A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)
Draco Malfoy loves the way you talk. He loves your brain and how elequently you speak. Itâs a relief to him to be able to relate to someone on an intellectual level, especially since heâs surrounded by followers and people who are easily controlled.
B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)
Draco would be open to the discussion of children. His hesitation with having kids is all doubt in himself. Heâs terrified heâll end up like his father, controlling, manipulative, and abusive. It takes a lot of encouragement for him to accept the fact that he would be a good father.
C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)
Draco is incredibly protective. If youâre laying in bed heâs always pulling you closer, even if youâre bodies are pressed all the way together. If youâre on the couch in the common room his arm is around your waist. He isnât incredibly gentle, just enough to make you feel safe.
D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)
Dates tend to be quiet. He likes to just sit in a secluded place and listen to you talk or read with you. He pitches into the conversation every now and then to comment on something you said or to assure you that heâs listening.
E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my worldâŠ))
You are Dracoâs safe place. He would die for you without hesitation.
F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)
You had noticed he was having a really bad day. He was snapping at everyone at lunch and he didnât show up to potions. You decided to go to the common room and look for him. You found him at the table with homework out, clearly pretending to be working. Someone grabbed your arm as you approached, it was Pansy.
âI wouldnât go near him if I were you. Heâs been throwing things and yelling if we try talking to him,â she told you. You shook her off and approached him slowly. He turned his head slightly in acknowledgment. You touched his arm lightly and he flinched. After a second, he looked up at you. You took his hand and pulled him up, âletâs go for a walk.â
You took him to the astrology tower. A quiet and secluded spot that you both enjoyed. The two of you sat down and looked up at the stars. You started pointing out the ones that were shining brighter than others and some that you could see patterns in. When he started to cry you simply held him and let him cry into your chest.
âSor- sorry, I- shou- shouldnât,â he tried speaking between sobs. âShh, itâs okay, my love, itâs okay, youâll be okay.â
It was this day he realized he loved you, though he rarely said it. He would tell you with his eyes and his actions.
G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)
Draco isnât harsh or anything like that, but he isnât totally gentle with you. He would never hurt you. When he touches you, it isnât delicate. Itâs real and present.
H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)
He loves holding hands my GOD. He loves light hand touches and he loves tangling his fingers with yours. Whenever he hands you something he always touches your hand (he knows what heâs doing).
I = Impression (What was their first impression?)
He didnât like you. At all. But letâs face it, Draco doesnât like anyone.
J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)
Incredibly so. Not in the way where he gets upset if you hang out with your friends or say someone is attractive, but if guys flirt with you or if theyâre making you uncomfortable he is now part of the conversation.
K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)
He did. You were at the astronomy tower (as is tradition), talking about stars and just whatever came to mind. He was getting annoyed because you talk A LOT. So finally, when he truly wanted you to shut up, he kissed you. Letâs just say you were pretty speechless the rest of the night, and he has a very proud look on his face.
L = Love (Who says âI love youâ first?)
You do. Draco doesnât show his affection verbally. On very very rare occasions do you hear him actually say the words âI love you.â It doesnât really matter if he says it or not, though. Itâs obvious to everyone.
M = Memory (Whatâs their favourite memory together?)
He likes simple moments where the two of you are hanging out in his dorm or the common room and just laughing and being happy.
N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)
He adores spoiling you. Every now and then you just have an owl bring you something and itâs from him and itâs either expensive candy or something you called pretty one time. If youâre walking in Hogsmead if you want something, itâs yours.
O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)
Dark blue. It reminds him of when you fell asleep together in the astronomy tower one time and watched the sun come up. His favorite part was when the darkness broke just enough that you could see, but it wasnât turning colours yet.
P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)
Darling, my Queen, Dove
Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)
He loves old books. Youâre the only one who knows that he loves reading and that he loves how old books feel.
R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)
He loves sitting and watching the rain through the windows of empty classrooms with you and listening to you talk.
S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)
He doesnât. Simple as that. He lets all his emotions sit and simmer. Sometimes you can get him to talk to you about what heâs thinking, but usually you just sit with him and let him think.
T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)
Anything. He isnât much of a talker but heâs a fantastic listener. Even when he acts like he isnât paying attention to you, he is. And heâll bring up things that youâve said in passing every now and then.
U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)
You. He will sit with you for hours. In silence and just hold you and play with your hands.
V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)
He shows off in potions constantly. If you talk about being confused he explains for way too long what you needed to do.
W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)
After the war and after youâve gotten jobs and everything important he asks you on a walk. He was very prepared to do it and very confident about you saying yes, thought he was still a little nervous.
X = Xylophone (Whatâs their song?)
The Cut That Always Bleeds by Conan Gray. (I have a playlist for him that I may or may not release)
Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)
Always. He knew he wanted to marry you the moment you told him that you wouldnât give up on him the first time.
Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)
He really wants a dog and a cat. He never had pets as a kid and always wanted one. Of course heâd have an owl as well.
I absolutely adore Draco he seems like heâd be a good boyfriend.
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fresh snip from my drarry-but-theyâre-all-girls wip, which iâm barely in after finishing Second Best last week!Â
iâve been tagged by numerous people in the past week or two but donât know who anymore so iâm passing this along to some of the usual suspects: @nv-md @tackytigerfic @maesterchill @sweet-s0rr0w @the-sinking-ship @opalesqueopioid @slytherco @teacup-tai @graymatters and @skeptiquewrites
unedited, as per usual:
It does not bode well for anyone that the first thing that Harry says to her new roommate is a complete lie.
Sarah barely has time to introduce herself when Malfoy emerges from the room across the hallway from them.Â
Their jaws fall open in tandem. The motion is familiar to Harry whenever she forgets what Malfoy looks like. She is still definitely bitchy, horrible Malfoy, but Merlin, she is gorgeous. Sarah takes a little longer to recover, which Harry understands. Malfoy just has that effect on people. Sarah will know soon enough that Malfoy is a rotten fucking bastard and her beauty does not make up for any of it.
âOh, sweet Merlin. Potter?â Malfoy says, ponytail swinging behind her. Harryâs mouth falls into its usual scowl, a shape it hasnât taken in months. Figures. Sheâs not seen Malfoy the whole summer.
She notices Malfoy looks somehow even taller, her long slacks extending her legs impossibly, the pearl necklace around her neck screaming old money. Harry hates that Malfoy does that pretty girl/old librarian combo so well. She hates her gorgeous straight hair, she hates her beautiful grey eyes. Harry Potter hates every single thing about Draco Malfoy. But especially, she hates the smirk on those stupid pink lips.
âMalfoy,â she manages to croak, with a nod, and turns straight back into her dorm.
Summary: The team comes home for a pre-Thanksgiving gathering. Everything is going swimmingly, until Thor breaks out the Asgardian whiskey.
READ THESE WARNINGS!: 18+ minors DNI. Dubcon/sex pollen trope. All parties are consenting, BUT there is always that gray area with sex pollen. A type of alcohol is used as the sex pollen instigator (willingly consumed-- no one expects the effects). Drunkenness, unwelcome advances (in context), groping, maybe coercion. PIV sex. To top it off... all of this happens in public, so add in (unintentional) exhibitionism and humiliation!
If any of these upset you, please skip this chapter! Do not come to me after reading to complain. The warnings are right here.
With that being said... I consider this chapter fun. It's not nearly as dark as the warnings read. BUT that is just my opinion! You are responsible for your own media consumption.
Word Count: 7.3k
A/N: If anyone would like a tl;dr summary of the chapter without the possibly triggering factors, please let me know. I feel bad having a whole long series and then springing something like this on you... but this scene has been in my head since the start.
Part 21 of 25
**IF YOUâD LIKE TO READ THE OC VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER, FIND IT ON AO3 HERE**
series masterlist
Bucky opened his eyes to black. At first he didnât know why he had woken; heâd been doing well with sleeping through the night, and he didnât feel any lingering anxiety from a nightmare. But then he heard itâ that repetitive, strange, strangled noise that made the hair at the nape of his neck stand up.
A trembling hiccup, a desperately held back sob. He rolled over to find you curled up on the edge of the bed, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you cried.
âBaby?â His voice was groggy with sleep, and he cleared his throat as he rolled over to lay an arm across you. The weight of his touch was the final permission you needed to fall apart, and you sobbed openly into the pillow. He wrapped himself around you, holding you tight to his chest, but that didnât stop the tears or the way your shoulders shook; if anything, it made the tears flow more violently.
Bucky couldnât stop the panic that rose in his throat. You hardly ever cried, and this wasnât a happy cry; there was pain in your posture, fear in the way that you clutched at yourself. He pulled you tightly against his chest.
âBaby? Hey, sweetheart,â he said as steadily as he could, although his uncertainty snuck into his tone. âWhatâs wrong?â Continued sobs were your only response, and he soothed his hand along your arm. âDid you have a nightmare?â
You shook your head, tickling his face with your hair.
âTell me whatâs wrong,â he murmured, his voice breaking slightly because it killed him, seeing you like this. âPlease, let me help.â There was another long pause as you tried to get your breathing under control enough to speak.
You hiccupped, then gave an attempt. âIâŠâ But your voice caught again, and you had to pause. âI donât want them to come back,â you finally sobbed. âIâm scared.â
The team was landing at the compound again tomorrow. Thanksgiving was a few days away, and the tour organizers had worked enough room into the schedule to give everyone a short break. Almost everybody planned to go their separate ways for the break, to spend time with their families, but there was some sort of catered dinner planned for the first evening back. But that was only one evening of intrusion; he still didnât understand your tears.
âWhy are you scared?â Bucky murmured against your hair. âItâs just a visitâ itâll be okay.â He pulled back slightly, surprised by the vehemence with which you shook your head.
âItâs not okay,â you whimpered. âTheyâre going to take you. And theyâll bring you back half dead again, orâ or not at allââ You were cut off as the flow of tears started again.
âBaby, no,â he said, his heart sinking. âIâm not going anywhere.â
âTheyâre going to take you,â you repeated between sobs. Bucky hesitatedâ he couldnât promise that he wouldnât go on any more missions. That was his job. But you knew that; you had no problem with his occupation. This was⊠something else.
âI⊠theyâre not planning anything,â Bucky said slowly. âIâm staying here. Thereâs no mission.â His words had no effect on you. âAnd when there is,â he continued, âwhen I go on the next one, Iâll be careful. I promise. Iâm not gonna scare you like that again.â
But you just cried harder and shook your head. âEverythingâs going to change,â you cried.
Oh.
You rolled over to face him, your red, puffy eyes searching for his in the dark. âI just want to stay like this, with you.â
You werenât only worried about this visit.
âI love you,â Bucky said as he pulled you against his chest. The words still felt strange on his tongue. New and unfamiliar, but natural. Honest. âNothing's gonna change. Nothing that matters.â
He tightened his arms around your shoulders, cocooning you under his weight and warmth. âYouâre okay. Iâve got you, Iâm here. Iâm not leaving.â
Eventually your sobs softened, and you drifted into a fitful sleep as the sky lit up pink. But Buckyâs thoughts were racing, his heart pounding too wildly to sleep. Maybe things wouldnât change this time, this visit. But January was fast approaching.
Bucky stood shoulder-to-shoulder with you in the hangar while everyone unloaded from the jet. Buckyâs hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, and yours fidgeted in front of you, your nervous movements causing the bracelet on your wrist to sparkle and reflect the light. Bucky wished he could grab your hand and comfort you, but the two of you had decided again: as far as everyone else was concerned, you were roommates. Nothing more.
Of course, some people knewâ Parker knew for sure, and Banner knew something was up, and Steve⊠Bucky wasnât entirely sure how much Steve knew. He knew there was something going on between Bucky and you. He knew that you slept in Buckyâs bed, and that you took care of him, and fought for him. He knew that Bucky needed you. But did Steve know the full extentâ did he know that Bucky was physical with you? Did he know that Bucky had been reactivated by your touch, that you had done what Steve couldnât? Did he know Bucky was in love?
And there was still the matter of Tony Stark and his mercurial authority, his disdain for Bucky and the fact that you were his paid employeeâ sure, Stark might be fine with the relationship. But he might not be. Your safest bet was to keep it under wraps as much as possible until your contract was up.
He only had to make it until January.
As soon as Steveâs feet hit the tarmac, he wrestled Bucky into a giant hug. Steve squeezed him so tightly he nearly choked, and Bucky would have laughed if he had any breath to spare; he was still awestruck every time Steve showed him that he wasnât that sickly kid in Brooklyn anymore.
âYou look good, Buck,â Steve said quietly as he patted him on the back. Maybe it was the green sweater you convinced him to wear, or maybe it was the genuine joy radiating from his smile. Heâd been riding a high ever since your birthday, ever since those three words slipped from his mouth, exposing his truth and his heart.
And now his friends were back, and he was thrilled. Even though it was just for an evening, and even though he couldnât tell them what had happened between the two of you, it felt good to have all the people he cared about in the same place. It felt like home.
Steve finally released Bucky, then turned to you with his arms open. You hesitated, your lips pursed, and Steveâs confidence falteredâ but to Buckyâs absolute shock, you stepped up and into his arms. It was nothing like the way Steve hugged Bucky; it was quick and unfamiliar, the way someone would hug a relative they hardly knew.
Bucky still felt like a kid on Christmas.
Dinner went off without a hitch. The caterers had been busy since they arrived earlier that afternoon, and the spread they had set up in the tenth floor common area was impressive. Bucky sat with you on one side of him and Steve on the other, and by the end of dinner he had a serene smile permanently etched on his face. Despite how nervous you were, you were thriving surrounded by so many people, cracking jokes and listening to stories from the tour. Buckyâs heart and stomach were fullâ with Steveâs similar super-metabolism sitting next to him, he had been unashamed to go back for thirds. It was good. Everything was good.
By the time dessert came around people had begun to mingle, leaving their seats at the table to instead wander around the common areas and talk. The whole floor was bustling with people, full with all the agents and assistants who stayed to take advantage of the free meal and drinks, along with some more familiar faces. Somewhere in the dizzying commotion Natasha paused to compliment your skirt on her way to the bar, and Banner caught Buckyâs eye for a second before he hurriedly glanced away.
Bucky groaned internally. He needed to apologize to Banner, and thank him. But as he started to stand so he could follow Banner through the crowd, a large hand clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him back down into his chair.
Thor leaned down between you and Bucky. âI come bearing gifts,â he said, a mischievous lilt in his near-whisper as he glanced around. He patted Buckyâs shoulder once before walking around and taking a seat on the other side of the table. From beneath his coat he pulled a large, unlabeled glass bottle.
âThe little one here piqued my interest the last time we were in town,â he said as he placed the bottle on the table. âSo tonight, we will answer your question: can the two super soldiers get drunk off of Asgardian whiskey?â
Your eyes widened with glee.
âItâs not for mortal menââ Thor gave you a sideways look, and you held your hands up in surrender. âBut you two arenât mere mortals, are you?â He smiled at Bucky and Steve, one eyebrow raised in a challenge.
Bucky glanced at you. Those nights when you drank with him, when you grew progressively more tipsy but Bucky was only flustered by your attentionâ he had felt drunk, sure, but it wasnât the real thing. He had vague memories of being drunk, but it had been decadesâ lifetimes ago. Back when he was normal. He chewed his bottom lip. He missed that, being normal.
âAh, what the hell,â he conceded. âSteve?â
Steve chuckled nervously and looked away. âI donât know,â he said slowly. âItâs been⊠a while.â When his eyes met Bucky's, they were sheepish, uncertainâ Bucky was sure he was thinking of all the times they had drank together back in Brooklyn, all the excuses the alcohol had provided them then. But Bucky shrugged. Things were different now. They were different now.
âWhatâs the harm in it?â Thor wheedled, shaking the bottle temptingly. âCome on, Rogers. Loosen that tie a little.â
Finally, Steve nodded, and Thor poured them each a glass of amber liquid. There was something slightly off about it when Thor passed a glass to Bucky. The drink almost⊠glowed, and when Bucky held the glass steady, it swayed and sloshed for far longer than an earthly liquid would have.
Bucky and Steve lifted their glasses in tandem, clinked them together, and took their first sips. You laughed and clapped with delight.
âYesss,â you said, full of the frenetic glee of a child locked in a candy shop. âSloppy Sarge!â
Buckyâs face scrunched slightly as the taste hit his tongue. It wasnât bad, just⊠different. The liquid tickled his mouth and esophagus as it went down, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. He blinked.
âWhoa,â Bucky said. The gentle warmth transformed into a heat in his belly, growing and spreading and melting him. He was snow in the sun. Slush. Water. He closed his eyes.
âIsnât it interestingââ a hurried voice came from across the room, and Bucky opened his eyes to see Banner rushing toward the group at the table. âIsnât itâ Thor, remember how we used this same fermentation process to create that pain medicine?â Banner was speaking to Thor, but he was looking directly at you with wide, panicked eyes.
âYes, yes, a process used in Asgard for generationsâ donât bore them with all of that, Banner.â Thor turned to Bucky. âItâs good, isnât it, Barnes?â he asked.
âYeah,â Bucky breathed as he blinked again. The ceiling lights had developed soft halos, and Bucky had to avert his eyes. Before he knew it, the liquid in his glass had been topped off. He took another sip.
âThor,â Bannerâs nervous voice continued. âIsnât it interestingâ wouldnât you say that Asgardian whiskey has similar properties to the pain medicine we produced?â
âUndoubtedly so,â Thor said, but his answer was drowned out by your gasp. When Thor tried to refill Buckyâs glass again, your hand shot out to stop him, covering the glass.
âThatâs⊠maybe thatâs enough, for now,â you said, still staring at Banner. âLet him ease back into it, yeah?â Your voice shook. âItâs been decades.â
âAh, youâre right, of course.â Thor set the decanter back on the table. âHow are you men feeling?â
Bucky turned his attention to Steve. Steve had gone slightly pink, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and at Thorâs question he only closed his eyes and giggled. Bucky giggled in response.
âDr. Banner,â you said shrilly, trying and failing to mask the panic in your voice. âDid Steve have any⊠side effects from the medicine that day?â
Banner shook his head, and you exhaled slowly through your teeth. âNo,â Banner said. âRight, Steve? The pain medicine just helped take the edge off for you?â They had to wait a moment too long for Steve to respond, but eventually he nodded, his eyes still closed.
âThatâs good,â you said warily as both you and Banner turned to Bucky. âThatâs good.â
Bucky blinked up at the lights again; the halos were moving, spreading and contracting, sparkling. From the corner of his eye he saw Banner sit down next to you, and you huddled close to him, whispering furiously. Eventually Banner stood and left, and you turned to Bucky with a worried look.
âBucky, we should go upstairs,â you whispered as you glanced around to make sure no one was listening.
He frowned. âWhat? No, the party just started.â His words came out of his mouth correctly, he knew itâ but they sounded wrong in his ears, slow-motion and muddled.
âBuckyââ
No, no, that didnât make sense. Why would he go upstairs? All of his friends were here, only for tonight. And he felt so good. âEveryoneâll be gone tomorrow,â he said. âPlease? Can we stay?â
Your lips pursed into a straight line as you studied him. Your gaze flickered to Thor, who was distracted by another conversation, then to Steve, who was sitting quietly with his eyes closed like a well-behaved child. Slowly, you nodded. But you still seemed uncertain, and Bucky didnât like that, he didnât like seeing you upset. He leaned in close to you. âYâokay?â he asked softly.
âYeah,â you replied quietly, your eyes lifting to his. âAre⊠are you?â
âIâm grand,â he said, and a wide grin spread across his face. You gulped.
Despite his growing warmness, Bucky was holding it together quite well, he thought. He smiled a bit more, and his cheeks had flushed to nearly match Steveâs, but nothing would point to him feeling anything more than a little tipsy. The auras that surrounded the overhead lights were overwhelming, though not entirely unpleasant, and with the way the voices around him blurred, Bucky was able to peacefully tune everything out. Instead he focused on the way his muscles had relaxed, how heavy his eyelids felt, how that ache that permanently marred his shoulder seemed to have liftedâ and the heat. Of course, the heat.
He glanced at Steve occasionally, always finding his eyes half-shut and a small, demure smile on his lips. Steve giggled every now and then, though Bucky didnât know if that was in response to something he heard or because of the tickling warmth of the whiskey as it sat in their stomachs. Steve looked nearly blissful, sitting there, but Buckyâs own smile was punctuated by the tiniest needle-pricks he felt deep in his abdomen. The sudden pain was searing, but it came and went quickly; he could mostly ignore it.
After a while, Sam managed to drag Steve to his feet and push him in the direction of the pool table. Steve looked back over his shoulder as he stumbled away, and finally found his voice. It was almost playful, and more relaxed than Bucky had heard in months. âHeyâ hey, guys!â he called. âHey, Buck! Come on!â
Bucky was quite happy where he was, lounged back in the chair his body had seemed to mold to. But you stood, and damnâ he would never get tired of seeing you in a skirt. This wasnât the same one that you wore that night at the bar, but it was almost as short and hugged your curves in all the right places. Bucky swallowed roughly. You had black tights on underneath, and he felt a hot pang in his stomach while he watched you hitch the skirt up to adjust them. He had to stifle a groan. You loved to tease him, to tempt him when he had to stay away, when he couldnât touch you like he wanted to.
He wanted to.
He jumped up to follow you.
Bucky was sneaky about it, stealthy, as he walked up behind you. Sam was saying something to youâ or to him, he couldnât tellâ but the words were slow motion and distorted, and Bucky just smiled and nodded. He wanted to touch you. He needed to touch you, but no, no handsâ that would be too obvious. He needed to avoid temptation, needed to keep them busyâ he glanced around and grabbed an empty glass off a nearby table with one hand, then stuffed the other into his jeans pockets.
But that prickling heat inside him was growing, stoked on by your honeyed words, your giggles, each toss of your hair. Your hair. It smelled so good, it always did. Maybe he could justâŠ
Bucky leaned in toward you, inconspicuous-like, just a slight bend at the waist. His nose was just inches from the crown of your head and he inhaled slowly, deeply. Ahhhâ he felt it in his belly, that fever as it grew, the flames licking at the base of his spine. But thenâ ouchâ the sensation crossed the threshold from pleasure to pain, from a slight tingle to a sting, a throbbing cramp in his gut. He inhaled sharply at the pain, filling his nose with your scent again, and a surprised smile spread on his face when that pain eased into a toasty relief.
Buckyâs jeans pocket had become uncomfortably tight around his right hand; there was little room left in the fabric as the tent at the front of his pants grew. He knew he couldnât take his hand out of his pocketâ he couldnât quite remember why, but he knew he wasnât supposed toâ but it was unpleasant, that restrictive snugness. He tried to rearrange, but when his fingers brushed against his shaft through the thin fabric of the pocket he had to stifle a shiver. That was good. For just a moment, the relief in his gut transformed into something more, something better. A decadent gratification. Maybe if he justâŠ
Sam was still talking to you. Bucky watched Samâs mouth moving, saw you nodding in front of him. He couldnât understand Samâs words, but he heard your gasp, and how you quickly turned it into a cough when he closed the gap and brushed his body up against you.
Yes. There it was, that simmering satisfaction that pulsed outward from his abdomen. He pressed against you again, but you stepped forward slightly, your voice wavering as you tried to continue your conversation. Bucky frowned. He didnât want you to walk away, he didnât want you to leave, he needed that pressureâ so he took his hand out of his pocket and grabbed your hip, to hold you steady.
He felt your breath catch in the middle of your words; you forced the end of your sentence out before you turned back to him. You glared at him, your eyes like daggers even though your mesmerizing smile was still plastered to your face. âCan I help you, Barnes?â
âSo pretty, baby,â he murmured into your ear as he stepped up to you again. âMake me feel so good.â He set the glass downâ why was he holding that, anyways?â and tried to brush your hair behind your ear, but his hand had a mind of its own. It tousled your hair instead, making you blush as his fingers stroked down your cheek. You stood on your toes and leaned toward him, and Bucky shivered at your hot breath against his skin.
âRoommates, Bucky!â you hissed into his ear. âBanner said this might happenâ we need to leave if you canât behave.â You sounded angry, but Bucky knew you werenâtâ you looked a little worried, but no, you couldnât be worried, either. You were just so gorgeous, all mussed and flushed like that.
âMâbehaving, baby, just feeling good. Youâre so pretty like this, yâknow?â he crooned, his lips making contact with your ear when you only expected him to whisper. He moved his lips down your neck, and barely noticed Sam turn away with a crooked smile and a shake of his head.
âYouâre going toâ we have toââ You couldnât seem to string your thoughts into sentences while he sucked a mark on your neck. âBucky,â you finally said, a bit forcefully, as you stepped away from him. You glanced aroundâ now that Sam had left, no one was paying Bucky any attention. âDo we need to go?â you asked.
Bucky didnât answer, just slipped his fingers up under the hem of your skirt, and you turned on your heel and marched toward the hall.
âBaby, baby, donât leave me,â Bucky pleaded as he stumbled after you, but you disappeared out of sight.
He rounded the corner to find that you had stopped to wait for him. Of course you did, his best girlâ and in an instant he had you pressed up against the wall, greedily slotting his lips over yours while he hiked up your skirt.
âBuckââ you panted between kisses. âYouâre out of controlâ we need to go upstairsââ
No, no, no, he didnât want to go upstairs, he didnât want to leave the partyâ but what had started as relief when he pushed his hips against you had quickly turned into a smarting ache that grew whenever he wasnât touching you.
âListen, baby, listen,â he interrupted. âJust kiss me, okay? Need you to kiss me.â There was an urgency, a plea in his voice that unnerved you, and you melted against him, kissing him despite the worry that wrinkled your brow.
Bucky rutted against you again, his prominent erection poking your stomach, and you moaned into his mouth before you could stop it. âFuck,â Bucky said, low, breathy, almost a whine. He needed you, nowâ
Those damn black tightsâ looked so good, but they were in the wayâ Bucky grabbed the fabric between your thighs and ripped a hole straight down the middle, leaving the shreds hanging from your legs. His mouth muffled your shriek, but you quickly pushed him away.
âBucky! What has gotten into you?â You were panting, your eyes wide as you glanced down at the fabric he had ruined.
He frowned, still tugging the shreds of your tights away from your thighs. âNeed you, sweets,â he said. âIt burnsâ oh, look at you.â He had revealed your thong, black lace, and he shivered with anticipationâ you had dressed up just for himâ
But you furrowed your brows at him. âBurns?â
âOh, god, yeah,â he whined, his eyes still on your covered core. âEverything burns, it hurts, baby, need you so bad.â
You hesitated long enough to regain his attention. âWe canât,â you said softly.
Buckyâs momentum came crashing to a halt as he felt his heart fragment off into shards, and he had to blink away moisture from his eyes. âYou donât want me?â His voice came out small, but then his face contorted and he nearly doubled overâ the rejection was a weighted kick to his abdomen that drove those shards of his heart into his vital organs. He clutched at his stomach, digging his nails deep into the muscle.
âOf course I want you,â you said hastily, stroking his cheek to bring his eyes back to you. âJust notâ we canât, not here.â
âThen where?â he begged, his chest heaving as he straightened up. He didnât want to leave the party, but he had toâ he neededâ âWhere?â he rasped again, pulling you flush to his body. âWhere canâ where?â
But before you could reply, Bucky was gone, ripped from your arms and dragged several feet away by possibly the only man who had a chance of overpowering him.
âWhat the fuck?â you hissed. âThor, get off of himââ
Thor paused and looked up; he had forced Bucky to the ground on his stomach, his right arm twisted behind his back. Thor was still wrestling with the vibranium arm, though it was clear Bucky wasnât using its full strength; he was treating Thor as an annoyance, a pest to try to swat away instead of a true threat. Anger flashed in Buckyâs eyes as he fended off a particularly forceful grapple, but when his gaze met yours, his anger faded to confusion and betrayal.
âIâm afraid I canât, little one,â Thor said, looking down at Bucky below him. âHow fortunate we are that I sensed something was off. This degenerate,â he pressed his knee harder against the small of Buckyâs back, and Bucky whimpered, âseems to be having one of the rarer reactions to Asgardian whiskeyâ itâs a highly sought-after reaction, actually.â
His tone was unsettlingly conversational given the circumstances. âIn the olden days, men used to drink this whiskey as part of a fertility ritual,â he continued. âIf they happened to need a bit of⊠assistance, when trying to conceive.â Bucky struggled against him again, but Thor overpowered him with a grunt. âEnhanced virility isnât a guaranteed effect of the drink, but to a lucky few it proves to be a powerful aphrodisiacâ so you see, Iâm simply defending your honor.â Thor looked up at you, smiling, but your focus was on Buckyâs hazy eyes.
Lines had formed between his eyebrows, and he grimaced; between the pain of Thorâs knee in his back and whatever burning sensation he had been talking about from the whiskey, his discomfort and disorientation were too much for you to bear.
âItâs fine, Thor,â you said quickly. âLet him go. I can⊠handle him. WeâŠâ But you trailed off instead of explaining, because Buckyâs face split into a huge grin at your words.
