Excessive Daydreamer

you nodded, biting your lip as you shrugged. you couldn’t help it, why did his bicep have to look that good in a simple undershirt that he usually always wore for work anyways? you couldn’t help but stare, not really caring if you figured it out or not. you just wanted those strong arms around your body while you rode him, took him anyway he let you.

he only laughed, clearly not taking you seriously. thats what annoyed you the most, flaring your inner brat for just a moment before you bit your lip, rolled your eyes and looked away.

he caught on.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he strides across the room in a few easy steps, smirk on his lips as he comes up behind you in the living room, his boots discarded by the floor along with his suit jacket and tie. you could smell his cologne the second he came into your close space, the scent overriding tour brattiness for just a second before you felt his hands on your hips, pulling you close.

you huffed, crossing your arms and tried not to give in, but fuck — the way his strong arms were wrapped around your hips like his, pulling your waist flush into his, feeling him near your lower back, grazing the top of your ass.

you felt your cunt pulse. please, it seemed to beg you.

“c’mon, you cant be mad,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, before nipping it slightly and tugging it. “where would be the fun in that? let me make it up to you…” he suggests, and you shiver softly as he slowly grinds into you from behind, enticing you further and further in the softness and warmth of his broad frame taking out your space.

his cologne really contributed to the dizzy feeling he left you feeling almost all the time.

“dont you want to feel me here, sweetheart?” his hands find the bottom of your abdomen, pressing firmly as you let out a little sigh, giving him an answer without even realizing it.

there you were, hips on either side of his as your hands steadied yourself with the expanse of his broad shoulders. your fingers grazed over the soft scarring where metal met flesh. he groans softly, the skin always sensitive, no matter how much time has truly passed. he adored the way you were with his arm and his shoulder — you never lingered on it long enough to make him self conscious but he even knew that was far fetched. he never felt that way around you.

he felt his most confident self, with our without the arm.

you had felt the same way, thankfully but much to bucky’s surprise. he couldn’t imagine someone like you loving someone like him. but you did, you proved it to him every single day. there was hardly any room for him to doubt you.

especially when you were laid atop him like this, reaching between your legs a grabbing his hard cock. he kept his hands loosely on your hips, still sometimes nervous to touch you with his metal hand. but you encouraged him, as soon as you slipped the tip of his cock inside of you, you took both your hands and pressed them more firmer over his on your hips — signaling him that it was okay.

and he understood instantly. the moan that left your lips as you lowered yourself slowly on his cock, the shudder that ran through your body that he could feel because it happened to him as soon as it happened to you. you felt amazing, better than he could ever have imagined. no matter how many times he was blessed to make love to you, to pour himself into you, it always felt like the first.

“you feel so good, baby, fuck…” he couldn’t keep his eyes off yours as you lowered yourself more and more onto him, hoping that you could feel the love pour through his gaze, and you could. he didnt look at anyone else like he was you right now, he doesn’t think he had ever looked at anyone like this before.

you lean forward, pressing your forehead against his as you take all of him, moans slipping from the both of your lips, swallowed by each other. your lips find home against each other as his hands move your hips making his cock nudge deeper inside of you.

you couldn’t find any words right now but that was okay, bucky never minded doing most of the talking. he loved just seeing you enjoy yourself and fuck — the noises he was able to drag out of you in many, many ways was enough for him.

he’d do anything for you.

you rock into each other for a while, his hands roaming up your hips and against your sides before traveling back down your thighs wrapped around his, then to your ass, squeezing possessively. you let out a moan, hiding your face into his neck as he starts to move you on top of him. his cock slides easily in and out of your cunt, slick dripping down his shaft and making a mess under his lap and to his balls. he loved when he could get you this wet, opening up for him easily.

“that feel good, baby?” you nod your head in the crook of his neck, your lips parting against his skin as you nip on it, moaning softly. he could tell your body was slipping deeper for him, letting him take control — take care of you.

he continued his pace, feeling your cunt squeeze and writhe around his throbbing cock, the only sound in the room was the pants and moans exchanged in each others ears, the slight slaps of his hands on your ass cheeks. you gave some effort in moving your hips to the rhythm of his own with he guidance of his hands and fuck. it made you both feel closer to each other.

“buck…” you whined against his neck, nuzzling your nose deeper into his skin as if you could crawl in there and live in the space.

he kept going, and you could feel his cock throb deep inside you, before you sat up, stretching your back slightly enough so your chest stuck out, driving his cock deeper into your abdomen, he couldn’t help but press his hands against the small bump, both of you groaning.

“gonna cum this fuckin’ deep in you.” he groaned like it was a promise, and with the hungry look in his gaze as he watched you lean back enough to give him enough leverage to fuck up inside you, it only encouraged him.

“jus’ like that, sweetheart. stay right there, takin’ my cock so fuckin’ good.” he groans as he feels his balls tighten, leaning his head back with a moan as he screws his eyes shut and you squeeze his cock tighter, not letting him go because you knew exactly what you both wanted

“please,” you pleaded him, his body shivering with pleasure as you begged. it was simply a trigger for him as the second time you groaned another please, he let go with a moan, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you in place.

you moan with him, watching him as he grunts, starting a slower pace to keep him from being overstimulated. he didnt want to stop now. he leans his head forward to meet your eye before hes pulling out and he can feel his mess on his stomach just as soon as his tip pops out.

he quickly replaces it with his right hand fingers, a moan slipping from your mouth as you situated yourself more comfortably on his lap and he watches you take what you need, what you’ve needed the second he walked through the door.

you could feel yourself slipping away to the touch of him, curse words slipping out between moans as you felt your body teeter closer to the edge.

exactly what he wanted.

“there you go, sweetheart. oh fuck…dripping down my fuckin’ wrist…” he gruffs out, his thick fingers sinking in and out of you cunt that was dripping his cum. he loved fucking his mess back into you, watching as you drip down his arm and over his lap.

his eyes hungrily lap up the scene, eyes traveling up your body and watching your chest move with each move of your hips, lightly bouncing on his fingers. he did the rest of the work.

you grabbed his wrist, usually an indicator that you were close. he groaned softly, eyes finally making their way to your face, your eyes already closed and brows scrunched. he licked his lips, siting up more to kiss the column of your throat lightly, nipping at the thin skin with his teeth.

“fuck, bucky… im so close i —“ you let out a choked moan as his fingers curled inside of you, his thumb pressing against your swollen clit and moving in precise and steady circles, not breaking rhythm. he kept his metal arm wrapped around your back to cradle you, making sure you didnt have to do any lifting of your own body. he just wanted to feel you like this

“yeah, baby? you gonna make a mess on my fingers? add to mine?” he asks gruffly against your skin, muffled. he tastes your sweat on his lips as he licks them with each thrust of his fingers, his cock throbbing back to his half hard self as he felt you tighten around his digits, your fingernails digging bluntly into his skin keeping him there. he loved knowing what you loved, reading your body and how you reacted to his touch

he wanted to study your body forever. keep it locked in his memory, only him.

“yes, please i… fuck…” words were lost from you as you felt your hips stutter, your mind going blank as you felt your orgasm ripple through your body, squirting all over his hand and down his wrist, soaking the glass front of his watch. his eyes watched the mess unfold, his cock rightfully hard and pressing against your inner thigh, pre cum smearing on your skin.

“atta girl, just what i wanted… what you needed,” he groans, watching you ride your high as he slows his fingers, removing them and holding them up to the dim lighting, seeing the shine on his fingers, wrists, the small droplets of your squirt on his watch. he looks up at you, his metal fingers splayed out across the expanse of your back, holding you close as you semi lowered yourself back into his lap, his hard cock in between the two of you and snug up against the mound of your bush.

June 2016 - Bucharest, Romania

Sleep had become a rare commodity the past couple weeks. 

The group of guy backpackers staying below you refused to turn their music down after eleven—if anything, they turned it up louder to spite you—and you could hear them fucking the poor girls who made the mistake of going home with them after the pub. Every night. Fortunately for you, the guys had awful stamina and they were finished within five minutes. This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, if you hadn’t ‘lost’ your headphones three days after you moved in to the short-term stay apartment—you were ninety-nine percent certain one of them had broken in to your room and stolen them, but you had no proof.

Sleep would welcome you for a few hours before the screaming across the hall started. The first time the deep, throaty screams made their way through your paper thin walls, you startled awake so violently you jumped out of bed and twisted your ankle. You limped out of your apartment—if you could call it that—with a Romanian dictionary held high as your weapon, your socked feet quiet on the concrete floor. It wasn’t hard to find the source of the screaming—the aftermath of a nightmare, heavy breathing and sobbing, was crystal clear through the door opposite yours. 

It was on day four of being woken up by your neighbours nightmares when you finally saw him. You were running late for your first class of the day, arms full of marked papers and keys hanging from your mouth as you opened your door, when you caught movement in your periphery. He was climbing up the stairs silently, his head titled towards the ground with a cap on top of his long dark hair, obstructing the view of his face. The first thing you noticed was the size of him—he was tall and broad, big muscles still noticeable under layers of clothes. The second thing you noticed was his gloved hands—an odd sight in the Bucharest warmth—one of them holding a bag of plums. 

