closeted homosexual or bisexual man, dating a lot of women to throw suspicion off him and by extension, Steve Rogers, especially after the latter was transformed in body and reputation into Captain America. When he first read that there had been rumours of them being lovers, he lifted his eyes from the book, looking at Joanne as she read a newspaper.

"Are they serious about thinking I may have been homosexual?"

She looked at him, then came over to read the part that prompted his question.

"Yes, but you don't have to take it too seriously," she answered, sitting next to him on the couch. "They say that about many celebrities who have an active sex life, especially those from the 1940s who didn't dare express themselves truthfully as it would ruin their lives and careers and could have seen them arrested on morals charges. Being gay was a crime then. There are a number of people who still see it as a crime now, even though it's not."

"But we're having sex so that means I'm not homosexual, right?"

"True, but you could be bisexual, open to men and women, or pansexual, open to men, women, transsexual, non-binary ...." She stopped as he looked even more confused. "Do you have memories of being with men before HYDRA got you?" He shook his head. "Were you ever with someone who looked like a woman then looked like a man once their clothes were off?" He shook his head. "I'll get you some books about sexuality. Attitudes have changed a lot since the 1940s. Based on what we're doing, I think you're pretty much into women."

She stood up to return to the newspaper.

"Joanne, have you ever been with a woman?"

He would ask that. She kneeled down in front of him.

"When I was in college I tried sex with a woman." His eyes opened wide. "She was a lesbian and I was questioning myself and wanted to know if I was bisexual. It was ... interesting. I couldn't stop laughing when she began talking dirty to me. It just hit me weird. She got angry with me and left me in my dorm room. That was the extent of my experience with another woman." Bucky looked thoughtful. "I had one real love affair with a man that didn't work because our differences, including our ages, were too great plus we worked together and there was friction there." An ironic laugh escaped her lips. "Nothing like our age difference but you're more open than he was." She caressed his face. "Don't worry about it, Bucky. I like you just as you are."

Those words still reverberated in his mind even now, some time after she first said them. Getting out of bed, Bucky quickly showered then got dressed. By then the music had stopped and she had the TV on, picking up the satellite feed of a news station.

"Good morning," he said, entering the kitchen, seeing Joanne at the stove. He kissed her on the side of the head. "You aren't making breakfast for me, are you?"

She smiled and shrugged. "I guess after waking you up in the middle of the night I thought I owed it to you. I didn't wake you up with the music, did I?"

"No, I heard it when I opened my eyes and laid there for a while thinking about stuff." He picked up a piece of bacon, tearing a portion of it off with his teeth. "Before I went to sleep I did remember some things that we need to get. I better write them down before I forget."

"There's a list on the table that I started." She gestured to the pad of paper. "I might have thought of some of the same things already. Just add on to it."

He sat, pulling the list over as he finished the bacon. Glancing at him as he went over the list, it struck Joanne at how it was all so domestic in nature, with him at the table, and her cooking. As a woman married to her career she should have rebelled against this but Bucky cooked as well and did the laundry. They actually shared the household duties quite evenly. He even fixed some things in the house, unable to explain how he knew how to do it, except that he may have done something similar before the war when people just fixed what was broken because they couldn't afford to pay for someone else to repair it. Grabbing the pen, he added several items to the list, then pushed it aside and stood up. Both of them froze when they heard the distinctive music announcing breaking news and the stern voice of the TV announcer.

In breaking national news, another arrest of a prominent HYDRA operative was made overnight. Dan Arnolds has the details.

Good morning. The announcement of the arrest of William Norden, former director of the Secret Service during the tenure of President ....

Neither of them heard the President's name as they both went to the TV, focusing instead at the picture of the arrested man. An anonymous tip made to the FBI accused Norden of helping to set up a plot to kill the President during the Memorial Day weekend in 2002. Leaked correspondence was found on a confiscated laptop between Alexander Pierce and Norden referring to the plan to infiltrate the President's Secret Service detail with at least one individual, with backup assassins stationed along Pennsylvania Avenue. The pair looked at each other with Bucky speaking first.

"I wonder if it was really on the laptop or they did that to hide us as the source."

"Probably both. Fury said that someone was looking for it so it likely had all sorts of evidence on it. Pierce would have made sure he had something to blackmail people if they tried to back away from HYDRA. Just like the filming of the visitors to his cabin. That was insurance for their cooperation."

"Yeah ...."

They watched some more to see if there were any reports of Bucky being identified yet, but the story ended and the next one was a fluff story, which Joanne shook her head at. Following up a hard news story immediately with a piece of fluff was not a good practice. A sudden urge to find the Metro News channel seized her and she picked up the remote control, using the scan button to find it. They were still on the story about Norden, bringing in several former government insiders to discuss the implications of HYDRAs infiltration of the Secret Service, even though it happened a dozen years before. The moderator of the discussion was doing a great job of guiding it in a taut and precise manner. The camera angles of the various individuals' reactions were set up perfectly. The director's handling of this segment was admirable. She felt a sense of pride at the difference in quality from the report given by the first station, then it hit her suddenly. They were doing this without her and Bill. Maybe it was a testament to how well they, Dan and Jack ran the newsroom that it functioned well without them but it also said something else to her. They didn't need her; they were doing fine without her.

"What's wrong?" asked Bucky, noticing the change in her demeanour.

"Nothing, I should get back to cooking breakfast," she answered, placing the remote on a table and moving past him.

He touched her arm, making her pause. "What's bothering you?" She swallowed, then looked away. "Please, tell me."

"I ... uh, I sacrificed a lot of my personal life to get to where I was at the station," she began, still not looking at him. "Seeing that segment now, it's like I was never there. They just moved on without me or Bill. They don't need me anymore."

"I don't understand."

"No, you wouldn't." She caught herself, at how bitter that sounded. "Sorry. It took me 12 years to get to assistant news director after I graduated from college. I started at the bottom, as an intern, then made it into the editing room and rose through the different technical positions, each one more important than the one I left. Do you know how hard it is for a woman to get to my position, especially at my relatively young age? When Jack Walton died I was made interim news director, basically the boss. That lasted a couple of days and then Brock Rumlow showed up and took me into custody. I chose to go into hiding with you but ...." She gave out a shaky breath. "Someone else has my job and is in charge now and by the signs of that segment they're doing a good job. That coverage was excellent and I don't know if I can ever go back. I'm back to square one."