âShe can handle me, all right.â
Thor looked at Bucky, then at you as a blush spread across your cheeks. âYouâre sure?â Thor asked. âI can subdue him until it wears off, if need be.â
You nodded, and as soon as Thor loosened his grip on Bucky he scrambled toward you again. âThank you, baby, thank you,â he murmured as he kissed down your neck, suckling at your collarbones, fully disregarding the scene he was causing. He had no attention left to give, could focus on nothing except that searing fever inside of him that was still growing, shifting into a staggering, devastating agony.
Thor chuckled. âI suggest you get to your room before things get out of hand,â he said. âI can assist you to the elevator, but no further, lest I become⊠involved.â
You tugged up the remnants of your tights and walked backwards toward the elevator, pulling at the waistband of Buckyâs jeans to direct him while Thor gently pushed his shoulders from behind. âDonât worry, little one,â Thor said. âIt usually wears off after a⊠release.â
âThank you,â you gasped, tilting your head to avoid Buckyâs lips so you could still speak. âAnd Thorâ could you notâ mention this to anyone?â
He smiled and brought one finger to his lips, an oath of secrecy, before he turned and walked back to the party.
âIt seems Barnes has fallen ill from the Asgardian whiskey.â Thorâs booming voice could still be heard from down the hall. âHeâs gone upstairs to recover. Truly no man is immune.â
Inside the elevator, you pressed the button for the fourteenth floor and the doors slid shut. âJust you and me now,â Bucky husked. âCome on, baby, come on, gimme it, wanna see you.â He tugged at the neckline of your shirt until a button popped off, and you gasped. You pushed against his chest, hard enough to jar him into meeting your eyes.
âDo not break my things,â you scolded him, and a sharp sting pulsated under his skin at the rebuff. His face crumpled.
âIâm sorry, baby, Iâm sorry, I just needâ it fucking burns.â His voice broke almost imperceptibly. âEverything in me, and I just knowâ I know if Iââ
You reached for him, inviting him back to you, and he quickly pressed you up against the elevator wall and hiked your skirt up. But his hand hesitated, and his uncertain eyes met yours.
âItâs okay, Buck,â you murmured. âTake what you need.â Your words were ecstasy surging through his veins and he shuddered, his head falling forward against your shoulder. He reached between your legs, groaning when he found the soaked-through fabric of your thong.
âGood girl,â he breathed, and he smiled crookedly when your hips squirmed under his touch, searching for pressure. âReady for me, honey? âCourse you are,â he answered himself with a pleased huff. âAlways so ready for me.â He slipped one finger behind the fabric and drew it up through your drenched folds, teasing for a moment before he pulled his hand back. He lifted it to his face, examining the way his fingers shined, your arousal glistening in the light.
âHoly shit,â Bucky said dreamily. The corners of your mouth turned up at his wonder, and he returned your smile as he honed in on your lipsâ those lips, always so good to him. Slowly, gently, he pushed his slicked up fingers into your mouth.
âThatâs right, good girl,â he murmured as you sucked his fingers clean. As if connected by a current, Bucky jolted forward, his hips finding yours to grind against. His cock throbbed at the motion, but there was something elseâ that knife that twisted in his abdomen because he still wasnât inside you. He lurched, and his fingers pulled free from your mouth so he could grab his stomach again. Beads of sweat broke out at his hairline, and his hands shook. âNeed you, baby,â he whimpered. âNeed you so bad.â
A muddled moan escaped him when you quickly unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down, because that friction from the fabric was both divine and excruciating. He gripped your thighs, handfuls of bare flesh that he squeezedâ he liked that, it was good, made him feel goodâ and lifted you. With your back braced against the wall and your arms around his neck, you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist.
You muffled your surprised yelp when he shifted to hold you with only one armâ it jostled you a bit, but it was fineâ and he used his free hand to grip the base of his cock. He nudged your panties aside, coating himself in your arousal in the process, and plunged into you in one motion. Your back arched against the wall as your breath caught, then escaped as a faint, satisfied mewl.
Bucky hardly noticed the noise, because he was too busy staring. The look on your face as he pushed inside of youâ the shock, then blissâ it appeased whatever venom was inside of him, made it practically fucking purr. âFuck, yes.â His words were too loud, but he didnât care; they were quickly drowned out by the slapping sound of skin against skin.
Buckyâs motions were relentless, and the elevator creaked with each frantic thrust. Everything he felt earlier, all of the needles and knives and stinging, had gone, leaving only hedonistic pleasure in their place.
âIâm so sorry. Iâm sorry, baby, I canât stop.â He was shaking with pleasure, groaning as you bit down on his shoulder, trying to keep quiet.
âFeels so good, Buck,â you whimpered against his skin. âHarder.â
He had died and gone to heaven, he was sure.
âCome for me, baby, câmon. Need to feel it, feel you.â His right hand slipped down to circle your clit, and that was all you needed to push you over the edge.
âSuch a good girl,â he rasped as you trembled in his arms. âShow me how good you are.â
You gripped his shoulders tightly, running your nails across his skin with enough force to leave deep red lines behind. Your thighs quivered on either side of him as the tension in your body reached a peak, and then it snappedâ you cried out as your muscles convulsed.
There it wasâ Buckyâs balls tightened as he hovered on the edge, all thoughts gone from his mind except for this. This pressure, this feeling, those sweet sobs you couldnât stifle through your orgasm. With one particularly tight squeeze of your cunt, Bucky came, his head bowed down against the crook of your neck to muffle his shout. Each throb, each pump of release inside of you relaxed that need, cooled the heat, erased his pain.
Bucky pressed his sweaty forehead to yours, panting heavily. When he finally caught his breath he released you, slowly lowering you onto your own shaky legs.
Your face was flushed, your hair tangled, and your hands trembled as you tugged down your skirt. âAre you better now?â you teased. âGot that out of your system?â
He was too busy grinning stupidly to answer.
âBucky.â
âYeah, baby, of course. All better. You make me feel so much better.â And you did. That pleasant warmth had returned to his belly, a smoldering campfire on a cool evening.
You narrowed your eyes, analyzing him for a moment. âOkay,â you finally said. âCâmon, put your pants back onâ letâs go to bed.â
Bucky paused while zipping up his fly. âWhat? No. Everyoneâs downstairs.â His hazy eyes met yours, his lower lip sticking out slightly. âWe gotta go back to the party.â
You sighed and shook your head, but a disbelieving smile was growing on your face. You pressed the button to return to the common area, then scooped up the remnants of your tights from the elevator floor. When the doors opened, you stuffed them into a trash can in the hall before returning to the party.
âAyy, there he is!â Sam announced as you and Bucky approached the group still gathered around the pool table. âYou feeling better, man? Sometimes you gotta just let it all out.â
âIâŠâ Bucky furrowed his brows and hesitated. He gave Sam a sideways glanceâ it was odd for Sam to say that so bluntly, when he had never talked to Bucky about sex before. But Sam was just smiling, waiting. ââŠYeah,â Bucky said. âMuch better.â
âHappens to the best of us,â Sam said with a chuckle. âBetter out than in, thatâs what I always say.â
ââŠRight.â It was strange for Sam to say it, but it was true.
Natasha looked at you with an innocent smile on her face that would chill even the bravest man, because Natasha was anything but innocentâ âWerenât you wearing tights?â she asked you, as if she didnât know.
âUm⊠I was.â Your face was frozen, deer-in-the-headlights while you tried to come up with a sufficient explanation. Your hands crept down to your thighs to tug your skirt lower, to make sure it covered the fingertip-shaped bruises that were starting to form on your flesh.
âI ruined âem,â Bucky said proudly, ignoring your gasp. A stupid grin took over his face and he tried to meet Samâs eye triumphantly, but Sam only looked confused.
You glowered up at Bucky, but nothing would swipe that smug expression off his face. âHe⊠uh, yeah, he puked on them,â you said. âHad to throw them out.â
Sam winced, seemingly satisfied by that answer. âTold you not to ask,â he said to Natasha, but her coy smile didnât falter. Bucky looked between them, his jaw hanging open because no, that wasnât rightâ
âThatâs not trueâ Baby, donât lie to them, theyâre our friends.â You gave Bucky a harsh warning glare, but it didnât register. He stepped behind you and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your ear while you flushed red.
âTell âem, baby,â he said, just above a whisper but loud enough for everyone to hear. âTell âem how I ripped them off of you.â
âOh, noâ Buck, donâtââ You tried to shrug him off, to escape his hold, but he pulled you back to him. Natasha looked absolutely thrilled, but Sam still didnât understand, he had to explainâ
âTell âem how we went upstairs,â Bucky said against your hair, âbut I needed ya so bad, fuck, just had to take you right thâ Steve! Hey, Steve!â
Buckyâs grip on you hadnât loosened, but as you were twisting in his arms, trying to cover his mouth with your hands, he saw Steve from the corner of a squinted eye. Steve walked up behind Natasha and Sam, looking slightly less pink than before, although the color quickly returned to his cheeks when he saw the way Bucky was holding you.
âStevie!â Bucky laughed, using his height to his advantage to dodge your attempts to silence him. âOh, god, I have so much to tell you.â
âWhat do you want to tell Steve, Bucky?â Natasha encouraged, absolutely delighted by the whole situation.
âAh, fuck, Stevie, remember howâ remember how I was broken? In Wakanda, when we tried, I was broken?â
It took Steve a couple of seconds to process what Bucky was trying to tell him. He turned even more red, if that was possible, and nodded.
âWell, Iâm not,â Bucky said gleefully. âTell him, baby.â His mouth was against your ear again. âTell him how I fucked all those pretty sounds outta yaââ
âHoly shiââ Sam said as he turned away.
âBucky,â you begged, a horrified look on your face. Natashaâs eyes were wide with mirth, and Steve flushed fully scarlet as he covered his face with his hand. But Bucky wasnât finished.
âGod, I wish you coulda seen her, Stevie,â he said, a faraway, dreamy look in his eye. âSheâs perfect, yâknow? So good to me.â Buckyâs hands wandered as he spoke, squeezing at your hips, stroking up and down your sides, bunching the fabric of your skirt in his hands. He stared at Steve eagerly, waiting. For approval, for congratulations, for somethingâ
âThatâs⊠great, pal,â Steve said from behind his hand, with a muffled, embarrassed chuckle. He was trying and failing to keep his eyes on Bucky. They kept drifting to you, standing there fully mortified with your hand over your mouth, and the way Buckyâs hands gripped you greedily.
âEasy there, Buck,â Sam snickered. âWe can see you.â But that didn't deter him in the slightestâ he wasnât sober enough to be embarrassed yet. He only let up when you elbowed him hard in the chestâ not hard enough to hurt him, but he still looked at you with that kicked-puppy betrayal that made both Sam and Natasha laugh.
âSo, is this, like, a thing?â Sam asked, gesturing to the two of you.
âYes!â Bucky said joyously, but finally, finally, you managed to turn and cover his mouth with your hand.
âShh,â you whispered close to his face. âJustâ shut up, okay? Let me talk.â When you started to lift your hand, Buckyâs mouth opened, so you clamped it down again. âBucky,â you warned. He nodded, and you slowly removed your hand and turned back to the others.
âY-yeah,â you said to them, your voice shaky. âWeâ weâreââ But before you could finish your sentence, Peter came bounding up to the group.
âWhoa, hey! Hey, guys! Itâs not a secret anymore? Hell, yeah!â He raised a hand to you, and you took a deep breath before giving him an exhausted high-five.
âWhat? They told you?â Sam asked incredulously. âBuck, Iâm hurt, seriouslyâ Steve, did you know?â
Steve just shrugged sheepishly, still unable to look away from Bucky and you. âOh, come on,â Sam grumbled.
âBeen telling you something was up with them,â Natasha gloated. âDidnât you see them earlier?â
Sam rolled his eyes. âEarlier today, yes. But how did youââ
But Peterâs exuberance had drawn attention from the surrounding groups, and a crowd started to gather around the pool table.
âWhatâ oh, no. Oh, god. Not again.â Banner spun on his heel to face away from Bucky when he realized what was causing the commotion. He stood stock-still, taking deep, steady breaths.
ââAgainâ!? Banner knew!?â Sam looked like this was painful for him.
âWell, kind of,â you tried to explain. âHeââ
âNope, stop there,â Banner said. âIâve been working too hard to block that image from my mind. Not gonna invite it back now.â
Sam laughed. âWell, shit. Iâm happy for you, man,â he said, and Bucky beamed at him. âAnd that would explain why youâve been a lot less grumpy lately.â
But the mood changed instantly when Tony stormed over.
âFucking unbelievable,â he seethed, and a hush fell over the crowd. âAfter everything Iâve done for youâ the lawyers, the security, the paroleâ this is how you repay me?â Tony was close enough that Bucky could feel the heat radiating off of him, the fury. Bucky quickly stood in front of you before stepping back, forcing both of you away from Tony, but he followed, closing the gap.
âHold on, Tony, wait a minuteâ Sam said, stepping up to stop his advances. âYouâre upset with Bucky for getting laid?â
âGetting laid? No.â He laughed humorlessly, a sour, caustic sound. âCongratulations. No, really, Iâm happy for you. Amazing that you can still get your dick up after all these years.â He took a deep breath, though it didnât seem to calm him. âIâm upset with him for opening us up for lawsuits, creating a PR nightmareâ I didnât think Iâd have to explicitly tell you to not fuck an employeeâ thought you were gay anyway, with whatever you and Cap have going onââ
Bucky flushed, his hands clenching at his sides, but he remained silent. He couldnât argue; Tony was right. He deserved this anger.
âI had FRIDAY look over your contract,â he spat at you over Buckyâs shoulder. âAnd unfortunately I donât have grounds to fire you. But when that contractâs up, youâre out. Youâre gone by the new year, do you understand me?â
You nodded, uncharacteristically meek.
âAnd you.â He turned to Bucky. âYou⊠I donât know what Iâm going to do to you yet. Need to figure out what Iâm able to do.â He didnât manage to hide how he glanced at Steve. âBut your ass is in hot water, Lefty.â
Bucky just nodded, his eyes locked onto the floor. Tony seemed lost for a moment, like he hadnât expected them to give in to his demands so easily. âGood,â he finally snarled. He turned to address the room. âThatâs it, everyone,â he announced. âShowâs over. Pack it up. Weâre done here.â
Everyone said their quiet goodnights, but you and Bucky stayed where you were while the crowd thinned. Finally, when everyone else had left, Bucky could barely bring himself to look at youâ his warmth had started to fade, replaced by an icy panic, because he had fucked everything up, he realizedâ but you were holding back a giggle.
He saw itâ that glint, that glimmer in your eyesâ and when he huffed, a quick, nervous laugh escaped from you. After a tense second you both broke out into hysterical laughter, bending over when your sides stitched and grabbing onto each other for balance. When the worst of it was over Bucky put an arm around your shoulders, and you breathed deeply.
âWeâll figure it out,â you said into his sweater.
âWe will.â
If you enjoyed this fic, please reblog so others can find it!
Also, the second hand embrassment is painstainlingly real. I was begging for Bucky to shut his mouth omg.
This chapter was so good! I can definately understand why you were scared about first initial reactions but I honestly think that this was a really great way to bring their relationship to light. Also needy Bucky is so hot.
Great chapter, I'm really exited for the best one especially now that their relationship is in the open.
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Letâs start with this one: Iâll call this the bored, gay princeling look. Look at him. So pretty. So bored. Stabbing an orange because itâs not like thereâs anything better to do in this kingdom, ever since his wicked father forbade him to flirt with the knights any longer :( đđ»
Okay so everything about this one KILLS me: the tasteful sideboob!! the converse & socks!! the hat!! the hand!!! the fact that heâs lying on a fucking table waiting to be ravished, with that soft-but-hard look in his eyes, jeeeesus đđ»
Jesus christ, fuck me. This is a come hither look if ever I saw one. Heâs just begging to be rawed over that table, donât @ me đđ»
Iâm calling this one the lonely, gay cowboy look, for obvious reasons. Look at that broody, intense stare. What are you looking at, lonely, gay cowboy? Is it another lonely, gay cowboy? I think so. Also LOOK at that cleft chin đđ»
OOOHHH OKAY OKAY, so they just went full on Mr-Darcy-wet-t-shirt-contest with this one, huh? Alright sure, thatâs fine, thatâs absoluteLY FinEÂ đđ»
I have been noticing that there have not been a lot of people reblogging written works from people lately. Here is something you can put at the end of your story if youâd like, and then people can have that extra boost and reminder to reblog and comment! I also realize that a lot of the lettering is pretty hard to see. So if you feel like you need a different color, donât hesitate to shoot me a message :)
yknow ever since people realized tumblr isnt dead and have decided to flock here from twitter and tiktok ive seen a huge influx of people in fandom spaces who dont reblog anything. at all.
like, i used to have an art blog with 340 followers. not a ton but not a small amount either given how this website works with creators. and in my experience back then even the ones who only left likes still reblogged other things or at least posted their own stuff. literally the only empty blogs were clearly bots.
but on this New art blog, i've had so many people with fandom-specific headers and icons with actual usernames as urls and some kind of title or description, but have. Nothing. no posts. all they do is like things. and it's always public, too. their following list and their likes list.
and honestly all it makes me think is that these people are New and also don't know how tumblr works. how likes don't give exposure. not even in a "oh, i know it doesn't give exposure, but i'm still going to reblog anyways" way, but in a genuine honest to god straight up doesn't realize tumblr likes don't work like twitter's.
PLEASE please if you're from tiktok or twitter or whatever please reblog people's art both fandom and original if you like it!! and maybe actually pad out your blog's content in some way so people won't potentially see you as a bot and block you.
REBLOG ARTIST'S WORK. THIS IS THE ONLY WAY THEY GET ANY ATTENTION ON THIS WEBSITE OH MY GOD. PLEASE. I BEG of you
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Summary: Speaking with that reporter dredges up some old memories for Bucky, and they're almost too much for him to handle. He's reminded just how little he knows about you, and realizes that he's running out of timeâ your contract ends in two months. He plans a sweet surprise for your birthday, and happy tears commence.
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Very angsty flashbacks, injury descriptions, Bucky has anxiety, reader has a bad relationship with her parents, disgustingly sweet tooth rotting fluff, smut, explicit sexual content, PIV sex, metal arm kink, really freaking sappy emotions, reader has a conveniently timed fall birthday
Word Count: 9k
A/N: It's long, but you know me by nowâ I need to take you on a roller coaster ride through all of the emotions. Hang in there.
Part 20 of 24
**IF YOUâD LIKE TO READ THE OC VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER, FIND IT ON AO3 HERE**
series masterlist
âSergeant Barnes, can you tell me about your time in the army?â
Bucky stared down at his hands, resting on the laminate tabletop in front of him. His right palm was sweaty, and his gloved left fingers picked at the clammy skin harshly enough to leave red marks behind. He took a slow, deep breath and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
The air in the conference room was chilly against his damp skin, and he pulled the front of his jacket closed.
âWe can start with something easier,â the reporter said gently. âWould that be better?â
He nodded once, sharply, without looking up. The chair next to him squeaked when you shifted your weight.
As soon as Bucky agreed to speak to the reporter, you got to work helping him rehearse his answers. It was easier with you; you would laugh, and encourage him, and give him goofy looks when he got stuck in his head. And nothing he said seemed like new information to you, even if it was; you knew everything about him, whether you realized it or not. But it seemed that all his practicing hadnât helpedâ Bucky was still so nervous that he felt ready to claw out of his skin.
The reporter, this Karen Page, had been exceedingly kind to him so far. Kinder than Bucky deserved, considering he had wasted her time by inviting her out to the compound only for him to be unable to answer a single one of her questions. He shifted his gaze just a bit, from his hands to hersâ they held a blank notebook and a pen. He watched as she set the pen down.
âHow are you feeling?â she asked quietly. Bucky inhaled slowly, and it burned; he couldnât remember the last time he had inhaled. âFrom what Captain Rogers said, you were in pretty rough shape when you got back last week.â
âI⊠yeah. I feel pretty good.â He rolled his shoulders slightly, feeling some tension ease out of his muscles with the motion. Most of the pain he had felt just days ago was gone, and his left shoulder had returned to its normal, baseline ache. He was doing well, all things considered.
âBut you were seriously injured, right?â Karen already knew the answer to this. Everyone did. Her story about the botched mission went online just an hour after her conversation with you, and it outlined the basics: the mission, the mistake. How Bucky held off what should have been an unstoppable force so that Steve was safe while he completed their directive. How Natasha had dragged Buckyâs unconscious body to safety, and how Sam had done the impossible by piecing him back together with limited resources while they were in the air. It was a testament to Buckyâs selfless nature, and to his teammatesââ his friendsââ love for him, and the lengths they went to to save him after he saved them. Bucky had opened the article with a sick, dizzying feeling in his gut, but the more he read, the more that feeling faded.
Bucky nodded to answer the questionâ yes, he had been seriously injuredâ and you opened your mouth to speak before deciding against it; you were doing your best to let him speak for himself, despite your protective urges. The corners of his lips twitched up before he forced them back to neutral.
You had agreed before the interview that Bucky would be the one to tell his story, and you would only interfere if absolutely necessary. He loved that about youâ how you encouraged him to be his own person, to take control of his own narrative while still fiercely wanting to keep him safe from a world that had wronged him. An unfamiliar feeling flickered through himâ with you, he almost felt⊠special. Like he was something worth keeping. Something worth fighting for.
âCan you tell me about some of the injuries?â Karenâs fingers twitched toward her pen, and Bucky froze, his mind going blank. There was a long moment of silence.
âYou had some stitches, right?â you suggested softly, and Bucky latched onto your statement, nodding. This was okay. There was no way that sharing this information could hurt him⊠right? Steve had probably already said most of it.
âY-yeah,â he stuttered. âLacerations.â He traced his right hand across his chest. Underneath his shirt he could feel the shiny pink seams, already healed enough for him to remove the threads that Sam and Banner had so carefully sewn. âUm, there were some broken bonesâŠâ His hand paused at his collarbone. âDislocated shoulder. Internal bruising, ruptured spleen, a collapsed lungâŠâ Next to him, your breath hitched. This was your first time hearing these details; you hadnât wanted to know before. Seeing him laid out, bloody and unconscious, had been enough.
âItâs remarkable that youâve healed this much in such a short amount of time,â Karen said. âIs that because of the serum?â
Buckyâs jaw snapped shut so harshly that there was an audible click of his teeth. He forced a deep breath, but the tension in the room was palpable. âSergeant BarnesâŠâ Karen started apologetically.
âBucky.â He looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time since they had sat down. âPlease. Itâs Bucky.â
She looked surprised, but she nodded. âBucky,â she repeated before she leaned toward him slightly. âI know youâre nervous about speaking with me. But I swear to you that I wonât publish anything without your approval.â His eyes shifted away, so she continued. âWhatever you say. Whatever we talk about. You get the final judgement call before I even send it to my editor, okay?â His Adamâs apple bobbed when he swallowed roughly.
âYou can read every draft, make any changes you want. Get rid of any details you decide you donât want to share.â She sat back in her chair again. âI want to tell your story. Your real story. I'm not⊠Iâm not going to use anything against you.â
Bucky took an easier breath, although his words still came out cold. âYou understand why I find that hard to believe.â
He would never forget that day at the courthouse, when the reporters had picked him apart like vultures. He wasnât whole to begin with but they took everything he had left, plucking out all the shreds of hope and rotten bits of his soul until he was nothing but an empty carcass. They were scavengers, not predatorsâ he was already dead, had died a million times over during testimony. They were just finishing the job.
And then there was the more recent memoryâ the day that you found out. The day you saw him on TV, looking ill and skeletal while he fumbled his words, each clipped phrase another shovel full of dirt out of his own grave. The way he panicked and ran that day, and how he pushed you away because through his self hatred, he couldnât fathom that maybe you wanted to stay.
You stayed.
Karen nodded. âI do,â she said. âI wish I could give you something more than my word.â She paused before she shut her notebook. âWould you feel more comfortable if I come back another day? Give you some more time to think it over?â
No amount of time would make this easier, but it needed to be done. He glanced at you, and you gave him an encouraging nod. âUm⊠maybe⊠I could answer a couple today? Just not⊠everything?â
A smile spread across Karenâs face. âYeah. Perfect. Is it okay if I take some notes?â She sensed his hesitation. âYou can read everything I write before I leave, and Iâll tear out whatever you donât want me to take with me.â
âYeah. Okay,â he exhaled, and Karen opened her notebook once again. âYou were saying⊠something about the serum?â The pleased look that you and Karen shared didnât escape him.
âYes.â Karen clicked her pen. âIs your enhanced healing due to the super soldier serum you received?â
Bucky pulled the inside of his cheek between his molars and bit down hard enough to taste copper. This wasnât as simple of a question as she thought it was. âWell. Yes,â he said. âBut⊠I donât know if it was really the super soldier serum.â He hesitated before he mumbled, âand I didnât receive it.â
âCan you elaborate?â
âI donât know what they gave me,â he said quietly, his eyes on the table. âIt wasnât⊠itâs not the same as Steveâs. Itâs not Erskineâs formula.â
He and Steve had talked about it, back in Wakanda. Fundamentally, their enhanced abilities were the same; super strength, speed, stamina. Healing.
But while Steveâs transformation occurred inside a top-secret Brooklyn lab, surrounded by politicians and army officers, Buckyâs was in a filthy back room of an enemy bunker. While Steve was encased in that Vita-Ray machine, the most advanced technology available at the time, Bucky was strapped to a table with leather restraints that smelled like sweat and somebody elseâs blood.
Steve said that being injected with all those vials of serum at once made him feel like he was exploding, like his cells were all suddenly too large and he was straining at the seams, about to combustâ but just as quickly as the pain began, it was over.
Buckyâs injections were smaller and spaced out over days, each one feeling like toxic, fiery sandpaper as they entered his bloodstream, scraping his insides until they were oozing and raw. And as soon as the pain would begin to subside, as soon as he would stop screaming, Zola would come back with more. Bucky didnât know if Zola drew out his suffering for the sake of science, for the notes and monitored reactions, or if he just got some sick pleasure out of it.
But the biggest difference was that Steve chose this. He wanted it. Had worked for it.
Karen was scribbling furiously while he explained. âI didnât receive it,â Bucky repeated. Receive made it sound like a gift, but it was a curse.
Your mouth had tipped into a tight frown. You had never been good at hiding your emotions, but you were doing an excellent job at containing the weepy rage you always felt when he talked about these memories.
âI didnât know what it was,â he said. âI thought the shots were just⊠another way to torture me.â
While Steve emerged from the machine physically perfected, it took some time for Buckyâs version of the serum to activate. It didnât take long for Bucky to realize something was changing in him. On missions, Bucky could keep up with Steve when the rest of the Howlies were gasping for breath; he had always been a talented sniper, but now he rarely needed to use the scope. But he never spoke of the changes, and if Steve noticed, he never mentioned itâ neither of them wanted to be the first to question what had really gone on in that lab.
âWhat lab?â Karen asked, and Bucky remembered he was speaking out loud.
âIn Austria. The first time I was captured.â
âYou say the first time, because you were captured again?â
Bucky nodded. That was the sick irony of it; maybe if he and Steve had talked about it, if he had told Steve that his blood felt foreign, if Steve knew that something had changed⊠Maybe Steve wouldâve looked for him. Maybe Bucky wouldâve been saved. Of course no one thought he survived; no ordinary man could. No one knew Bucky had poison running through his veins.
âAnd the second time was after you fell from the train, correct?â
Buckyâs eyes were closed, but he saw nothing but white. Sunlight reflected off the snow, so bright that spots of shimmery gold formed on the backs of his eyelids; he watched them float. He was wet, soaked to the bone, but he was no longer shivering. He was warm, almost. If this was what death felt like, he was fine with that. The thought didnât scare him, and he drifted off.
Voices faded in and out, eventually bringing him back to consciousness. He recognized the language. Russian. They were allies. They were there to help him. He tried to speak, but no sounds rose from his jagged glass throat. He couldnât move, but he felt hands against his jacket collarâ and then a jarring, excruciating pain when they began dragging him carelessly through the snow. Every fiber of his being was being torn in two, or maybe he was already tornâ the agony was all-encompassing. He couldnât move. He couldnât move.
He forced his heavy eyelids open to search for the owner of those wretched hands, the source of his suffering, but the sight he was met with sent him reeling. Red soaked through and melted the snow around him, leaving a trail in his wake; was that his blood? The pain was unbearable, the view ghastly; he turned his head and retched.
Heâd rather be dead.
Buckyâs chair screeched as he pushed away from the table and jumped to his feet. âMâsorry,â he mumbled, and he took off. The conference room door slammed behind him, the glass shaking in the pane even as you raced after him.
He found himself in the empty menâs restroom, panting heavily as he braced himself against the toilet.
âBucky?â you called from the doorway. He could only grunt in response, and you followed the sound to find him in a stall. You sank to your knees behind him and tenderly placed a hand between his sweaty shoulder blades.