Plum guy. You had seen him while out on your daily morning walks, buying plums at one of the fruit vendors down the street. You had no idea that the gentle giant you watched make quiet conversation with the vendor was the man whose sobbing and whimpering had your heart clenching at three every morning. 

The keys in your mouth dropped on top of the paper stack, the small jingle and thud making the man tense, his eyes darting to you—standing in your doorway staring at him. You quickly looked away, grabbing your keys and locking your door. 

He was opening his own door when you crossed the short distance to the stairs—and to him, given that his door was right next to the stairs. He turned his head slightly, a gloved hand clenched tight on the doorknob.

You smiled softly as you walked closer to him. “Bună dimineaţa,” you said quietly. He tracked your movements closely, offering you a brief nod before he disappeared inside his apartment. Not a talker, then. 

Later that night—or technically early the next morning—you were bent over the small kitchen table, struggling to read your student’s handwriting. You had just over a week left teaching English to Romanian middle-graders, and then you would be on a flight back home to the States. 

You were trying to rub the red ink off your hand when the first gasp echoed from across the small hallway. You looked towards the apartment door on instinct, halting your movements and waiting for another noise. It came a few seconds later—a loud gasp that sounded like someone was struggling to breathe. Then a pained shout, in what you were almost certain was Russian. The shouting turned into whimpered pleas within minutes. You felt tears well behind your eyes listening to the man across from you have another nightmare. Your heart bleed for a man you didn’t know, didn’t even know his name. You only knew he spoke gently to fruit vendors and bought fresh plums everyday.

Call it sleep deprivation, homesickness, or basic empathy, but you felt deeply enough to come up with a plan—to offer the hurting man some kindness. You finished marking papers as quietly as you could before you fell into bed, barely audible sniffling sending you to sleep with a heavy heart. 

In the morning you thought strategically about how you would approach him. Knocking on his door empty handed made no sense, and following him around the fruit market seemed an even worse idea. But, like him, you wanted to buy plums. And, it made sense to buy them on your usual morning walk.

You left earlier than you normally would, wanting to be at the market before him so it didn’t look like you were stalking him. You were making idle chit-chat with the vendor, asking what traits constituted a ‘good’ plum—half of you was interested, the other half was stalling in the hopes that plum guy would show. 

Conscious that you were in the way of paying customers, you turned to leave and found your neighbour standing two metres away, watching you apprehensively. How long had he been there?

“Bună!” You greeted him with a kind smile, a little louder now that you were outside. His eyes narrowed slightly, giving you a once over as he studied your body language. Despite how hard you worked on your Romanian pronunciation, your American accent came through strong and you knew he noticed it. 

Another brief nod was your reply. You tried to not let your disappointment show but his eyes darted to your shoulders, watching them deflate.

“Morning.” Oh. You were not expecting that. 

You were expecting the American accent even less. 

He spoke quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. He stepped to the left, turning his body slightly to let you pass. It was progress at least—you would take the simple greeting as a win. 

You saw him again later that day. You were stomping up the stairs cursing to yourself, more papers to grade overflowing your arms and a takeout bag dangerously close to slipping from your fingers. You tripped on the last step, the takeout dropping on the floor and spilling right in front of your neighbours door—half of the papers in your arms following shortly after. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You exclaimed louder than you intended, pissed that your dinner was now all over the floor—some of your students work now stained with pho. 

You bent down slowly, gently lowering the rest of the papers on the clean ground next to your ruined dinner. You didn’t notice the door in front of you opening—the sight of boots next to your mess making you flinch. You jerked your head up to find your neighbour watching you carefully, the side of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. You flushed red, embarrassed by the mess you’d made and flustered from seeing him without his baseball cap. He was handsome. 

“Shit, I—sorry, I’m in the way. I’ll just, uh…” You stumbled over your words, feeling suddenly intimidated by him. 

He squatted down to where you were crouched awkwardly, your arms still holding the pile of papers. He looked down at the mess of pho and essays, his eyes assessing the damage.

He picked up a soggy paper, a stray noodle sliding down the page. He read the page slowly, noticing the name and age in barely legible scribbles. He let out a quiet huff, his blue eyes flicking to your shocked ones. “Might have to give out a few automatic passes.”

He spoke first. He’s looking at you with amusement swirling in his gorgeous blue eyes, and he spoke to you first—even more, he made a joke.

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning closer to see what students name was written at the top. “He struggles more than anyone else in the class, giving him a pass may cause suspicion…” You trailed off with a small, teasing smile. 

He placed the ruined essay back on the mess, his movements gentle.

He stood to his full height, nodding towards the stack in your hands. “You should put those inside. I’ll clean this up.” He moved back towards his door to let you pass.

You stood back up and hesitated, biting your lip as you looked down at the mess. “No, this is my fault. I’ll sort it out.” 

“You should put those down first. Don’t wanna ruin more of your student’s work.” A muscle in his cheek twitched, like he was holding back a smile. 

“Right, yeah, that’s smart.” You stepped over the mess and walked the few steps to your door, fumbling with the keys in your bag. You glanced over your shoulder as you opened the door, seeing plum guy crouched down and picking up papers gently. You shook your head fondly at the sight—of course he would clean it up anyway.

You entered the small apartment, making your way over to the dingy kitchen table and dropping the stack of papers and your bag onto it. You closed your eyes and took a couple breaths, shaking off the nervousness seeing your neighbours face properly had caused.

He’s just a guy. A handsome, tormented, gentle guy—whose name you still don’t know. 

In the time it took to give yourself a pep talk, plum guy had finished collecting the papers and was standing in your doorframe. He cleared his throat softly causing you to turn around quickly. His eyes roamed around your small apartment while yours focused on him—he made the doorframe look small, his shoulders just as wide and his head close to touching the top. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you walked towards him.

His eyes met yours, soft and hesitant. “I know.”

He looked down at the papers in his hands, extending them towards you. You offered him a grateful smile as you grabbed them. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

He stuffed his hands in his front pockets, shrugging his shoulders at your gratitude. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his eyes scanning you and the apartment—looking for any hidden threats. 

He took a step back, nodding his head once in goodbye.

You blurted your name out quickly, not wanting to miss the first chance you’ve had to properly connect with the man. 

He tilted his head towards the ground, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. His eyes darted side to side, like he was thinking. Hard.

Finally, he lifted his head but kept his eyes downcast. “…Bucky.”

Your eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, surprised by the unusual name. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” His eyes met yours again, more sure this time. 

“Likewise,” he muttered before leaving your apartment, closing the door softly behind him. 

You felt a small smile take over your face as you stood still, watching the space he just occupied. Progress.

Half an hour later you were bent over the drying essays, determined to make sense of the smudged scribbles when two sharp knocks sounded against your door.

You furrowed your brows, not sure why anyone would be knocking on your door—the only person who knew you lived here was your neighbour, Bucky. You shot up from your chair quickly—it must be him. 

You opened your door a second too late, just catching his door across the small hall closing behind him. You looked down to the floor, surprise knocking you breathless for a moment. There on the concrete at your feet was a bowl of soup, steam rising from it. You picked it up slowly, your heart doing flips in your chest. Bucky had made you soup. He had cleaned up your mess outside his door, and had made you soup to replace your ruined dinner.

That night you found yourself silently crying along with him, the sounds of his nightmare causing you physical pain. What had happened to him?

It was Saturday afternoon and you were pacing the length of your apartment, trying to hype yourself up. Bucky’s clean bowl was resting in your palms, feeling like a loaded gun. You had a plan—to return the bowl and try make conversation, maybe even get him to laugh. That would be nice, right? For him to laugh, for you to hear something from him that wasn’t sounds of agony in the middle of the night. 

You raised your hand hesitantly to his door, giving it two soft knocks. You waited patiently, straining to hear any movement behind the door. A minute passed and nothing. You tried again, knocking with more confidence this time. Thirty seconds passed and you were shifting on your feet, starting to feel disheartened.

“Bucky,” you called softly. “I—sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to return your bowl—from the other night?” It came out as a question, your confidence fading and you started to feel silly. Obviously the guy wanted to be left alone.

You turned to leave when the door in front of you opened, Bucky’s large frame obstructing your view of his apartment. He was without his baseball cap again and his hair was damp, like he had just stepped out of the shower. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans like usual, gloves covering his hands. His eyebrows were raised slightly at you standing in front of him, nervously biting your lip with his cheap bowl in your hands. 

You extended the bowl towards him. “Thank you, for the soup the other night. I…wasn’t expecting it. Beats the granola bar that’s been sitting in my bag for weeks.” You chuckled awkwardly.

He grabbed the bowl with a quiet nod.

“And, thank you again for cleaning up the mess I made. You really didn’t need to.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it.” His voice was deep, still rough from lack of use. You found it comforting—you wanted to hear more.

You took a breath to steel your nerves, plastering on what you hoped was a disarming smile.

“I was planning on baking a plum pie this afternoon.” You started, watching as a confused expression took over his face. “My mom’s recipe—I used to bake with her, and I’ve been feeling homesick lately so…” You trailed off, hoping the lie wasn’t obvious. 

Your mom didn’t bake plum pies, and the last time you baked with her was when you were nine—you ended up in tears with little burns on your hands. 

“Would you…would you like some? Or want to join me?” 

His surprise at your invitation was evident, though it was quickly replaced with suspicion. 

“…Why?” 