He didn't know what to say and whether it would make her feel better. Saying he was sorry really wasn't enough but it was all he had.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. So am I."

She returned to the kitchen and resumed making breakfast. Even with her back turned, Bucky could see how her shoulders had hunched over. He heard her sniff as she fought the tears. Then she cut herself with a knife and that opened the dam of emotions. She threw the knife into the sink, then ran the water over the cut, while opening the cupboard below to get some soap to clean it. Bucky came to her side, and put pressure above the cut.

"Give it a few moments," he said. "Then I'll get the first aid kit and get you a bandage."

"I can do it."

"I know. Just let me help." Watching her intently, he spoke softly. "You won't go back to square one." Her body stiffened slightly. "You know how I know that? You're smart, really smart. You think I haven't noticed how you handle things? Even when you're scared, you're at your best. When I'm falling apart, you're already putting me back together because you made a decision to help me and even though that decision is making it hard for you to get back to your regular life, you haven't given up on me yet. You think that a man like Nick Fury would give anyone a phone that connects just to him? Alexander Pierce was afraid of him and sent me to kill him because he knew that Fury could defeat him, and you have him on, what do they call it? Speed dial. That's a thing, right? You phone and he picks up and does what you ask him. That's power. I'm sure that when I'm finally competent enough to be on my own, that you'll be just fine, and back to running a newsroom in no time at all."

"I'm not that smart. I let HYDRA take me without putting up much of a fuss."

"That was you protecting your staff so they wouldn't get hurt. That was brave and you were standing up for your principles." He looked intently at her. "You are an incredible person and even though my experience with people is limited I have no doubt that you are very capable."

She accepted his words, then took over putting pressure on the cut while he went to get the first aid kit. When he returned with it, they sat at the table while he applied disinfectant, then put some liquid medical glue on it, blowing on it gently to dry it before he bandaged it. As Bucky put things back into the first aid kit, Joanne stayed in the chair, looking at her hands.

"What will you do when you're ready to be on your own? Where will you go?"

It wasn't something he had really given much thought to.

"I guess I'll have to find a way to leave the country. The longer I'm here, the more likely that someone will find me. I could go to Europe. It's easier to hide there."

"Will that be it for us?" She wasn't looking at him but her voice betrayed the emotion behind the question.

"It won't be safe for you to come with me. You know that, right? I speak several languages and can fit in. You, as an American, will stand out more."

Joanne nodded. "Will we keep in touch?"

"I hope so. Right now, you're my best friend."

It wasn't quite what she wanted to hear but she smiled at him.

"Right now, I'm your only friend."

"All the more reason to keep you safe." He breathed out audibly. "I know that at some point I'm going to have to turn myself in and face whatever judgement is coming. I've done terrible things."

"Diminished mental capacity is an acceptable defence for what you were forced to do, Bucky. When the truth comes out about you I'm sure you'll get a lot of support."

He smiled sadly. "Just not from all the families of the people I killed. They'll never forgive me for what I did. I'll have to live with that knowledge for the rest of my life."

Taking the first aid kit with him, he left for the bathroom but didn't return to the kitchen. Joanne heard the front door open and went to the window, watching Bucky walk towards a large oak tree. He leaned against the massive trunk, then slid down and sat at the base, looking out over the mixed terrain of this mostly wooded farm. His right hand ran through the straggly grass that struggled to grow in the shade of the tree, picking out pebbles and throwing them idly away. Part of her thought she should leave him to his thoughts but she also hated him thinking that he was alone, without support.

He stopped throwing pebbles when he heard Joanne's footsteps approaching the tree. She sat between his spread out legs, settling herself in close to his body, with her head resting against his chest. Her presence was a comfort, and Bucky found himself glad that she came outside, joining him under the tree. For brief moments like this they could pretend they were a normal couple, whatever normal was these days. He could ignore his left arm and hand, could disregard that his body was a finely tuned weapon designed to kill with lethal precision, could shrug off the fact that they were on the run. Right now, he was just a man, with the woman he loved in his arms, enjoying the morning sunlight and listening to their little piece of the world wake up. Moments like these were precious and he wanted to savour each one of them before the day came when they couldn't have these moments anymore. That day was coming closer; of that Bucky was sure.

Chapter 19>>

Series Masterlist

The crowd erupted into applause as Bucky walked onto the stage. He greeted everyone with a small smile and a wave. A few people shouted things like, "Marry me!" before security and the audience quickly shushed them. Bucky chuckled awkwardly as he took his seat.

"And please welcome John Walker!"

John entered to a mixed reception. Some people cheered, others booed, and one particularly loud voice yelled, "Murderer!"

John simply smiled, waved, and sat down. A small desk separated him from Bucky.

He tried not to look at the audience, focusing instead on the interviewer. Unfortunately, his gaze drifted toward one of the cameras. Behind it was a sea of dark silhouettes, the only visible features being the reflections of stage lights in their eyes.

He hated cameras.

His chest tightened. He could almost hear the whispers, the judgments, the memories. The blood, the guilt, the expectations.

A small, awkward laugh snapped him out of it.

John glanced over at Bucky.

The sergeant looked a little nervous himself, though he hid it well. Most people wouldn't have noticed.

John did.

He'd spent enough time with Bucky to recognize the tiny tells. Years of military training and even more years of surviving had made them both experts at reading people.

John smiled faintly.

His nerves didn't disappear, but when Bucky met his eyes, he felt himself settle.

"I can admit that I was completely unfair to John when we first met," Bucky said. "There was definitely resentment there. But by our third encounter… there was also worry."

He'd already apologized to John months ago, long before this interview.

"In what way were you worried about John?" the interviewer asked.

Bucky hummed.

"I was worried that he wasn't…" He paused, trying to find the right words.

The script Valentina's PR team had written wanted him to launch into a detailed psychological analysis, talking about trauma and all the things that made John who he was.

Bucky ignored it.

"I could tell he was a soldier, just like me," he said honestly. "He'd seen war. He'd lost friends long before Lemar. He wanted to help his country."

Bucky glanced at John.

"I wish I'd reached out back then. I was too blinded by my own dislike to see that."

The audience grew quiet.

Months ago, that confession had ended with a remorseful, "I'm sorry," from Bucky and a teary, "I forgive you," from John. Instead of Begrudging one Bucky did here and the joking pat on the back John gave him here.

It felt fake and there's no way some people aren't going to think it was just for the cameras.