The churning in his stomach never materialized; the longer he sat on the tiles with you soothingly rubbing his back, the more his breathing slowed. Eventually he sat back and rested his head against the plastic wall. He eyed you with a worried expression, because he had fucked it all upâ he was too weak, couldnât handle a stupid fucking interview, and now you were disappointed in him, and his failure would be all over the nightly newsâ
You gently placed your hands on either side of his face, your thumbs stroking across his trembling cheeks.
âYouâre doing so good,â you murmured. âYouâre okay. I know itâs hard. Nobody is upset with you. Youâre doing great.â You pressed your forehead to his as you whispered your reassurances, and you stayed with him like that until he was ready to stand.
You walked together, hand in hand, to the conference room where Karen sat waiting. She looked up from her phone when the door opened, and Bucky clenched his jaw when he felt his face go red. Instead of being angry, Karen only looked at him with concern, which somehow might have been worseâ god, he hated being the one everyone had to worry about. She began to stand, but you shook your head and led Bucky back to his seat. Karen gave you a confused look as she sank back down.
âBucky wants to tell you about the time he stole a motorcycle.â Now it was Buckyâs turn to look confused; he stared at you.
ââŠI do?â he asked, and you nodded. You held his left hand in both of yours on top of the table, exposed and unashamed; if Karen noticed, she didnât acknowledge it.
âUm, yeah. Okay,â he said slowly. âWeâ the unit, the Howliesâ were in Italy, so I guess it was 1944, andâŠâ
Both you and Karen laughed at his story, and even Bucky cracked a nervous smile. He felt better, talking about good memories like that. When he was finished, you looked at the time on your phone. âWell, itâs getting late,â you said pointedly.
âRight,â Karen said, and she pushed her notebook toward Bucky. He turned it around to read it; she hadnât written anything down past âexperimental formula- NO CONSENT- forced as POW.â He closed his eyes, but nodded and passed the book back to her.
âIâll be in touch,â Karen said. âCall me whenever youâre ready to continue. Thank you for speaking with me, Sergâ Bucky.â
The nap Bucky took that afternoon, with his much larger frame wrapped safely in your arms, rivaled any therapy hangover nap. His dreams were unsteadyâ shadowy figures in his peripheral, a foreboding feeling bubbling in his chest. But when the shadows got a bit too close and he jolted awake, your warm skin and steady heartbeat were all that he felt.
Bucky didnât look up when he walked into the apartment. âPackage,â he muttered under his breath as the door shut behind him. You glanced at him from your spot on the couch, but not quickly enough; you had to lean to the side and swat the package to the floor to keep it from hitting you directly in the face.
The box bounced to a stop in the middle of the living room, and Bucky grinned. He had made a bit of a game of thisâ you didnât have the most effective reflexes, but at least they were⊠entertaining.
âHope it wasnât fragile, dumbass.â You scowled unconvincingly; the corners of your lips twitched up when your saccharine gaze met his. âWhatâd you order?â
âNothing. Itâs yours.â
âWell I didnât order anything.â
âGot your name on it.â
Tension surged as you both stared at the medium-sized rectangular box, now lying on its side next to the coffee table. You leaned over to pick it up, but Bucky beat you there.
He lifted the box with newfound attention. Nothing about it had felt off when he carried it upstairs, but he hadnât had a reason to be suspicious then. He weighed it in his hand and listened to the contents slide around when he moved it: something soft, like fabric, and the quiet crinkle of tissue paper. Satisfied with its harmlessness, he passed the package to you, and you checked the label. Your shoulders stiffened.
âIt's⊠from my parents,â you said haltingly. You almost looked like you were going to set the box back down, but with a sigh you reluctantly tore it open. Bucky was right; you had to peel crinkly white paper away to see what was inside. You slowly pulled the fabric out of the box, and your nose wrinkled in disgust when you realized what it was.
A crisp black suit, complete with a pencil skirt, creased from how it was cheaply packaged. And underneath it, a card with your name on it. You unceremoniously ripped the envelope open and glanced at the message inside; your lip immediately curled into a snarl, and you tossed it to the coffee table. You almost climbed to your feet, but Bucky stopped you.
âWhat is it?â he asked.
You scoffed. âA suit,â you said, âfor all my interviews that Iâm going to go on when I leave this place. Just what I wanted to be reminded of. Right. Great.â
Panic surged through his veins. When you leave this place? Bucky quickly did the math in his head; it was nearly November, so you had just over two months left here at the compound. Oh, fuck. How had time gotten away from him like that? Of course youâd be making plans for after.
You were too busy seething to notice how Bucky had frozen with a blank, wide-eyed expression on his face, a dead giveaway to his racing thoughts. âHappy birthday to me,â you muttered as you slumped sideways onto the couch cushions.
Wait. Bucky looked at you sharply. ââŠWhen is that, again? Your birthday?â
âUh⊠what day is it now? Thursday?â You held up your fingers to count. âItâs⊠four days from now. Monday.â You sighed and settled further into the couch. âOf course itâs a fucking Monday. Gross.â
But Bucky wasnât listening. He turned to you, his eyes betraying his frustration, his almost angry bewilderment.
âWhat?â you asked, taken aback by the intensity of his expression.
âHow did I not know?â He was absolutely certain he hadnât forgotten; he had never known in the first place. âWhy didnât you tell me?â His voice shook slightly. âWhat the fuck,â he said under his breath, more to himself than to you. âHow am I missing stuff like this?â
Bucky loved you, he knew that for sure. And he knew you. He knew the rhythm of your breaths when you slept, and what you looked like when you first woke up, and how you took your coffee in the morning. He knew what made you laugh, what made you cry, and what scared you so deeply that you wouldnât sleep if you thought about it. He knew what kind of music you liked, knew the songs you kept on repeat, and the ones that reminded you of so much pain that you could no longer bear to listen to them.
He knew how fiercely loyal you were, and how your sense of self preservation went out the window when you felt someone you loved had been wronged. He knew what it meant when you looked at him with that mischievous glint in your eye, and what it meant when you wrapped your arms around yourself so tightly that your nails left indents in your skin. But something as simple as a birthday? How the fuck did he not know that?
âIt doesnât matter,â you said with a shrug and a dismissive shake of your head.
Bucky collapsed onto the couch next to your and grabbed your arm, and your mouth dropped open slightly at his vehemence. He couldnât hide the way his low voice trembled. âEverything matters.â
It was trueâ everything about you mattered to him. God, how could he be your boyfriendâ your boyfriend? He gulped. How could he be anything to you without knowing such crucial, basic information?
He exhaled, releasing some of his intensity with his breath. âYour birthday is in four days,â he said. âWhat do you want to do for it?â
âNothing,â you said, and maybe on the surface it looked like you were telling the truthâ but Bucky knew better. Your eyes shifted away from him, your shoulders hunched. âSeriously, itâs no big deal,â you continued. âIâm⊠surprised they even remembered it.â Something in your tone changed when you looked back at the card from your parents. âThey probably put it on the calendar this year just so they could send me that suit,â you said bitterly. âThatâs the exact kind of fucked up, passive aggressive bullshit they would do.â
Bucky opened his mouth, but he didnât quite know what to say. âBut do you want to⊠celebrate?â
âNo,â you said, quickly shaking your head. âIâm notâ I donâtâŠâ you sighed. âI usually just go to a Halloween party and pretend,â you mumbled. âThe days are close enough.â
Buckyâs jaw dropped; that was one of the saddest fucking things he had ever heard.
âWeâve gotta talk,â he said. You turned back to him, your fragile face threatening to crumple.
He pressed his lips to your forehead. âI want you to tell me everything,â he breathed. âEverything.â
The next several hours were spent going over every detail you could think of. Both of you talked about your families, the houses you grew up in, your favorite stories from when you were kids. Bucky told you about going to school in the 1920s and 30s, how heâd tag along to Steveâs art classes even though he could barely draw a decent stick figure, and when he had to leave to get his first job on the docks. You told him about your favorite elementary school teacher, your childhood hobbies, and the girls who bullied you so badly that you faked sick to stay home as often as you could.
Bucky almost melted from the way you watched him, listening eagerly as he spoke about the most mundane moments of his life, and you both teared up when he told you more about his time spent healing in Wakanda. You didnât miss the way Bucky scowled when you talked about your parents, or how he wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders when you tallied up your heartbreaks.
Finally, after you both had exhausted every last memory in your brains, Bucky felt at ease. This was how it was supposed to be. This closeness, this knowledge, was more intimate than sex could ever be.
âI canât believe I didnât know your birthday,â he grumbled good-naturedly.
You hushed him. âItâs fine,â you said. âNow you know.â
But it wasnât fine. Because he only had four days.
Bucky had done a good job of hiding it from you; at least, he thought he did. You sat together on the couch after dinner on Sunday evening, just reading, his right arm tucked around your shoulders. You were engrossed in your book, but through his haze of excitement Bucky couldnât get those little black marks on the page to turn into words. When he glanced at the clock on his phone for the umpteenth time, you gave him a much deserved odd look, but he just shrugged; he couldnât help it.
When it was finally seven oâclock, Bucky closed his book and leaned over to speak against your ear. âBaby,â he said, his low voice hardly masking his eagerness. âLetâs go. Weâre gonna be late.â
You looked up at him, doe-eyed in your confusion until you caught sight of his shit-eating grin. Your own expression turned into a mulish frown, but that didnât deter him.
âCâmon,â he said. âGo get dressed up.â Your frown didnât budge, but there was a growing glimmer in your eyes. âNothing fancy,â he said with a peck against your cheek. âStay comfortable. But weâre going out.â
âWe canât go out,â you said flatly as you marked your page.
âOkay, maybe not out out. Just go get ready. Please? Please.â
You didnât try to hide your snicker. âWell, I guess if youâre going to beg.â
You changed quickly: sweatpants to jeans, a nice shirt, and a necklace Bucky hadnât seen before. That was a good sign. He didnât bother with a jacket or gloves before he led you to the elevator, and you noticed.
âWhere are we going?â
He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close so he could speak with his lips against your hairâ that sweet scent that drove him so crazy. âI told ya I was going to take you to the movies, didnât I?â
You forced the corners of your mouth down to hide your smile. âYou did.â During that hazy fantasy you had talked him through so long ago, when you blurred the lines between past and present, he told you he wouldâve taken you to the movies for your second date. Make out in the back row like a couple of kids.
He meant it, just like he meant every single word he said to you, every promise. He was going to keep them all.
When Bucky opened the heavy doors to the theater room and you saw the setup, you dug your heels in.
Okay, sure, maybe it looked like a lot. But Bucky didnât have much trouble putting it together at all. The projection system was foolproof, and he was able to order the other things onlineâ the microwave popcorn, the candy, some different types of soda. He had searched the new releases and found some fantasy movie that came out a month ago with good reviewsâ and he had it queued up and waiting on the projection screen.
You turned to him, your familiar frown returning while he poured two drinks. âI said I didnât want to do anything for my birthday.â
âNothing?â he wheedled as he turned to you. âNot even cake?â He tempted you with a lopsided smile and took a sip of his drink.
You stepped closer to him, and before he realized what was happening, you reached around with both arms to squeeze two handfuls of his ass. âGot all the cake I need right here.â
Soda didnât quite snort out of Buckyâs nose, but it was close; he turned his head to spare you while he sputtered, but you didnât let go of him.
âWhy are you like this?â he asked when he could speak without choking.
You shrugged innocently and looked up at him with that telltale glint in your eyes. âWhy do you like me like this?â
He shook his head slowly, a sheepish grin taking over his face while he coughed to clear more carbonation out of his throat. âWell, good thing itâs not your birthday,â he said with a shrug. âThatâs tomorrow. So tonight, this is just a date.â
This little theater room was exceptionally nice; Bucky appreciated the decision to substitute normal movie theater seats with plush leather couches, because that meant he could keep his arms wrapped tightly around you for the entire movie.
You stretched out together on one of the couches, and when the credits rolled, you glanced over your shoulder to find his eyes glued to you. âI didnât think you were still awake,â you said teasingly.
âOf course Iâm awake.â He kissed the side of your face.
âYour hands were still.â
He grinnedâ it had taken an ungodly amount of self control, but he had been trying very hard to let you focus on the movie. âWell, Iâm nothing if not a gentleman.â
You snorted, and Bucky shrugged playfully. You had both chosen to ignore the way he had stiffened against your backside, throbbing occasionally, during the filmâs one sex scene. He couldnât help itâ it was⊠a lot for him, if he was honest. He had heard of blue movies back in the day, but heâd never seen one for himselfâ and even now, with everything on the internet, he hadnât quite acclimated. He couldnât wrap his head around how people watched those kinds of things in public.
âYou were very good,â you murmured to him, the combination of your words and your sultry tone sending a jolt of lightning through his core. You rolled over and traced your fingers down his abdomen, but he recoiled when they reached his waistband.
âNo,â he said quietly. âSâposed to be for you.â
âItâs a date,â you said, and he shivered when your lips met his earlobe. âIsnât this how youâd want a date to end?â
Well, yeah, but⊠âItâs your birthday,â he mumbled. You grinned wickedly when he finally admitted it, and glanced at your phone.
âItâs not my birthday for another ten minutes,â you said as you sank to your knees on the floor in front of him. âNow take off your belt.â
Bucky groaned, and he couldnât believe he was doing it, but he placed a hand on your shoulder and held you at bay. âWait a minute, wait a minute,â he said, and you pouted. âYou can do anything you want to me later,â he promised, instantly regretting the words when your eyes widened with excitement. âBut thereâs something else I gotta show you.â
Bucky was nearly giddy as he led you through the dark to the common kitchen table and flicked on a single light. You glanced at the table, at the two plates and forks he had set out, then looked back to Bucky with narrowed eyes. He was standing with his back to you in front of the large commercial refrigerator. âI said I didnât want anything,â you almost growled, but his smile only grew.
âI know,â Bucky said without turning around. âBut you lied.â You dropped down into a chair with a halfhearted scoff.
The soft glow of the small light over the sink was just enough to chase the shadows away from your face. You were fighting hard to keep your mouth straight; it wasnât clear if you were trying not to smile or frown.
Bucky turned around slowly, revealing the small cake he held on a platter with a flourishâ but his smile immediately faded when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.
Shit. It was a small cake, maybe too small, hardly more than a glorified cupcake. And he had forgotten to buy candlesâ he found some in the cabinets earlier but they were mismatched, haphazardly stuck into the frosting at odd anglesâ he shouldâve spent more time arranging them nicely. His expression must have dropped as far as his heart did, because you sniffed and shook your head slightly, a smile cracking across your lips. You beckoned to him, and he set the cake on the table and sat down across from you.
âYou didnât make that,â you said matter-of-factly, although your voice was thick.
He shook his head. âYou didnât hear any fire alarms, did you?â he asked with a crooked smile. You huffed in agreement, and your smile grew, slowly becoming more natural. âI found a bakery in town that delivers,â he said. âI know itâs small, but I didnât want to get too much with just the two of us.â
âItâs perfect,â you said, almost to yourself, as Bucky lit each candle in turn.
âBaby,â he said, suddenly deadly serious. âThereâs just one thing.â You nodded and leaned toward him, perplexed, and he struggled to keep the smile off his face. âI'm sorry, but Iâm not going to sing to you.â
You laughed. âThatâs it, thatâs just too much,â you teased. âItâs all ruined.â But your smile told him exactly the opposite, and you leaned forward to blow out the candles.
Bucky knew he wasnât supposed to wish, but after missing out on so many birthdays, he figured he was allowed a couple of extra wishesâ and besides, the way you were looking at him gave him a sneaking suspicion that you had wished for the exact same thing.
When you were both finished with the cake, Bucky quickly washed the dishes in the sink while you nearly dozed off at the table. Well, he thought you were dozingâ with his back turned, he didnât notice the dreamy way you watched his every move. He was glad to have the dishes to keep his hands busy; he was growing more nervous with each passing second. Finally, he dried his shaky hands on the kitchen towel, and you stood up to leave.
âWait, wait, wait,â he said hurriedly. âOne more thing.â He pulled something out of a cabinet and hurried to sit down across from you. Before he could change his mind, he held the gift out over the table.
âOh my god,â you muttered, sitting up straight while you stared at the small black velvet box. You clutched your left hand in your right. âBucky, IâŠâ Emotion after emotion passed over your face as you glanced between Bucky and the little square box; terror, and excitement, and dismay, and⊠He hid his frown.
âI didnât have anything to wrap it with,â he said apologetically as he handed it over. âForgot about that part.â He made a mental note for next time: candles and wrapping paper.
You stared straight at the box as you took it into your shaky hands. Something about him passing it to you over the table like that seemed to calm you, and you took another deep breath as you sized it up in your hand; it was larger than your palm. But you gasped when you cracked the hinged box open and peeked inside, and your eyes flew to meet his as you slammed it shut again. Buckyâs smile was weak, uncertain, but he gave you a tiny nod. Keep going. Please, keep going. You opened the box fully and sucked in a reverent breath.
You plucked the bracelet from its velvet cushion with two fingers and let it dangle in front of you. The dainty gold chain rotated slowly in the air, and the row of faceted black gemstones reflected and refracted the dull light, their inky blackness somehow giving way to a bright shimmer.
The idea came to him that day in the shower, when you took his hand in your own and scrubbed at the black and gold, carefully washing away the shame that had encrusted it for too long. You paid it so much attention, touched it with so much tender care, that he could almost see it through your eyesâ and just for a moment, his arm was a thing of beauty. It really was.
Bucky thought that maybe if you found that cursed arm so beautiful, then you would like something that was actually beautiful even more. And, selfishly, maybe it would remind you of him. After.
He watched you with bated breath while he waited for you to say something. Anything. Your eyes traveled between Buckyâs face and the bracelet, and you swallowed hard. You opened your mouth, but instead of speaking you clutched the bracelet to your chest and burst into tears.
Oh, no. âI-I can return it if you donât like it, you can pick something elseââ He suddenly realized how stupid this was. You rarely wore jewelry, why did he think youâd want jewelryâ And how fucking arrogant of him, how deluded to think youâd want something like this, something to remind you of himâ of hisâ he gulpedâ his weaponâ
âAre you kidding me?â you sobbed. Those were the only words you managed to choke out, but your grip on the bracelet never loosened. Bucky watched you nervously, his thoughts racing so quickly that he couldnât grab hold of any of them. Maybe⊠maybe you didnât hate it. But when you hiccuped a pained breath, he realized with a sinking feeling that your tears werenât slowing.
He jumped up from his chair and hurried to your side of the table. Standing behind you, he wrapped his arms tightly around your shoulders, which only made you cry harder, but you were smiling nowâ
Either Bucky did something wrong, or he did something really, really right.
âThank you,â you finally managed to say during a break in the tears. âI love it.â You slipped it over your left hand and tightened the chain. It sparkled in the shadows, much brighter than the metallic luster of his arm next to it, but still a perfect match.
Bucky smiled as he nuzzled his lips against your ear, and the words slipped out before he could stop them: âI love you.â
He froze as soon as he realized what he said. He held his breath, waiting for the fallout, but he couldnât step away because that would be too strange, it would draw too much attentionâ you hadnât replied yet, so maybe you didnât hear, and he could pretend it never happenedâ
He didnât mean to say it. It wasnât part of his plan. But seeing you like that, matching him, embracing it⊠if he had known the words to explain how much that meant to him, he would have said them. But there were only three words he knew that seemed big enough, important enough, to convey that monumental truthâ
âI love you,â he said again, just because he wanted to hear it. His voice was stronger this time, steadier, and he could feel his cheeks curving up into an infectious smile even when you pulled away to look back at him.
âWait,â you said, your voice unusually timid as you searched his eyes for any hint of a joke. âYouâre serious?â
He nodded.
Heavy sobs shook your shoulders when you stood to throw your arms around his neck. Soft, incredulous laughter broke through your tears when he kissed you, and with your face smushed against his cheek the words didnât come out quite right, but he heard them: âI love you, too.â
He scooped you up in his arms; anything to be closer to you. âIâm sorry,â he mumbled against your ear when you snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. âI didnât mean to make you cry.â That only made you cry harder, but it was okayâ you were smiling. They were happy tears, and he couldnât blame youâ nothing had ever been more deserving of happy tears in his life.
When you finally calmed down enough to speak, you pulled away slightly. âYou know thatâs not the first time youâve said that to me, right?â
He blanched. â...What?â
You only laughed, and covered what you could reach of his face and neck in sweet kisses while he carried your back upstairs.
Your kisses turned needier and more frantic as soon as you reached the elevator, and it took all of Buckyâs willpower to force himself to walk steadily instead of sprinting to the bedroom.
He crashed through the apartment door, stumbling slightly as he finally gave in and raced down the hall. Bucky laid you onto the bed before falling forward to join you on top of the comforter. You giggled, but his lips never left your skin while he hastily removed your clothes. You lifted your hips so he could slide your jeans off down your legs, and he stood back to tear his own clothes off. But his breath caught at the view in front of him, and he paused.
âBucky,â you said with a knowing smile. âYouâre staring again.â Even so, you didnât move to cover yourself.
âNever gonna stop staring,â he said with an unashamed shrug. He climbed back on top of your and rested his forearms on either side of your head.
âI love you,â he said again, the words still foreign but delicious on his tongue. The way you shut your eyes, your cheeks glowing, and practically fucking purred told him all he needed to knowâ so when you said the words back to him, that was just icing on the cake. Buckyâs lips came crashing down onto yours, and you grinned into the kiss. You hitched your knees up over his waist, tilting your pelvis up to meet his, and he rolled his hips against yours a few times in that way he knew you liked.
He leaned his weight on his left elbow so he could reach down and get you ready for him, but your hand on his wrist stopped him.
âOther hand,â you whispered breathlessly. âPlease?â
There was a hesitation, and he tore his gaze from your chest back up to your eyesâ his eyebrows furrowed, and he gulped. But you nodded, encouraging him. You wanted it. You did.
He shifted his weight and slowly, carefully, traced his left hand over the hill of your breast, over the ledge where your ribs gave way to softness, and down to your thigh. Goosebumps followed his trail, either from the cool metal, his teasing touch, or both. He splayed his hand out wide over your thigh and rubbed this thumb against the tender skin there, so close to where you wanted him, but not quite enough. You let out a quiet groan and squirmed, wiggling your hips; if he wouldnât put his hand where you needed it, youâd do it yourself, apparently. He grinned at that, and so lightly that it almost tickled, he drew a metal finger up through your dripping folds.
He was unprepared for the moan that broke free from you, and the way you immediately trembled under his touch. The temperature difference was astounding, he knew; the digits would warm up eventually, but for now they were like ice against your most sensitive skin. And judging from your whimpers, you liked it.
âNeed it, need it, need it,â you chanted quietly.
He pushed one finger inside of you, and oh, fuck, that feelingâ the warmth and enveloping pressure that those fingers had never felt, that those nerves had never experiencedâ he carefully inserted another finger, and when you shuddered, he did, too.
He was hesitant to use the hand too much, wary of its strength, but when his thumb pressed gently to your clit, you started rocking your hips against it. He was simply a passenger, a witness to this small miracle, and he watched with heavy-lidded eyes and a slack jaw while you took pleasure from a piece of him that he thought had none to offer.
âSo good,â you panted. âFuckâ l-love youâŠâ
His cock was leaking strings of pre-cum all over your thigh and the bedsheets, and it jumped when your pussy tightened around his fingers. It knocked the air from his lungs, that pressure, and he crooked his fingers and slotted his lips over yours to drink up all the beautiful sounds you made as you came.
Your body was still shaking from the aftershocks, but Bucky couldnât get inside you fast enough. There was no waiting, no teasing; only that urgent need to be as close to you as possible. To be part of you. He gripped the base of his cock and nudged at your entrance, and he was met with a slick heat that made his hips jerk forward uncontrollably. Your moan when he entered you made his breath catch.
âGod, I fucking love you,â he rasped against your lips. Fully sheathed, he gave you a moment to adjust, waiting for you to nod before his hips picked up an unrelenting rhythm.
You sucked in a harsh breath when he wrapped his metal arm under your hips and yanked them up, changing the angle so he could fuck even deeper inside of you without pulling his lips away from yours. You fluttered around him again, and he didnât have the strength to even attempt to hold out against the delicious pressure that had been blooming in him for hours. He came with a raw shout against your neck, then continued to grind into you slowly while you both caught your breath.
Eventually Bucky rolled to the side, and you reached for him blindly. The bracelet dangled from your wrist, reflecting the moonlight that snuck in through the window.
He couldnât take his eyes off it. The bracelet looked so beautiful on you, it was perfectâ but he couldnât help that piece inside of him that wished it was a ring.
Bucky didnât know how much time passed as he lay there, watching you in the moonlight. After a while you sighed, and in the last few moments before sleep pulled you under, you spoke. âLove you, Buck. Always have.â
Bucky slammed his notebook shut when he heard your footsteps approaching from down the hall the next day. He chewed on the end of his pen, but he couldnât wipe the guilt from his face quickly enoughâ you gave him a questioning glance as you walked over to where he was seated at the kitchen table.
âDear diary,â you said in a mockingly deep voice, and when he didnât stop you, you continued.
âDear diary, I might have overdone it last night.â He narrowed his eyes at you when he noticed that crazy gleam, but it was too late. âBucky Jr. might need medical attentionââ Bucky snorted and dropped his pen on the tableâ âheâs never been so exhausted. He put up a valiant fight, but waking up to my girlfriendâs soul-sucking powers is just tooââ
Bucky blinked. âGirlfriend?â
You stared back at him with wide eyes, realizing your mistake at the same moment he did. âI-I mean, um, yeah, if you⊠fuckâŠâ You turned away from him, your shoulders raised nearly to your ears, shielding you while you held your breath.
It took a moment for his brain to reboot. âYes,â he said as quickly as he could. âYes. Yeah, of course.
You turned back to him with a sparkling grin, as if that moment of doubt was already so far in your rear view mirror that it was just a blur. âWhat are you writing, though? Really?â
He sighed, and his voice came out too small as his mood deflated. âIâm⊠just trying to figure out how old I am,â he mumbled.
You shot a sideways glance at the closed notebook. âYou said you were born in 1917.â
âI mean, yeah, but⊠Iâm just⊠Itâs more complicated than that.â His first instinct was to clam up, or lieâ but no. No more secrets. âIâm trying to figure out how often Hydra had me out of cryo,â he said quietly. âItâs hard to keep track⊠easier if I write it down. And Iâd just⊠rather you not see that.â
Because the easiest way for him to track how often he was awake was to follow along with the reports of his crimes. He had looked up the charges and testimonies from court to get a general sense, but what was left unanswered was just how long he was out of cryo each time. He didnât know how much prep he got; he couldnât remember if they pulled him out and trained him, or if they just gave him his mission and sent him off. And what about the missions that were so successful that they were never discovered? He clenched his teeth; he was getting frustrated by the nebulosity of it all.
âItâs okay,â you told him softly. âIt doesnât matterââ
âIt does,â he said forcefully, but his voice broke slightly with his next words. âBecause I donâtâ I donât know how much longerââ
âWhat?â you stepped closer beside him and placed a calming hand on the back of his neck. He could tell from your unbothered tone that you werenât following, you didnât get itâ
âI⊠hear me out, okay?â he said, and you nodded as you rubbed lazy circles against his skin. He sighed. âI always assumed Iâd die in a fight.â He expected you to protest that, but you didnât. âBut what if⊠what if maybe, I donât? What if I get to live out my life, however much is left of it?â
You smiled gently. âThat doesnât seem like a bad thought to have.â
Bucky shook his head. âNo. But⊠How am I supposed to know how much time I have left?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âI thought I could figure it out and do the math, but thereâs so much time thatâs just⊠blank. Too many variables. And the fucking serum, too, I donât knowâŠâ
âBucky, no one knows how much time they have left.â
Bucky shook his head, still agitated. âItâs different. Steve was in the ice for seventy years, right? And he came out looking pretty much like he looked in 1944.â He waited for you to nod. âWell, I think I look⊠older. Not by much,â he said quickly when you started to disagree. His hand stroked his beard, hesitating at the gray patch of hair. âBut thereâs something⊠Steve wasnât awake at all through those years. But I was.â
âWe can ask Dr. Banner,â you murmured, and that made Buckyâs heart jolt because you were acknowledging his fearâ and if you were acknowledging it, that meant it was justifiedâ âWe can call him tomorrow and ask him to research it, and then you can see him as soon as heâs back. Run some tests or something.â Bucky just shook his head.
âHe canât research. There is no research. Itâs me and Steve.â
You didnât have any way to refute that. âWhy are you so worried about this right now?â
âBecause what if I'm in good shape but my body still has an expiration date, and I die in like, a couple years?â And leave you behind. âOr what if Iâve got decades to go still, even out of the ice, and Iââ Heâd have to spend all that time without you.
Somehow, you heard the unspoken part of his thoughts. âYouâre here with me now.â You stepped completely behind him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your chin coming to rest at the top of his head.