“You like plums, right? I saw you down at the market.” He was still looking at you skeptically, his big arms now crossed over his chest. Your voice wavered slightly, “think of it as a thank you gift, for your help the other day.”

He sighed at you thanking him again.

“…Fine. I’ll come over in a couple hours.” 

Bucky looked abnormally large sitting at your small kitchen table. His shoulders were tense, his gloved hands clutched together tightly in his lap, his eyes darting around the small space absorbing every detail he could. His brows furrowed at your suitcase on the other side of the room, your clothes spilling out next to the bed.

You followed his line of sight, an embarrassed chuckle escaping you. “Sorry for the mess, this is just a temporary situation. I wasn’t expecting to be living out of my suitcase, still.”

His eyes flicked back to yours in interest. “Temporary?”

You turned back to the dirty dishes, needing something to do with your hands when he’s looking at you like that. Like he wants to know more about you.

“Yeah, I was meant to fly back home a couple weeks ago, but the school I’m teaching at asked me to stay until school finished for the year—they offered to pay for the flight transfer.” You shrugged lightly.

He shifted slightly, the small chair squeaking and straining beneath his weight. “Home?”

You noticed he didn’t talk much and when he did it was in small sentences. Though he was asking you questions now, and you took that as more progress. 

“The States—Philadelphia, to be exact.” You took a breath before asking him, “where’s home for you?”

He was silent for a minute before quietly muttering, “Brooklyn.” 

You turned to him, flashing him a bright smile you couldn’t tame. “Oh cool, my parents are planning on moving there in a couple months! Any non-touristy places they should check out?”

He hesitated again. “It’s—uh, it’s been a while since I was last…home.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead staring intently at his clenched hands. You took the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

You bent down to check on the pie in the oven, sighing in relief that it didn’t look like an absolute disaster. 

Turning back to Bucky you tried to think of anything else to talk about, wanting to know more about the quiet man. 

“The pie should be ready in a few minutes. Do you want to…watch something, maybe? While we eat.”

His response was a small nod.

You walked over to grab your laptop off your bed. You sat down on the chair across from Bucky, noticing how he leaned away from you and put his hands in his lap.

“Anything in particular you want to watch?” You briefly glanced at him as you scrolled through the streaming apps.

“Dealers choice,” he hummed quietly. 

You picked A New Hope, deeming it an acceptable movie to watch while eating pie with your neighbour.

Bucky waited until you took your first bite of pie before he inhaled his slice in less than a minute. You let out a small laugh at the sight of him—hunched over in the small chair, shovelling the pie in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for days. 

He looked up at you sheepishly when he heard you laugh. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, mouth full of plum and pastry.

“No, don’t apologise—I take it as a compliment,” you smiled at him, licking your fork clean. His eyes tracked the movement carefully, causing your smile to turn to a small smirk. He looked back down to his empty plate quickly, his shoulders tense after being caught staring.

You stood up and grabbed his plate, cutting a much larger slice of pie for him. He offered you a bashful smile as you put the plate in front of him. 

“Thanks…it’s, uh, pretty good.”

Your body rushed with warmth at his compliment, your cheeks flushing and a small smile now permanent on your face. 

“I’m glad.” 

He ate the second piece at a normal pace, only half interested in watching the movie playing from your laptop on the table. You caught his eyes watching you every few minutes but it didn’t put you on edge. From the few times you’ve interacted with him you gathered he’s a cautious, suspicious guy—the occasional staring didn’t bother you.

Suddenly, the floor started to shake below you—the telltale sign that the backpackers had started partying early. Their music was more bass than anything, making everything in your apartment vibrate slightly. You rolled your eyes and sighed in annoyance—you knew it was going to be a long night.

Bucky stood up and grabbed your empty plates, walking over to the sink to wash them. You opened your mouth to stop him, to tell him you’ll sort it out. He shut you up with a sharp look and shake of his head.

“That happen often? The…music?” He asked, his head tilting towards the floor.

You let out a small scoff. “Yeah, basically every night. This isn’t even the worst of it.”

He grunted in response, displeased. 

“You don’t hear it from your apartment?”

“I do, it’s just not this bad. Becomes background noise after a bit.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s fucking awful music.”

You laughed at that. “Right?! I’m pretty sure they’re aspiring DJ’s…all I know is that I hate them.” He let out a deep laugh that sent a thrill through your body. God help you, you wanted to hear it again. 

“What music do you like?” You tried to ask casually.

He paused, deliberating his answer. “I like…older music, jazz. Not a fan of the modern stuff.”

That didn’t surprise you at all.

You hummed in response. “Yeah, I get that. My grandma made sure I listened to all the classics—I have a soft spot for Sinatra, among others.”

“Huh,” was all he offered. He started walking towards the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“This was…nice. I—um, I enjoyed your company. Pie was good, too.” 

You giggled at his nervousness—there was something so charming about this big guy being awkward. 

“Yeah, me too. We should do it again, before I go home.”

He hesitated opening the door. “When’s your flight?”

“Friday morning.”

“Monday after work. I’ll bring the plums.”

Later that night, you made the unsafe decision to take an after midnight stroll around Bucharest, choosing to potentially put your life in danger than listen to the gut wrenching sounds of Bucky’s nightmare. It was a bad one—you tried burrowing your head in all the pillows and blankets you had, but you could still hear the harrowing screams and cries. Potentially being mugged seemed a lot more appealing in that moment. 

Bucky knocked on your door an hour after you got home on Monday, with plums in his hand and a request that you teach him the plum pie recipe. 

“Oh Bucky, it’s really not that special. Any recipe you find on the internet will be just as good!” And you knew that was true, because your recipe was the first result when you googled ‘plum pie recipe’. 

“I want to know your one. Promise I won’t get in the way.” His eyes were almost pleading, and you hated the way your heart clenched at his kicked puppy expression. You could see the exhaustion lining his eyes, how his torturous, sleepless nights were taking a toll on him. Your eyes burned with tears just looking at him. 

That’s how you ended up hiding in your bathroom, staring unblinking at your phone screen trying to commit the plum pie recipe to memory. 

He didn’t get in the way, just like he promised. But you could feel him hovering over your shoulder, his eyes solely focused on your hands as you made the pie. His rapt attention made you stumble a few times, completely forgetting steps and measurements. 

He still didn’t talk much, only offering small grunts and hums when you explained techniques and made the occasional awkward—trying to be funny—comment. 

You sat closer to him at the table this time, cheering internally when he didn’t lean away or move his chair further from you. 

You let out a breathy chuckle as a thought crossed your mind.

“What?” Bucky asked curiously.

“Nothing, just had a thought.” You shook your head with a small smile, pushing around a large chunk of plum with your fork. 

“Do you not get those often?”

You gasped in shocked delight, not expecting him to make a lighthearted dig at you. You looked up from your plate at him, seeing his blue eyes twinkling and an almost smirk tugging his mouth. 

“Wow,” you dragged out. “And to think, I was just starting to like you…” You teased him back.

He huffed out a small laugh.

“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. What were you thinking about?” He shovelled more pie in his mouth, waiting for your response. 

“You remind me of a cat.”

“What?” He laughed out, his mouth full of pie.

“You’re like a cat. Aloof, wary of people, ready to run out the nearest exit.” You spoke softly, not wanting him to perceive your words as an attack. “But, with a bit of patience and treats,” you nodded towards the pie, “you start to become curious…even trust a little, maybe. It’s not a perfect analogy—it was just a thought.”

He looked at you with a strange expression on his face—something achingly tender, with a mix of disbelief and sorrow. He didn’t answer for a minute, just watched you like he still couldn’t figure you out. 

“What kind of cat would I be?”

“A black cat, for sure.”

You saw him two more times before Thursday afternoon. The first time he joined you on your morning walk around the neighbourhood, the both of you silent—basking in each other’s company and enjoying the quiet summer morning. The second time was late on Tuesday night, when you finally had enough of the backpackers bullshit and were banging on their door demanding they shut the fuck up. Bucky was there within a minute of you shouting, gently pulling you away from the door where two sleazy backpackers were leering at you.

“It’s not worth it,” he said your name softly. 

“Fucking assholes,” you seethed. “I know they stole my headphones, Bucky!” 

You were no match for his strength as he carried you up the stairs, your legs thrashing uselessly. “They were expensive,” you whined like a pouting toddler.

Saying goodbye to your students on Thursday was by no means easy. Even though you only taught there for a few months as part of your gap year, the kids had dug their way into your heart and left you in tears when they hugged you goodbye. 

You recovered by the time Bucky knocked on your door in the late afternoon, plums in one hand and a small bunch of wildflowers in the other. You were frozen, staring at him with what you were sure was a lovestruck expression on your face. 

He held the flowers out for you to grab, your hand brushing his gloved one in the process. He quickly pulled his hand back at your touch, running it through his hair as he looked everywhere but you.

“For your last day,” he said, like that explained everything. “Sorry, they’re nothing, uh, special—they were the only ones the florist had left…” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder.

You snapped out of your smitten daze, a soft giggle leaving you at his nervousness. He looked at you then, his shoulders relaxing.

“They’re perfect.” 

You opened the door wider for him to come in, walking to the kitchen to put the flowers in a glass of water while he closed the door behind him. 

You turned your head sideways, shooting him a teasing look. “You know…they’re going to die in a couple days. I won’t be here to look after them.”