Bucky knew better.

It was funny, really.

Fans still argued online over whether they hated each other while they shared a bed, breakfasts, movie nights, and showered together

Bucky was fairly certain the only thing John truly hated was waking up because of Bucky's vibranium arm somehow ending up under  his back.

And maybe the fact  Bucky put the arm through the washing machine's cleaning cycle. John had nearly lost his mind over that, Bucky still thinks it was hilarious and will occasionally do it to see John face turn red  only to kiss him so hard his face turns into a shade of pink.

Bucky had his own complaints as all couples do. For instance John's beard was scratchy and after a battle it became a tad annoying to kiss him when John's scratchy  bear covered in rumble was dragging against his skin of course Bucky still did it.  there was also John smug little grin he wore whenever he thought he'd won an argument was insufferable.

Well…

Only when John was actually wrong. Otherwise, Bucky found himself trying not to smile back. 

Bucky realized he'd been staring. He quickly looked away and took a sip of water. He really didn't want to spend another interview clearing up wild fan theories.

John, meanwhile, was talking about Bucky.

"It's honestly incredible," John said. "I get to work with Sergeant Barnes. He's one of the toughest people I've ever met, and despite everything, he's always trying to do the right thing."

Bucky looked very interested in his water. There was a bit of laughter from the audience before the interview moved on.

The rest of the questions passed in a blur. Bucky answered on autopilot, occasionally glancing at John, while John enthusiastically answered questions from his own perspective.

Eventually, it was over.

They waved goodbye to the audience.

The moment they were backstage, Bucky grabbed John's tie and started dragging him toward the exit.

"We're leaving before they ask for an encore interview," Bucky muttered.

John laughed and let himself be pulled along.

It took them ten minutes to get back to the Tower.

The next morning, John woke up sore, tired, and very aware that Bucky had somehow managed to steal most of the blankets.

He grabbed his phone.

Curiosity got the better of him.

The interview was already trending.

The comments section was chaos.

GaysDar1152662:bI DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY, THOSE TWO ARE DEFINITELY TOGETHER.

John sighed.

He closed his phone.

That theory was, admittedly, a lot closer to the truth than the old one.

You entered with a loud sigh, kicking off your heels and flicking on the lights, surprisingly not startling at Bucky's unannounced presence. Instead of shrieking in fright, you made your way over to him in your slinky dress and sat on his lap. Immediately his arms were around you, his metal hand stroking your hair.

"I'm exhausted and my feet hurt," you muttered. "I hate these fuckin' things."

"I hate watching you at these fuckin' things. Every creep you have to charm. Every smile you fake, drives me crazy."

"Thank you, baby," you said, "but it's all for the New Avengers so at least it's a cause I believe in."

You lifted your head and kissed his lips briefly.

Valentina had the whole team going out to galas and goodwill fundraising events as part of a PR campaign to boost their profile, and the schedule was grueling. Saving the world by day and being out until all hours of the night meant there was very little time for sleep.

"Sit back," he said, guiding you off his lap on the sofa and taking your aching feet in his hands. You moaned in relief as he started rubbing them in firm circles.

"Feels good, Buck, don't stop," you whispered, head leaning against the back of the sofa and your eyes fluttering shut.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

“Hey honey,” she greeted him, gesturing for him to enter.  

“Hey Mamas,” he greeted her back as he walked in.  He took his shoes off as she closed the door behind him, then turned and hugged her.  That wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, but as he brought her in for the hug he kissed her lightly before pulling away and holding her close.  Her brain short circuited at the sudden affection, a small gasp through her nose the only giveaway of her surprise.  He hummed as he hugged her then pulled away and walked toward her couch.  “How’s your week been?” he asked.

She watched him walk through her apartment like he owned the place, like he belonged there.  Something about that made her feel emotional and she blinked back the heat behind her eyes.  “Pretty boring after last week’s excitement,” she said, keeping up a flirtatious bravado as she followed him.

Bucky chuckled as he sat on the couch and faced her, a proud look on his face as he smirked.  “Really?” he asked.  “I guess I should take the thinly veiled compliment.  Am I your favorite client?”

Y/N giggled, sitting close while angling her body to face him as well.  “Oh definitely,” she teased.  

Bucky nodded and looked at her with an analytical gaze.  “Can I ask how many other clients you have?”

Y/N’s head slightly recoiled at the question.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t been asked that before, but it still surprised her.  “I can’t give you an exact number, Buck,” she said carefully.  “Client confidentiality is a big deal in this business.”

Bucky nodded and smiled.  “I guess I should be more direct,” he said.  “What would it cost for me to be your only client?”

Her eyebrows shot up in shock, her mouth dropping open as she stared at him.  “Oh,” she said, her voice sounding high pitched.  “Okay, um…like a sugar daddy?”

“Yeah, basically,” he said with a shrug.  “What if I wanted you all to myself?”

As much as that made her heart flutter, she swallowed harshly as anxiety flared in her stomach.  “Well, that could be pretty pricey,” she said, grabbing her phone and typing some things out.  “With a full roster of clients I can make upwards of $100,000 a year—”

“Done,” Bucky said.  She stared at him in disbelief, and he smiled at her again.  “So what now, do we sign a new contract to make it official?”

Y/N couldn’t stop the surprised giggle that escaped her throat, and she shook her head incredulously.  “Um, yes, uh…let me write it up this week and—”

“Will you cancel any upcoming clients?” he asked.

Y/N didn’t have any “upcoming” appointments with clients.  She had unwittingly whittled down her client list since seeing him.  But he didn’t need to know that.  She nodded quickly.  “As soon as the new contract is signed,” she said, trying to keep it professional.

Bucky nodded with finality then looked her over.  “You look nice,” he said.  “New robe?”

Y/N wasn’t sure what was going on, with his newfound confidence and the switching topics rapidly, but she blinked as she tried to focus.  “Thank you, um, yeah,” she said, looking down at herself for a brief moment.  “It’s new.  So…what did you want to work on this week?”  

Bucky smirked at her, scooting closer until he could take her hands in his as he looked her deep in the eyes.  “I was hoping you would let me…indulge this time,” he said quietly.

“Indulge?” Y/N asked, her eyelids fluttering with the intensity of his gaze and the way his thumbs were rubbing over her knuckles.  