âBut how long?â He winced when his voice broke again. âHow long will I be here with you? I canâtâ I donât want to hurt you. I donât want to leave you. But maybe IâŠâ
âBucky,â you said sharply. A warning. âWhatever youâre thinking, itâs too late. Yes, if you die it will hurt me. Youâre not going to make it hurt any less by leaving me.â He knew from your tone that you were glaring at him, even as you pressed a kiss to his hair. âThat'd hurt even moreâ losing you twice.â Your voice was smaller now. âPlease donât make me lose you twice.â
Bucky let out a shaky breath. His heartbeat was slowing slightly. You were right, of course you were.
âYour birthday is March tenth, 1917,â you murmured into his ear. âThatâs all that matters. Thatâs all I care about.â
âYeah, well, thatâs still fucking weird,â he grumbled. He felt a little grumpy now, but at least the panic had subsided.
âWould you want to do something fun? Itâs not every day that someone turnsâŠâ you quickly did the math in your head, âone hundred and five.â
He groaned. âDonât say that,â he said. Talking about his age freaked him out a little bit, if he was honest. âI donât want a party. Iâve had too many birthdays.â
âHow many were you able to celebrate like you deserve?â He was silent at that, and he felt you grin because you knew you had won. âAnd I wasnât talking about a party.â You loosened your arms and stepped to the side. âWhat about something with just you and me?â He looked up at you, the tension creeping away from his shoulders, his eyes softening.
His birthday was in March. You wanted to do something with him in Marchâ you were still going to be with him in Marchâ but where would youâ? After December, what would heâ?
âWhatâŠâ He cleared his throat. âWhat do you have in mind?â
âSomething quiet,â you said. âPeaceful. Maybe we could go somewhere? Make a little vacation out of it.â
God, that would be niceâ so much freedom after all this time stuck inside. He felt a stinging behind his eyes and blinked several times to soften it.
âHow does that sound? Anywhere you wanna go?â
âI always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.â
If you enjoyed this fic, please reblog so others can find it!
Iâll be 100% honest, I visited your blog a couple of times because I noticed you were gone đ at first I thought you just werenât reading anymore because of the Stucky stuff, but then I saw you hadnât posted anything⊠I was debating sending you a message to check in but I didnât know if that was going too far! Glad to have you back đ„°
(Just sharing that because I want you to know you were missedâ please donât feel like you need to explain yourself or anything!)
I'm so happy to be back and I'm SO ready for the next chapter of YHHMSGM. A much needed break was needed and taken (although I probs should have said so on my blog, oops) but for now I'm back.
It warms my heart to know that I was missed and I'll let you know that YHHMSGM was on my mind ALOT. I was worried I was going to miss the final chapter posting. I'm so happy I havent.
Your story helped me through a real rough patch and I decided to start writing again. I want my stores to be able to help people through their rough patches.
For now though, I'll start with a little Bucky fic that's currently sitting in my WIP file.
Summary: Speaking with that reporter dredges up some old memories for Bucky, and they're almost too much for him to handle. He's reminded just how little he knows about you, and realizes that he's running out of timeâ your contract ends in two months. He plans a sweet surprise for your birthday, and happy tears commence.
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Very angsty flashbacks, injury descriptions, Bucky has anxiety, reader has a bad relationship with her parents, disgustingly sweet tooth rotting fluff, smut, explicit sexual content, PIV sex, metal arm kink, really freaking sappy emotions, reader has a conveniently timed fall birthday
Word Count: 9k
A/N: It's long, but you know me by nowâ I need to take you on a roller coaster ride through all of the emotions. Hang in there.
Part 20 of 24
**IF YOUâD LIKE TO READ THE OC VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER, FIND IT ON AO3 HERE**
series masterlist
âSergeant Barnes, can you tell me about your time in the army?â
Bucky stared down at his hands, resting on the laminate tabletop in front of him. His right palm was sweaty, and his gloved left fingers picked at the clammy skin harshly enough to leave red marks behind. He took a slow, deep breath and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
The air in the conference room was chilly against his damp skin, and he pulled the front of his jacket closed.
âWe can start with something easier,â the reporter said gently. âWould that be better?â
He nodded once, sharply, without looking up. The chair next to him squeaked when you shifted your weight.
As soon as Bucky agreed to speak to the reporter, you got to work helping him rehearse his answers. It was easier with you; you would laugh, and encourage him, and give him goofy looks when he got stuck in his head. And nothing he said seemed like new information to you, even if it was; you knew everything about him, whether you realized it or not. But it seemed that all his practicing hadnât helpedâ Bucky was still so nervous that he felt ready to claw out of his skin.
The reporter, this Karen Page, had been exceedingly kind to him so far. Kinder than Bucky deserved, considering he had wasted her time by inviting her out to the compound only for him to be unable to answer a single one of her questions. He shifted his gaze just a bit, from his hands to hersâ they held a blank notebook and a pen. He watched as she set the pen down.
âHow are you feeling?â she asked quietly. Bucky inhaled slowly, and it burned; he couldnât remember the last time he had inhaled. âFrom what Captain Rogers said, you were in pretty rough shape when you got back last week.â
âI⊠yeah. I feel pretty good.â He rolled his shoulders slightly, feeling some tension ease out of his muscles with the motion. Most of the pain he had felt just days ago was gone, and his left shoulder had returned to its normal, baseline ache. He was doing well, all things considered.
âBut you were seriously injured, right?â Karen already knew the answer to this. Everyone did. Her story about the botched mission went online just an hour after her conversation with you, and it outlined the basics: the mission, the mistake. How Bucky held off what should have been an unstoppable force so that Steve was safe while he completed their directive. How Natasha had dragged Buckyâs unconscious body to safety, and how Sam had done the impossible by piecing him back together with limited resources while they were in the air. It was a testament to Buckyâs selfless nature, and to his teammatesââ his friendsââ love for him, and the lengths they went to to save him after he saved them. Bucky had opened the article with a sick, dizzying feeling in his gut, but the more he read, the more that feeling faded.
Bucky nodded to answer the questionâ yes, he had been seriously injuredâ and you opened your mouth to speak before deciding against it; you were doing your best to let him speak for himself, despite your protective urges. The corners of his lips twitched up before he forced them back to neutral.
You had agreed before the interview that Bucky would be the one to tell his story, and you would only interfere if absolutely necessary. He loved that about youâ how you encouraged him to be his own person, to take control of his own narrative while still fiercely wanting to keep him safe from a world that had wronged him. An unfamiliar feeling flickered through himâ with you, he almost felt⊠special. Like he was something worth keeping. Something worth fighting for.
âCan you tell me about some of the injuries?â Karenâs fingers twitched toward her pen, and Bucky froze, his mind going blank. There was a long moment of silence.
âYou had some stitches, right?â you suggested softly, and Bucky latched onto your statement, nodding. This was okay. There was no way that sharing this information could hurt him⊠right? Steve had probably already said most of it.
âY-yeah,â he stuttered. âLacerations.â He traced his right hand across his chest. Underneath his shirt he could feel the shiny pink seams, already healed enough for him to remove the threads that Sam and Banner had so carefully sewn. âUm, there were some broken bonesâŠâ His hand paused at his collarbone. âDislocated shoulder. Internal bruising, ruptured spleen, a collapsed lungâŠâ Next to him, your breath hitched. This was your first time hearing these details; you hadnât wanted to know before. Seeing him laid out, bloody and unconscious, had been enough.
âItâs remarkable that youâve healed this much in such a short amount of time,â Karen said. âIs that because of the serum?â
Buckyâs jaw snapped shut so harshly that there was an audible click of his teeth. He forced a deep breath, but the tension in the room was palpable. âSergeant BarnesâŠâ Karen started apologetically.
âBucky.â He looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time since they had sat down. âPlease. Itâs Bucky.â
She looked surprised, but she nodded. âBucky,â she repeated before she leaned toward him slightly. âI know youâre nervous about speaking with me. But I swear to you that I wonât publish anything without your approval.â His eyes shifted away, so she continued. âWhatever you say. Whatever we talk about. You get the final judgement call before I even send it to my editor, okay?â His Adamâs apple bobbed when he swallowed roughly.
âYou can read every draft, make any changes you want. Get rid of any details you decide you donât want to share.â She sat back in her chair again. âI want to tell your story. Your real story. I'm not⊠Iâm not going to use anything against you.â
Bucky took an easier breath, although his words still came out cold. âYou understand why I find that hard to believe.â
He would never forget that day at the courthouse, when the reporters had picked him apart like vultures. He wasnât whole to begin with but they took everything he had left, plucking out all the shreds of hope and rotten bits of his soul until he was nothing but an empty carcass. They were scavengers, not predatorsâ he was already dead, had died a million times over during testimony. They were just finishing the job.
And then there was the more recent memoryâ the day that you found out. The day you saw him on TV, looking ill and skeletal while he fumbled his words, each clipped phrase another shovel full of dirt out of his own grave. The way he panicked and ran that day, and how he pushed you away because through his self hatred, he couldnât fathom that maybe you wanted to stay.
You stayed.
Karen nodded. âI do,â she said. âI wish I could give you something more than my word.â She paused before she shut her notebook. âWould you feel more comfortable if I come back another day? Give you some more time to think it over?â
No amount of time would make this easier, but it needed to be done. He glanced at you, and you gave him an encouraging nod. âUm⊠maybe⊠I could answer a couple today? Just not⊠everything?â
A smile spread across Karenâs face. âYeah. Perfect. Is it okay if I take some notes?â She sensed his hesitation. âYou can read everything I write before I leave, and Iâll tear out whatever you donât want me to take with me.â
âYeah. Okay,â he exhaled, and Karen opened her notebook once again. âYou were saying⊠something about the serum?â The pleased look that you and Karen shared didnât escape him.
âYes.â Karen clicked her pen. âIs your enhanced healing due to the super soldier serum you received?â
Bucky pulled the inside of his cheek between his molars and bit down hard enough to taste copper. This wasnât as simple of a question as she thought it was. âWell. Yes,â he said. âBut⊠I donât know if it was really the super soldier serum.â He hesitated before he mumbled, âand I didnât receive it.â
âCan you elaborate?â
âI donât know what they gave me,â he said quietly, his eyes on the table. âIt wasnât⊠itâs not the same as Steveâs. Itâs not Erskineâs formula.â
He and Steve had talked about it, back in Wakanda. Fundamentally, their enhanced abilities were the same; super strength, speed, stamina. Healing.
But while Steveâs transformation occurred inside a top-secret Brooklyn lab, surrounded by politicians and army officers, Buckyâs was in a filthy back room of an enemy bunker. While Steve was encased in that Vita-Ray machine, the most advanced technology available at the time, Bucky was strapped to a table with leather restraints that smelled like sweat and somebody elseâs blood.
Steve said that being injected with all those vials of serum at once made him feel like he was exploding, like his cells were all suddenly too large and he was straining at the seams, about to combustâ but just as quickly as the pain began, it was over.
Buckyâs injections were smaller and spaced out over days, each one feeling like toxic, fiery sandpaper as they entered his bloodstream, scraping his insides until they were oozing and raw. And as soon as the pain would begin to subside, as soon as he would stop screaming, Zola would come back with more. Bucky didnât know if Zola drew out his suffering for the sake of science, for the notes and monitored reactions, or if he just got some sick pleasure out of it.
But the biggest difference was that Steve chose this. He wanted it. Had worked for it.
Karen was scribbling furiously while he explained. âI didnât receive it,â Bucky repeated. Receive made it sound like a gift, but it was a curse.
Your mouth had tipped into a tight frown. You had never been good at hiding your emotions, but you were doing an excellent job at containing the weepy rage you always felt when he talked about these memories.
âI didnât know what it was,â he said. âI thought the shots were just⊠another way to torture me.â
While Steve emerged from the machine physically perfected, it took some time for Buckyâs version of the serum to activate. It didnât take long for Bucky to realize something was changing in him. On missions, Bucky could keep up with Steve when the rest of the Howlies were gasping for breath; he had always been a talented sniper, but now he rarely needed to use the scope. But he never spoke of the changes, and if Steve noticed, he never mentioned itâ neither of them wanted to be the first to question what had really gone on in that lab.
âWhat lab?â Karen asked, and Bucky remembered he was speaking out loud.
âIn Austria. The first time I was captured.â
âYou say the first time, because you were captured again?â
Bucky nodded. That was the sick irony of it; maybe if he and Steve had talked about it, if he had told Steve that his blood felt foreign, if Steve knew that something had changed⊠Maybe Steve wouldâve looked for him. Maybe Bucky wouldâve been saved. Of course no one thought he survived; no ordinary man could. No one knew Bucky had poison running through his veins.
âAnd the second time was after you fell from the train, correct?â
Buckyâs eyes were closed, but he saw nothing but white. Sunlight reflected off the snow, so bright that spots of shimmery gold formed on the backs of his eyelids; he watched them float. He was wet, soaked to the bone, but he was no longer shivering. He was warm, almost. If this was what death felt like, he was fine with that. The thought didnât scare him, and he drifted off.
Voices faded in and out, eventually bringing him back to consciousness. He recognized the language. Russian. They were allies. They were there to help him. He tried to speak, but no sounds rose from his jagged glass throat. He couldnât move, but he felt hands against his jacket collarâ and then a jarring, excruciating pain when they began dragging him carelessly through the snow. Every fiber of his being was being torn in two, or maybe he was already tornâ the agony was all-encompassing. He couldnât move. He couldnât move.
He forced his heavy eyelids open to search for the owner of those wretched hands, the source of his suffering, but the sight he was met with sent him reeling. Red soaked through and melted the snow around him, leaving a trail in his wake; was that his blood? The pain was unbearable, the view ghastly; he turned his head and retched.
Heâd rather be dead.
Buckyâs chair screeched as he pushed away from the table and jumped to his feet. âMâsorry,â he mumbled, and he took off. The conference room door slammed behind him, the glass shaking in the pane even as you raced after him.
He found himself in the empty menâs restroom, panting heavily as he braced himself against the toilet.
âBucky?â you called from the doorway. He could only grunt in response, and you followed the sound to find him in a stall. You sank to your knees behind him and tenderly placed a hand between his sweaty shoulder blades.
The churning in his stomach never materialized; the longer he sat on the tiles with you soothingly rubbing his back, the more his breathing slowed. Eventually he sat back and rested his head against the plastic wall. He eyed you with a worried expression, because he had fucked it all upâ he was too weak, couldnât handle a stupid fucking interview, and now you were disappointed in him, and his failure would be all over the nightly newsâ
You gently placed your hands on either side of his face, your thumbs stroking across his trembling cheeks.
âYouâre doing so good,â you murmured. âYouâre okay. I know itâs hard. Nobody is upset with you. Youâre doing great.â You pressed your forehead to his as you whispered your reassurances, and you stayed with him like that until he was ready to stand.
You walked together, hand in hand, to the conference room where Karen sat waiting. She looked up from her phone when the door opened, and Bucky clenched his jaw when he felt his face go red. Instead of being angry, Karen only looked at him with concern, which somehow might have been worseâ god, he hated being the one everyone had to worry about. She began to stand, but you shook your head and led Bucky back to his seat. Karen gave you a confused look as she sank back down.
âBucky wants to tell you about the time he stole a motorcycle.â Now it was Buckyâs turn to look confused; he stared at you.
ââŠI do?â he asked, and you nodded. You held his left hand in both of yours on top of the table, exposed and unashamed; if Karen noticed, she didnât acknowledge it.
âUm, yeah. Okay,â he said slowly. âWeâ the unit, the Howliesâ were in Italy, so I guess it was 1944, andâŠâ
Both you and Karen laughed at his story, and even Bucky cracked a nervous smile. He felt better, talking about good memories like that. When he was finished, you looked at the time on your phone. âWell, itâs getting late,â you said pointedly.
âRight,â Karen said, and she pushed her notebook toward Bucky. He turned it around to read it; she hadnât written anything down past âexperimental formula- NO CONSENT- forced as POW.â He closed his eyes, but nodded and passed the book back to her.
âIâll be in touch,â Karen said. âCall me whenever youâre ready to continue. Thank you for speaking with me, Sergâ Bucky.â
The nap Bucky took that afternoon, with his much larger frame wrapped safely in your arms, rivaled any therapy hangover nap. His dreams were unsteadyâ shadowy figures in his peripheral, a foreboding feeling bubbling in his chest. But when the shadows got a bit too close and he jolted awake, your warm skin and steady heartbeat were all that he felt.
Bucky didnât look up when he walked into the apartment. âPackage,â he muttered under his breath as the door shut behind him. You glanced at him from your spot on the couch, but not quickly enough; you had to lean to the side and swat the package to the floor to keep it from hitting you directly in the face.
The box bounced to a stop in the middle of the living room, and Bucky grinned. He had made a bit of a game of thisâ you didnât have the most effective reflexes, but at least they were⊠entertaining.
âHope it wasnât fragile, dumbass.â You scowled unconvincingly; the corners of your lips twitched up when your saccharine gaze met his. âWhatâd you order?â
âNothing. Itâs yours.â
âWell I didnât order anything.â
âGot your name on it.â
Tension surged as you both stared at the medium-sized rectangular box, now lying on its side next to the coffee table. You leaned over to pick it up, but Bucky beat you there.
He lifted the box with newfound attention. Nothing about it had felt off when he carried it upstairs, but he hadnât had a reason to be suspicious then. He weighed it in his hand and listened to the contents slide around when he moved it: something soft, like fabric, and the quiet crinkle of tissue paper. Satisfied with its harmlessness, he passed the package to you, and you checked the label. Your shoulders stiffened.
âIt's⊠from my parents,â you said haltingly. You almost looked like you were going to set the box back down, but with a sigh you reluctantly tore it open. Bucky was right; you had to peel crinkly white paper away to see what was inside. You slowly pulled the fabric out of the box, and your nose wrinkled in disgust when you realized what it was.
A crisp black suit, complete with a pencil skirt, creased from how it was cheaply packaged. And underneath it, a card with your name on it. You unceremoniously ripped the envelope open and glanced at the message inside; your lip immediately curled into a snarl, and you tossed it to the coffee table. You almost climbed to your feet, but Bucky stopped you.
âWhat is it?â he asked.
You scoffed. âA suit,â you said, âfor all my interviews that Iâm going to go on when I leave this place. Just what I wanted to be reminded of. Right. Great.â
Panic surged through his veins. When you leave this place? Bucky quickly did the math in his head; it was nearly November, so you had just over two months left here at the compound. Oh, fuck. How had time gotten away from him like that? Of course youâd be making plans for after.
You were too busy seething to notice how Bucky had frozen with a blank, wide-eyed expression on his face, a dead giveaway to his racing thoughts. âHappy birthday to me,â you muttered as you slumped sideways onto the couch cushions.
Wait. Bucky looked at you sharply. ââŠWhen is that, again? Your birthday?â
âUh⊠what day is it now? Thursday?â You held up your fingers to count. âItâs⊠four days from now. Monday.â You sighed and settled further into the couch. âOf course itâs a fucking Monday. Gross.â
But Bucky wasnât listening. He turned to you, his eyes betraying his frustration, his almost angry bewilderment.
âWhat?â you asked, taken aback by the intensity of his expression.
âHow did I not know?â He was absolutely certain he hadnât forgotten; he had never known in the first place. âWhy didnât you tell me?â His voice shook slightly. âWhat the fuck,â he said under his breath, more to himself than to you. âHow am I missing stuff like this?â
Bucky loved you, he knew that for sure. And he knew you. He knew the rhythm of your breaths when you slept, and what you looked like when you first woke up, and how you took your coffee in the morning. He knew what made you laugh, what made you cry, and what scared you so deeply that you wouldnât sleep if you thought about it. He knew what kind of music you liked, knew the songs you kept on repeat, and the ones that reminded you of so much pain that you could no longer bear to listen to them.
He knew how fiercely loyal you were, and how your sense of self preservation went out the window when you felt someone you loved had been wronged. He knew what it meant when you looked at him with that mischievous glint in your eye, and what it meant when you wrapped your arms around yourself so tightly that your nails left indents in your skin. But something as simple as a birthday? How the fuck did he not know that?
âIt doesnât matter,â you said with a shrug and a dismissive shake of your head.
Bucky collapsed onto the couch next to your and grabbed your arm, and your mouth dropped open slightly at his vehemence. He couldnât hide the way his low voice trembled. âEverything matters.â
It was trueâ everything about you mattered to him. God, how could he be your boyfriendâ your boyfriend? He gulped. How could he be anything to you without knowing such crucial, basic information?
He exhaled, releasing some of his intensity with his breath. âYour birthday is in four days,â he said. âWhat do you want to do for it?â
âNothing,â you said, and maybe on the surface it looked like you were telling the truthâ but Bucky knew better. Your eyes shifted away from him, your shoulders hunched. âSeriously, itâs no big deal,â you continued. âIâm⊠surprised they even remembered it.â Something in your tone changed when you looked back at the card from your parents. âThey probably put it on the calendar this year just so they could send me that suit,â you said bitterly. âThatâs the exact kind of fucked up, passive aggressive bullshit they would do.â
Bucky opened his mouth, but he didnât quite know what to say. âBut do you want to⊠celebrate?â
âNo,â you said, quickly shaking your head. âIâm notâ I donâtâŠâ you sighed. âI usually just go to a Halloween party and pretend,â you mumbled. âThe days are close enough.â
Buckyâs jaw dropped; that was one of the saddest fucking things he had ever heard.
âWeâve gotta talk,â he said. You turned back to him, your fragile face threatening to crumple.
He pressed his lips to your forehead. âI want you to tell me everything,â he breathed. âEverything.â
The next several hours were spent going over every detail you could think of. Both of you talked about your families, the houses you grew up in, your favorite stories from when you were kids. Bucky told you about going to school in the 1920s and 30s, how heâd tag along to Steveâs art classes even though he could barely draw a decent stick figure, and when he had to leave to get his first job on the docks. You told him about your favorite elementary school teacher, your childhood hobbies, and the girls who bullied you so badly that you faked sick to stay home as often as you could.
Bucky almost melted from the way you watched him, listening eagerly as he spoke about the most mundane moments of his life, and you both teared up when he told you more about his time spent healing in Wakanda. You didnât miss the way Bucky scowled when you talked about your parents, or how he wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders when you tallied up your heartbreaks.
Finally, after you both had exhausted every last memory in your brains, Bucky felt at ease. This was how it was supposed to be. This closeness, this knowledge, was more intimate than sex could ever be.
âI canât believe I didnât know your birthday,â he grumbled good-naturedly.
You hushed him. âItâs fine,â you said. âNow you know.â
But it wasnât fine. Because he only had four days.
Bucky had done a good job of hiding it from you; at least, he thought he did. You sat together on the couch after dinner on Sunday evening, just reading, his right arm tucked around your shoulders. You were engrossed in your book, but through his haze of excitement Bucky couldnât get those little black marks on the page to turn into words. When he glanced at the clock on his phone for the umpteenth time, you gave him a much deserved odd look, but he just shrugged; he couldnât help it.
When it was finally seven oâclock, Bucky closed his book and leaned over to speak against your ear. âBaby,â he said, his low voice hardly masking his eagerness. âLetâs go. Weâre gonna be late.â
You looked up at him, doe-eyed in your confusion until you caught sight of his shit-eating grin. Your own expression turned into a mulish frown, but that didnât deter him.
âCâmon,â he said. âGo get dressed up.â Your frown didnât budge, but there was a growing glimmer in your eyes. âNothing fancy,â he said with a peck against your cheek. âStay comfortable. But weâre going out.â
âWe canât go out,â you said flatly as you marked your page.
âOkay, maybe not out out. Just go get ready. Please? Please.â
You didnât try to hide your snicker. âWell, I guess if youâre going to beg.â
You changed quickly: sweatpants to jeans, a nice shirt, and a necklace Bucky hadnât seen before. That was a good sign. He didnât bother with a jacket or gloves before he led you to the elevator, and you noticed.
âWhere are we going?â
He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close so he could speak with his lips against your hairâ that sweet scent that drove him so crazy. âI told ya I was going to take you to the movies, didnât I?â
You forced the corners of your mouth down to hide your smile. âYou did.â During that hazy fantasy you had talked him through so long ago, when you blurred the lines between past and present, he told you he wouldâve taken you to the movies for your second date. Make out in the back row like a couple of kids.
He meant it, just like he meant every single word he said to you, every promise. He was going to keep them all.
When Bucky opened the heavy doors to the theater room and you saw the setup, you dug your heels in.
Okay, sure, maybe it looked like a lot. But Bucky didnât have much trouble putting it together at all. The projection system was foolproof, and he was able to order the other things onlineâ the microwave popcorn, the candy, some different types of soda. He had searched the new releases and found some fantasy movie that came out a month ago with good reviewsâ and he had it queued up and waiting on the projection screen.
You turned to him, your familiar frown returning while he poured two drinks. âI said I didnât want to do anything for my birthday.â
âNothing?â he wheedled as he turned to you. âNot even cake?â He tempted you with a lopsided smile and took a sip of his drink.
You stepped closer to him, and before he realized what was happening, you reached around with both arms to squeeze two handfuls of his ass. âGot all the cake I need right here.â
Soda didnât quite snort out of Buckyâs nose, but it was close; he turned his head to spare you while he sputtered, but you didnât let go of him.
âWhy are you like this?â he asked when he could speak without choking.
You shrugged innocently and looked up at him with that telltale glint in your eyes. âWhy do you like me like this?â
He shook his head slowly, a sheepish grin taking over his face while he coughed to clear more carbonation out of his throat. âWell, good thing itâs not your birthday,â he said with a shrug. âThatâs tomorrow. So tonight, this is just a date.â
This little theater room was exceptionally nice; Bucky appreciated the decision to substitute normal movie theater seats with plush leather couches, because that meant he could keep his arms wrapped tightly around you for the entire movie.
You stretched out together on one of the couches, and when the credits rolled, you glanced over your shoulder to find his eyes glued to you. âI didnât think you were still awake,â you said teasingly.
âOf course Iâm awake.â He kissed the side of your face.
âYour hands were still.â
He grinnedâ it had taken an ungodly amount of self control, but he had been trying very hard to let you focus on the movie. âWell, Iâm nothing if not a gentleman.â
You snorted, and Bucky shrugged playfully. You had both chosen to ignore the way he had stiffened against your backside, throbbing occasionally, during the filmâs one sex scene. He couldnât help itâ it was⊠a lot for him, if he was honest. He had heard of blue movies back in the day, but heâd never seen one for himselfâ and even now, with everything on the internet, he hadnât quite acclimated. He couldnât wrap his head around how people watched those kinds of things in public.
âYou were very good,â you murmured to him, the combination of your words and your sultry tone sending a jolt of lightning through his core. You rolled over and traced your fingers down his abdomen, but he recoiled when they reached his waistband.
âNo,â he said quietly. âSâposed to be for you.â
âItâs a date,â you said, and he shivered when your lips met his earlobe. âIsnât this how youâd want a date to end?â
Well, yeah, but⊠âItâs your birthday,â he mumbled. You grinned wickedly when he finally admitted it, and glanced at your phone.
âItâs not my birthday for another ten minutes,â you said as you sank to your knees on the floor in front of him. âNow take off your belt.â
Bucky groaned, and he couldnât believe he was doing it, but he placed a hand on your shoulder and held you at bay. âWait a minute, wait a minute,â he said, and you pouted. âYou can do anything you want to me later,â he promised, instantly regretting the words when your eyes widened with excitement. âBut thereâs something else I gotta show you.â
Bucky was nearly giddy as he led you through the dark to the common kitchen table and flicked on a single light. You glanced at the table, at the two plates and forks he had set out, then looked back to Bucky with narrowed eyes. He was standing with his back to you in front of the large commercial refrigerator. âI said I didnât want anything,â you almost growled, but his smile only grew.
âI know,â Bucky said without turning around. âBut you lied.â You dropped down into a chair with a halfhearted scoff.
The soft glow of the small light over the sink was just enough to chase the shadows away from your face. You were fighting hard to keep your mouth straight; it wasnât clear if you were trying not to smile or frown.
Bucky turned around slowly, revealing the small cake he held on a platter with a flourishâ but his smile immediately faded when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.
Shit. It was a small cake, maybe too small, hardly more than a glorified cupcake. And he had forgotten to buy candlesâ he found some in the cabinets earlier but they were mismatched, haphazardly stuck into the frosting at odd anglesâ he shouldâve spent more time arranging them nicely. His expression must have dropped as far as his heart did, because you sniffed and shook your head slightly, a smile cracking across your lips. You beckoned to him, and he set the cake on the table and sat down across from you.
âYou didnât make that,â you said matter-of-factly, although your voice was thick.
He shook his head. âYou didnât hear any fire alarms, did you?â he asked with a crooked smile. You huffed in agreement, and your smile grew, slowly becoming more natural. âI found a bakery in town that delivers,â he said. âI know itâs small, but I didnât want to get too much with just the two of us.â
âItâs perfect,â you said, almost to yourself, as Bucky lit each candle in turn.
âBaby,â he said, suddenly deadly serious. âThereâs just one thing.â You nodded and leaned toward him, perplexed, and he struggled to keep the smile off his face. âI'm sorry, but Iâm not going to sing to you.â
You laughed. âThatâs it, thatâs just too much,â you teased. âItâs all ruined.â But your smile told him exactly the opposite, and you leaned forward to blow out the candles.