You watched in fascination as a flush climbed up his neck, painting his cheeks red. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a nervous huff. “I didn’t think about that.”

“You can always break in after I’ve left, grab them for yourself before the pricks downstairs steal them.” 

“We don’t want that happening,” he chuckled, putting the plums on the counter next to you. “I’m starting to see why you hate them so much.”

“You’re only seeing it now? They’ve been my number one enemies since I moved in.” You grumbled bitterly. 

You rolled your shoulders back with a sigh—you didn’t want your bitterness clouding your last night with Bucky. 

“Okay, let’s change the subject,” you clapped your hands together, turning to face Bucky fully. “I’m thinking one last plum pie, and maybe we can finish that movie we were watching the other night?”

“Whatever you want.”

An hour later you were both sat at the small table, the half-eaten pie between you and Bucky barely paying attention to the movie, again. His eyes were fixated on your packed suitcase and duffel bag next to the bed. He looked…sad, mournful even. There was a small crease between his furrowed brows, the sides of his mouth downturned, and he hadn’t eaten much in the last few minutes.

“Hey,” you started, voice low and soft. “You okay?”

He whipped his head back to you, his glassy eyes meeting yours for a second. “Yeah,” his voice broke faintly. He cleared his throat, looking down at the pie.

“I’m…gonna miss you.” 

You sucked in a breath, the emotion in his voice making your throat feel tight. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you looked at the man in front of you. You wished you could take away all his pain, all his sadness.

You gently laid a hand on his arm, your eyes darting between his for any signs of unease—the only other time the two of you had touched was when he dragged you away from the backpackers door. His arm was solid and cold through his long-sleeve, almost unnaturally hard. His shocked eyes looked into yours as your thumb rubbed his sleeve faintly.

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

You removed your hand and looked back at the movie, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

Tension hung thick in the air, causing you to clear your throat and try relieve some of the tightness in your chest.

“You kinda look like him,” you said to Bucky, nodding towards your laptop—a close up shot of Luke Skywalker on the screen. 

“Yeah, I can see it,” you continued, turning your face to see him already looking at you. “If you cut your hair short, shave the beard…” You trailed off, your eyes catching on a bit of plum on his chin.

You raised a hand without thinking, your attention transfixed on the piece of fruit and his pink lips an inch above. His stubble faintly pricked your thumb, your touch featherlight as you swiped the bit of plum away. A small gasp caught in his throat, his chin leaning towards your touch unconsciously. 

Your eyes couldn’t leave his lips, a faint purple tint to them from the pie. 

“You really like plums.”

“They’re meant to help with memory,” he murmured, distracted.

That caught your attention, your eyes darting up to his in question. He let out a deep exhale, the air brushing against your hand. 

“I had an accident…a few years back. Can’t remember much from before, it’s—uh, it’s coming back in bits and pieces.” Your heart clenched painfully, the sorrow for his lost life bleeding through his eyes. 

“Is that—,” you swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Is that what your nightmares are? Memories coming back?” You asked gently, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his chin. 

His eyes widened in panic. “You—you know about the nightmares?”

You moved your hand from his chin, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you pushed a loose strand behind his ear. His body involuntarily shivered from your gentle touch.

“Yeah…I’ve known since my first night here,” you whispered. “The walls are pretty thin.”

His eyes dropped to his lap in shame. “God, I am so sorry,” he rasped out your name, his deep voice thick with emotion. 

You cupped his face with both your hands, tilting his head up until his eyes met yours. “Never apologise for your pain, Bucky.” The anguish and self-hatred you saw in his eyes made yours tear up. “Can I—would it be okay if I hugged you?”

He stared at you for a long moment, then finally gave you a nod.

You stood up slowly with Bucky following your lead. You looked into his eyes once more, checking he was still comfortable with this, before stepping forward and winding your arms around his waist, your palms resting lightly on his back. He sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, his muscles going stiff under your hands. You gently rested your cheek against his chest, his heart beating fast beneath your ear. He didn’t reciprocate the hug for a moment, his arms hovering at his side like he didn’t know what to do.

“Breathe,” you whispered into his shirt. He took a few shuddering breaths in and out then raised his right arm slowly, hesitantly draping it over your shoulder. You felt some of the tension leave his body as he sunk into your embrace. His gloved hand instinctively traveled from your shoulder to the middle of your back, pulling you closer into his warmth—surprising you both.

“Sorry,” his voice was quiet, a slight tremble lacing through. “It’s…been a long time, since I last…hugged someone.” His voice cracked at the end and your heart broke into a million pieces. 

You hugged him tighter, your hands clutching the back of his shirt—tethering him to you. A small sound slipped out of you, something between a gasp and a pained whimper. The lump in your throat grew bigger, spreading down your chest and sitting heavy on your heart. 

He rested his chin on the top of your head, so gently you barely noticed it at first. He let out a staggering breath and then rested the weight of his head on yours fully, purposely. He moved slightly, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhaled deeply. His arm around you tightened, pulling you tight against his strong body.

“…I can’t believe you’re real.” 

You croaked out a watery laugh against his chest. Fuck, he had no clue what he was doing to you—that you were going to be leaving half of your heart behind when you got on that flight in the morning. 

You pulled away from him an inch, moving your hands from his back to cup his face gently. You looked into his glistening blue eyes before looking down at his lips, watching as his tongue peaked out to wet them.

“Can I kiss you?”

He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips on yours hesitantly. He sucked in a sharp breath before pressing his lips to yours firmly. You let him set the pace, letting him know he was the one in control here. His hand moved from your back to your waist, pulling you up into his chest as he deepened the kiss. A whimper caught in your throat when his tongue swept along your bottom lip, your mouth opening for him immediately. His chest rumbled with a low moan, his kisses growing more desperate. Your hand slipped from it’s place cupping his jaw, trailing along his skin before tangling in the long hair at the nape of his neck. He let out a whimper at the feeling, breaking the kiss and taking in deep breaths. 

“You okay?” You asked softly.

His breathy chuckle brushed against your lips. “Yeah, more than okay.”

He kissed you again, more sure this time. Both your hands tangled in his hair, gently tugging his scalp as you kissed him with just as much desperation. His stubble scratched against your skin as he moved his lips, kissing along your jaw and making you gasp. The noise encouraged him, his kisses gaining more confidence, making their way down your neck. You titled your head back, granting him more access. He kissed and licked all over your neck, gently biting down on a spot under your ear making you release a moan. He focused on the spot, sucking and biting as you let out more moans and gasps. His hand on your waist gripped tighter, his fingers digging slightly as he pulled you flush to his body. That’s when you felt it—hard and unmistakable, pressing against your lower stomach. 

You broke away from the kiss, watching his eyes flutter open to look into yours. You moved a hand from his hair, brushing your thumb against his jaw. 

“Let me help you feel good.”

He swallowed audibly, his eyes leaving yours to glance at his left arm hanging stiffly at his side. You watched an internal struggle play out on his face, his darting eyes exposing his overthinking mind. 

“We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with,” you said softly.

He let out a small, disbelieving chuckle before kissing you again—his mouth both achingly tender and bruisingly desperate against your own. 

“Did you fall from heaven?” He whispered against your lips, walking backwards and pulling you towards the bed without breaking the kiss.

You giggled and rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up,” you mumbled.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. He took his hand off of your waist and ripped the glove off with his left hand. He brought his hand up to your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and gazing at you reverently. You let out a little gasp, not expecting him to initiate skin to skin contact first. He leaned in to kiss you again, hungrily claiming your mouth with his. He moved his bare hand down to your hip, slipping tentative fingers under the hem of your shirt and brushing your skin—igniting your nerves and sending shivers along your body. His hand cupped your waist under your shirt, pressing your hips down ’til they were flush with his.

He let out a wrecked moan from the contact, his hips jerking against yours involuntarily. You rolled your hips experimentally, relishing when he let out a deep groan—his body vibrating beneath yours. You rolled your hips faster, spurred on by his noises and his bulge pressing deliciously against your jeans. He broke away from your mouth, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last long if—if you keep doing that.” He sounded ruined. A needy whine tore out of you, your need for Bucky overwhelming you. You ground down on him harder, the ball of desire in your core slicking your underwear and making you greedy. He moaned out your name, clutching your hip to stop your movements. He lifted his head off your shoulder, his glazed eyes meeting your own. 

“Do you have a condom?” He asked, panting already. 

You jumped off his lap, opening your suitcase in a rush to find a condom. You found the open—but unused—box at the bottom, grabbing a couple before joining him on the bed again. He rolled you onto your back, hovering over you with a small smirk on his face. 

“Eager, are we?” 

You nodded quickly in response, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a needy kiss. He gripped the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it up and off your body, pausing to stare at your clothed breasts. He kissed down your neck, lavishing your collarbones and chest in tender, hungry kisses. 

“God, you’re a work of art.” He mumbled into your skin. Your heart swelled in response, unexpected tears pricking behind your eyes. No guy has ever said anything like that to you, it’s normally ‘you’re hot’ or they don’t compliment you at all.

“Take off your pants,” he muttered. He removed himself from your body, standing at the foot of the bed to take his own jeans off, your eyes widening at the impressive bulge in his boxers. You felt more wetness gather in your core, preparing you for what was to come.