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze dropping to her hands.  He lifted them up to his mouth and began kissing over her knuckles, fingers, then twisting her hands to kiss her palms and fingertips.  “I can’t stop thinking about last week,” he said before kissing her thumb and then suddenly sucking on it.  She gasped as he licked over it before meeting her gaze again.  “Could I use my last official appointment time to eat you out for as long as can?  You’re so pretty when you cum, Mamas, and taste so perfect I just…can I please do it again?”

Y/N was suddenly very grateful that she did an “everything shower” earlier that day.  “Okay honey,” she breathed.  “Whatever you want.”

***

Within two weeks Y/N was partially moved into Bucky’s place.  She insisted on keeping her apartment so she always had something to fall back on, and he was amenable to her conditions.  The contract had been signed, she had turned off her applications on her website and social media, and basically shut down her business for the time being as she and Bucky figured out how this new dynamic would work.  

During the first week she had been moved into her own room in his house so she had her own space, but after some discussion and cuddling where she never ended up leaving his bed, that quickly changed.  She was there in the morning when he would get up before her, get ready and give her a kiss before leaving for work, and she would be there when he got home, whether with a homemade meal or some takeout waiting for him, and usually herself as dessert.  He got her personal phone number and would text her throughout the day, just checking in or complaining about a coworker or a project.  She was given a monthly salary, wherein any debts she had were quickly paid off and she was able to upgrade her car to something more luxurious than what she had ever had before.  It was all very domestic.  She had been a sugar baby before, but never to this extent where they wanted full companionship and not just sex.

Speaking of which, they still had not had sex.  Real, penetrative sex.  Bucky seemed more than happy to get her off any other way, and she happily returned the favor, but when it came to anything more he was weirdly quiet about it.  Then the first month anniversary of her living with him came, and he took the day off to spoil her.  Y/N couldn’t seem to stop smiling as he took her everywhere she had even casually mentioned in conversation during that month of them learning more about each other: a trip to the local aquarium, her favorite brunch spot, shopping for her, sweet treats galore, an old fashioned movie theatre to see a new movie that came out and then dinner at a fancy restaurant.

By the time they made it home she felt properly pampered and loved on, and as she set down her new purchases she turned and hugged him around the neck, pulling him down into a deep kiss.  Bucky hummed against her lips, his arms immediately wrapping around her back and his hands feeling over her hips and the swell of her ass.  “Thank you, honey,” she said in between kisses.  “For everything today.”

Bucky smiled as he pushed her to walk backwards towards his bedroom.  “I should be thanking you,” he breathed, guiding her down the hall and into his room.  “For making this one of the best months of my life.”

Y/N was stunned by that statement before he moved his kisses down to her neck and got her to lay back on his bed.  He followed her down, never breaking contact with her.  She ran her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and pulling a deep moan from him.  “You know what would make this day even better?” she asked.

“Name it,” he said as he sucked at her collarbone.

She steeled herself for what his answer could be, but with the throbbing in her pussy she was almost desperate.  “I’d love for you to fuck me,” she confessed.

Bucky stopped, staying still for a moment before pulling away to look at her.  Y/N met his gaze, and was shocked to see him looking a little emotional.  She frowned but he smiled and shook his head a little.  “Are you sure?” he asked.

Y/N couldn’t help but snort a laugh as she moved her hands to cup his face.  “Buck, we’ve done everything but officially fuck,” she teased, making his smile widen.  “If you don’t want to or aren’t ready yet that’s fine—”

“No, I…I think I am, it's just…”  He sighed, and moved to lay next to her.  Y/N shifted to lay on her side as he lay his arm under her neck and pulled her into a cuddly hug.  She waited, letting him figure out what it was he wanted to say.  Bucky’s heart was racing from what she could hear with her ear laid against his chest, and she rubbed his back with her free hand.  “I want to,” he said quietly, his lips pressing a soft kiss to her hair.  “I guess it just feels like the biggest next step for me…for us…”

Y/N smiled and moved up to hover over him a little.  He watched her, looking nervous and yet hopeful.  She leaned down and nuzzled his nose with hers, making him huff a laugh and smile widely.  “I can understand that,” she said.  “Especially since I’m guessing it would be your first time in a long time?”  He looked a little embarrassed but nodded.  “Nothing to be embarrassed about, honey,” she said gently.  “How about we just take it one step at a time, and see what you’re comfortable with, okay?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked back and forth between hers as he took a deep breath.  “Alright,” he breathed.  “I trust you.”

Again she was stunned by his words, the earnestness in his eyes and the confidence in his voice.   She always hoped that she could earn her clients’ trust.  It was a tenant of her job.  But to see it clear as day on his face as he stared up at her, looking nervous but soft and trusting, was a sweet vindication she didn’t know she needed.  “I trust you, too,” she breathed, kissing him gently before moving around his face and peppering kisses randomly on his skin.  

He chuckled, letting her move him however she wanted.  His hands traveled down her back, and she sat up and moved out of his hold, standing from the bed and undressing herself for him to watch.  His eyes never left her as she revealed herself piece by piece, then she gestured for him to move to the edge of the bed.  He moved quickly, helping her undress him as he lifted his arms, adjusted his hips and kicked off his pants.  When they were finally fully naked in front of each other, with her standing between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed looking up at her, she realized she had never seen him fully naked.  It was quite a sight to behold, the broadness of his shoulders, the way the metal arm matched his flesh one as closely as possible and glinted even in the lamplight, the muscles that were strong but not too toned or lean–just perfect in her opinion–and leading down to a perfect dick laying between thick thighed, long legs.  

Y/N ogled him openly, letting him see just how much she enjoyed how he looked.  Her hands moved to cup his face, her thumbs caressing over his cheeks before she leaned down and kissed him.  Bucky let out a long breath through his nose as he kissed her back, his hands moving to run his fingers along her thighs, up to grip her hips and then palming her ass cheeks and pulling her to be flush with him and the side of the bed.  She angled her head and kissed him deeply, her hands moving to run through his hair, then scratch from the nape of his neck down to his shoulders.  She massaged his shoulders as he hugged her tight against him, moaning as she kneaded out the tension and visibly relaxing his upper half.

She moved her kisses from his mouth to his neck, sucking little love bites randomly until she got to his left shoulder, then kissed the scarring where metal was attached to flesh.  Bucky whimpered, and she shivered at the sound, kissing over the scarring in different spots repeatedly.  “You’re so pretty, honey,” she whispered against his skin.  “Every inch of you…”

His hands gripped her love handles firmly, kneading over the plushy parts of her as he pressed his face in the space between her breasts and licked the swell of her breasts.  “Fuck, Mamas,” he huffed.  “Gonna make me cry again.”