Bucky knew he wasnât supposed to wish, but after missing out on so many birthdays, he figured he was allowed a couple of extra wishesâ and besides, the way you were looking at him gave him a sneaking suspicion that you had wished for the exact same thing.
When you were both finished with the cake, Bucky quickly washed the dishes in the sink while you nearly dozed off at the table. Well, he thought you were dozingâ with his back turned, he didnât notice the dreamy way you watched his every move. He was glad to have the dishes to keep his hands busy; he was growing more nervous with each passing second. Finally, he dried his shaky hands on the kitchen towel, and you stood up to leave.
âWait, wait, wait,â he said hurriedly. âOne more thing.â He pulled something out of a cabinet and hurried to sit down across from you. Before he could change his mind, he held the gift out over the table.
âOh my god,â you muttered, sitting up straight while you stared at the small black velvet box. You clutched your left hand in your right. âBucky, IâŠâ Emotion after emotion passed over your face as you glanced between Bucky and the little square box; terror, and excitement, and dismay, and⊠He hid his frown.
âI didnât have anything to wrap it with,â he said apologetically as he handed it over. âForgot about that part.â He made a mental note for next time: candles and wrapping paper.
You stared straight at the box as you took it into your shaky hands. Something about him passing it to you over the table like that seemed to calm you, and you took another deep breath as you sized it up in your hand; it was larger than your palm. But you gasped when you cracked the hinged box open and peeked inside, and your eyes flew to meet his as you slammed it shut again. Buckyâs smile was weak, uncertain, but he gave you a tiny nod. Keep going. Please, keep going. You opened the box fully and sucked in a reverent breath.
You plucked the bracelet from its velvet cushion with two fingers and let it dangle in front of you. The dainty gold chain rotated slowly in the air, and the row of faceted black gemstones reflected and refracted the dull light, their inky blackness somehow giving way to a bright shimmer.
The idea came to him that day in the shower, when you took his hand in your own and scrubbed at the black and gold, carefully washing away the shame that had encrusted it for too long. You paid it so much attention, touched it with so much tender care, that he could almost see it through your eyesâ and just for a moment, his arm was a thing of beauty. It really was.
Bucky thought that maybe if you found that cursed arm so beautiful, then you would like something that was actually beautiful even more. And, selfishly, maybe it would remind you of him. After.
He watched you with bated breath while he waited for you to say something. Anything. Your eyes traveled between Buckyâs face and the bracelet, and you swallowed hard. You opened your mouth, but instead of speaking you clutched the bracelet to your chest and burst into tears.
Oh, no. âI-I can return it if you donât like it, you can pick something elseââ He suddenly realized how stupid this was. You rarely wore jewelry, why did he think youâd want jewelryâ And how fucking arrogant of him, how deluded to think youâd want something like this, something to remind you of himâ of hisâ he gulpedâ his weaponâ
âAre you kidding me?â you sobbed. Those were the only words you managed to choke out, but your grip on the bracelet never loosened. Bucky watched you nervously, his thoughts racing so quickly that he couldnât grab hold of any of them. Maybe⊠maybe you didnât hate it. But when you hiccuped a pained breath, he realized with a sinking feeling that your tears werenât slowing.
He jumped up from his chair and hurried to your side of the table. Standing behind you, he wrapped his arms tightly around your shoulders, which only made you cry harder, but you were smiling nowâ
Either Bucky did something wrong, or he did something really, really right.
âThank you,â you finally managed to say during a break in the tears. âI love it.â You slipped it over your left hand and tightened the chain. It sparkled in the shadows, much brighter than the metallic luster of his arm next to it, but still a perfect match.
Bucky smiled as he nuzzled his lips against your ear, and the words slipped out before he could stop them: âI love you.â
He froze as soon as he realized what he said. He held his breath, waiting for the fallout, but he couldnât step away because that would be too strange, it would draw too much attentionâ you hadnât replied yet, so maybe you didnât hear, and he could pretend it never happenedâ
He didnât mean to say it. It wasnât part of his plan. But seeing you like that, matching him, embracing it⊠if he had known the words to explain how much that meant to him, he would have said them. But there were only three words he knew that seemed big enough, important enough, to convey that monumental truthâ
âI love you,â he said again, just because he wanted to hear it. His voice was stronger this time, steadier, and he could feel his cheeks curving up into an infectious smile even when you pulled away to look back at him.
âWait,â you said, your voice unusually timid as you searched his eyes for any hint of a joke. âYouâre serious?â
He nodded.
Heavy sobs shook your shoulders when you stood to throw your arms around his neck. Soft, incredulous laughter broke through your tears when he kissed you, and with your face smushed against his cheek the words didnât come out quite right, but he heard them: âI love you, too.â
He scooped you up in his arms; anything to be closer to you. âIâm sorry,â he mumbled against your ear when you snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. âI didnât mean to make you cry.â That only made you cry harder, but it was okayâ you were smiling. They were happy tears, and he couldnât blame youâ nothing had ever been more deserving of happy tears in his life.
When you finally calmed down enough to speak, you pulled away slightly. âYou know thatâs not the first time youâve said that to me, right?â
He blanched. â...What?â
You only laughed, and covered what you could reach of his face and neck in sweet kisses while he carried your back upstairs.
Your kisses turned needier and more frantic as soon as you reached the elevator, and it took all of Buckyâs willpower to force himself to walk steadily instead of sprinting to the bedroom.
He crashed through the apartment door, stumbling slightly as he finally gave in and raced down the hall. Bucky laid you onto the bed before falling forward to join you on top of the comforter. You giggled, but his lips never left your skin while he hastily removed your clothes. You lifted your hips so he could slide your jeans off down your legs, and he stood back to tear his own clothes off. But his breath caught at the view in front of him, and he paused.
âBucky,â you said with a knowing smile. âYouâre staring again.â Even so, you didnât move to cover yourself.
âNever gonna stop staring,â he said with an unashamed shrug. He climbed back on top of your and rested his forearms on either side of your head.
âI love you,â he said again, the words still foreign but delicious on his tongue. The way you shut your eyes, your cheeks glowing, and practically fucking purred told him all he needed to knowâ so when you said the words back to him, that was just icing on the cake. Buckyâs lips came crashing down onto yours, and you grinned into the kiss. You hitched your knees up over his waist, tilting your pelvis up to meet his, and he rolled his hips against yours a few times in that way he knew you liked.
He leaned his weight on his left elbow so he could reach down and get you ready for him, but your hand on his wrist stopped him.
âOther hand,â you whispered breathlessly. âPlease?â
There was a hesitation, and he tore his gaze from your chest back up to your eyesâ his eyebrows furrowed, and he gulped. But you nodded, encouraging him. You wanted it. You did.
He shifted his weight and slowly, carefully, traced his left hand over the hill of your breast, over the ledge where your ribs gave way to softness, and down to your thigh. Goosebumps followed his trail, either from the cool metal, his teasing touch, or both. He splayed his hand out wide over your thigh and rubbed this thumb against the tender skin there, so close to where you wanted him, but not quite enough. You let out a quiet groan and squirmed, wiggling your hips; if he wouldnât put his hand where you needed it, youâd do it yourself, apparently. He grinned at that, and so lightly that it almost tickled, he drew a metal finger up through your dripping folds.
He was unprepared for the moan that broke free from you, and the way you immediately trembled under his touch. The temperature difference was astounding, he knew; the digits would warm up eventually, but for now they were like ice against your most sensitive skin. And judging from your whimpers, you liked it.
âNeed it, need it, need it,â you chanted quietly.
He pushed one finger inside of you, and oh, fuck, that feelingâ the warmth and enveloping pressure that those fingers had never felt, that those nerves had never experiencedâ he carefully inserted another finger, and when you shuddered, he did, too.
He was hesitant to use the hand too much, wary of its strength, but when his thumb pressed gently to your clit, you started rocking your hips against it. He was simply a passenger, a witness to this small miracle, and he watched with heavy-lidded eyes and a slack jaw while you took pleasure from a piece of him that he thought had none to offer.
âSo good,â you panted. âFuckâ l-love youâŠâ
His cock was leaking strings of pre-cum all over your thigh and the bedsheets, and it jumped when your pussy tightened around his fingers. It knocked the air from his lungs, that pressure, and he crooked his fingers and slotted his lips over yours to drink up all the beautiful sounds you made as you came.
Your body was still shaking from the aftershocks, but Bucky couldnât get inside you fast enough. There was no waiting, no teasing; only that urgent need to be as close to you as possible. To be part of you. He gripped the base of his cock and nudged at your entrance, and he was met with a slick heat that made his hips jerk forward uncontrollably. Your moan when he entered you made his breath catch.
âGod, I fucking love you,â he rasped against your lips. Fully sheathed, he gave you a moment to adjust, waiting for you to nod before his hips picked up an unrelenting rhythm.
You sucked in a harsh breath when he wrapped his metal arm under your hips and yanked them up, changing the angle so he could fuck even deeper inside of you without pulling his lips away from yours. You fluttered around him again, and he didnât have the strength to even attempt to hold out against the delicious pressure that had been blooming in him for hours. He came with a raw shout against your neck, then continued to grind into you slowly while you both caught your breath.
Eventually Bucky rolled to the side, and you reached for him blindly. The bracelet dangled from your wrist, reflecting the moonlight that snuck in through the window.
He couldnât take his eyes off it. The bracelet looked so beautiful on you, it was perfectâ but he couldnât help that piece inside of him that wished it was a ring.
Bucky didnât know how much time passed as he lay there, watching you in the moonlight. After a while you sighed, and in the last few moments before sleep pulled you under, you spoke. âLove you, Buck. Always have.â
Bucky slammed his notebook shut when he heard your footsteps approaching from down the hall the next day. He chewed on the end of his pen, but he couldnât wipe the guilt from his face quickly enoughâ you gave him a questioning glance as you walked over to where he was seated at the kitchen table.
âDear diary,â you said in a mockingly deep voice, and when he didnât stop you, you continued.
âDear diary, I might have overdone it last night.â He narrowed his eyes at you when he noticed that crazy gleam, but it was too late. âBucky Jr. might need medical attentionââ Bucky snorted and dropped his pen on the tableâ âheâs never been so exhausted. He put up a valiant fight, but waking up to my girlfriendâs soul-sucking powers is just tooââ
Bucky blinked. âGirlfriend?â
You stared back at him with wide eyes, realizing your mistake at the same moment he did. âI-I mean, um, yeah, if you⊠fuckâŠâ You turned away from him, your shoulders raised nearly to your ears, shielding you while you held your breath.
It took a moment for his brain to reboot. âYes,â he said as quickly as he could. âYes. Yeah, of course.
You turned back to him with a sparkling grin, as if that moment of doubt was already so far in your rear view mirror that it was just a blur. âWhat are you writing, though? Really?â
He sighed, and his voice came out too small as his mood deflated. âIâm⊠just trying to figure out how old I am,â he mumbled.
You shot a sideways glance at the closed notebook. âYou said you were born in 1917.â
âI mean, yeah, but⊠Iâm just⊠Itâs more complicated than that.â His first instinct was to clam up, or lieâ but no. No more secrets. âIâm trying to figure out how often Hydra had me out of cryo,â he said quietly. âItâs hard to keep track⊠easier if I write it down. And Iâd just⊠rather you not see that.â
Because the easiest way for him to track how often he was awake was to follow along with the reports of his crimes. He had looked up the charges and testimonies from court to get a general sense, but what was left unanswered was just how long he was out of cryo each time. He didnât know how much prep he got; he couldnât remember if they pulled him out and trained him, or if they just gave him his mission and sent him off. And what about the missions that were so successful that they were never discovered? He clenched his teeth; he was getting frustrated by the nebulosity of it all.
âItâs okay,â you told him softly. âIt doesnât matterââ
âIt does,â he said forcefully, but his voice broke slightly with his next words. âBecause I donâtâ I donât know how much longerââ
âWhat?â you stepped closer beside him and placed a calming hand on the back of his neck. He could tell from your unbothered tone that you werenât following, you didnât get itâ
âI⊠hear me out, okay?â he said, and you nodded as you rubbed lazy circles against his skin. He sighed. âI always assumed Iâd die in a fight.â He expected you to protest that, but you didnât. âBut what if⊠what if maybe, I donât? What if I get to live out my life, however much is left of it?â
You smiled gently. âThat doesnât seem like a bad thought to have.â
Bucky shook his head. âNo. But⊠How am I supposed to know how much time I have left?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âI thought I could figure it out and do the math, but thereâs so much time thatâs just⊠blank. Too many variables. And the fucking serum, too, I donât knowâŠâ
âBucky, no one knows how much time they have left.â
Bucky shook his head, still agitated. âItâs different. Steve was in the ice for seventy years, right? And he came out looking pretty much like he looked in 1944.â He waited for you to nod. âWell, I think I look⊠older. Not by much,â he said quickly when you started to disagree. His hand stroked his beard, hesitating at the gray patch of hair. âBut thereâs something⊠Steve wasnât awake at all through those years. But I was.â
âWe can ask Dr. Banner,â you murmured, and that made Buckyâs heart jolt because you were acknowledging his fearâ and if you were acknowledging it, that meant it was justifiedâ âWe can call him tomorrow and ask him to research it, and then you can see him as soon as heâs back. Run some tests or something.â Bucky just shook his head.
âHe canât research. There is no research. Itâs me and Steve.â
You didnât have any way to refute that. âWhy are you so worried about this right now?â
âBecause what if I'm in good shape but my body still has an expiration date, and I die in like, a couple years?â And leave you behind. âOr what if Iâve got decades to go still, even out of the ice, and Iââ Heâd have to spend all that time without you.
Somehow, you heard the unspoken part of his thoughts. âYouâre here with me now.â You stepped completely behind him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your chin coming to rest at the top of his head.
âBut how long?â He winced when his voice broke again. âHow long will I be here with you? I canâtâ I donât want to hurt you. I donât want to leave you. But maybe IâŠâ
âBucky,â you said sharply. A warning. âWhatever youâre thinking, itâs too late. Yes, if you die it will hurt me. Youâre not going to make it hurt any less by leaving me.â He knew from your tone that you were glaring at him, even as you pressed a kiss to his hair. âThat'd hurt even moreâ losing you twice.â Your voice was smaller now. âPlease donât make me lose you twice.â
Bucky let out a shaky breath. His heartbeat was slowing slightly. You were right, of course you were.
âYour birthday is March tenth, 1917,â you murmured into his ear. âThatâs all that matters. Thatâs all I care about.â
âYeah, well, thatâs still fucking weird,â he grumbled. He felt a little grumpy now, but at least the panic had subsided.
âWould you want to do something fun? Itâs not every day that someone turnsâŠâ you quickly did the math in your head, âone hundred and five.â
He groaned. âDonât say that,â he said. Talking about his age freaked him out a little bit, if he was honest. âI donât want a party. Iâve had too many birthdays.â
âHow many were you able to celebrate like you deserve?â He was silent at that, and he felt you grin because you knew you had won. âAnd I wasnât talking about a party.â You loosened your arms and stepped to the side. âWhat about something with just you and me?â He looked up at you, the tension creeping away from his shoulders, his eyes softening.
His birthday was in March. You wanted to do something with him in Marchâ you were still going to be with him in Marchâ but where would youâ? After December, what would heâ?
âWhatâŠâ He cleared his throat. âWhat do you have in mind?â
âSomething quiet,â you said. âPeaceful. Maybe we could go somewhere? Make a little vacation out of it.â
God, that would be niceâ so much freedom after all this time stuck inside. He felt a stinging behind his eyes and blinked several times to soften it.
âHow does that sound? Anywhere you wanna go?â
âI always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.â
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Summary: "Your warm hands on him were proof. Proof that he was okay, that he was safe. That he was forgiven. Proof that even after what he had done, you loved him still."
Bucky deals with the fallout of having both you and Steve spend the night with him. The botched mission affected him more than he thought, but you're there to ground him. And just when things seem quiet, you get a phone call that changes everything.
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Smut, explicit sexual content, angst, PTSD flashbacks/mild hallucinations, steve doing steve stuff, mentions of injuries/pain, looots of metal arm talk!! Good and bad!, really freaking sappy emotions, needy!bucky, premature ejaculation, slightly subby bucky, a wild cameo appears!
Word Count: 8.1k
Part 19 of 24
**IF YOUâD LIKE TO READ THE OC VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER, FIND IT ON AO3 HERE**
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Bucky opened his eyes to the late morning light, blinking slowly. The ceiling wouldnât quite come into focus, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. The room was too bright, the bed too soft; it wasnât the safehouse where heâd spent the past few nights. Maybe the jet? No, definitely not. He couldnât remember how he got here, but he could remember thin white sheets, something about a hospital bed.
His body felt like hell. That usual ache he felt in his shoulder was amplified almost unbearably, and there was moreâ a gnawing pain deep in his chest, in his guts. He turned his head to the side, and through the ice pick that was now chipping away behind his eyes, he was shocked by what he foundâ a tuft of messy blond hair lying on the pillow next to him. Disheveled bangs like honey in the sunlight, that whorl at the crown of his head that Bucky would know anywhere.
He hadnât woken up next to Steve in a long time. He smiled a bit; it felt incredibly natural, seeing him here. From when they were kids and Steveâs hair was still white-blond, to that old Brooklyn apartment, to the multitudes of camps and barracks overseas, to the hut in Wakandaâ Steveâs tousled hair and sleeping face were tattooed into his mind. But then Bucky frowned, because something about Steveâs face was different nowâ the slight bruises on his cheekbones that had almost faded away. The days-old stubble. The dried, salty tracks down his cheeks where tears had escaped.
Steve was sad. And Bucky was sad, too, even though he couldnât remember why.
A soft snore came from Buckyâs other side, and his breath caught when he realized. You.
You were there, tooâ it all came rushing back to him. All of his mornings waking up next to you, your skin flooded by the same shuttered light that now drenched Steve. Your hair, darker than Steveâs when you lay in that same spot, reflected the sunlight differentlyâ faceted gemstones rather than honey, but sweet all the same.
You were on the other side of the bed now, shadowed from the light. Your soft breath against the exposed skin of Buckyâs right arm felt so natural, so normal, that he almost didnât register it.
He remembered how you let Steve in last nightâ finally, mercifully. Confusingly, because Bucky thought you would have crucified Steve because of his mistake on the mission, butâŠ
For whatever reason, you let him in. You told him to stay. Youâ Bucky swallowed roughly. You almost left, so that Steve could stayâ
Despite how the tendons in his neck and the pounding in his forehead protested, Bucky started to turn toward you, but something behind Steve caught his eye. On the nightstand, Bucky watched Steveâs phone as it lit up, again and again, silent notifications coming through one after another.
Fuck. He remembered the tour. They were already a day behindâ maybe two. Shit. Bucky didnât know what day it was, but he knew Steve shouldnât be here.
In the deluge of numbers Bucky didnât recognize, some familiar contacts came throughâ he saw Natashaâs name on the phone screen. And Samâs. And Furyâs, and Starkâs, andâŠ
âHey,â Bucky whispered, his voice low and raspy with sleep as he ducked toward Steveâs ear. âSteve. Stevie?â
Steve stirred, looking up at Bucky with bleary eyes. He reached for Bucky automatically, but Bucky winced before Steveâs hand made contact with his hip, and that made Steve pauseâ âYou should get up,â Bucky said, letting out the breath he had held in case of pain. âItâs late.â
Steve looked at him blankly, still not fully awake, not completely sure where he was. But when his eyes focused on Buckyâs he smiled, and damn, that was a smileâ all pearly teeth and full, pink lips. Bucky couldnât resist smiling back, butâ âCâmon,â he urged softly. âYou gotta go. The tour.â
Steve processed his words this time, and there was an expression on his face that Bucky couldnât recognize. Something like annoyance, and bitterness, and resolve. Steveâs large hands patted over the comforter, searching for his phone. âI canâ waitâ Iâll tell âemââ he mumbled, his eyes averted.
Bucky gestured toward the nightstand, and when Steve finally grabbed his phone, his eyes widened at the number of notifications. âOh, shit.â He looked back at Bucky, his eyebrows drawn with worry. Bucky could see the struggle behind his eyes as he was torn between the two places he was needed yet again.
Steve brought the inside of his cheek between his molars, a mannerism that Bucky wasnât used to seeing from himâ because it was one of his own. âI donât know, Buck. Are you sure? I can stayââ
Bucky forced a smile. âGood as new,â he lied, and they both chuckled knowingly at his stubbornnessâ his smile was a grimace, his teeth clenched behind his lips.
âOkay, yeah,â Bucky admitted lightly. âEverything hurts. But I feel less like Iâm dying now.â You snored again, and Bucky had to resist turning back to look at you. âAnd Iâve gotâŠâ He trailed off, because Steve knew.
Steveâs hand found his in the sheets, squeezing softly. A final, wordless ask. A confirmation.
Bucky nodded. âThey need you. Go do what you gotta do, Captain.â
Steve shook his head. âYou know I hate when you call me that.â
âI know.â Bucky gave Steve a cheeky wink, and he knew Steve wouldâve swatted at him if he wasnât so bruised up. Instead he gave Bucky a torn look, fighting with himself, before leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. Bucky closed his eyes.
The mattress moved with the shift of Steveâs weight when he stood, and you popped up behind Buckyâs shoulder. Your hair was wild, and you muttered something incomprehensible before your half-shut eyes found Steve, already halfway across the bedroom. âShteve?â
Steve froze and turned back, that petrified deer-in-the-headlights look plastered across his face, and Bucky almost laughedâ it was a look he recognized from when they were kids, when Steve was caught doing something he shouldnât. Guilty. Panicked. Apologetic.
Steve was leaving, and he knew you were going to be mad, and heâ he was scared of you. As much as Steve wouldnât show it, Captain America was scared of plenty of thingsâ normally, he could put on the mask and work through it. But here in this bedroom with you, entirely harmless even though you didnât seem to know you were harmless, or at least you absolutely didnât accept itâ you were currently inflating like a helium balloon ready to burst with your half-asleep rageâ Bucky quickly turned his head to you.
âItâs okay,â he murmured. âHeâs gotta get going. I told him to go.â His words were pinpricks into your angry exterior and slowly, slowly, you let out your breath. Your cheeks were hot, but Bucky succeeded; he had extinguished the fire before it began. âItâs okay,â he repeated. Your sleepy eyes found Buckyâs and your features softened; he was telling the truth. You nodded weakly, and with a dismissive wave of your hand you flopped back down onto the bed.
âIâll be back soon,â Steve said, to both of you. âI swear. As soon as I can. And Iâll call tonight to checkâŠâ He trailed off, and with one last half-smile and a lame wave, he let himself out.
Bucky waited for the pain to come, for his heart to join in the chorus of pain throughout his body. He had pushed Steve away again, because it always hurt less when it was his choice, when Bucky wasnât begging him to stayâ but this time, that pain never came. No agony of being abandoned, no anguish of not feeling important enough to make him stay.
Actually, he felt⊠okay. He felt fine.
Maybe it was because his physical pain was so overwhelming, and he didnât have any neurons, any synapses left to devote to emotional pain.
Or maybe it had something to do with the soft snores coming from the pillow behind him.
The next time Bucky opened his eyes, he was looking straight at you. He bared his teeth almost immediately; he wasnât sure how he managed to roll onto his side, but he definitely shouldnât have. He could feel each of his muscles and tendons as they stretched across his bones, the weakened cords that held him in place like cabled bridges over the valleys of his body.
But he didnât roll back over. He didnât want to lay on his back again, because like this, he could see you. The dark circles under your eyes that sleep hadnât touched, and your wild hair, messy from having fallen asleep while it was still wet. Your slightly open pout, the slope of your nose that fit so perfectly against his. The steady calm beat of your heart, the soft pull of breath between your parted lips.
Only one word flashed through his mind: lucky.
He couldnât bring himself to look away as the word looped over and over through his consciousness.
Lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky.
After a while, you woke to find him staring at you. You looked at him with your heavy-lidded eyes and grinned immediately, and that sleepy voice emerged: âBreakfast?â
He could have handed you his heart right there. He should have. âYeah.â
You slithered out of bed, unused to sleeping up against the wall like you had, and stumbled slightly before you headed toward the kitchen. âIâll bring itâ stay right there,â you called over your shoulder. But you ducked back into the doorway, a frown etched deep on your face when you heard the bed creak.
âYou shouldnâtâ Bucky, donâtââ Your words were cut off by a gasp when Bucky hefted himself into a sitting position in one motion.
Oh, fuck, that was something, that wasâ Buckyâs head spun and he grimaced as his thoughts failed him. He had to close his eyes and take a few seconds to breathe. Four seconds in, eight seconds out, deep and slow and hissed through his teethâ wait, no. After a moment he gathered his strength, and you watched him with narrowed eyes as he turned to hang his legs over the side of the bed.
âI guess thereâs no point in telling you to stop?â you asked flatly, already knowing the answer. Bucky glanced up at you, gave a quick grin to meet your glare, and shook his head. You huffed out a sigh and came back to hover over him as he slowly added weight to his feet. His muscles shook, his thighs trembled, but he stood.
You moved together down the hall at a glacial pace, and Bucky dropped down onto a stool as soon as he reached the kitchen island. You started coffee while he caught his breath; he might as well have run a marathon with the way his chest was heaving. A mug of coffee appeared in front of him, and he plastered a smile on his face as he sipped itâ you always added too much sugar for his taste, but he wasnât about to complain.
You had been working on your omelets ever since that catered breakfast, and you started to gather the ingredientsâ eggs, spinach, peppers. But any appetite Bucky had been building suddenly vanished, and he stared down at his coffee. He swallowed roughly before he found his voice.
âThank you for last night.â The liquid in his mug rippled over the surface as he fidgeted with the ceramic handle.
You didnât turn to him when you spoke, placing a pan on the stove instead. âI mean, I didnât want blood in the bed, either,â you said with a lighthearted lilt. You were trying to shrug him off, trying to move on, but Bucky couldnât let you. It wasnât that simple.
âNo, I mean⊠for everything.â There was something about his tone, a tremble, an uncertainty, that made you pause. You switched the burner offâ another lesson learned the hard wayâ and walked over to rest your elbows on the island across from him. You looked straight at Bucky, but he couldnât hold your gaze. âFor the⊠the shower, yeah, and for coming to get me. And everything that happened downstairs.â He gulped. âAnd for Steve.â
You sighed, and your lips hardened into a straight line, but you didnât speak.
âI know that was, uh, a lot for me to ask,â he continued. But it really did help. His two favorite people. Despite his pain, despite the stress of the last several days, he couldnât have slept better if he tried.
You nodded slowly. âYeah. Of course.â You swallowed hard, and your eyes flickered down before you continued. âCan I ask you something?â
The intensity in your eyes burned when Bucky glanced up, but he didnât let himself look away. You were quiet for a moment before the words tumbled out.
âDid you guys, uhâŠâ A nervous smile flashed across your face before you squashed it. âWere you⊠together, while you were away?â Then, quieter: âDid you kiss him?â
You clearly regretted asking the moment the words left your mouthâ you turned beet red, shook your head, and straightened up to return to the stove. âGod, Iâm sorry, thatâs stupidââ
Did Steve tell you they did? Christâ Bucky shook his head vehemently. âNo,â he said, his voice low and serious. âNo.â
Had he wanted to? Maybe. There were moments, in the quiet while they tried to sleep, that Bucky couldnât help but wonder. But he didnât act on it, and Steve never once put him in a position where he had to say no outright. Despite how stupid Steve could be, he really did have Buckyâs best interests at heart.
He knew Bucky didnât want to try again. He just didnât know that the reasonâ Buckyâs reason for saying no, if it had come to thatâ had shared a bed with them last night.
At least, Bucky didnât think he knew.
âLast night was the closest weâd been. I swear.â His eyes bored into yours, because he needed you to believe him. Exceptâ
Bucky looked down and mumbled as the memory came back. âBut I think he held me down on the jet, duringâ I donât really rememberââ
âOh, you mean when you were trying to kill Sam?â
Bucky blanched, but you were smirking when he looked up. âSteve and I talked a little while you were asleep.â Your tone was light, but Bucky didnât like the sound of thatâ âI think you owe poor Sam an apology,â you said. âAnd several hundred favors.â
He sighed. âI know.â You were silent, and the pause turned awkward. You took his empty mug to the sink, and spoke without facing him.
âSteve said you wanted him to tell me something.â
Oh. Right. Fuck.
When he was lying in the jet, slipping in and out of consciousness. When he was delirious from the pain, when he thought it might actually be the end for him. He told Steve to tell youâ but, wait. Did he even tell Steve? He couldnât remember the words leaving his mouth, but that whole block of time was fuzzy in his mind. Just the occasional voice or sensation breaking through the overwhelming static of pain and fear and regret.