You eagerly pushed your jeans down, kicking them off your feet. He climbed back over you, holding his body up with his left arm next to your head. His right hand trailed down your torso slowly, stopping at the wet patch of your panties. He pressed down on it, pulling a desperate whimper from you, your hips rolling up to his touch. He pulled your underwear down your legs one-handed, throwing them somewhere behind him.

He pulled his boxers down to his knees, grabbing one of the foil squares on the bed next to you and ripping it open with his teeth. He rolled the condom down his cock, gasping from the sensitivity. 

He leaned down to kiss you tenderly. “Still wanna do this?” He asked breathlessly.

“Please, Bucky.” You whimpered.

With his mouth on yours, he lined himself up and pushed in slowly. You both gasped at the feeling—he was the biggest you’ve had and you couldn’t control your walls clenching down on him. A pained moan tore from his chest as you gripped him tight, your hands winding through his hair and tugging the dark strands.

He mumbled curses, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He pushed in more, and you let out a sound you’d never heard before—the stretch of him sending you to another world. He started off with slow thrusts, letting you adjust to his size.

“More,” you moaned against his mouth. He picked up the pace, hitting the spot that had your back arching and stars forming behind your eyes. You clenched down on him hard, his hips stuttering and head dropping onto your chest at the feeling.

“Christ, shit—I’m not gonna last long.” He whimpered, his thrusts starting to lose rhythm. He moved his hand to your centre, finding your throbbing bundle of nerves and rubbing firm circles. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, the fire in your core spreading through your veins.

Bucky thrusted a few more times before coming, your name slipping from his lips in a half moan, half whimper. He continued thrusting into you, his release long and overwhelming. He doubled his efforts on your clit, sending you over the edge with a sharp gasp of his name. It wasn’t an all-consuming, white hot pleasure but it was good. Warm, like golden sun rays spreading through your body.

He laid his head on your chest, the both of you panting after your releases. You raked a hand through his hair, rubbing soothing circles on his scalp. He shuddered at the feeling, tears slipping from his eyes and wetting your chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For making me feel human.”

You woke up before six the next morning, finding cold sheets next to you where Bucky once was. Sitting on the small kitchen table was your stolen headphones, a ripped piece of paper with chicken scratch handwriting next to them. 

You were right 

- Bucky

A week later you were at your parents place in Philly, sitting on the floor in their lounge sorting their stuff into boxes for donation or storage. Your mom turned the TV up louder, drawing your attention to the breaking news story. There on the screen was a video of the man officials suspected bombed the United Nations—James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Bucky.

 Oh, shit. 

Present day - Brooklyn, New York

The referee’s whistle shrieked loudly, piercing your ears and signalling the end of the soccer game. You had little time to prepare for the blur of messy dark braids and mud sprinting towards you, colliding with your legs and making you stumble back. 

“I did it, mama! I didn’t let a single goal in!” 

“I saw, peanut—I am so proud of you!” You squatted down and hugged your daughter tightly. “Did you have fun?”

She bounced in your arms, nodding vigorously. You pulled back, seeing the beaming grin on her face—proudly displaying the small gap in her top front teeth. She lost her first tooth the week before and she was ecstatic when the tooth fairy visited her—she tried to stay up two hours past her bedtime to ‘catch’ the tooth fairy, but fortunately for you she was out like a log long before you went to sleep. 

“Can we get ice cream? Pretty please?” She asked, her blue eyes wide and bottom lip jutted out in a small pout—the puppy dog expression pulling on your heart strings.

You stood up, combing the loose strands back from her face and wiping a smudge of mud off her forehead.

“Hmm, how about we go home first and get cleaned up?” The both of you headed towards the field’s exit, waving goodbye to her teammates and their parents.

She rolled her eyes. “But home is far away, the ice cream store is closer!” Where she got her attitude from, you had no idea. Well, you did—while she was the spitting image of her father, her personality was a mirror of your own. 

“You have a great point, Jamie. But—” you leaned towards her and took an audible sniff of her hair, dramatically taking a big step back and holding your nose. “—you’re stinky. We need to get you cleaned up for the public’s sake.”

She let out a high-pitched giggle, a familiar smile gracing your face at the sound. It was the most beautiful sound—your daughters joy was all that mattered to you. It meant you were doing something right.

“Okay,” she dragged out. “Does that mean I get two scoops?”

“What?! Two scoops? You won’t be able to sleep after that, bug.” 

The two of you made your way down the street, walking the normal ten minute route back home. She continued to try her luck, trying to guilt trip you into giving her more sugar and you were close to breaking once—when her big eyes glistened with tears—but you held strong even when your heart tugged. God, what you would do for those baby blues.

You were halfway home when a group of men in suits stepped out of the cafe ten metres ahead of you. They were taking up the whole sidewalk, laughing obnoxiously and all exuding alpha male energy. You pulled Jamie closer to you out of instinct, your eyes scanning for an open gap in the group of men when something—someone—caught your eye.

He looked…older, more refined. His hair was slightly shorter, the once styled strands tousled—likely from him running his hands through his hair. His suit was tailored to him perfectly, the faded blue and dark grey combination making his heavy stubble stand out. He held his head high, his shoulders rolled back in a quietly domineering stance. He looked confident, comfortable even. 

You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating wildly in your chest. The world around you faded, your attention focused solely on him as he shook his head with a small laugh, a faint smile curving his lips. 

Bucky Barnes, in the flesh. 

Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Jamie’s little hand tugged on yours, confused as to why you stopped walking.

“Mama?” 

You sucked in a sharp breath, reality crashing down on you—along with a bucket of anxiety and fear.

You tightened your grip on her hand, spinning the both of you around and hurrying in the direction you came from.

“What’s wrong? Where are we going?” Jamie asked in her sweet small voice.

You brushed a hand over her head, tucking loose strands behind her hair. “Nothing’s wrong, peanut. I just—you were right, it makes sense to get ice cream now!”

She instantly perked up, her little feet walking faster than you—dragging you towards the store.

“Finally! Can I get two scoops?”

You nodded in a daze, your mind racing. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, honey.”

Had he seen you? Had he seen Jamie? 

You spent countless sleepless nights tossing and turning over the past five years, playing out millions of different scenarios. You had numerous scripts drafted in your head, what you would say to him—how you would tell him he had a child, a daughter. But seeing him a few feet away from you, alive and well—and so fucking handsome—your mind went blank. 

It wasn’t the right time, you told yourself. Other people were around—you couldn’t put Jamie in that situation.

Trying to get a sugar crazed Jamie to bathe was like trying to tame a sticky-fingered tornado. She jumped over furniture, slid between your legs, and slipped through crevices like she was boneless. You were starting to regret enrolling her in taekwondo classes.

“The hell? How are you moving like that?” You flopped on the couch in defeat, the pounding in your head exacerbated from chasing her around the apartment.

You blinked and suddenly a jar was shoved in your face, half full of crumpled dollar notes, glittery pink and purple letters spelling out ‘swear jar’ on the white label.

“You said a swear word!”

You pounced on her, securing your arms around her waist and pulling her tight against you. You blew raspberries on her face and neck, holding her tighter as she squirmed.

“Let me go!” She squealed through giggles, trying to wriggle out of your arms.

“Not a chance, peanut.” 

After her bedtime routine that took twice as long with the sugar in her system, you sunk into the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other. 

Your phone shook slightly in your grip, anxiety pinching your chest. The last time you looked up Bucky on the internet was over a year ago; you found out he was saving the world alongside Captain America and had been pardoned of his crimes from when he was the Winter Soldier. It was hard to process—that the gentle man you had spent a tender night with in Bucharest, the man that was Jamie’s father, was off saving the world when the world had been anything but kind to him.

But now, you knew he was in the same city—the same borough—as you, and you couldn’t keep running from the truth. 

Ever since that night you’ve felt an ache in your bones, like you had left a part of yourself behind in that shitty apartment. You missed him, but you were so confused. After the UN bombing you tried to find out everything you could about him, and when the two pink lines appeared clear as day on the pregnancy test you knew you had to tell him. But, he had disappeared—gone off the face of the earth and you had no ways to contact him. You thought he had died.

Then the blip happened. Jamie and you came back to find a world that had changed—that had forgotten about you. Your apartment in Philly had new residents, all your belongings gone—you had taken Jamie for a walk in the park and then suddenly five years had passed when you blinked. You moved to Brooklyn to live with your parents while you rebuilt your life, and keeping Jamie safe in a world that was torn apart was all that mattered. The Avengers had brought back half of the world, and that’s when you found out Bucky was alive—his face plastered on the TV screen along with dozens of other superheroes. You didn’t know how to reach out and you didn’t know if you wanted to—you and Jamie were just finding your footing and you didn’t want anything to jeopardise that. And truthfully, you were scared.

When Jamie asked about her dad you told her that you had lost contact when the blip happened, and that you were looking for him. You told her he was once in the army and fought for your country, that he took down bad guys like it was nothing. She occasionally asked, “have you found daddy yet?” and your heart broke every time you looked into her bright, hopeful eyes—the exact same shade of blue that you had fallen for over plum pie.

Taking a long swig of wine, you typed his name into google—your thumb shaking as you hit the search button. 

And there he was.

Congressman James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Representative for Brooklyn.