“You can cry,” she said, moving one hand to hold the back of his head against her breast as his lips moved down toward her nipple.  She moved her face away to keep her body close to his, her other hand gently scratching down his chest until she scraped over his nipple, making him gasp before she twisted her hand to rub it with her fingers slowly.  

“What if I…mmh, what if I cum too fast?” he whispered against her chest. 

“If anything that’s just a compliment to me, pretty boy,” she teased.  “That you’re so turned on by me that you couldn’t help yourself.  And, we will have all the time in the world to…”  She twisted his nipple, not too much to hurt him, and he moaned loudly.  “...practice,” she said.

“Goddammit,” he grunted, then held her tight as he twisted them both to make her lay down on the bed, quickly climbing over her and kissing her hard.  His hands roamed wildly as he settled between her legs, his cock already rock hard and sliding along her wet pussy lips.  Y/N shuddered at his slight roughness, her hands gripping the pillows above her head as she ground her hips against his cock as best as she could.  “God, I love how responsive you are,” he said lowly, angling his hips so the tip of his cock rubbed along her clit just right.  She squeaked at the shot of pleasure his movement created, her eyes rolling back in her head.  “Shit, that feel good Mamas?” he asked.  “Making me feel good that I can make you feel good, Y/N.  Are you already wet enough for me?”

Y/N nodded frantically, wanting nothing more than to have him fill her.  “Yes, honey,” she said, trying to spread her legs as wide as possible.  “Please…”

“Please?” he said with an arched eyebrow.  “Usually I’m the one begging.  You want my cock that bad, pretty girl?”

Y/N had had a lot of sex in many different forms, and at times had experienced intense need.  But ever since Bucky had made her squirt with his mouth weeks before, she had been dreaming of nothing else but getting him inside her.  She was getting to a point of desperation that she had never felt before, and as exciting as this moment was it also scared her a little.  “Yes,” she whined, her breathing coming out shaky and shallow.  “I need it…I need you, Bucky.  Please?  Please honey.  Fuck, I’ll do whatever you want, just please let me have that perfect, fat cock.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, then his eyelids fluttered as he let out a sharp breath.  “Fuck, I’ve got you Mamas,” he groaned.  He reached down and aimed his cock at her entrance, then met her gaze as he started to thrust in.  Y/N stared up at him as he filled her, fighting back the urge for her eyes to roll back again.  As euphoric as it made her feel to finally feel his cock dragging along her inner walls, every vein and ridge being sucked in by the muscle, what had her feeling most excited and even proud was watching him feel her for the first time, too.  She moaned as he took quick breaths with each inch he slowly thrust in, his eyebrows raising in shock as he choked back another whimper.  His hips met hers with a slight push and she let out a long, gravelly hum as another shiver rolled up her spine.  “Holy…sh-sh-shit, Y/N,” he whispered, looking down where they were joined together.  “Oh my god, you…you feel so g-good, shit!”  He visibly shuddered above her, his head hanging low as he gathered himself.  

Her pussy was already throbbing around him, pulsing with need and her hips trembling with the effort to not try to grind into him and let him take charge.  “Buck,” she gasped.  He moaned at the way she said his name.  Her hands shook as she reached up and cupped his face in her hands, pulling him down so she could kiss him lewdly.  He moaned again at the sloppy kiss, his hips snapping of their own accord into her, which had her whining into his mouth.  “Fuck,” she huffed against this lips.  “Keep doing that…you feel so good, Bucky.  So full, and…deep, fuck!”

Bucky nodded as he kept kissing her, moving his arms to hold her tight against him, then starting a steady pace of thrusts.  She wanted him to take his time and enjoy himself after not doing this for so long, and yet with how perfect he felt she selfishly wanted more and more.  Her legs wrapped around his hips, her ankles digging into his ass to make him fuck her harder, which he did with another groan into the crook of her neck.  She kept praising him, telling him how good he felt, how good he was at this, how attractive he looked, how much she wanted him, all while her hands roamed his body.  Bucky seemed to be watching her intently, noting every change in her breathing, what made her twitch and writhe more, what made her make the most noise and what made her go silent with an open mouth gasp.  And best of all, he took his time.  Like he could never get enough, like he would never get to have it again.  Which broke her heart a little bit, knowing how awful and restrictive Sharon had been in the past.  But that’s what she was here for, to teach him how much better it could be, to give him a chance to love and be loved freely, eagerly, passionately and enthusiastically.  

At one point he moved up on his knees, his hands holding her hips tight as he changed the angle by hoisting her up just enough so his cock slid along that upper wall just right and continually rubbed her g-spot inside.  Y/N squealed as tremors of pleasure pulsed through her lower half, making her legs shake on either side of his hips.  

“That’s it, Mamas,” Bucky said, his voice gravelly and deep as he watched his cock disappear inside her repeatedly.  “Look at your pretty pussy creaming all over my cock.”  His first two metal fingers moved to her clit where he rubbed it fast, spreading all her slick arousal around, creating wet noises that had her shivering in anticipation.  “You’re such a good girl…such a good girl, fuck, I can’t take it how much you want this.  How much you want me.”  Her pussy fluttered around him, making him shudder as she whined.  “Shit, you gonna cum?”  She nodded frantically, her breathing getting faster.  She reached her hands up and started touching her nipples.

“Yes, please!” she begged, not caring about how desperate and needy she sounded.  Her vision started to blur as tears built in her eyes.  “Bucky please, I wanna cum…I want you to cum inside me.  God—DAMN I need you to fill me up so badly, honey!”

Bucky’s metal finger flicked her clit even faster, making her back arch as her orgasm built up and threatened to send her into oblivion.  “It’s yours, Y/N,” Bucky grunted, snapping his hips harder.  “Cum for me and I’ll fill you like you want.  God, I’ve dreamed of doing this for so long, pretty girl, let me feel you.  Let me have it, please?”