You continued on in the silence. âHe said I should ask you.â You paused for a beat, and turned to him. âWhat did you want Steve to tell me?â
Bucky was a child on his first day at a new school, called up in front of the class to introduce himselfâ information so basic, so integral to his being that he shouldâve been able to say it in his sleep. My name is James Barnes, but please call me Bucky. But he clammed up, adrenaline coursing through his veins, frozen with stage frightâ
My name is James Bucky Barnes, and I love you.
âIâ I donât remember.â He had to close his eyes because he was dizzy all of a sudden, disoriented.
âHey.â Your soft voice sounded far away, even as you moved closer. âYou feelinâ okay?â
He gulped. âA little⊠hazy. Itâll be fine.â
He managed to stomach a couple of eggs, but even after the food and caffeine he still felt tired, like he couldnât quite shake the fog from his brain. It was a familiar feelingâ the remnants of a concussion, probably. Nothing he wasnât used to. Nothing the serum and a little hot water couldnât fix.
You had been leaning on the opposite side of the island, watching him eat. You had that strange look on your faceâ that Sarah Rogers look, but with an added intensity that made him sweat and melt into a puddle at your feet at the same time.
Bucky really did think you could read minds sometimes. It wasnât unheard of; heâd met people with stranger abilities.
âIâm gonna shower,â he told you.
You didnât miss a beat. âIâm coming with you.â
He smiled, and huffed. Of course you were.
Bucky felt a little better now, in the water. Standing was more manageable, and he was moving a bit easier already. That serum worked quickly, and the calories and stretching his legs had helped. He glanced down at his chest, at the lumps of bruised flesh and the itchy black knots that held him together. He would be able to remove them soon enough.
When the water hit the sore muscles of his back, he closed his eyes in bliss. He felt every one of his hundred-plus years, senior citizen as he was. The bleeding had stopped, but his insides still felt pummeled, and his shoulderâ fuck, his shoulder.
That shoulder always carried a baseline level of painâ skin wasnât supposed to connect to metal, after all. But this was something else. A sharp pain radiating from deep inside of him, a sensation he had almost forgotten. The ache of use. The ache of exertion. A reminder of what his arm had done just days ago.
It was the right thing to do. Those agents were after Steveâ he needed to stop them. He had his knives, and his guns, but the easiest weapon for him to use was the one hardwired straight to his brain.
He needed to do it. But it still felt fucking bad.
You had given him a head start while you grabbed fresh towels, and he stretched under the spray of water, rolling his shoulders while he waited for you. The sting he felt at first soothed into something mild.
When he opened his eyes, they were heavy and low. In his peripheral he caught sight of something red, something shiny, and he staggered sideways, instantly dizzyâ
His left arm wasnât silver. It was black and gold. Black and gold and red, covered in blood that dripped down his forearm, filling the channels and joints. He choked out a breath before he grabbed the arm with his right hand and dug his nails into the divots, the seams. To scrape the blood out, to peel it apart, he didnât knowâ
âBuck?â you called, alarmed, and you stumbled into the shower and grasped his right wrist, pulling it away from himself. His eyes shot up to yours, and you slowly came into focus in the steam. You looked frightened as the water slowly soaked your hair, and your grip on his skin was as tight as you could make it. When he looked back down at his arm, the red had vanished. His arm was black and gold. He was fine.
He looked up at you with wide eyes. ââMâokay,â he forced out. There was no blood on his arm, of course notâ you had rinsed it all down the drain last night. His lip still trembled.
This arm, the black one, wasnât nearly as tainted as his old silver one. The black arm had done nothing but good, hurt no one except for those who deserved it. He just⊠hadnât seen that much blood on it before, not like he did during this mission. The black and gold was usually a comfort to him, a way to ground himself, but now he could see the redâ and it was all too similar.
You couldnât see the blood like he did, but you knew.
You reached for a wash cloth and wet it under the spray before you tugged at his left hand, your eyes on his silently asking for permission. He nodded, and you cleaned his arm yourself.
You were focused, unwavering in that gentle touch of cloth and skin against metal. Rubbing deep against every plate, every gold seam, even though there was nothing there to seeâ you made sure it was all gone, covered and replaced by this intimacy. New memories to replace the old.
Something about how your hands lingered over the metal, so gentle, just the same as you were with the rest of himâ even though you knew the vibranium wasnât injured, couldnât feel painâ made the tension ease from his shoulders.
Your warm hands on him were proof. Proof that he was okay, that he was safe. That he was forgiven. Proof that even after what he had done, you loved him still.
He knew you did. He knew it.
When you were finished, you hung the cloth on a hook and gently turned his arm over. You stepped closer and brought his hand to your mouth, pressing soft kisses against the metalâ his palm, then his wrist, right where his pulse would have been.
You trusted him implicitly. You knew his history, but you refused to see his arm as a weaponâ you kissed his wrist without hesitation. You laced your fingers with his, pulling him close like you didnât think twice about it.
Bucky knew you didnât. That was the best part.
He could see it in your eyes that you wanted to wrap your arms around him, squeeze him tight, never let him out of your grasp againâ but you stopped just a few inches away, because you couldnât. It would hurt. But from this angle he could admire how you looked in the water, your hair slicked back and darkened, your skin glistening from the heat. How the droplets trailed down your bare skin, how they hung to your eyelashes as you blinked up at him. How your teeth bit down on your lower lip, and you smiled.
Bucky gulped. The way you found every crevice and crack in him, in his arm and his soul, sent shockwaves through his natural and artificial nerves alike. You glanced down when the swollen tip of his cock rubbed against your bellyâ he was hard against you, of course he was.
A blush rose to his cheeks, and his breath caught at the friction, butâ âIgnore it. Ignore it,â he forced through clenched teeth. It would still hurt too much, the tightening of his muscles, the jerk of his hips. He wanted to. He shouldnât. You pursed your lips to fight back a smile, but nodded before you took a deep breath.
âIt really bothers you, doesnât it?â
âHmm?â Yeah, he was fucking horny, it was bothering himâ
âThe arm.â
âOh.â Right. âItâs just⊠a lot to think about,â he said as he trailed his right hand over your shoulder. He couldnât help himself. âA lot to remember.â His fingers traced your clavicle, the crook of your neck.
You looked down at his left arm, still cradled in your hands, and rubbed your thumb along a plate before you spoke. âWhat if you got rid of it?â
Got rid of it?
âYou said that in Wakanda, before you got this arm, you didnât have one. That they took the old one off when it was damaged.â You spoke carefully, and Bucky nodded. âAnd you did okay then? Without it?â
It took some getting used to. It hurt, first of all. The remaining nerves were raw, unused to the lack of any feedback, so they created their ownâ ghostly sensations that ranged from pins and needles to the agony of losing his arm the first time. And doing everyday tasks, like putting his hair up, had become impossible.
He knew that with some time, he wouldâve figured it out. Adjusted. Adapted. But he never really tried, was never completely committed, because he knew a new arm was coming. Shuri told him she was designing something for him, so he waited. But yeah, he did okay. He nodded to answer your question.
âSo could you just⊠do okay now? Without it?â Your hand traced up his bicep, over his shoulder to the seam where metal met skin. It was sore, but your featherlight touch raised goosebumps down his opposite arm.
âI could⊠I guess.â He hesitated before he continuedâ it shouldnât matter, he shouldnât ask, butâ âIt wouldnât⊠be weird for you?â
Ha. He nearly laughed as soon as he said it. Like anything could be weirder than this cursed metal. You didnât sign up for any of this shit.
âOf course not,â you said softly. He could see the sadness in your eyesâ the fact that he even had to question it, that he even had to wonder, hurt you. But you smiled at him, and reached one hand up to tangle your fingers through his wet hair. âAnd you donât need to put your hair in a ponytail anymore, soâŠâ
He knew in his heart that youâd help him, do anything he needed until he figured out how to adapt. And maybe it would be nice; maybe people on the street wouldnât recognize him. Maybe people would be more accepting of an ordinary amputee than of the former Winter Soldier. ButâŠ
âI⊠I need it.â He hated that he stumbled over his words, and he hated that they were true. Heâd never feel peace without the arm, because heâd be vulnerable. The arm was a security blanket to him, shiny and solid and lethal.
âI donât like being an asset,â he said slowly, âbut I sure as hell donât want to be a liability.â
You brought his blighted hand to your cheek, holding it against your skin as you nodded thoughtfully. You leaned into his touch, and his thumb wandered over to your mouth.
âYouâre perfect as you are,â you mumbled, his thumb resting on your lip as you closed your eyes. âEvery piece. Every part.â
He didnât say anything, didnât need to say anything as he kissed you.
Showering had exhausted Bucky, and after he changed into fresh clothes he made his way back to bed. You followed and climbed under the covers after him, wrapping yourself around his vibranium arm. It couldnât feel good for you, the solid, cool metal, but you didnât seem to mind; you rested your head gently on his bicep like a pillow. It wasnât quite the same as having your skin against his, but at least it didnât hurt, and you both exhaled a comfortable breath.
Bucky closed his eyes, ready to sleep, but you started tracing your fingers along the seams; mindless, innocent motions, except that they werenât. You turned, nuzzling your nose against the metal, and fuck, that was a lot, it wasâ he shuddered as a warmth spread through his nerves and under his skin. Your pillowy lips pressed against a plate, and Bucky clenched his teeth. The need he had felt in the shower was returning, and his dick was swelling with each stroke of your hand, each puff of breathâ but he couldnâtâ but it felt so goodâ
He forced himself to breathe slowly. He could enjoy this, enjoy your touch, for what it was. He didnât have to make it weird, he didnât have to take it too far. But each of your tender touches sent molten lightning through his blood, and it had been so long, his balls felt so heavy from his self-denial, and you were right thereâ
A groan escaped before Bucky could swallow it back, and you frozeâ you couldnât tell if it was a groan of pleasure or of pain.
âFeels good, baby,â he murmured. âPlease.â Keep going.
You didnât have to be told twiceâ your fingers started to explore, passing the confines of his arm and traveling up the length of his throat. Your thumb rubbed across his earlobe, then down his bruised cheekbone to his mouth. The split in his lip was nearly healed, now just a jagged pink ridge, and a puff of hot breath greeted your fingers before they continued on their journey.
They moved south, tracing through the dip of his collarbone, the crest of his sternum, then across to circle one pert nipple. He bit down on his lip as you kept going, mapping a trail around his stitches, keeping your distance from his injuries as you worked your way lower.
Fuck, he felt it deep in his skin, in his bones, at the tip of his tongue. That bolt of liquid heat that gathered in his hips because you just kept going, the sensations kept growing and building untilâ
âStop,â he gasped, his chest heaving. You pushed away instantly, panicked.
âWhatâs wrong?â you asked from the edge of the bed. âOh, fuck, did I hurt you?â He couldnât even take a deep breath, with how the fabric felt when he shiftedâ âBucky, say something. Please.â
Buckyâs eyes were squeezed shut, and his stomach trembled as the warm drop of pleasure spread beneath his skin. More, it demanded.
âGet on top. Please.â
You were silent, confused, but he wouldnât open his eyes. Couldnât. âWhat?â you asked softly.
He didnât have time for thisâ âNeed it, need you.â His thoughts turned to baseball, to the drudgery of paperwork, to his favorite way to load the dishwasher.
âBuck, Iââ
âBaby.â His voice came out harsher than intended, but it was made up for by the whine that followed. âMâgonna come,â he whimpered. âPlease.â
âWhat?â you repeated, your voice sharp with disbelief. âWere youâ?â You looked over him to locate his right hand, but noâ his fist was clenched in the sheets.
You pulled the blankets back and looked down at his hard cock as it strained against his boxer briefs, a patch of pre-cum already darkening the fabric. A wicked grin spread across your face when it twitched threateningly.
âItâs okay, baby.â Your voice transformed completely into something low, something sultry, and you pressed your body against his arm again. âGod, I love how sensitive you are.â
He made some unintelligible protest, but it only encouraged you. âCome for me,â you said against his ear. âLet go, let me seeââ
âNo,â he growled. You couldnât talk like thatâ
You backed off instantly. âDoes it still hurt?â He shook his head, but that was a lie. It did hurt, but not enough for him to stop this.
âNo. Just.â He clenched his jaw as a fiery blush spread across his cheeks. âWanna come in you,â he mumbled. It was stupid, now that he was saying it out loud, butâ âBeen waiting for you.â
You met his eyes with a broken expression. âI donât want to hurt you.â
âYou wonât,â he implored, the last of his dignity slipping away. âJust get on top. Please, babyââ
âBut the bruisesââ
âTheyâre fine. Please, I need it.â
Bucky nearly lost it when you pulled your shirt over your head. âFuck me,â he groaned, both a curse and a plea. âBaby, baby, need to feel you. Gotta come inside you, honey, câmon.â
He was almost embarrassed by his desperation, his begging, but he was simply a passenger as the words left his mouth on their own accord. His left hand grabbed gently at your hip, luring you closer to him, closer to where he needed you.
You wiggled out of your own pants, and when you carefully pulled Buckyâs boxers away, he bit back a strangled sort of noise. The air was chilly against the pre-cum that had leaked from him, and the temperature contrast made his breath catch. âHurryââ
You swung your leg over his hipsâ too slowly, too carefullyâ and the thrilled, tiny exhale you let out when you glanced down at his sticky arousal took the air straight from his lungs. His cock thumped hard against his stomach, and you smirked when he gasped. You were enjoying this; of course you were.
Under other circumstances, Bucky wouldâve wanted you to take your time. He wouldâve wanted you to go slow, sink down on him inch by inch, get used to being stretched around him again. But he couldnât wait, and you knewâ you gripped his base and clenched your jaw as you sheathed him fully in one motion.
That sudden change from wanting to having, your velvety warmth, the wet, the way you were so ready for himâ Bucky stuttered out a breathy moan. His muscles were quivering, and it hurt, but it didnât matterâ he was right thereâ
âO-oh, fuck. Shit. Gonna be so quick,â he choked out as his cock twitched inside you. âIâm sorry baby, you just feel too fucking good. Oh fuck, I canâtâ Iâm gonnaââ
âGive it to me, Buck.â You gave the tiniest grind of your hips. âYouâve been savinâ it for me, so fill me up. Let me have it. Let go, baby.â
He reached toward you with both handsâ to do what, he didnât know. He wasnât in control of them, decision-making was no longer something he was capable ofâ but you took both of his hands in yours and led him to grab your tits. The softness in his hands, the heat around his cockâ his balls tightened almost painfully, and he was a goner.
Heâd never felt anything like itâ that euphoric high with the first hot spurt, and then how it kept going. His vision went black as his cock pulsed in your heat, over and over, never-endingâ his hips bucked uncontrollably, and you moaned above him while his balls emptied themselves deep inside you.
âOh my god, so full,â you whined, and shut your eyes. You rocked back and forth slightly, unwilling to grind against him like you needed to, even though your cunt started fluttering around his cock as it throbbed.
Buckyâs chest heaved as he caught his breath, and it didnât hurt as much as he expectedâ his brain could only process so many sensations at once, apparently.
You looked down at him, open mouthed and flushed, your own desperation clear in your eyes. âAm I hurting you?â
Bucky shook his head fiercely, and then winced, because that hurt.
âCan I stay here for a bit?â you whimpered. Your cheeks were hot and you took a deep breath to calm yourself, but your heart rate didnât slow. âWanna stay full.â
âWhatever you want, sweetheart,â he rasped. His brain was hazy, and your edges blurred slightly with the golden glow of the ceiling light behind you. His cock had softened a bit, and some of his cum was leaking out around it, making a mess of him. But you stayed perched on top of him, almost motionless except to squeeze Buckyâs hands against your flesh. He was drunk on it. Weak. Boneless.
âYou look like a fuckinâ angel,â he slurred. âSo fuckinâ perfect, look at you.â He still hadnât caught his breath. âYouâre amazing. Missed you so much. Fuck, never gonna leave you again.â
âGood,â you interrupted, but he wasnât done.
âAs soon as Iâm better, Iâm not lettinâ you outta bed for days,â he panted. âSo much I need to do to ya. So much I gotta taste.â
Whichever part of his brain controlled discretion still hadnât come back online, and he blubbered on, each sentence a bit more lewd and desperate than the last. âSo fuckinâ good to me, look at youââ
He thumbed across your nipple, pinching slightly, and oh, you clenched down at thatâ and Bucky realized he was fully hard again.
He had to hold back a gasp when you shifted. He was almost painfully oversensitive, but could feel it again, feel the throb, the needâ his breath caught when you fluttered around him.
âAgain?â you smirked down at him.
âIâve got like, three weeks to make up forââ
âFive days, Buck.â He tried to wiggle a little, to thrust up into you, but you glared at him and shook your head once. He was sore now, the ache in his muscles had returned, but he could ignore it, heâd ignored more for lessâ
âJust stay still, baby, okay? Itâs my turn.â You lowered his hands until they rested on your thighs, then leaned back. Bucky gulped when one of your hands returned to your breast, kneading it, while the other snuck down to your clit. He could see everything, it was the best view, but he couldnât decide where to lookâ your face or your tits, your soft belly or the point where he joined with you, messy from his release just minutes agoâ his heart swelled in his chest.
Mine. All mine.
He tried to reach for your clit, but dropped his hand when you shot him a stern look. âNo,â you ordered. âStay still.â
His fingers dug into your thighs as he watched you, awestruck.
It was sleepier this time, slower. You werenât fucking him, werenât even grinding on him. It was just you, your fingers, and the full, complete feeling of his cock inside of you. Bucky hardly moved, just gave in and let the sensation of you working yourself to your high roll through him. He felt that heat pooling under his skin again, softer now than before, but building.
âS-shit, honey, youâre squeezing me.â He wanted nothing more than to thrust up into you, take control, make you feel as good as you made him. But every time he moved, no matter how inconsequentialâ lifting his hand, a twitch of his hipsâ you would peek one eye open to glare at him. Soon he was a panting, sweaty mess, completely at the mercy of your body and pleasure.
He felt every tremor, every hastened breath, deep in his bones. When you gasped, he did too. When your abdomen tensed, so did his.
âYou feel so good, Sarge,â you whined. âI needed this so bad.â You rubbed quick circles as you tightened around him, squeezing in pulses, and he let out a guttural whine. His cock throbbed inside you, his balls were drawn up and tightâ
âMâgonna come again, honey, holy shitââ He pressed his head back against the pillow in an attempt to stay still.
âYeah? More for me?â Your eyebrows pulled together in pleasure, and the hot flush that had started on your cheeks spread down your neck and chest. Your mouth fell open and you quivered when the tension finally snapped, your cunt clenching around him in waves.
âO-ohâ oh, what the fuck,â Bucky choked out. He dug his fingers into the mattress and squeezed his eyes shut as he released again, weaker this time, but that was fineâ you milked every last drop from him.
You let out a breathless laugh as you came down, your goosebump-covered thighs still trembling at his sides. âYou okay?â you asked softly.
Buckyâs heartbeat was still thudding in his ears, but he nodded, his sleepy grin plastered across his face. âMore than okay.â
âIâm gonna get off.â
âYou already did,â he said smugly, and you rolled your eyes before climbing off of him with a squelch.
You were both messy, but Bucky had the worst of it; gravity was working against him, and your combined mess had sopped down over his groin, soaking through the hairs there. He cringed at the idea of pulling his boxers back on.
âYou should go get cleaned up,â you said, reading his mind as usual.
âWhat about you?â
âIâm gonna keep it a little longer.â He gave you a questioning lookâ you couldnât have just said what he thought you said. But a cheeky smile spread across your face, and you leaned in close to him. âI missed being full of you,â you said.
He had to laugh at that, even as he shook his head, and that word zipped through his brain again. Lucky. Lucky lucky lucky. He climbed carefully to his feet and bent to kiss you before he returned to the shower.
You pulled your clothes on and listened to Bucky as he moved: you followed his bare footsteps down the hall, waited for the latch of the door and the hiss when he turned the shower on. You werenât like Bucky; you had to focus, listen closely to single out the sounds and make sure he was okayâ so when your phone rang at full volume on the nightstand, you jumped.
It was a number you didnât recognize, not even the area code. You silenced the call on instinct, and almost set the phone down, but something made you pause. The last few days had been so strange. Maybe it was something important. Maybe it was about Bucky.
You accepted the call and held the phone to your ear. ââŠHello?â
âGood morning.â An overly pleasant female voice greeted you by name, instantly making your skin crawl. âDo I have the correct number?â
ââŠWhy?â
âThis is Karen Page with the New York Bulletin.â She spoke quickly, continuing before you could react. âWould you consider yourself a good friend of Sergeant James Barnes?â
Your heart nearly thudded out of your chest, panic rising like bile in your throat. âWhy?â
âIâve been trying to reach him for a comment, but he hasnât returned my calls.â The voice sounded tinny and far away, drowned out by the ringing in your ears. âIâm planning to do a feature on him after the news that unfolded overnight.â
You didnât say anything, couldnât force any words out in response. It didnât matter; the voice on the phone kept going.
âI was doing some digging, and I found the photo you posted a few weeks agoâ thatâs Sergeant Barnes with you, correct?â
Fuck.
âIâll, uh. Iâm gonna call you right back.â Your hands shook as you ended the call, your eyes frantically searching the room until you spotted Buckyâs battered phone on the dresser.
You jumped up and grabbed it, but the screen didnât turn on when you tried to wake itâ it was dead, of course it was dead. You rushed over to plug it in, and when the phone turned on a few moments later you almost shut it right back off. It froze repeatedly, struggling while the messages came flowing in.
So many missed calls. So many missed texts. Some from numbers Bucky had saved, most from ones he didnâtâ what the fuck was going on?
You left his phone struggling on the charger and pulled out your own, quickly opening up the web browser. When you started to type his name, the search bar immediately autofilled.
Your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled through the articles at lightning speed.
MISSION GONE WRONG: BARNES RESCUES CAPTAIN STEVE ROGERS
SERGEANT BARNES CREDITED WITH SUCCESSFUL AVENGERS OPERATION
JAMES BARNES: WAR CRIMINAL OR UNSUNG HERO?
While you had been rinsing the blood from Buckyâs hair last night, Steve had been talking to the press. He gave a statement, and he told the truth: he made an expensive mistake on their mission, and Bucky saved him. Bucky went above and beyond his duty as an Avenger, as a Sergeant, and even as Steveâs best friend, and he sustained major injuries. But he was safe at home now; he was on the mend.
You didnât watch the full interview, but the excerpts were enoughâ every time Steve was asked about the mission, he brought the conversation back to Bucky. Over and over again, he reiterated the facts.
Bucky was good.
Bucky saved his life.
Bucky was a hero.
â...Babe?â
You had been too focused to hear Bucky get out of the shower; he stood in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist, looking at your hunched shoulders hesitantly. You sniffed and wiped at your eyes before you turned to him.
âSteve talked to the press last night.â You were fighting hard to keep your voice even, but Buckyâs face immediately went white. He staggered back, and you jumped up. âNo, Buckâ itâs good. Baby, itâs good.â A quick, incredulous laugh escaped you before you wiped your eyes again, and he took a tentative step back toward you.
âLook.â You passed your phone to him and watched as he scrolled through page after page of headlines. All the bad articles from before, the ones he saw in the gym bathroom that made his head spin, were buried under the good. Bucky exhaled a shuddering breath, but couldnât bring himself to speak.
âOne of them called me,â you said. âShe tracked me down from that picture I posted. They want a comment from you.â
Bucky looked over at his own exploding phone, the screen flashing and shutting off so quickly it was almost comical. âOh, shit.â He turned to you with wide eyes, and his voice was quiet, timid when he continued. âI donâtâŠâ His hands were shaking. âI donât want to talk to them.â His chin trembled, and you reached your own shaky hand up to stroke his jaw, to sweep your thumb over his dimple.
âNo,â you said softly. âOf course not. You donât owe them anything.â
He made the first move; despite his stitches, despite the bruises, he grabbed you and pulled you close against his body. You stood there together for a long moment, shell-shocked and stunned, gripping each other tightly as the weight of what was happening sunk in. Finally, you spoke against his bare shoulder.
âBut I should call that reporter back.â
He pulled back to look at you, his brow furrowed. âWhat? Why?â
âIf I donât, sheâll just keep digging,â you said, almost apologetically. âAnd eventually sheâll find someone with a big mouth who doesnât like you.â Bucky gulped, but he nodded. âLetâs just⊠take control of it head-on. Lean into it.â You were trying to amp yourself up; you said the words to convince yourself, to reassure yourself just as much as Bucky. You looked at him and exhaled. âWhat do you want me to say?â
The reporter sounded surprised to hear back from you. Bucky remained silent while you gave your statement on speakerphone.
You kept it short and shallow: you said that Bucky was a colleague, and that you were in communication with him while he recovered. You said he was feeling much better already, and he was grateful for everyoneâs concern. You bit your tongue and didnât mention how terribly the press had treated him in the past, or how disgusted you were by the two-faced nature of it all. No, you were cordial and polite, and both you and Bucky were relieved to find that this reporter, this Karen Page, was kinder than either of you expected.
She wanted to write a feature about Buckyâs history, about his pardon and trial. She seemed just as repulsed by his treatment as you were, and agreed that the coverage was unjust. She hadnât been a journalist when all of that occurred; she swore she wouldâve gotten the truth out then, if she had the option. She couldnât help then, but she could now; she had the green light from her editor after last nightâs press conference.
Bucky was staring detachedly into the middle distance, his eyes wide and his jaw clenched, so you thanked her and said you would pass along the information to him. You let out a shaky breath after you hung up, and you blinked tears out of your eyes before you tenderly wrapped your arms around Buckyâs waist again. With your face buried against his shoulder, you held him as tightly as you could without hurting him. He seemed to come back to you; his right hand stroked through your hair.
âThey see you,â you whispered against his skin. âThey see you.â
It took both of you a few minutes to blink away the tears and settle your racing thoughts.
âWhat do we do now?â Bucky finally asked with a resolved sigh.
âWhatever you want, honey.â Your voice was muffled.
ââŠLunch?â he suggested quietly. A teary grin took over your face, and you nodded against his chest.
After you presented him with a full plate, you pulled out your phone and typed a quick text:
Thank you.
The reply came almost instantly:
â€ïž -Steve
Read Insatiable 19.1 (bonus chapter) here
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Summary: "They were wrapped inside their picture perfect world, with sandless beaches and shared meals, endless movie nights and comfort. But that wasnât real life."
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Blood/descriptions of wounds, hurt/comfort self indulgence, sexual themes, tough conversations, a little drive-by angst city, ~character growth~, Bucky is less of a horny menace but still a smug little shit lol
Word Count: 6.3k
Part 18 of 23
**IF YOUâD LIKE TO READ THE OC VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER, FIND IT ON AO3 HERE**
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The further you and Bucky got from the med wing, the slower Bucky walked. His ultra-fast metabolism was working through the pain medicine at a breakneck pace now that he didnât have a continuous drip, and by the time you reached the apartment his face was pulled into a grimace, his chest heaving with his labored breaths.
But he kept going, forcing himself forward until his bare feet touched the threshold of his bedroom. Your hand gripped his vibranium elbow as you made a beeline for the bedâ he needed to lay down, he needed to restâ but Buckyâs hesitation pulled you to a stop. You turned to look at him, but he wouldnât meet your eyesâ his gaze was focused down to his grimy chest, at the coating of blood and sweat and iodine that covered him.
His eyes flickered toward the unmade bed: the crisp sheets, the white duvet, that blue throw blanket that you loved so much. He frowned and stepped back slightly.
âCâmon,â you said softly as you followed his gaze to the bathroom door. âLetâs get you cleaned up.â
You deposited Bucky at the bathroom counter, and he propped most of his weight against the quartz while you started up the shower. The water came out cool at first, and you couldnât help but sneak glances at Bucky while you waited for it to heat up. He was extremely still, like even the smallest movements caused him an immense amount of pain, but his eyes flickered between you and the floor. He fussed with his split lip, rolling it between his teeth, and a slight pink tinge spread across his cheeks.
âBaby, Iââ he started, but he couldnât, or wouldnât, force the rest of the sentence out.
You shook water droplets from your hand. âDo you need help with the boxers?â you asked. âItâs almost ready.â You were almost cheerfulâ you couldnât help it. Bucky was filthy and hurt but he was safe, he was back where he belongedâ
But Bucky grimaced when he looked at the shower stall. âWhat is it?â you asked, your voice softening as worry crept back in. Maybe he wasnât okay, maybe you should call Bannerâ
âI⊠donât think I can shower right now,â he admitted slowly, redness and shame creeping across his cheeks. âI donât think I can stand that long.â He mumbled the last part out, like it was a character flaw, like it was some inherent weakness he should be embarrassed about.
You knew you shouldnât smile, but you were so relievedâ you could fix that, you could handle that. âOh,â you breathed, and Bucky finally met your eyes. Where he was expecting judgement and disdain there was only tenderness, and his posture softened considerably. You shut off the shower. âRight, rightââ
âIf you just get me a blanket I can lay down in here, sleep a bit? At least the tileâs easy to cleanââ
âDonât be ridiculous,â you scoffed. âIâm not letting you sleep in here.â You grabbed the bottles of shampoo and body wash off the ledge in the shower and nodded toward the large soaking tub in the corner of the room. âGet in,â you ordered.