A memory from two weeks prior surfaced, when you were slumped over your home desk—trying not to panic over the next months budget. Jamie had begged to join a swim club, even with her already busy schedule of school, soccer, and taekwondo. You were starting to struggle on your teacher’s salary, but you couldn’t say no to her. You wanted to provide her with everything she wanted and more.

You were barely paying attention to your mom on the phone, gossiping about brunch with her book club friends earlier that day.

“You’ll never guess who we saw—that new Congressman, the handsome one. You know, I heard that he’s single…” 

You sighed at her tone, knowing what she was suggesting. “Great, I’ll make sure to tell dad he’s got competition.” 

“Oh, hush! That’s not what I was implying and you know it.” You dropped your head onto the desk with a groan. “It’s about time you put yourself out there, give dating a go again. You never know who you’ll meet.”

“Mom, I’m busy—“

“We’re worried about you, honey. All you do is work and take care of Jamie—who takes care of you?”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me, thank you very much. Jamie and I are happy on our own.” You mumbled, a headache starting to pound against your temple. 

There was a pause on her end, and you braced yourself for what was coming. 

“…Have you—has there been any updates on Jamie’s father?” 

“No—look, sorry, I’m busy with school stuff. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” You ended the call without waiting for your mom’s goodbye, guilt gripping your chest like it always does when someone brings him up.

Little did you both know, the congressman she was gushing about was Jamie’s father. 

You gulped down the rest of your wine, saving the number for his office in your phone. 

“What the fuck.” You muttered, your voice echoing in the quiet apartment. You had no clue what you were going to do. 

Jamie’s giggles could be heard from across the grocery store, bringing an unconscious smile to your face. She was with your mom in the bakery section, giving her opinion on what her grandpa’s birthday cake should be. You could already picture the awestruck expression on her face—no doubt her nose was pressed against the glass with wide eyes taking in all the baked goods.

You were in the fruit and vegetables section, gathering ingredients for your plum pie. It had become a tradition without meaning to—baking the pie for your loved ones on special occasions, or even when they just needed comfort. It was a staple in your kitchen now, you had even altered the recipe throughout the years, truly making it your own.

In the weeks after you left Bucharest, you would find yourself making it when you missed him. When you couldn’t get to sleep at night, the sounds of his nightmares echoing in your mind, you were in the kitchen making the goddamn pie. And then when your pregnancy cravings kicked in, all you wanted was that stupid pie. And him. But you couldn’t have him, so the sugar filled pastry would have to do.

Walking through the section, you felt your phone sitting heavy in your pocket, weighed down by the numerous email drafts in your inbox and his office number in your contacts. 

You were focused on selecting the right apples—Jamie was seriously picky with them—when a deep voice called out your name. A low, gravelly, familiar voice—one that you hadn’t heard in years. 

You turned around and there he was, standing a few feet away, wearing a similar suit to when you saw him outside the cafe. His hair was just as messy, dark strands swooping on his cheeks, making his blue eyes look even more electric, intense. You watched as they widened in surprise, an awed smile overtaking his face. He took a small step towards you and you resisted the urge to take one back, your brain struggling to comprehend that Bucky was right in front of you. 

“It really is you.” He spoke softly, dazed.

You blinked.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. You were meant to meet at a cafe, or a park—a safe, common ground. Not at your local grocery store after five pm on a Friday, your hair frizzy from a long day at work and running around after your daughter. 

“Bucky, hi,” you mumbled, still in shock.

“You—you look great, beautiful.” He shook his head as if in disbelief, his eyes trailing up and down your figure. 

Your nerves lit up in response, your body begging you to step closer—to close the gap between you and the man you had spent the past five years yearning for.

“How are you? Are you still teaching?” Your breath caught in your throat—he remembered. He remembered you, and he remembered the brief conversation you’d had about teaching during your gap year. 

Then, as if fate had orchestrated this whole interaction, your daughter came skipping over, a big giddy grin on her face.  

“Look, mama! Nana said I could get Pop the Captain America cake for his birthday!”

Bucky watched closely as Jamie crashed into your legs, your hand instinctively rubbing her back in soothing circles—more for you than her. You watched his eyes drift over her, starting at her messy dark braids, then taking in her taekwondo uniform, finally ending on her crocs—covered in princess and Captain America charms. 

She peered into the basket in your hands. “Oooh! Are you making plum pie tonight?!” You think the whole store heard her yell. 

Bucky’s eyes shot up to yours, a stunned and confused expression on his face. He looked speechless.

Jamie turned around, finally noticing the other adult in front of her. You watched the infectious grin take over her face, proudly showing off her missing tooth. She waved to Bucky. “Hi!” 

You had taught her the importance of stranger danger—well, as much as you could teach a five year old—but her kindness was built into her DNA, she couldn’t help smiling at and greeting every stranger she met.

Bucky was still speechless, his wide eyes looking into your daughters—seeing the same blue you imagined he saw in the mirror. He let out a stunned breath, his body swaying slightly like the rug had been pulled out from under him—because it had. You knew he knew.

“Sorry, hun. I don’t know what you feed her, but I’ve never seen a kid run that fast.” Your mom panted as she joined the accidental family reunion, the Captain America cake in her hands. She looked at the man in front of you, doing a visual double take as she recognised him. 

“Oh! Congressman Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stuck her hand out to Bucky, shooting you a side-eye that screamed “what the fuck aren’t you telling me.” Bucky shook her hand absentmindedly, his eyes not leaving Jamie for a split second. 

You were stood frozen, unable to think. Both your mom’s and Jamie’s eyes were watching you curiously. Why weren’t you saying anything?

Bucky finally looked away from Jamie, his confused yet hopeful eyes meeting your panicked ones. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, at a loss for words. He licked them nervously then tried again.

“…Is she—“

His voice brought you back to earth, back to your body.

“It was really great seeing you, Bucky—I hope you’re well! We’re running late—like super late, so we need to get going.” You grabbed one of Jamie’s hands tightly, using it to pull her with you and to ground yourself. Your mom hesitantly followed, her eyes darting between you and Bucky—suspicion written clearly on her face. “We’ll—I’ll see you later!” You said to him over your shoulder, scurrying towards the checkout as fast as you could.

Your hands shook as you bagged your groceries, barely noticing that you had only gotten half of what was on your list. You took in a deep lungful of air once the three of you were outside. 

Your mom called your name softly yet sternly. “What was that in there? How do you know—did you call him Bucky?”

You sighed, exasperated. “Mom, it’s nothing—“

“No, that was not nothing! You’re acting strange—what’s going on?”

“Please, just drop it!” You nodded towards Jamie next to you, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. “We’ll talk about it later, promise.”

She narrowed her eyes at you but ultimately let it go.

The next morning you were rushing around the lounge, struggling to get Jamie into her soccer kit as she zoomed through the apartment.

“Jesus—just sit still, peanut. Don’t you wanna go play with your friends?” She nodded eagerly, stopping her mad dash around the place so you could get her shirt on. She didn’t stay still for long though, running back into her room with one sock on. “How do you always have so much energy?” You muttered to yourself.

Three heavy raps sounded against your front door. You knew who it was immediately—who else would be knocking at your door before nine am on a Saturday.

Your heartbeat hammered in your throat as you walked to the door slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. You took a deep breath in and grasped the doorknob, stopping for a second to collect yourself.

You opened the door and were greeted by the sight of Bucky, looking devastatingly handsome in a blue t-shirt and black leather jacket. It should be criminal to look that good so early in the morning. His eyes met yours and you could see the emotion swirling in them—hope, determination, and something that looked too close to hurt for your liking. Shit.

You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it.

“We need to talk.”

“Bucky, hi—how do you know where I live?”

“I have my ways.”

He looked over your shoulder, straining his neck to see into your apartment behind you.

“Look, I agree we need to talk—“

“Why did you run off?”

And yup, there it was—the hurt crystal clear in his voice.

You closed your eyes briefly, the familiar clench of guilt overwhelming your chest. 

“I—it wasn’t my intention to…run off, I just—“ You stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. He looked at you expectantly, the exhaustion from a sleepless night evident on his face.

“You what? Were you ever gonna tell me?”

The accusation in his tone slapped you across the face. 

“Bucky, that’s not fair—you don’t even know—“

And, like usual, your daughters timing was impeccable.

“We’re gonna be late!” She barrelled towards you, knocking you off balance as she slammed into the backs of your legs. 

Bucky instinctively grabbed your upper arms, holding you steady as you regained your balance. Your nerves buzzed alive under his hands and you couldn’t help but notice—no gloves, he wasn’t wearing gloves anymore. 

He stepped back from you just as quick, and your body felt the loss of his touch immediately. Goddamn traitor. 

He squatted down to Jamie’s level, smiling at her with the softest look you’ve ever seen on the man. 

“Hi, I’m Bucky.”

You were suddenly annoyed with him. Coming to talk to you unannounced was one thing, but introducing himself to your daughter when you hadn’t had a chance to place boundaries—yeah, that pissed you off. 

“Hi, I’m Jamie!” 

The look he shot you had some of your anger dulling, the guilt you were so familiar with clouding over. You both knew the name Jamie was no mistake, and the flurry of emotions that crossed his face showed what the name meant to him. 

“Jamie?” His voice wavered. “That’s a great name.”

She beamed brightly at him and you felt the world shift beneath the three of you. There was no going back now.