Y/N’s fingers twisted her nipples as his finger flicked her clit just right, and with a hard shiver she arched her back again and squirted with a scream.  Her cum sprayed over his cock, hips, stomach and thighs, her legs shaking hard as she writhed with each throb of her pussy, squeezing his cock so deliciously that she saw stars and her toes curled so hard they went numb.  Bucky choked at the squeeze, but never stopped his thrusts as he fucked her through it then with a few more hard snaps he gritted his teeth and groaned loudly as he started to cum, shoving himself as deep inside her as he could.  His flesh fingers dug into her hip with a bruising grip as his metal fingers kept moving on and tapping her clit to prolong her orgasm, like he wanted her cunt to suck him dry.

And just like he came a lot in her mouth, he filled her pussy up quickly, and with each extra thrust or roll of his hips to push as much cum into her as possible, it began to overflow and make squelching noises with each slap of skin between them.  She could feel him fill her, the warmth in her lower belly a welcome sensation that had her smiling proudly with each pulse of his cock.  Bucky’s eyes admired her slowly as he caught his breath, then he slowly pulled out and placed his cock on top of her pussy, pushing his cock against her clit and slightly humping against her.  More of his cum leaked onto her skin, rubbing into her clit with each pass of the tip.

“Y/N,” he whispered reverently, watching his cum spill from her pussy.  “You’re…fuck you’re so full of me.  So pretty all fucked out and crying.”  Y/N didn’t even realize she was fully crying until he said that, and she took a shaky breath and sniffed quickly, blinking away more tears as she looked at him through tired eyes and with a small smile.  He smiled back at her before leaning down and kissing her deeply, his hips not stopping their small thrusts against her pussy slit and her clit.  She could feel him getting hard again, and she hummed in surprise at his stamina.  “My pretty girl,” he breathed in between kisses.  “You like my cum filling you up?”

His hands felt down her sides, over her hips and then around her thighs, hooking behind them and pulling her legs up to spread them wide, positioning his hips so that his cock easily slid back inside her.  She gasped at the stretch and fullness, still surprised and impressed by the fact that he was ready to go again already.  “Y-Yes,” she stammered as he started to fuck her slowly.  “Feels so good.  You…mmh, you gonna give me more?”

Sam Wilson had a problem, and it was his desperate need to play matchmaker between you and his friend, Bucky.

You both hated it, told him numerous times to mind his own business, complained to each other about Sam and his inability to do just that. But somewhere along the way it became less about Sam, and more about the two of you.

It became about the way you started finding Bucky in a party full of people, how he remembered your favourite drink and handed it to you the moment you inevitably found him.

Something beautiful started to bloom between you.

So when Bucky asked you on a date? Obviously, you said yes.

So here you are now, rushing around your bedroom, looking for your keys before Bucky arrives. Two minutes. You have two minutes, and it looks like there was a airstrike attack in your room.

Clothes and shoes strewn everywhere in your attempt to find something suitable enough to work with. 

You'll worry about that mess later.

You find your keys in the haphazardous pile you created just as there's a knock at your door.

Bucky.

You smooth any creases in what you're wearing, making sure the destruction isn't visible, then walking over to answer the door.

"Hi." You breathe softly.

Bucky smiles, "Hi, these are for you."

You blink at the bouquet in his hands. Nothing extravagant and overly fancy, just something simple but beautiful all the same. 

"They're lovely, thank you." You lean forward to kiss his cheek, and he fights back a grin, ducking his head.

"Let me put these in a vase, then we can go?"

Bucky nods, "Yeah."

So yes, maybe Sam has a problem with minding his own business. . . but this time the two of you'll let him off the hook.

Tonight will be something wonderful.

You were the divorced mom down the hall who spent weekends alone. A body that had softened, filled out, grown into itself—and a confidence that came with it.

Tonight, the power had gone out in the middle of a brutal summer storm.

Your place was the only one with a working generator hookup, so you knocked on his door with a flashlight in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

“Hey,” you said when he opened it, leaning against the frame in a thin tank top and cotton shorts. “You’re welcome to wait it out here. No sense sitting alone in the dark.”

Bucky hesitated, cheeks flushing under the stubble, but he followed you inside like a lost puppy.

Now the storm raged outside while candlelight flickered across your living room.

You sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, watching him. He perched on the edge of the armchair like he might bolt any second, metal fingers drumming against his thigh.

“You keep looking at me like I’m gonna bite,” you teased, sipping your drink.

His eyes flicked up, wide and uncertain. “You’re… you’re real pretty, is all. And I haven’t— I mean, it’s been a long time since I…”

Since he’d been with anyone.

You set your glass down and patted the space beside you. “Come here, sweetheart.”

He obeyed immediately.

The couch dipped under his weight, heat radiating off him, rain clinging to his skin. You could smell it—clean, storm-soaked, mixed with something distinctly him.

You reached up slowly, giving him time to pull away, and cupped his jaw.

“Ever been with a woman who knows what she wants, Bucky?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, breath catching. “Not… not like this.”

“Good.”

Your smile was slow. Warm.

“Then let me show you.”

The kiss started soft. Just a press of lips.

He made a quiet, surprised sound, then melted.

His mouth opened under yours like he’d been starving for it, his hand coming to your waist, tentative at first, then firmer as you deepened the kiss. You guided him easily, letting him follow your lead, his shy little responses sending heat pooling low in your belly.

When you pulled back, his lips were swollen, his pupils blown wide.

“Bedroom?” you whispered.

He nodded so fast it almost made you laugh.

You took his hand and led him down the hall.

Your room glowed gold in candlelight.

You turned and pulled your tank top over your head.

His breath hitched.

Your breasts spilled free, heavy and soft, nipples already tightening in the cool air—and under the weight of his stare.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, like you were something sacred.

“Touch me,” you said.

His hands shook as they came up to cup you, thumbs brushing over your nipples with reverent care. You arched into him with a soft moan, and that was what broke him.

He dropped his head, mouth finding your neck, then lower—kissing, mouthing, until he wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked.

You threaded your fingers into his hair, holding him there.

“That’s it, baby… just like that.”

He groaned against your skin, the vibration shooting straight between your legs.

You could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants—thick, insistent against your thigh. Your hand dropped to palm him, and he jolted, hips jerking forward with a broken sound.

“Easy,” you murmured, stroking him slow. “We’ve got all night.”

You undressed him piece by piece, kissing every inch you revealed—scarred shoulder, metal plates, soft skin, the trail of hair leading down.

When his cock sprang free—heavy, flushed, already leaking—you exhaled softly.

“So pretty.”

You dropped to your knees.