Bucky huffed, then winced again at the way his abdomen moved. âWhat, youâre not gonna run me a bath first?â he asked, one corner of his lips turning up as he limped forward. âWhat kind of service is this?â
You snorted before a smile took over your faceâ he must not be in too bad of shape if he could still manage that level of snark. With your hand on his vibranium elbow, more for emotional support than anything, Bucky took slow, hobbling steps toward the tub.
âYou really want to stew in hot bloody dirt water?â you teased. âI guess I could arrange thatââ
Bucky cracked a smileâ literally, because the dried blood on his lip split open again. âWell, the hot water would ease some of the achesââ
âJust be glad Iâm not hosing you down in the hangar, you heathen,â you muttered. Bucky had reached the edge of the tub, and you helped him shrug your hoodie off his shoulders before you met his eyes with that wicked glint.
âDonât get any ideas,â you said sternly. You held his gaze as you slowly dropped to your knees in front of him, and Buckyâs tired eyes opened wide. His grin returned when you hooked your fingers into the elastic waistband and peeled those hideous white boxers down his legs.
Bucky carefully stepped out of them. âWho, me?â he asked, feigning innocence. âI would never.â But his hand still found your hair, and you snickeredâ oh yes, he would.
You climbed back to your feet, but he didnât remove his handâ his eyes had gone dark, but you smirked and stepped away. âBath. Now.â
âItâs not a bath if thereâs no water in it,â he grumbled.
âYou know youâre not supposed to soak cuts like that. Youâre the one who told me not to take baths when I had stitches, if I recallââ
âYeah, you shouldnât. But Iâm fine,â he said. âIt wonât change anything. Look, theyâre almost healed up.â He turned his chest to show you. You wouldnât call him fine, but some of the shallower scrapes and cuts had already begun to knit back together. The deeper ones were still red, slightly oozy, but you figured it would be fineâ if they were only going to take a week or so to heal anyway, one soak couldnât hurt.
You sighed. âLet me rinse all the gunk off first. Then you can relax.â
Bucky smiled at you again, that same boyish lopsided grin, and fuck, you wouldâve boiled water over the stove and filled the bath pan by pan if that meant getting him what he wanted.
He tenderly climbed into the tubâ the porcelain walls were high, and it took some maneuvering to get his legs comfortably over the sides. He sat with his knees bent, but despite his size, he somehow still easily fit. You knelt down at the side of the tub and aimed the handheld sprayer at the drain while the water heated up. âTilt your head back,â you told him when it was warm.
You started with his hair, dissolving and rinsing the matted blood away. Streams of pink snaked down his body and toward the drain, and you were thankful that Bucky had his eyes closed. But rinsing wasnât enoughâ you added a dollop of shampoo to your hand and slowly worked it through his short hair, and your breath caught when the watery streaks turned red.
A rebirth against the white porcelain. You washed away the evidence of the horrors he had experienced, and slowly, slowly, your Bucky reappeared. The one who couldnât bear to sit on the couch without being wrapped around you. The one who made such good coffee that you no longer even tried, and the one who pulled you into his arms and danced while dinner cooked. He came back to you, clearer and clearer with every smudge you wiped away, each piece of debris that went down the drain.
Bucky was starting to shiver, but he was still so filthyâ you couldnât fill the tub just yet. You cranked the water a bit hotter and grabbed the body wash, looking over his torso and arm at the deep bruises, the cuts and contusions. you hesitated. âWhere can I touch you that wonât hurt?â
âYou wanna touch me, huh?â He cocked his head to the side to meet your eyes. âJust canât keep your hands off me, even when Iâm filthy?â He was joking, but his words came through gritted teeth.
You forced your lips together to hide your smirk. âWanna get you un-filthy so you can warm up,â you said, but you weren't able to hold back your snicker.
Bucky gave you a questioning look, but you shook your head instead of explaining. Now wasnât the time to bring up the way he behaved downstairs. God, poor Dr. Banner was probably going to have nightmares.
You still couldnât decide where to start with the soapâ you cringed at the thought of touching his sore skin and causing him any kind of pain. You could touch his left arm, that wouldnât hurt, but anything elseâ
âHere.â Bucky held his hand out, and you squeezed some soap into his palm. He washed himself tenderly, his fingers ghosting over all the threads and bumps while you followed behind with the sprayer, rinsing him until the water finally ran clear.
You plugged the drain and docked the sprayer, and Bucky let out a long breath and sank back against the tub wall as the steam and hot water engulfed him. âSâfeels amazing,â he mumbled as his eyes fluttered shut.
You folded your arms on the tall edge of the tub and rested your cheek against them. You had no idea what time it wasâ it felt like days had passed, and you were the kind of exhausted that radiated from deep in you bones. But you couldnât close your eyes, couldnât tear them away from Bucky.
You memorized the angle of his nose, the dimple on his chin, the way his plush lips hung slightly open while he rested. Your eyes traced along his stubbled jaw, down his neck to his collarbones, to the contrasting pitted and raised scars that framed where skin met metal.
He was the most beautiful person youâd ever seen. You knew it from the moment you met him, and seeing him like this, so vulnerable in front of you, only cemented the fact in your mind.
But as you stared at his clean face, only marred by bruises and scrapes now instead of filth, you realized your own skin felt tacky. You took a deep breath, because you didnât want to move, but... âAre you good if I get up for a couple minutes?â
âWhat?â Bucky said sharply as his eyes flew open, his panic flaring before he quickly concealed it. Then, more steady: âWhere are you going?â
âNot far. I just wanna shower, too.â His eyes followed yours to your arms, grimy from where his skin had touched you. âThink Iâve got some residual⊠who-knows-what on me.â
âOh. Okay.â He relaxed againâ he could see the shower from where he sat. You weren't leaving.
âTry not to wander too far,â you teased as you stood up. He rolled his eyes, but gave you a sleepy smileâ it was a very funny joke, considering he probably couldnât even get out of the tub without your help.
You felt his eyes on you as you stripped down, stepped into the frameless glass shower and sped through your routine. Every time you glanced over to the bath to check on him, Bucky was watching you, staring intently through the glass. You turned your head away from him, but you couldnât help but smile.
When you were finished, you dried off with a fluffy white towel and bent over to wrap your hair in another. âYou good, Sarge? Pruny yet?â But when you straightened up and turned to him, his face was bright red. Your brows creased and you hurried over to him. âIs the water too hot?â
Bucky shook his head slowly. âI donât know whether to fall asleep or be, like, super turned on,â he mumbled.
You laughed as you kneeled down next to the tub again. âYou canâtâ are you serious? You have holes in your skinââ
âI know,â he groaned, somehow turning redder, and he looked at you with pleading eyes.
You glanced down into the water and sure enough, his cock was half hard and growing by the second. âBucky,â you scolded.
âItâs been weeksââ
âItâs been, like, five days.â
ââand I just got the best private show of my life, and now youâre walking around like thatââ He licked his lips, his roguish eyes watching you like you hung the stars in the skyâ âI missed you.â
Slightly more controlled, slightly more dignified, but there he wasâ the casanova from the med wing had resurfaced. You snickered.
âI missed you too,â you said, and you stroked the back of your knuckles down his metal bicep.
Bucky leaned into your touch, but when his cock jumped in response, causing his abs to tense, he winced. âFuckâ canâtâ itâll hurt too much.â
âShoulda stayed down there on the IV,â you said before you could stop yourself. âYou were feeling good enough thenââ
âWhat do you meââ His eyes widened in horror as the realization hit him. âDid IâŠ?â
You moved away from him, casually dragging a finger along the surface of the water instead. âMake a fool of yourself? Yeah.â You fought back a smile, though your eyebrows arched. âYeah, you did.â
Buckyâs head rolled back against the porcelain as he groaned. âWhat did I do? Wait, I donât wanna knowâ no, yes I doâ tell me.â
âLetâs seeâŠâ You held out your fingers to count. âI got to hear some antique pickup linesâ very charming, by the wayââ He pursed his lips. âYou just about begged me to kiss youââ
âI did?â His hand rose to his swollen lip, and he flinched when his fingertip brushed the scab.
âUh, yeah. And you moaned like a fucking porn star when I gave in. And no, we werenât alone,â you said, getting ahead of his next question.
He dropped his chin to his chest and cursed.
âPoor Banner,â you continued. âYou said some very dirty things in earshot of the doctor.â You leaned in to repeat those words against his ear, and you smirked at the way his jaw dropped and goosebumps erupted over his skin.
âNoââ
âYes. And oh, yeah, you tried to touch yourself in front him, tooââ
Bucky groaned and shut his eyes again. âShit.â
âIt was a complete disaster,â you said, but you were grinning. âIf thatâs what drunk Bucky is like, I want more.â
You didnât mention the confession part. Didnât mention how he told you he loved you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Didnât mention how bashful he got when he talked about picking something out, making it a surprise, because that was crazy talk, he didnât know what he was sayingâ
You didnât mention how you told him you loved him, too, and how you meant every word.
Bucky probably didnât mean it. He didnât mean to be such a pervert in front of Dr. Bannerâ there was no way he wouldâve said that stuff without the drugs, so he wouldnât have said the other stuff, either.
But⊠maybe. Just because he didnât mean to act on it didnât mean the sentiment wasnât there. Bucky had been sleazy and ridiculous in the hospital, yeah, but he was horny here at home, too. Just⊠dialed down a bit. He was living proof as he sat there in the water, struggling to ignore his aching cock.
Bucky was able to pull himself together and climb out of the tub when it was time, but he clenched his teeth when you dabbed a soft white towel against his torso. It came away with specks of red fading into the fibers, and you winced and grabbed a fresh towel.
You dropped to your knees again, this time to pat his legs dry. You were extremely thorough, because you didnât want him to catch a chill, didnât want to leave any inch of him uncared forâ it wasnât your fault that his dick twitched every time your face was near.
Bucky stared down at you with narrowed eyes, but there was a soft smile on his lips. âYouâre the worst, you know that?â
But that wasn't what he really meantâ you could hear it in the timbre of his voice, in the cadence and lilt when he looked at you. What he meantâ what he was trying to sayâ was encoded in his own language, but you knew how to translate; it was your native tongue, after all. Even without the drugs, he loved you. He did.
Back in his room, you slipped into pajamas and helped Bucky into a loose t-shirt and sweats. You got him settled into bed, flat on his back, and lowered yourself gingerly onto the sheets beside himâ careful not to touch, careful not to bounce the mattress too much. You breathed a sigh of relief, because finally, he was back where he belonged.
Though he kept his right arm straight at his side, his hand found yours in the sheets.
You were nearly asleep when there was a knock at the front door, and you blinked up toward Buckyâs tired eyes. He looked like he had been called back from the very edge of sleep, and you scowled. He needed to sleep, needed to rest, who the fuck was here so lateâ but maybe it was Banner with more meds. You took a deep breath and climbed to your feet.
But it wasnât Banner. Of fucking course it wasnât.
When you first opened the apartment door, you didnât think anyone was there. For a moment you only saw the neutral walls of the elevator lobby, but then from further down the hallway, a frantic voice called you name.
Steveâs eyes latched onto youâ your sleepy face, your pajamas, the fact that you were calm and not absolutely losing your shit worrying about Bucky, because that meant he was okayâ and he let out a deep breath as he hurried back to the door.
âH-hey,â he stammered. âIs Buck here? I went back downstairs, butââ He held Buckyâs tactical suit in his arms, still grimy and disgusting but folded neatly.
âYeah,â you yawned. âHeâs in bed.â You glanced over your shoulder but couldnât sense any movement inside the apartment. âIn a lot of pain,â you said pointedly. You needed to get back to himâ
Steve nodded once, but he wouldnât meet your eyes for more than a second or two. âHe, uh, left his stuff downstairs.â
You held out your arms expectantly, and Steve reluctantly passed the gear to you before carefully placing Buckyâs phone on the top of the pile. You cringed a bit at the stench, but now you had Buckyâs clothes, and Steve could goâ but he didnât move. He looked away from your eyes as soon as he could, like your gaze burned him, like he couldnât stand it. But he didnât leave.
The whites of his eyes were tinged pink, amplified by the dark, heavy bags beneath them. Worry wrinkled his forehead, and he held his hands clasped tightly in front of him to keep from wringing them.
You sighed, your deep breath diluting some of the venom you kept stored deep inside you. You couldnât believe you were saying this, butâ ââŠDo you want to come in?â
Steveâs tired eyes met yours and he nodded gratefully. You didnât wait for him; you left the door open when you turned back into the apartment, and Steve scurried after you toward the washing machine. You nodded to Buckyâs bedroom door as you passed it. âHeâs in there.â You didnât look back at him, but you heard a click and knew Steve let himself in and closed the door behind him.
Pocketing Buckyâs phone, you dropped his clothes into the washing machine. You added entirely too much detergent and turned the water to cold, to get rid of the bloodstains first before you could run it again as hot as it would go. To sanitize. Sterilize. Wash away every trace of this mission and what it meant and what it led to. You slammed the lid of the machine shut.
Steve was in Buckyâs room, and your blankets were on Buckyâs bed. Your towel was on his hook, your dirty clothes were in his hamper, and your bra was on his floor.
It wasnât exactly secretive. It wasnât exactly subtle. To be fair, you hadnât expected Steve to visit. You expected Bucky to come home, maybe take some time to shower before you cuddled up, told him how much you missed him, and then everything would go back to normal. You didnât plan to rush to his bedside in the med wing, or to have to help him bathe because he was too weak. You didnât prepare for this.
Bucky wouldnât be happy about it, but at this point, you didnât fucking care.
You hoped Steve laid down next to Bucky and rested his head on your pillow, the one that smelled like your shampoo. You hoped he smelled your body on the sheets, evidence of your nights and mornings spent together.
You hoped Steve knew.
With your knees pulled up to your chest, you sat on the couch and waited. You checked the time, but the glare from your phone in the dim room made you squint. It was well after three in the morning, and you were exhausted. You dropped your face to your kneesâ maybe you would just rest your eyes a bit.
The turn of the knob, the squeak of the hingesâ you startled awake when the bedroom door opened. You glanced up to see Steve shuffling out, and he closed the door behind him before he met your eyes.
He took a deep breath. âHeâs asleep,â he said.
Thank fuck. Steve was finally going to get out of here, and youâd go crawl under the blankets with Bucky, and everything would be okay. God, you were tired.
Steve stepped forward, but he didnât aim toward the front door. Instead he stopped in front of the couch, in front of you, and after a heavy moment of silence he spoke. âCan we talk?â
You fought to keep your lip from curling into a sneer. Steve was pushing his luck, overstaying his welcome. You could only be nice for so longâ you wanted to just tell him to get out, slam the door behind him. But there was something else, hidden behind your annoyance and angerâ a pit had opened up in your stomach, and you shivered. You didnât want him here, you wanted him goneâ
But in front of you, Steve looked small. So small.
The worry in his eye, the tremble of his lip. He didnât want to have this conversation any more than you did. But he needed to. He was asking.
You took a deep breath and nodded, scooting over to make room for him. Steve settled down as far from you as possible, pushed up against the opposite armrest, and stared down at his hands as he spoke.
âI need to tell you something,â he said. His deep voice was forcefully steady, like it would shake if he let the pressure up even the smallest amount.
Bucky was fine. You already knew that. This was about something else.
âWhat?â Your voice was sharp, as if maybe you could scare him away, make him stop talkingâ
Steve sighed and shook his head slightly, like he couldnât believe what he was about to say. âBuck and I grew up together.â
âOkay.â Did he really think you didnât know that? But you glanced sideways at him, and Steveâs face was pained and as serious as youâd ever seen it. He continued.
âThere was alwaysâŠâ Steve said, but his words caught in his throat before he could finish the thought. It took him a while to try again. âAnd then he got his orders, and I⊠fuck.â He gulped and dug his fingers into his thigh. You watched him silently, growing more perplexed with each failed sentence.
âWeâve always beenâŠâ Steve pressed back against the couch cushions, but not in a comfortable way; he was squirming, like he would rather crawl out of his own body than have this conversation.
Steve tried again. âBuck and I, weâŠâ
Oh.
âI know,â you said, quietly and quickly, to put him out of his misery. Steveâs panicked eyes snapped up to yours. âHeâ he told me everything. About you two. I know. Itâs okay.â
Steveâs skin had gone clammy, and he wavered between looking relieved and looking sick. You could see it in the hard line of his jaw, the way he couldnât meet your eyes for more than a secondâ he was an animal caught in a trap. It was a trap of his own making, but he stepped into it on purpose, because he had toâ
âYouâve never told anyone, have you?â you asked softly.
Almost imperceptibly, Steve shook his head. The pure distress on his face, the way he bounced his leg, unintentionally shaking the entire couch. Your eyes welled with tears and you blinked furiously, because you hated himâ so whyâ?
âI mean, people know.â A brassy, nervous laugh escaped him. âItâs not a secret. But itâs not somethingâŠâ He took a breath. âIâve never been good at saying it. Just one of those things, you know?â You nodded, and when Steve met your eyes a half smile teased at his lips. He huffed out a breath.
âI shouldâve known he told you.â He shook his head, but his lips were still turned up. âOf course he did.â
You frowned. âWhat does that mean?â But Steve just kept shaking his head, smiling infuriatingly.
After a moment Steve cleared his throat. âYâknow,â he said, âBuck used to bring a lot of girls home.â
You rounded on him, turning in your seat to face him with an open-mouthed snarl. Here you were, almost feeling bad for Steveâ almost feeling compassionateâ why did this asshole have to bring something like that up? Just to dig it in? To remind you that you weren't special?
But when you saw his eyes, they werenât spiteful, or malicious, or anything you expected them to be. They were soft, and vulnerable, and⊠almost happy, in that bittersweet way. Steve took a deep breath.
âHe never looked at any of them the way he looks at you.â
âŠOh. Your entire posture softened and you nodded slowly. This time neither you nor Steve looked away, and it almost felt illicit, an invasion of privacyâ because looking at Steve felt like you were reading Buckyâs diary. All of his history, his darkest secrets, the truths he kept hidden even from himselfâ they were written in the lines of Steveâs skin, the creases in his forehead.
Steve had gone pink, and it took a moment for him to recenter himself. âHe was pretty delirious in the jet on the way here,â he said. âWe didnât have that medicine Bruce has, and the pain was bad enough that he kept slippingâŠâ
He took a breath, and you leaned forward, hanging on to his every word. âHe kept asking for you. And when he realized you werenât there, he⊠he asked me to tell you something.â
Your heart dropped into your stomach, but Steve just looked at you with a wry smile.
âHe, uh, never did manage to get out what he was trying to say,â he said with a chuckle. âSam was trying to stitch him up, and Buck started swingingâ landed a punch right on his foreheadââ
Your eyes snapped up to Steveâs in horror. âWhat?!â
Steve couldnât hold your gaze, but his smile didnât falter when he looked down at his lap. âHeâs lucky Sam likes him. Anyone else wouldâve dumped him somewhere in the Andes at that point.â
âHoly shit,â you muttered. God damn it, Bucky. Youâd have to find a way to thank Sam somehow. What a freakinâ saint.
âHe was too busy fighting Sam to tell me what he wanted to say,â Steve continued, âbut it seemed really important to him. You should ask him, when you can.â
ââŠYeah,â you conceded. âOkay.â
And for a moment, you relaxed into an uncertain silence together. You both let out your breaths, and the couch seemed to pull you in; if you were tired, then Steve mustâve been exhausted. But just when the quiet had become comfortable, just when you thought Steve might actually drift off, he started fidgeting.
His leg began to bounce again, and from the corner of your eye you could see him buttoning and unbuttoning the cuff of his sleeve, forcefully enough that he nearly popped the button off altogether. You tried to meet his eyes, to give him a dirty look, get him to quit, but he wasnât looking at you. His eyes were trained straight up at the ceiling, and they⊠they were glistening. Your heart dropped again, and you sucked in a breath before it was too lateâ Steve blinked rapidly a few times, sniffed, and finally turned to meet your gaze.
âI love him.â
Maybe if you were lucky, the couch would open up and swallow you whole. You couldnât stand to look at him, but you had to; you dug your nails into your own arms as his gaze pierced through you. Steve was telling the truth; the love he felt was etched into his face, alongside and intertwined with all of Buckyâs secrets. They were one and the same.
âAnd I know itâs never been the way he needs.â Steveâs voice broke, and he took a second to wipe at his cheek before starting again. âAnd Iâve made a lot of mistakes.â He exhaled a shaky breath.
âBut heâs my home, and Iâ itâs killing me to see him like this,â Steve mumbled, more to himself than to you. âEspecially because itâs my fault. He was so goodâ he always is, you know? And I was an idiot, and he couldâve...â
Yeah. Steve was an idiot, over and over again. You didnât say anything, and the silence was too much for him to bear. He stood. âIâve gotta get to bed,â he mumbled. âTake care of him, okay?â
You watched Steveâs heart shatter with each steady step across the apartment; he left pieces of it behind on the floorboards, raw and blown open. You swallowed hard. Part of you thought Steve deserved the pain, but thisâ he couldnât leave, not like thisâ you jumped up after him.
Steveâs hand was on the doorknob when he turned back to you. âI know heâll be okay,â he muttered, âbutâ can you text me? Just let me know if heâsââ
âGo be with him,â you interrupted softly. Steve looked at you blankly, his uncomprehending eyes searching your face. âStay here tonight.â
Steveâs jaw hung open as he stared at you, and you backtracked. You looked at the floor and took a half step backwards, scratching at your neck.
âUh, you know, if something goes wrongâ if he falls, or if he canât moveâ I wonât be able to help him, soâŠâ
That wasnât all, of course. Bucky would be thrilled to have Steve stay. But you didnât need to say that.
Bucky needed Steve. And Steve, in whatever way, needed Bucky, too.
When Steve returned to Buckyâs bedroom and shut the door behind him, you collapsed back onto your place on the couch. You pulled your knees up and wrapped a blanket around yourself tightly before you flopped sideways, resting your cheek against a throw pillow.
You couldnât quite stop the tears that leaked out, staining dark splotches onto the fabric.
It was time to let go.
This had all been one big misunderstanding; one big mistake. No wonder it felt too good to be true.
You hadnât known what to expect when you signed on for this job, but the last thing you expected was thisâ this heartbreak. This feeling of knowing you werenât good enough no matter how you tried, because some histories just canât be erased. They canât be written over, no matter how much you wished you could.
You hadnât expected your surly new roommate to be so soft on the inside. You hadnât expected to poke through the cracks in his armor so quicklyâ or to be there when the armor splintered on its own accord. You didnât expect to feel this undeniable urge to pick up the pieces, even though you shouldâve known; that had always been your nature. Bucky needed help, so you helpedâ and in the process, you realized how desperately you needed him, too.
You were so grateful for your time together, for all of those seemingly inconsequential moments that mattered so much. Those days spent sharing smiles and laughter, enjoying the freedom that came along with your captivity. The naps and nights spent tangled together, sheltering each other both from invisible monsters and reality.
Together you were wrapped inside this picture perfect world, with sandless beaches and shared meals, endless movie nights and comfort. But that wasnât real life.
Real life had influences, and conflicts, and histories. You loved Bucky Barnes, more than you ever wouldâve thought possible after only four months. But Steve had loved Bucky Barnes for decades.
You might have drifted off; you didnât know. But after some time, even in your groggy state, you heard voices coming from Buckyâs room. Hushed, so quiet that you could barely hear, that you might have dreamt it altogetherâ but the doorknob turned, and Steve stepped out.
You frantically wiped the tears from your face and sat up. This was hard enough for all of you; you didnât need to complicate things further by being sad. You didnât need their pity.
Steve saw your tears anyway, of course he didâ those damn super soldiers. âHey,â he said gently. So gentle, like he knew you were about to break, had begun crumbling already. Handle with care.
That wavering uncertainty had returned to Steveâs face. âHeâs, uh⊠heâs asking for you.â
You resented the way your heart fluttered as you climbed to your feet and briskly rubbed your hands across your face. Even though the tears had dried, Bucky would knowâ your red eyes, your flushed cheeks, the way you couldnât stop your lip from trembling. You didnât want him to see you like this; you had never felt so exhausted.
But you walked into the bedroomâ his bedroom, your bedroomâ and shut the door behind you. You stepped up to the nightstand. To Bucky. He was still where you left him, propped up on a pile of pillows, but his face was tighter now. Stuck in a grimace.
âHi, Buck.â Fewer words, fewer chances for your voice to falter. You kept one arm crossed in front of you, but Bucky reached for you, and you let him grab your hand. Despite how he winced at the movement, he didnât let go.
âYou okay?â you asked, because even still, even now, you caredâ
âAs okay as I can be.â
You gave him a plastic smile. âIâm gonna go to bed, then, okay?â Never mind that your bed didnât even have sheets on it, or pillowsâ
Bucky looked utterly bewildered, and his eyes traveled to the spot on his bed that you had claimed earlier.
âSteveâs here,â you said quietly. âHe can help you.
Bucky glanced between you and the door, and you could see the thoughts connecting in his brain. âStay,â he whispered, pleading.
You couldnât say what you wanted to, because Steve was right there, he could hear everythingâ you raised your eyebrows, for emphasis, and held Buckyâs gaze.
âHeâll be here all night,â you said. âYou donât have to worryâ and Iâll be right next door.â
âNo. Please stay.â His eyes grew wider, panicked, and you couldnât bear to look at himâ
âSteve?â you called, and the door opened. You tried to back away, but Bucky wouldnât let go of your hand.
âBaby, donâtââ
Steve rounded the corner, but paused when he glanced at your hands. âOhâ itâs okay,â he said hurriedly, and he took a step back. âI can come back in the morningââ
âNo,â you said. âI was just going to bedââ
âItâs fine, reallyââ
âCome lay down, hereââ
After a few more moments of bickering, Bucky let out a frustrated groan. âWould you two justâ just shut up?â
You and Steve both looked at Bucky, finally stunned into silence. âJust shut the fuck up, both of you, okay? Jesus.â
Steve opened his mouth to apologize, but Bucky kept talking. âIâm injured, right?â he said. You both nodded tentatively. âCertifiably almost on my deathbed.â Steve continued to nod, though you huffed and rolled your eyes.
Bucky glanced down, and his next words came quietly through clenched teeth. âSo can you both please just get over here?â
You and Steve shared a wary look. Steve looked away first, but not before you saw how his ears had tinged pinkâ
âIâm telling you,â Bucky continued, a little more confident now. âIâll feel a whole lot better if my two favorite people would just⊠just get over themselves already, and come get in bed with me.â
âJesus, Buckââ Steve started as he turned away, his hands on his hips, but you were louder.
âOh, youâre really gonna milk this, arenât you?â you said, but your condescending tone didnât match the way you were fighting to keep your smile off your face. Steve coughed to hide his snort.
âFor as long as I can.â That stupid, lovely, lopsided grinâ âFigure Iâve only got a couple days to make the most of it before Iâm all healed up.â
Steve caught your eye, and his face mirrored your own amused look. You pushed the corners of your mouth down, because you did not want to give Bucky that satisfaction, butâ what the hell.
You were the first to move. You crawled up between Bucky and the wall, and then Steve lowered himself down tenderly on Buckyâs other side. You were all perfectly still for a long while, flat on your backs, staring up at the same crack in the ceiling. Not daring to move, not even daring to cuddleâ because of Buckyâs injuries, of course. But after some time, your breaths leveled out, and the three of you drifted into a quiet slumber. And for now, that was enough.
If you enjoyed this fic, please reblog so others can find it!
Summary: "They were wrapped inside their picture perfect world, with sandless beaches and shared meals, endless movie nights and comfort. But that wasnât real life."
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Blood/descriptions of wounds, hurt/comfort self indulgence, sexual themes, tough conversations, a little drive-by angst city, ~character growth~, Bucky is less of a horny menace but still a smug little shit lol
Word Count: 6.3k
Part 18 of 23
**IF YOUâD LIKE TO READ THE OC VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER, FIND IT ON AO3 HERE**
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The further you and Bucky got from the med wing, the slower Bucky walked. His ultra-fast metabolism was working through the pain medicine at a breakneck pace now that he didnât have a continuous drip, and by the time you reached the apartment his face was pulled into a grimace, his chest heaving with his labored breaths.
But he kept going, forcing himself forward until his bare feet touched the threshold of his bedroom. Your hand gripped his vibranium elbow as you made a beeline for the bedâ he needed to lay down, he needed to restâ but Buckyâs hesitation pulled you to a stop. You turned to look at him, but he wouldnât meet your eyesâ his gaze was focused down to his grimy chest, at the coating of blood and sweat and iodine that covered him.
His eyes flickered toward the unmade bed: the crisp sheets, the white duvet, that blue throw blanket that you loved so much. He frowned and stepped back slightly.