“Are you coming to my soccer game?” 

That shocked both of you.

“Only if your mom wants me there.” And then two pairs of blue eyes are staring at you—one pleading, the other just waiting, letting you know the ball is in your court. And it’s not fair.

“Jamie, we need to talk about you inviting strangers out with us.” Bucky visibly flinched at the word ‘strangers’—it hit like a punch to your gut. “But, sure. Bucky can come with us.”

The ten minute walk to the soccer field was…nice. Bucky fit in like the missing puzzle piece, and it was doing complicated things to your heart. To be fair, Jamie talked the whole time. She was excited to tell someone new all her stories from school, yapping his ear off about everything she could think of. And Bucky was lapping it up. He had a soft smile permanently plastered on his face, his eyes on Jamie the whole time. From the second you stepped outside of your building, he positioned himself to be on the car side of the street, angling his body to protect Jamie—making your heart flip in your chest even more, and waking up something dangerous in your core. 

There was no missing the looks sent your way from the other parents when you arrived—especially the looks your fellow soccer moms shot Bucky. Great, the last thing you wanted was Jamie to be stuck in the middle of their rumour mill.

Jamie sprinted towards her friends already warming up for their game, leaving you and Bucky alone for the first time. You drifted towards the other side of the field, putting distance between you and the gossip hungry parents. No one else needed to be privy of your conversation.

The air around you and Bucky grew heavy, neither of you speaking for a few minutes as you watched Jamie hug her friend after they fell, asking if they were okay. An overwhelming sense of pride took over you, tears warming your eyes at the sight of your daughter being so kind, so caring. 

Bucky cleared his throat softly.

“She’s…happy,” he said wistfully.

“Yeah,” you mumbled softly. “Means I’m doing something right.” 

He looked at you then, his eyes scanning your face as you kept your attention trained on Jamie. You couldn’t look at him. The exhaustion from the last few years was weighing heavily on you, and you knew one glance at Bucky would have you breaking.

He turned back, watching Jamie put her oversized goalie gloves on, chuckling softly as they dwarfed her hands.

“She looks like my sister.”

That had you looking away from your daughter, focusing on the man next to you offering more information about himself. You didn’t know he had a sister.

“Becca was full of energy at that age, too. We both were,” he shook his head with a small laugh. “Ma used to say our house was tornado central with all the damage we caused.”

You let out an amused huff. “I figured she got her energy from you—I was more on the reserved side as a kid. She’s now in three different after school sports activities, but I think they just make her more energised.” 

He made eye contact with you briefly. “Three, huh? That’s…a lot.” 

You both grew silent again, watching Jamie dive for a ball and successfully defending the goal.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Were you gonna tell me?” He asked again, no accusation in his voice this time—a pensive sadness in its place. It only made you feel worse, the tears from earlier blurring your eyes.

“Bucky, I—“ you took in a deep breath, trying to control your emotions. “I was planning to, I swear.” You kept your eyes on Jamie, her smile bringing you some comfort.

“When I found out I was pregnant, I tried looking for you—I really tried. But, you just vanished…I thought you were dead.”

He sucked in a sharp breath at that, looking down at the ground.

“I didn’t want to go through the pregnancy alone, I was fucking terrified. Then, Jamie was born and she became my whole world—I would do anything for her.” Your throat grew tight and a single tear slid down your cheek.

“After the blip, I could only focus on her, on building a better life for her. And then I found out you were alive, that you had helped save the world, and I was…scared. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, and Jamie’s father—you—being a superhero, putting your life in danger…it was a risk I didn’t want to take. I didn’t want you in our lives if you were just going to be…ripped away from us. It would break Jamie—it would break me.”

Your voice cracked and Bucky lifted his head, looking at you with concern. You brushed the tears off your cheeks and continued.

“Plus, I don’t know if you know this, but getting in contact with the Avengers when you’re a civilian…it’s pretty fucking hard.”

He let out a small laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“I thought about reaching out last year, when I saw you were fighting alongside Captain America—who Jamie is obsessed with, by the way—but I just couldn’t get past that fear. It was easier to…live without you than potentially have you torn from us. Well, that’s what I tried to tell myself.”

You both watched as Jamie hit the ground, hard. Bucky stepped forward instinctively, like he was about to run to her side. She recovered quickly, jumping back up with a giggle. 

“She’s tough,” he mumbled with a small smile. 

He turned to you, determination and longing shining in his eyes.

“I get that. I get why you didn’t reach out, you were putting Jamie’s safety, her happiness, first.” He let out a humourless chuckle, “it’s a fucking complicated position to be in, I’ll give you that.”

“I want to be in her life, in your life—if you’ll have me.” 

You looked back at Jamie in time to see her waving at you, at both of you. 

“Yeah,” you muttered softly. “I don’t think she would let you leave, even if you tried.” 

“Good.”

You both settled in to a comfortable silence, before you couldn’t resist asking what you’ve wanted to know for the last five years.

“Where were you—“

“What does she know—“

You both laughed softly. You tipped your head towards him. “You go first.”

“What does she know…about me?”

Yeah, you were expecting that.

“I told her you were in the army, that you fought bad guys…that we lost contact after the blip. She asks for updates, wanting to know where her daddy is.”

His brows pinched, his mouth trembling slightly like he was holding back tears. He cleared his throat twice. 

“How do we tell her?”

There it was, the question you had been dreading—because you had no fucking clue. 

“…I don’t know—hope she figures it out herself?” 

The look he shot you was deadly. 

You sighed. “Fine, I’ll sit her down one night, tell her gently.”

“I want to be there.” 

Of course he does. Of course he just walks back into your life and wants to be involved in everything. Half of you is fucking thrilled he’s here and wanting to be part of your lives, but the other half is terrified he’ll think it’s too much and leave you both—or worse, die and leave you broken.

His eyes watched you carefully and you knew he could sense your internal battle.

“I’m not going to leave, I promise.”

And, because it was the reason you suffered many restless nights, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

“What happened to you? After Bucharest?” 

He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a breath.

“I was in Wakanda. I…couldn’t trust my mind, and they helped me. Brought me a bit of peace.”

You could see it, how different he was to the man who once lived across from you. He was still gentle, soft, but more sure of himself—more confident in who he was. He no longer walked around like he was ashamed to be alive. 

“And now…you’re a Congressman? I’ll admit I’m a little shocked, it’s quite the difference to the guy who could barely make eye contact with me.” You teased lightly.

He scoffed, shaking his head with a small smirk. 

“Trust me, speaking in front of Congress is much easier than talking to the pretty girl across the hall.”

Your body flushed with warmth. Was he seriously flirting with you? 

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions in check. You were not going to crumble for him that quickly. 

“We need to set ground rules, if we want this to work. For Jamie’s sake.”

He nodded solemnly, catching the seriousness in your tone.

“No showing up unannounced—we have a routine, and Jamie can get easily distracted.”

“Noted.”

“Communication is important, okay? Let me know if you want to see her, or if you have to cancel last minute. We have to be honest with each other—you need to tell me if it’s too much. If we’re too much.”

“Not gonna happen,” Bucky muttered.

“And absolutely no funny business—I’m serious, Bucky. I’m not jeopardising her relationship with you because we couldn’t keep it in our pants.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped, but he nodded regardless. 

“Whatever you say, doll.” 

You glared at him when he said ‘doll’—that was not helping. 

“Should I come ‘round tonight to tell her? I can bring dinner.” Bucky was rocking back and forth on his feet, barely containing his eagerness. You bit your lip to suppress a smile.

“No, not tonight. She has a playdate this afternoon and she’s always a nightmare to calm down afterwards.” 

“Tomorrow, then?” 

You rolled your eyes, the smile breaking out across your face.

“Fine.”

“…Any chance you can make that plum pie?”

Jamie was lying on the couch, her head hanging off the side when Bucky knocked on the door the next evening. You had told her earlier that he was coming around for dinner and she had barely sat still since. It was a pain in the ass, if you were being honest. She clung to your torso like a koala as you tried to vacuum the apartment, making the chore take twice as long. Her crayons and toys covered the dining table—you had already put them back in her room three times that afternoon but she kept on bringing them back out. And there was a purple stain on her chin—which you were fairly certain was a bit of plum pie mixture she had swiped when you turned your back. 

“I’ll get the door!” She all but screamed as she ran towards it. 

“I hope you like burgers,” came Bucky’s deep voice from behind you. You turned to find Jamie giving him a tour of the apartment, starting with the small kitchen you were standing in.

She gasped, delighted. “They’re my favourite!”

“Thank you,” you said, taking the bags from his hands and putting them on the counter. 

“Of course,” Bucky replied, his eyes traveling down your body before meeting your eyes. You tried to not let that affect you, busying yourself with gathering plates and napkins.

“Peanut, can you please grab your stuff off the table?” You asked Jamie. “Don’t forget to wash your hands, too.”

Jamie grumbled her objections but did as you asked, huffing as she gathered her mess of toys. 

You turned to Bucky. “Sorry for the mess, I cleaned earlier but…”

Bucky nodded, a small smile on his face. “Tornado central.”

You grinned at him. “Exactly.”

Jamie ran back to the kitchen, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him towards the lounge. “C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.” She was no match for his super soldier strength yet he let her drag him around with no complaint. 