“Wait— you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you said simply, looking up at him. “Let me.”

The first swipe of your tongue had him swearing under his breath—something that sounded like Russian.

You took him deeper, working him slow and steady, hollowing your cheeks, your hand cupping his balls. His thighs trembled, metal hand hovering near your head, not touching—like he didn’t trust himself to.

“Ma’am— fuck— I’m gonna—”

You pulled off with a soft pop.

“Not yet,” you said, standing. “On the bed, soldier.”

He went instantly.

You climbed over him, straddling his hips, your shorts and panties gone in one smooth motion.

You were soaked.

Achy.

And the way he looked at you—spread over him, open, dripping—made your clit throb.

You took his cock in your hand and dragged it through your folds, teasing yourself, teasing him, until you were both breathing hard.

“Ready?” you asked.

“Please,” he said immediately.

You sank down slowly.

Every inch.

The stretch was perfect—full, deep, exactly what you needed. You both moaned when you bottomed out, hips meeting his.

You stayed there a moment, letting him feel it—how warm you were, how tight, how you clenched around him.

Then you started to move.

Slow at first. Rolling your hips, grinding down so your clit dragged against him.

His head fell back, eyes squeezed shut, hands gripping your thighs hard.

“Look at me, baby.”

He did.

Glass-eyed. Wrecked already.

You picked up the pace, riding him harder, the wet sound of skin filling the room, louder than the storm outside.

“You feel so good,” you murmured, leaning down to kiss him. “Filling me up so well.”

His entire body reacted.

Cock twitching hard inside you, a broken sound tearing from his throat.

“I've got you,” you whispered, rolling your hips in tight circles. “You’re doing so good for me. Such a sweet, needy boy.”

That was it.

He came with a shout, hips bucking, warmth flooding you in hot pulses.

You followed right after, clenching around him, riding it out until your body gave out and you collapsed onto his chest.

For a long moment, there was nothing but breathing. And rain.

Then his arms wrapped around you—tight. Careful. Like you might disappear.

“That was…” he exhaled shakily. “I’ve never…”

You kissed his jaw, smiling against his skin.

“We’re just getting started, sweetheart.”

His cheeks flushed.

“Next time,” you added softly, “I’ll teach you how to use that mouth.”

He huffed out a quiet, nervous laugh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Outside, the storm began to fade.

Inside, candlelight flickered over tangled sheets and soft skin.

And Bucky Barnes—former assassin, war hero, haunted man—curled into you like he’d finally found something safe.

Something warm.

Something his.

And you?

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

Chapter 2:  Gentleman from Another Time

The morning after the debrief dawned crisp and bright over the Avengers Compound. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the residential wing, catching on the polished concrete floors and the subtle Stark-tech accents that lined the hallways—soft-glowing panels, biometric locks, and the occasional holographic display flickering with overnight security updates. The Compound itself sprawled across nearly a hundred acres of upstate New York countryside, a careful blend of sleek modern architecture and functional military design. What had once been a massive Stark Industries warehouse had been transformed: training fields with reinforced surfaces that could handle Hulk-level impacts, underground hangars for the Quinjet, state-of-the-art labs where Bruce and Tony still tinkered when the mood struck, and living quarters that felt surprisingly homey despite the reinforced walls.

Your room was on the second floor of the agents’ wing—modest compared to the Avengers’ suites, but comfortable. A queen bed with crisp linens, a small sitting area overlooking the tree line, a desk cluttered with tablets and mission reports, and a closet that held your growing collection of practical field gear mixed with the few “civilian” outfits you rarely got to wear. The air smelled faintly of the lavender diffuser you kept running; it helped after long nights like the one before.

You woke with a flutter in your stomach that had nothing to do with residual mission adrenaline.

He had asked you out. Bucky Barnes—the Bucky Barnes—had stumbled over the word “date” with that cracked voice and then given you the softest smile you’d ever seen. You’d liked him for months. The quiet way he lingered in the kitchen, the careful distance he kept until you closed it, the way his metal fingers would still when he handed you a fixed tablet or a perfectly made coffee. He was dangerous, yes. Everyone knew the file. But around you, he was… gentle. Hesitant. Like he was afraid the wrong move might shatter something fragile.

You weren’t expecting perfection tonight. You just wanted time with him. Real time, outside the Compound’s familiar rhythms. A chance to see if the spark that had been building in those late-night talks could become something more.

Grinning to yourself, you padded to the closet and started rifling through options. Most of your dresses were simple—practical for quick changes or the rare off-site briefing. But tucked in the back was one you’d bought on a whim during a supply run into the city: a soft navy wrap dress with a subtle A-line skirt that fell just above the knee. It hugged in all the right places without being overt, the fabric a smooth jersey that moved easily. You knew Bucky would like it—the color reminded you of his eyes when the light hit them just right, and the modest cut felt like something that wouldn’t make him overthink. You paired it with low heels you could actually walk in and a light cardigan in case the evening cooled.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Natasha. You’d texted her first thing:

You: He finally asked. Dinner tonight. I’m freaking out a little.

Her reply was instant, as always.

Nat: About time. Barnes has been staring at you like a kicked puppy for months. Wear the navy one. He won’t know what hit him. And breathe—you’ve faced worse than a date.

You laughed, the nerves easing into pure excitement. You fired back a quick photo of the dress laid out on the bed, along with:

You: This one? Wish me luck. I just want to spend time with him. No pressure.

Nat: You’ve got this. He’s the one who should be nervous. Text me after if you need extraction.  😉

The rest of your day passed in a pleasant haze of low-stakes tasks. You sat in on a morning logistics bri efing, updated some field protocols, and helped calibrate a new comms array in the tech lab. All the while, your mind drifted to tonight. The way Bucky’s voice had gone rough on that single word. The way his smile had lit up the dim common room. You’d been hoping—quietly, carefully—for weeks that he might take the step. Now that he had, the anticipation felt warm and bright, like sunlight on your skin after a long winter.

Meanwhile, across the Compound in his sparse quarters on the senior team floor, Bucky was deep in 1940s gentleman mode.

His room was minimalist by design: a king bed with military corners, a single bookshelf holding a few dog-eared classics and one framed photo of the Howling Commandos, a small desk, and a wardrobe that held mostly blacks and grays. The metal arm gleamed under the overhead lights as he moved, plates shifting with soft whirs. He’d already spent the first hour after waking researching on his tablet—FRIDAY had helped narrow it down without too many sarcastic comments.