âCâmon,â you said softly as you followed his gaze to the bathroom door. âLetâs get you cleaned up.â
You deposited Bucky at the bathroom counter, and he propped most of his weight against the quartz while you started up the shower. The water came out cool at first, and you couldnât help but sneak glances at Bucky while you waited for it to heat up. He was extremely still, like even the smallest movements caused him an immense amount of pain, but his eyes flickered between you and the floor. He fussed with his split lip, rolling it between his teeth, and a slight pink tinge spread across his cheeks.
âBaby, Iââ he started, but he couldnât, or wouldnât, force the rest of the sentence out.
You shook water droplets from your hand. âDo you need help with the boxers?â you asked. âItâs almost ready.â You were almost cheerfulâ you couldnât help it. Bucky was filthy and hurt but he was safe, he was back where he belongedâ
But Bucky grimaced when he looked at the shower stall. âWhat is it?â you asked, your voice softening as worry crept back in. Maybe he wasnât okay, maybe you should call Bannerâ
âI⊠donât think I can shower right now,â he admitted slowly, redness and shame creeping across his cheeks. âI donât think I can stand that long.â He mumbled the last part out, like it was a character flaw, like it was some inherent weakness he should be embarrassed about.
You knew you shouldnât smile, but you were so relievedâ you could fix that, you could handle that. âOh,â you breathed, and Bucky finally met your eyes. Where he was expecting judgement and disdain there was only tenderness, and his posture softened considerably. You shut off the shower. âRight, rightââ
âIf you just get me a blanket I can lay down in here, sleep a bit? At least the tileâs easy to cleanââ
âDonât be ridiculous,â you scoffed. âIâm not letting you sleep in here.â You grabbed the bottles of shampoo and body wash off the ledge in the shower and nodded toward the large soaking tub in the corner of the room. âGet in,â you ordered.
Bucky huffed, then winced again at the way his abdomen moved. âWhat, youâre not gonna run me a bath first?â he asked, one corner of his lips turning up as he limped forward. âWhat kind of service is this?â
You snorted before a smile took over your faceâ he must not be in too bad of shape if he could still manage that level of snark. With your hand on his vibranium elbow, more for emotional support than anything, Bucky took slow, hobbling steps toward the tub.
âYou really want to stew in hot bloody dirt water?â you teased. âI guess I could arrange thatââ
Bucky cracked a smileâ literally, because the dried blood on his lip split open again. âWell, the hot water would ease some of the achesââ
âJust be glad Iâm not hosing you down in the hangar, you heathen,â you muttered. Bucky had reached the edge of the tub, and you helped him shrug your hoodie off his shoulders before you met his eyes with that wicked glint.
âDonât get any ideas,â you said sternly. You held his gaze as you slowly dropped to your knees in front of him, and Buckyâs tired eyes opened wide. His grin returned when you hooked your fingers into the elastic waistband and peeled those hideous white boxers down his legs.
Bucky carefully stepped out of them. âWho, me?â he asked, feigning innocence. âI would never.â But his hand still found your hair, and you snickeredâ oh yes, he would.
You climbed back to your feet, but he didnât remove his handâ his eyes had gone dark, but you smirked and stepped away. âBath. Now.â
âItâs not a bath if thereâs no water in it,â he grumbled.
âYou know youâre not supposed to soak cuts like that. Youâre the one who told me not to take baths when I had stitches, if I recallââ
âYeah, you shouldnât. But Iâm fine,â he said. âIt wonât change anything. Look, theyâre almost healed up.â He turned his chest to show you. You wouldnât call him fine, but some of the shallower scrapes and cuts had already begun to knit back together. The deeper ones were still red, slightly oozy, but you figured it would be fineâ if they were only going to take a week or so to heal anyway, one soak couldnât hurt.
You sighed. âLet me rinse all the gunk off first. Then you can relax.â
Bucky smiled at you again, that same boyish lopsided grin, and fuck, you wouldâve boiled water over the stove and filled the bath pan by pan if that meant getting him what he wanted.
He tenderly climbed into the tubâ the porcelain walls were high, and it took some maneuvering to get his legs comfortably over the sides. He sat with his knees bent, but despite his size, he somehow still easily fit. You knelt down at the side of the tub and aimed the handheld sprayer at the drain while the water heated up. âTilt your head back,â you told him when it was warm.
You started with his hair, dissolving and rinsing the matted blood away. Streams of pink snaked down his body and toward the drain, and you were thankful that Bucky had his eyes closed. But rinsing wasnât enoughâ you added a dollop of shampoo to your hand and slowly worked it through his short hair, and your breath caught when the watery streaks turned red.
A rebirth against the white porcelain. You washed away the evidence of the horrors he had experienced, and slowly, slowly, your Bucky reappeared. The one who couldnât bear to sit on the couch without being wrapped around you. The one who made such good coffee that you no longer even tried, and the one who pulled you into his arms and danced while dinner cooked. He came back to you, clearer and clearer with every smudge you wiped away, each piece of debris that went down the drain.
Bucky was starting to shiver, but he was still so filthyâ you couldnât fill the tub just yet. You cranked the water a bit hotter and grabbed the body wash, looking over his torso and arm at the deep bruises, the cuts and contusions. you hesitated. âWhere can I touch you that wonât hurt?â
âYou wanna touch me, huh?â He cocked his head to the side to meet your eyes. âJust canât keep your hands off me, even when Iâm filthy?â He was joking, but his words came through gritted teeth.
You forced your lips together to hide your smirk. âWanna get you un-filthy so you can warm up,â you said, but you weren't able to hold back your snicker.
Bucky gave you a questioning look, but you shook your head instead of explaining. Now wasnât the time to bring up the way he behaved downstairs. God, poor Dr. Banner was probably going to have nightmares.
You still couldnât decide where to start with the soapâ you cringed at the thought of touching his sore skin and causing him any kind of pain. You could touch his left arm, that wouldnât hurt, but anything elseâ
âHere.â Bucky held his hand out, and you squeezed some soap into his palm. He washed himself tenderly, his fingers ghosting over all the threads and bumps while you followed behind with the sprayer, rinsing him until the water finally ran clear.
You plugged the drain and docked the sprayer, and Bucky let out a long breath and sank back against the tub wall as the steam and hot water engulfed him. âSâfeels amazing,â he mumbled as his eyes fluttered shut.
You folded your arms on the tall edge of the tub and rested your cheek against them. You had no idea what time it wasâ it felt like days had passed, and you were the kind of exhausted that radiated from deep in you bones. But you couldnât close your eyes, couldnât tear them away from Bucky.
You memorized the angle of his nose, the dimple on his chin, the way his plush lips hung slightly open while he rested. Your eyes traced along his stubbled jaw, down his neck to his collarbones, to the contrasting pitted and raised scars that framed where skin met metal.
He was the most beautiful person youâd ever seen. You knew it from the moment you met him, and seeing him like this, so vulnerable in front of you, only cemented the fact in your mind.
But as you stared at his clean face, only marred by bruises and scrapes now instead of filth, you realized your own skin felt tacky. You took a deep breath, because you didnât want to move, but... âAre you good if I get up for a couple minutes?â
âWhat?â Bucky said sharply as his eyes flew open, his panic flaring before he quickly concealed it. Then, more steady: âWhere are you going?â
âNot far. I just wanna shower, too.â His eyes followed yours to your arms, grimy from where his skin had touched you. âThink Iâve got some residual⊠who-knows-what on me.â
âOh. Okay.â He relaxed againâ he could see the shower from where he sat. You weren't leaving.
âTry not to wander too far,â you teased as you stood up. He rolled his eyes, but gave you a sleepy smileâ it was a very funny joke, considering he probably couldnât even get out of the tub without your help.
You felt his eyes on you as you stripped down, stepped into the frameless glass shower and sped through your routine. Every time you glanced over to the bath to check on him, Bucky was watching you, staring intently through the glass. You turned your head away from him, but you couldnât help but smile.
When you were finished, you dried off with a fluffy white towel and bent over to wrap your hair in another. âYou good, Sarge? Pruny yet?â But when you straightened up and turned to him, his face was bright red. Your brows creased and you hurried over to him. âIs the water too hot?â
Bucky shook his head slowly. âI donât know whether to fall asleep or be, like, super turned on,â he mumbled.
You laughed as you kneeled down next to the tub again. âYou canâtâ are you serious? You have holes in your skinââ
âI know,â he groaned, somehow turning redder, and he looked at you with pleading eyes.
You glanced down into the water and sure enough, his cock was half hard and growing by the second. âBucky,â you scolded.
âItâs been weeksââ
âItâs been, like, five days.â
ââand I just got the best private show of my life, and now youâre walking around like thatââ He licked his lips, his roguish eyes watching you like you hung the stars in the skyâ âI missed you.â
Slightly more controlled, slightly more dignified, but there he wasâ the casanova from the med wing had resurfaced. You snickered.
âI missed you too,â you said, and you stroked the back of your knuckles down his metal bicep.
Bucky leaned into your touch, but when his cock jumped in response, causing his abs to tense, he winced. âFuckâ canâtâ itâll hurt too much.â
âShoulda stayed down there on the IV,â you said before you could stop yourself. âYou were feeling good enough thenââ
âWhat do you meââ His eyes widened in horror as the realization hit him. âDid IâŠ?â
You moved away from him, casually dragging a finger along the surface of the water instead. âMake a fool of yourself? Yeah.â You fought back a smile, though your eyebrows arched. âYeah, you did.â
Buckyâs head rolled back against the porcelain as he groaned. âWhat did I do? Wait, I donât wanna knowâ no, yes I doâ tell me.â
âLetâs seeâŠâ You held out your fingers to count. âI got to hear some antique pickup linesâ very charming, by the wayââ He pursed his lips. âYou just about begged me to kiss youââ
âI did?â His hand rose to his swollen lip, and he flinched when his fingertip brushed the scab.
âUh, yeah. And you moaned like a fucking porn star when I gave in. And no, we werenât alone,â you said, getting ahead of his next question.
He dropped his chin to his chest and cursed.
âPoor Banner,â you continued. âYou said some very dirty things in earshot of the doctor.â You leaned in to repeat those words against his ear, and you smirked at the way his jaw dropped and goosebumps erupted over his skin.
âNoââ
âYes. And oh, yeah, you tried to touch yourself in front him, tooââ
Bucky groaned and shut his eyes again. âShit.â
âIt was a complete disaster,â you said, but you were grinning. âIf thatâs what drunk Bucky is like, I want more.â
You didnât mention the confession part. Didnât mention how he told you he loved you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Didnât mention how bashful he got when he talked about picking something out, making it a surprise, because that was crazy talk, he didnât know what he was sayingâ
You didnât mention how you told him you loved him, too, and how you meant every word.
Bucky probably didnât mean it. He didnât mean to be such a pervert in front of Dr. Bannerâ there was no way he wouldâve said that stuff without the drugs, so he wouldnât have said the other stuff, either.
But⊠maybe. Just because he didnât mean to act on it didnât mean the sentiment wasnât there. Bucky had been sleazy and ridiculous in the hospital, yeah, but he was horny here at home, too. Just⊠dialed down a bit. He was living proof as he sat there in the water, struggling to ignore his aching cock.
Bucky was able to pull himself together and climb out of the tub when it was time, but he clenched his teeth when you dabbed a soft white towel against his torso. It came away with specks of red fading into the fibers, and you winced and grabbed a fresh towel.
You dropped to your knees again, this time to pat his legs dry. You were extremely thorough, because you didnât want him to catch a chill, didnât want to leave any inch of him uncared forâ it wasnât your fault that his dick twitched every time your face was near.
Bucky stared down at you with narrowed eyes, but there was a soft smile on his lips. âYouâre the worst, you know that?â
But that wasn't what he really meantâ you could hear it in the timbre of his voice, in the cadence and lilt when he looked at you. What he meantâ what he was trying to sayâ was encoded in his own language, but you knew how to translate; it was your native tongue, after all. Even without the drugs, he loved you. He did.
Back in his room, you slipped into pajamas and helped Bucky into a loose t-shirt and sweats. You got him settled into bed, flat on his back, and lowered yourself gingerly onto the sheets beside himâ careful not to touch, careful not to bounce the mattress too much. You breathed a sigh of relief, because finally, he was back where he belonged.
Though he kept his right arm straight at his side, his hand found yours in the sheets.
You were nearly asleep when there was a knock at the front door, and you blinked up toward Buckyâs tired eyes. He looked like he had been called back from the very edge of sleep, and you scowled. He needed to sleep, needed to rest, who the fuck was here so lateâ but maybe it was Banner with more meds. You took a deep breath and climbed to your feet.
But it wasnât Banner. Of fucking course it wasnât.
When you first opened the apartment door, you didnât think anyone was there. For a moment you only saw the neutral walls of the elevator lobby, but then from further down the hallway, a frantic voice called you name.
Steveâs eyes latched onto youâ your sleepy face, your pajamas, the fact that you were calm and not absolutely losing your shit worrying about Bucky, because that meant he was okayâ and he let out a deep breath as he hurried back to the door.
âH-hey,â he stammered. âIs Buck here? I went back downstairs, butââ He held Buckyâs tactical suit in his arms, still grimy and disgusting but folded neatly.
âYeah,â you yawned. âHeâs in bed.â You glanced over your shoulder but couldnât sense any movement inside the apartment. âIn a lot of pain,â you said pointedly. You needed to get back to himâ
Steve nodded once, but he wouldnât meet your eyes for more than a second or two. âHe, uh, left his stuff downstairs.â
You held out your arms expectantly, and Steve reluctantly passed the gear to you before carefully placing Buckyâs phone on the top of the pile. You cringed a bit at the stench, but now you had Buckyâs clothes, and Steve could goâ but he didnât move. He looked away from your eyes as soon as he could, like your gaze burned him, like he couldnât stand it. But he didnât leave.
The whites of his eyes were tinged pink, amplified by the dark, heavy bags beneath them. Worry wrinkled his forehead, and he held his hands clasped tightly in front of him to keep from wringing them.
You sighed, your deep breath diluting some of the venom you kept stored deep inside you. You couldnât believe you were saying this, butâ ââŠDo you want to come in?â
Steveâs tired eyes met yours and he nodded gratefully. You didnât wait for him; you left the door open when you turned back into the apartment, and Steve scurried after you toward the washing machine. You nodded to Buckyâs bedroom door as you passed it. âHeâs in there.â You didnât look back at him, but you heard a click and knew Steve let himself in and closed the door behind him.
Pocketing Buckyâs phone, you dropped his clothes into the washing machine. You added entirely too much detergent and turned the water to cold, to get rid of the bloodstains first before you could run it again as hot as it would go. To sanitize. Sterilize. Wash away every trace of this mission and what it meant and what it led to. You slammed the lid of the machine shut.
Steve was in Buckyâs room, and your blankets were on Buckyâs bed. Your towel was on his hook, your dirty clothes were in his hamper, and your bra was on his floor.
It wasnât exactly secretive. It wasnât exactly subtle. To be fair, you hadnât expected Steve to visit. You expected Bucky to come home, maybe take some time to shower before you cuddled up, told him how much you missed him, and then everything would go back to normal. You didnât plan to rush to his bedside in the med wing, or to have to help him bathe because he was too weak. You didnât prepare for this.
Bucky wouldnât be happy about it, but at this point, you didnât fucking care.
You hoped Steve laid down next to Bucky and rested his head on your pillow, the one that smelled like your shampoo. You hoped he smelled your body on the sheets, evidence of your nights and mornings spent together.
You hoped Steve knew.
With your knees pulled up to your chest, you sat on the couch and waited. You checked the time, but the glare from your phone in the dim room made you squint. It was well after three in the morning, and you were exhausted. You dropped your face to your kneesâ maybe you would just rest your eyes a bit.
The turn of the knob, the squeak of the hingesâ you startled awake when the bedroom door opened. You glanced up to see Steve shuffling out, and he closed the door behind him before he met your eyes.
He took a deep breath. âHeâs asleep,â he said.
Thank fuck. Steve was finally going to get out of here, and youâd go crawl under the blankets with Bucky, and everything would be okay. God, you were tired.
Steve stepped forward, but he didnât aim toward the front door. Instead he stopped in front of the couch, in front of you, and after a heavy moment of silence he spoke. âCan we talk?â
You fought to keep your lip from curling into a sneer. Steve was pushing his luck, overstaying his welcome. You could only be nice for so longâ you wanted to just tell him to get out, slam the door behind him. But there was something else, hidden behind your annoyance and angerâ a pit had opened up in your stomach, and you shivered. You didnât want him here, you wanted him goneâ
But in front of you, Steve looked small. So small.
The worry in his eye, the tremble of his lip. He didnât want to have this conversation any more than you did. But he needed to. He was asking.
You took a deep breath and nodded, scooting over to make room for him. Steve settled down as far from you as possible, pushed up against the opposite armrest, and stared down at his hands as he spoke.
âI need to tell you something,â he said. His deep voice was forcefully steady, like it would shake if he let the pressure up even the smallest amount.
Bucky was fine. You already knew that. This was about something else.
âWhat?â Your voice was sharp, as if maybe you could scare him away, make him stop talkingâ
Steve sighed and shook his head slightly, like he couldnât believe what he was about to say. âBuck and I grew up together.â
âOkay.â Did he really think you didnât know that? But you glanced sideways at him, and Steveâs face was pained and as serious as youâd ever seen it. He continued.
âThere was alwaysâŠâ Steve said, but his words caught in his throat before he could finish the thought. It took him a while to try again. âAnd then he got his orders, and I⊠fuck.â He gulped and dug his fingers into his thigh. You watched him silently, growing more perplexed with each failed sentence.
âWeâve always beenâŠâ Steve pressed back against the couch cushions, but not in a comfortable way; he was squirming, like he would rather crawl out of his own body than have this conversation.
Steve tried again. âBuck and I, weâŠâ
Oh.
âI know,â you said, quietly and quickly, to put him out of his misery. Steveâs panicked eyes snapped up to yours. âHeâ he told me everything. About you two. I know. Itâs okay.â
Steveâs skin had gone clammy, and he wavered between looking relieved and looking sick. You could see it in the hard line of his jaw, the way he couldnât meet your eyes for more than a secondâ he was an animal caught in a trap. It was a trap of his own making, but he stepped into it on purpose, because he had toâ
âYouâve never told anyone, have you?â you asked softly.
Almost imperceptibly, Steve shook his head. The pure distress on his face, the way he bounced his leg, unintentionally shaking the entire couch. Your eyes welled with tears and you blinked furiously, because you hated himâ so whyâ?
âI mean, people know.â A brassy, nervous laugh escaped him. âItâs not a secret. But itâs not somethingâŠâ He took a breath. âIâve never been good at saying it. Just one of those things, you know?â You nodded, and when Steve met your eyes a half smile teased at his lips. He huffed out a breath.
âI shouldâve known he told you.â He shook his head, but his lips were still turned up. âOf course he did.â
You frowned. âWhat does that mean?â But Steve just kept shaking his head, smiling infuriatingly.
After a moment Steve cleared his throat. âYâknow,â he said, âBuck used to bring a lot of girls home.â
You rounded on him, turning in your seat to face him with an open-mouthed snarl. Here you were, almost feeling bad for Steveâ almost feeling compassionateâ why did this asshole have to bring something like that up? Just to dig it in? To remind you that you weren't special?
But when you saw his eyes, they werenât spiteful, or malicious, or anything you expected them to be. They were soft, and vulnerable, and⊠almost happy, in that bittersweet way. Steve took a deep breath.
âHe never looked at any of them the way he looks at you.â
âŠOh. Your entire posture softened and you nodded slowly. This time neither you nor Steve looked away, and it almost felt illicit, an invasion of privacyâ because looking at Steve felt like you were reading Buckyâs diary. All of his history, his darkest secrets, the truths he kept hidden even from himselfâ they were written in the lines of Steveâs skin, the creases in his forehead.
Steve had gone pink, and it took a moment for him to recenter himself. âHe was pretty delirious in the jet on the way here,â he said. âWe didnât have that medicine Bruce has, and the pain was bad enough that he kept slippingâŠâ
He took a breath, and you leaned forward, hanging on to his every word. âHe kept asking for you. And when he realized you werenât there, he⊠he asked me to tell you something.â
Your heart dropped into your stomach, but Steve just looked at you with a wry smile.
âHe, uh, never did manage to get out what he was trying to say,â he said with a chuckle. âSam was trying to stitch him up, and Buck started swingingâ landed a punch right on his foreheadââ
Your eyes snapped up to Steveâs in horror. âWhat?!â
Steve couldnât hold your gaze, but his smile didnât falter when he looked down at his lap. âHeâs lucky Sam likes him. Anyone else wouldâve dumped him somewhere in the Andes at that point.â
âHoly shit,â you muttered. God damn it, Bucky. Youâd have to find a way to thank Sam somehow. What a freakinâ saint.
âHe was too busy fighting Sam to tell me what he wanted to say,â Steve continued, âbut it seemed really important to him. You should ask him, when you can.â
ââŠYeah,â you conceded. âOkay.â
And for a moment, you relaxed into an uncertain silence together. You both let out your breaths, and the couch seemed to pull you in; if you were tired, then Steve mustâve been exhausted. But just when the quiet had become comfortable, just when you thought Steve might actually drift off, he started fidgeting.
His leg began to bounce again, and from the corner of your eye you could see him buttoning and unbuttoning the cuff of his sleeve, forcefully enough that he nearly popped the button off altogether. You tried to meet his eyes, to give him a dirty look, get him to quit, but he wasnât looking at you. His eyes were trained straight up at the ceiling, and they⊠they were glistening. Your heart dropped again, and you sucked in a breath before it was too lateâ Steve blinked rapidly a few times, sniffed, and finally turned to meet your gaze.
âI love him.â
Maybe if you were lucky, the couch would open up and swallow you whole. You couldnât stand to look at him, but you had to; you dug your nails into your own arms as his gaze pierced through you. Steve was telling the truth; the love he felt was etched into his face, alongside and intertwined with all of Buckyâs secrets. They were one and the same.
âAnd I know itâs never been the way he needs.â Steveâs voice broke, and he took a second to wipe at his cheek before starting again. âAnd Iâve made a lot of mistakes.â He exhaled a shaky breath.
âBut heâs my home, and Iâ itâs killing me to see him like this,â Steve mumbled, more to himself than to you. âEspecially because itâs my fault. He was so goodâ he always is, you know? And I was an idiot, and he couldâve...â
Yeah. Steve was an idiot, over and over again. You didnât say anything, and the silence was too much for him to bear. He stood. âIâve gotta get to bed,â he mumbled. âTake care of him, okay?â
You watched Steveâs heart shatter with each steady step across the apartment; he left pieces of it behind on the floorboards, raw and blown open. You swallowed hard. Part of you thought Steve deserved the pain, but thisâ he couldnât leave, not like thisâ you jumped up after him.
Steveâs hand was on the doorknob when he turned back to you. âI know heâll be okay,â he muttered, âbutâ can you text me? Just let me know if heâsââ
âGo be with him,â you interrupted softly. Steve looked at you blankly, his uncomprehending eyes searching your face. âStay here tonight.â
Steveâs jaw hung open as he stared at you, and you backtracked. You looked at the floor and took a half step backwards, scratching at your neck.
âUh, you know, if something goes wrongâ if he falls, or if he canât moveâ I wonât be able to help him, soâŠâ
That wasnât all, of course. Bucky would be thrilled to have Steve stay. But you didnât need to say that.
Bucky needed Steve. And Steve, in whatever way, needed Bucky, too.
When Steve returned to Buckyâs bedroom and shut the door behind him, you collapsed back onto your place on the couch. You pulled your knees up and wrapped a blanket around yourself tightly before you flopped sideways, resting your cheek against a throw pillow.
You couldnât quite stop the tears that leaked out, staining dark splotches onto the fabric.
It was time to let go.
This had all been one big misunderstanding; one big mistake. No wonder it felt too good to be true.
You hadnât known what to expect when you signed on for this job, but the last thing you expected was thisâ this heartbreak. This feeling of knowing you werenât good enough no matter how you tried, because some histories just canât be erased. They canât be written over, no matter how much you wished you could.
You hadnât expected your surly new roommate to be so soft on the inside. You hadnât expected to poke through the cracks in his armor so quicklyâ or to be there when the armor splintered on its own accord. You didnât expect to feel this undeniable urge to pick up the pieces, even though you shouldâve known; that had always been your nature. Bucky needed help, so you helpedâ and in the process, you realized how desperately you needed him, too.
You were so grateful for your time together, for all of those seemingly inconsequential moments that mattered so much. Those days spent sharing smiles and laughter, enjoying the freedom that came along with your captivity. The naps and nights spent tangled together, sheltering each other both from invisible monsters and reality.
Together you were wrapped inside this picture perfect world, with sandless beaches and shared meals, endless movie nights and comfort. But that wasnât real life.
Real life had influences, and conflicts, and histories. You loved Bucky Barnes, more than you ever wouldâve thought possible after only four months. But Steve had loved Bucky Barnes for decades.
You might have drifted off; you didnât know. But after some time, even in your groggy state, you heard voices coming from Buckyâs room. Hushed, so quiet that you could barely hear, that you might have dreamt it altogetherâ but the doorknob turned, and Steve stepped out.
You frantically wiped the tears from your face and sat up. This was hard enough for all of you; you didnât need to complicate things further by being sad. You didnât need their pity.
Steve saw your tears anyway, of course he didâ those damn super soldiers. âHey,â he said gently. So gentle, like he knew you were about to break, had begun crumbling already. Handle with care.
That wavering uncertainty had returned to Steveâs face. âHeâs, uh⊠heâs asking for you.â
You resented the way your heart fluttered as you climbed to your feet and briskly rubbed your hands across your face. Even though the tears had dried, Bucky would knowâ your red eyes, your flushed cheeks, the way you couldnât stop your lip from trembling. You didnât want him to see you like this; you had never felt so exhausted.
But you walked into the bedroomâ his bedroom, your bedroomâ and shut the door behind you. You stepped up to the nightstand. To Bucky. He was still where you left him, propped up on a pile of pillows, but his face was tighter now. Stuck in a grimace.
âHi, Buck.â Fewer words, fewer chances for your voice to falter. You kept one arm crossed in front of you, but Bucky reached for you, and you let him grab your hand. Despite how he winced at the movement, he didnât let go.
âYou okay?â you asked, because even still, even now, you caredâ
âAs okay as I can be.â
You gave him a plastic smile. âIâm gonna go to bed, then, okay?â Never mind that your bed didnât even have sheets on it, or pillowsâ
Bucky looked utterly bewildered, and his eyes traveled to the spot on his bed that you had claimed earlier.
âSteveâs here,â you said quietly. âHe can help you.
Bucky glanced between you and the door, and you could see the thoughts connecting in his brain. âStay,â he whispered, pleading.
You couldnât say what you wanted to, because Steve was right there, he could hear everythingâ you raised your eyebrows, for emphasis, and held Buckyâs gaze.
âHeâll be here all night,â you said. âYou donât have to worryâ and Iâll be right next door.â
âNo. Please stay.â His eyes grew wider, panicked, and you couldnât bear to look at himâ
âSteve?â you called, and the door opened. You tried to back away, but Bucky wouldnât let go of your hand.
âBaby, donâtââ
Steve rounded the corner, but paused when he glanced at your hands. âOhâ itâs okay,â he said hurriedly, and he took a step back. âI can come back in the morningââ
âNo,â you said. âI was just going to bedââ
âItâs fine, reallyââ
âCome lay down, hereââ
After a few more moments of bickering, Bucky let out a frustrated groan. âWould you two justâ just shut up?â
You and Steve both looked at Bucky, finally stunned into silence. âJust shut the fuck up, both of you, okay? Jesus.â
Steve opened his mouth to apologize, but Bucky kept talking. âIâm injured, right?â he said. You both nodded tentatively. âCertifiably almost on my deathbed.â Steve continued to nod, though you huffed and rolled your eyes.
Bucky glanced down, and his next words came quietly through clenched teeth. âSo can you both please just get over here?â
You and Steve shared a wary look. Steve looked away first, but not before you saw how his ears had tinged pinkâ
âIâm telling you,â Bucky continued, a little more confident now. âIâll feel a whole lot better if my two favorite people would just⊠just get over themselves already, and come get in bed with me.â
âJesus, Buckââ Steve started as he turned away, his hands on his hips, but you were louder.
âOh, youâre really gonna milk this, arenât you?â you said, but your condescending tone didnât match the way you were fighting to keep your smile off your face. Steve coughed to hide his snort.
âFor as long as I can.â That stupid, lovely, lopsided grinâ âFigure Iâve only got a couple days to make the most of it before Iâm all healed up.â
Steve caught your eye, and his face mirrored your own amused look. You pushed the corners of your mouth down, because you did not want to give Bucky that satisfaction, butâ what the hell.
You were the first to move. You crawled up between Bucky and the wall, and then Steve lowered himself down tenderly on Buckyâs other side. You were all perfectly still for a long while, flat on your backs, staring up at the same crack in the ceiling. Not daring to move, not even daring to cuddleâ because of Buckyâs injuries, of course. But after some time, your breaths leveled out, and the three of you drifted into a quiet slumber. And for now, that was enough.
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