He wanted something classic. Romantic but not overwhelming. After scrolling through reviews and old-style listings, he settled on Convivium Osteria in Park Slope, Brooklyn. It had that rustic-yet-elegant countryside Italian charm: candlelit tables, exposed brick, a cozy atmosphere that felt like stepping back in time without being stuffy. Reviews mentioned the occasional live music—sometimes a violinist on weekend evenings—and the homemade pastas and wine list were supposed to be authentic. Perfect. Not too flashy, but special. The kind of place where a fella could actually talk to his girl without shouting over bass-heavy speakers.

He booked the reservation for 7:30 p.m. under “Barnes,” his voice steady on the phone even as his metal fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the desk.

Next came the flowers. He took the motorcycle into the flower shop—careful on the back roads, the wind whipping through his hair. At a small florist tucked between a bakery and a bookstore, he studied the buckets. Peonies caught his eye: lush, ruffled blooms in soft pinks and whites, full and romantic. The florist told him they symbolized love, honor, and good fortune—bashful romance in the old language. They felt right. He bought a generous bouquet, the stems wrapped in brown paper. On the ride back, he gripped the handlebars a little too tightly with his left hand; by the time he reached the Compound garage, a few petals were slightly crumpled, the blooms a touch bruised from the vibration and his nervous hold. He winced but hoped you wouldn’t mind.

The car came next. He didn’t ride the bike on dates—not for a first one. Instead, he used one of the Compound’s unmarked SUVs, a sleek black model with tinted windows and more horsepower than any 1940s dream car. He spent nearly an hour in the garage: vacuuming the mats, wiping down the leather seats, checking the tires, even polishing the dash until it shone. Old habits. A gentleman picked up his girl in a clean car. He adjusted the mirrors twice, muttering under his breath about modern gadgets.

Then came the cologne dilemma.

Bucky found Sam in the gym, wiping sweat from a heavy bag session. Sam took one look at Bucky’s unusually neat hair (combed back with a touch of product) and the button-down shirt already pressed and hanging on a nearby hook, and grinned like a shark.

“Big night, Tin Man?”

“Shut up, Wilson.” Bucky crossed his arms, metal plating catching the fluorescent lights. “Just… what cologne do people wear now? For a date. Something that doesn’t smell like a chemical plant.”

Sam’s grin widened. He clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Oh, this is gold. Alright, here’s the move. Go with ‘Midnight Eclipse.’ It’s what all the kids are wearing. Strong, mysterious, a little dangerous. Chicks dig it.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re messing with me.”

“Would I do that?” Sam’s innocent face was terrible. “Trust me. One spritz. You’ll knock her dead.”

Later, alone in his bathroom, Bucky stared at the bottle Sam had “helpfully” left outside his door. The scent was… aggressive. Like pine needles mixed with motor oil and regret. He sprayed once, immediately regretted it, then scrubbed half of it off in the sink. He settled for something subtler from his own limited stash—clean, woody, with a hint of something warm that didn’t scream “trying too hard.”

He dressed carefully: dark blue button-down that pulled across his shoulders just right, the color making his eyes stand out. Black slacks, polished boots. Hair combed neatly, jaw freshly shaved. He looked in the mirror and saw the ghost of the 1940s charmer staring back—nervous, but determined. The metal arm was hidden under the sleeve, but he still rolled it once, testing the fit. You’re not that guy anymore. But maybe… for one night, you can try.

The day dragged for him in a haze of second-guessing. He ran perimeter laps to burn off energy. Helped Steve tune up an old motorcycle in the garage, ignoring the knowing looks. Rehearsed conversation starters in his head: How was your day? The pasta here is supposed to be homemade. You look beautiful—wait, too soon?

By 6:50 p.m., he was ready. Ten minutes early, bouquet in hand (slightly worse for the ride over in the passenger seat), he stood outside your door in the residential hallway. The lights here were softer, warmer tones designed to feel less institutional. His heart—serum-enhanced or not—pounded harder than it had during yesterday’s extraction.

He knocked. Three measured raps.

You opened the door, and the world narrowed to just you.

The navy dress fit like it had been made for the occasion—elegant, soft, moving with you as you stepped back in surprise and delight. Your hair was styled simply but beautifully, a touch of makeup that made your eyes brighter. You looked… stunning. Pretty in a way that hit him like a gut punch from the past, reminding him of dances under string lights and girls who smiled like the future was wide open.

Bucky’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, visible even under the hallway lighting. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. The bouquet—those lush peonies, a few petals gently crushed from his anxious grip during the drive—felt suddenly inadequate in his metal hand.

“You look… wow,” he mumbled, the words rough and sincere, eyes wide and unable to look away. The blue of his gaze traced your face, your dress, then flicked down to the flowers as if remembering them. “These are for you. Peonies. They, uh… they reminded me of something good.”

You beamed, the smile lighting up your entire expression. The excitement you’d carried all day crested into something warmer, sweeter. He was here. Early. Looking impossibly handsome in that button-down that hugged his frame just right, hair combed like he’d put real effort in. The faint scent of his cologne (not whatever joke Sam had suggested) mixed with the clean smell of soap and something distinctly Bucky. Your nerves from earlier melted away. This was what you’d wanted—him, trying, for you.

“They’re beautiful, Bucky. Thank you.” You took the bouquet carefully, fingers brushing his as you did. The slight crumpling only made them more endearing. “Come in for a second while I put these in water?”

He nodded, stepping inside but staying near the door, ever the gentleman. His eyes followed you as you found a makeshift vase in the small kitchenette area—actually a repurposed tactical water bottle, but it worked. The peonies looked vibrant against the neutral tones of your room.

You turned back to him, still smiling. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. Honestly… I’ve liked the idea of this for a while now.”

His blush deepened, but that soft smile from last night crept back onto his face—the one that made the hard lines of his jaw soften. “Me too. More than I probably should’ve let on.” He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. The metal arm flexed once at his side before stilling. “I found a place in Brooklyn. Italian. Supposed to have good atmosphere. Candlelight and everything. If… if that sounds alright.”

“It sounds wonderful,” you said, meaning it. No grand expectations. Just him.

Bucky straightened a little, the 1940s manners settling over him like a well-worn jacket. He offered his arm—flesh one, always the flesh one when he could—though you hadn’t even left the room yet.

“Are you ready to go?”