You put the finishing touches on the plum pie, sticking it in the oven before setting the dining table for dinner—all while listening to Jamie show Bucky your quaint apartment.

“And finally, this is mommy’s room—“

“Peanut, I don’t think he needs to see that.” You raised your voice slightly, rushing down the hallway to see them already in your doorway. You did not need Bucky in your room—that would just open pandora’s box and you were not prepared to deal with that.

“Your mom’s right, I don’t need to see her room,” Bucky said, though the small smirk on his face said something else entirely. You really hoped he didn’t catch the bra hanging from the laundry basket.

“Let’s eat before it get’s cold, yeah?” Jamie didn’t need to be told twice, forgetting her tour and sprinting down the hallway.

You and Bucky followed behind her, and he was an inch too close for your liking.

“Red, huh?” He muttered lowly. Your body went hot—he definitely saw the bra.

The burgers were good, like really good, and you weren’t afraid to tell him.

“Where did you get these? I think they’re the best I’ve had in Brooklyn—wait, no, in the city.” You practically moaned.

Bucky’s smirk was bright and smug. “It’s a small hole-in-the-wall near my office. I can take you there sometime.”

Jamie was bouncing in her chair, happily nibbling away at her food—unaware that her life was about to change in a second. You made eye contact with Bucky, both your faces falling serious. It was time.

“Hey, Jamie? There’s something I—we—need to talk to you about.” You spoke to her gently, putting your burger down and wiping your hands. Her bright eyes met yours and you knew you had her attention.

“You know how I said I was looking for your dad?” She nodded eagerly, her eyes briefly flicking to Bucky. She was a smart kid, you could practically see the gears in her brain turning.

“Well, I—uh,” you stuttered. Now that you were here, your mind had gone blank. How the hell do you tell your daughter her dad is sitting right next to her?

Bucky placed a hand on yours, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. He shot you a look saying “I’ve got this” before turning to Jamie fully. 

He sucked in a breath. “I’m…I’m your dad, Jamie. And I would love to be in your life, if you’re okay with that.”

Bucky had barely finished his sentence before Jamie lunged, wrapping her little arms tight around his neck—no doubt smearing sauce on his shirt and hair.

He was taken aback for a quick second before returning her hug, his hands gently cradling her back. And that’s when you noticed it—his arm, the left one. You had seen it in pictures, on TV, but never in the flesh. His vibranium thumb was rubbing soft circles on her back, soothing her as sobs wracked through her—her little frame overcome with emotion. A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched them—overwhelmed with guilt from keeping them apart for so long, and something else warm blooming in your chest. 

Bucky pressed a kiss to her head, closing his eyes tightly like he was fighting back tears. He pulled back slightly, his hands moving to brush away the tears on Jamie’s cheeks.

“Does this mean you’re moving in?” Jamie asked sweetly.

He let out a watery chuckle. “No, no I’ll be staying at my place. It’s not far from here.” His eyes shot up to yours quickly before continuing. “But, I’ll come ‘round as much as I can. And, I’ll be at all your soccer games—promise.”

By this point she had fully crawled onto his lap, bouncing happily in his arms. “What about taekwondo and swimming? Will you be there?”

“If I don’t have to be away for work.” 

She pouted at him, opening her mouth to argue when the oven’s timer went off. She jumped off his lap, running the short distance to the kitchen. “Plum pie!” She squealed, excited. 

You put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered. He looked at you with glassy eyes that you were sure mirrored your own. 

“Get the pie, I’ll clean this up.” He nodded towards the mess of burgers and napkins. 

You shooed Jamie away from the oven and she climbed back onto Bucky’s lap—natural, like it was where she belonged. You put your hands on the counter, dipping your head down and taking a few breaths. This was going better than you imagined, but it was also dangerously twisting your heart. 

“You’ve got no idea how much I missed this,” Bucky muttered, looking at the pie in your hands. His eyes dragged up your body, meeting your own with a darkened gaze—it was obvious he was not just talking about the pie.

Your hands shook imperceptibly as you plated up three slices. Bucky was the first to dive in, letting out a low moan as he tasted the pie for the first time in five years. Jamie giggled at him from her place in his lap.

And you? You were frozen in your chair, a warmth spreading in your core from his moan. It was fucking sinful, and he had no right to make a noise like that at your dining table—even if it was him showing his appreciation for your baking. It felt like it was more than that.

You were in the kitchen cleaning up while Jamie had convinced Bucky to sit on the lounge floor with her, showing him her favourite toys. You looked over your shoulder, catching her holding his vibranium arm in her little hands—gazing at it in wonder.

Then you watched the realisation hit her.

“…You know Captain America.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sam? Yeah, I know him.”

And then she was shrieking, hugging the arm tightly. 

“Can I meet him? Please, please, pretty please?!”

Bucky laughed loudly at her excitement. “Yeah, princess. I’ll see what I can do.”

You watched as he stood up slowly with Jamie hanging from his arm. She swung on it, giggling nonstop. A smile spread across your face, despite the way your ovaries were screaming at the sight. The ‘no funny business’ boundary you set was looking a lot less appealing now, and it had barely been twenty-four hours. 

The three of you were stood at your front door, Jamie clinging onto Bucky’s leg like her life depended on it. You and Bucky had your phones out, syncing your calendars so you were aware of each others schedules, routines. 

“You weren’t joking,” Bucky muttered, looking at the colour coded schedule you had for all of Jamie’s activities. You rolled your eyes—you took your schedule very seriously, there was no joking when it came to having your daughter’s life prepared.

Bucky squatted down, pulling Jamie into a hug. “I’ve gotta go now, angel. You be good for your mom.” He tried to pull back but she held on tighter, her little fists clenching his jacket.

“No,” she whined. “Please don’t go.”

“The sugar crash, right on schedule.” You mumbled, gently prying her hands off of him. She let out a cry as you gathered her in your arms, her little hands reaching for Bucky. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. He gave you a small smile and shake of his head, stepping forward to kiss Jamie’s forehead.

You were exhausted by the time you tucked Jamie into bed. She cried for half an hour after Bucky left, and it fucking broke your heart. You weren’t expecting her to get attached to him so quickly, but that was your daughter—she loved with her whole heart. And you couldn’t blame her, you felt like crying after he left too. All your feelings for him came rushing back as you watched him with your daughter—his daughter.

This was not going to be easy on your heart. 

A few weeks passed and everything felt so right. Bucky kept true to his promise—he didn’t miss a single one of her games and came to her taekwondo and swimming classes when he wasn’t needed at the Capitol. He spoiled her with gifts—even when you told him not to—and he had started spoiling you too. You tried to brush him off with an eye roll every time, but the flush on your cheeks gave you away. 

First, it was a nice bottle of wine, one you would never buy for yourself. Next, a box of expensive chocolates he had been “gifted” and didn’t want—you called bullshit. Then, it was a massage voucher—when you tried to refuse it, he promptly said “it’s either this or I give you one myself, doll” and you snatched it out of his hands before he could see the deep red crawling up your neck. The more he did for you and Jamie, the harder it was for you to ignore the way your heart tugged towards him—the way your body lit up every time he threw you that secret smirk. You were growing more frustrated each day and it was starting to show.

You were sitting in the break room at work, half paying attention to the geography teacher who was gossiping about one of her sophomore classes—apparently two of her students had a cute back and forth and she was coming up with a plan to push them together.

She called your name, looking at you expectantly.

“Huh? Sorry, bit out of it today,” you muttered, your cheeks growing warm.

“I was talking about Sophie and Ben—they’re in your third period English class, right? Don’t you think they would be cute together?” She all but squealed.

You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed them. I don’t know if we should be meddling in our students relationships, though. Besides, it’d just make me feel depressed about my lacking love life…” You trailed off, your mind already wandering to Bucky and the look on his face when Jamie called him ‘daddy’ the night before.

Your colleague dropped into the chair next to you, chin in her hand as she peered at you in interest. “Oh? Are you looking to date?” You were about to shake your head, but she continued. “My cousin just moved here and I think you would be perfect for each other! You’re definitely his type.”

You rolled your eyes, the last thing you wanted was to be set up on a blind date. “No, I’m not dating. It’s fine, really—“

But she was already grabbing your unlocked phone, pulling up your calendar and looking for a free slot. She found one—next Saturday, when Jamie would be staying the night at Bucky’s for the first time. She typed on your phone, setting up an appointment for eight pm—“Date with Michael!”

“I’ll text you his details!”

There was no way in hell you were going to text him to arrange a date. You already had a date scheduled that night—your bath, a bottle of red Bucky had given you, and the toy you hadn’t unboxed yet.

Later that night, Bucky was in your kitchen drying dishes slowly, a faraway look on his face. You had just tucked Jamie in for the night, and he didn’t notice when you returned to the kitchen.

“Hey,” you started. “You okay?” 

“Who’s Michael?” He asked gruffly, his eyes boring into yours.

You furrowed your brows at him, very confused. “Michael? I don’t know a Michael.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning the screen to show you an appointment in your synced calendar—the appointment you had forgotten to delete. 

You let out a breathy chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Oh, that. My coworker was trying to set me up with her cousin, she put that in my calendar.” You shrugged.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He looked pissed.

“Tell you what, Bucky? I’m not going.”

“I think I have a right to know if you’re dating, doll.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at you. Fuck, he looked hot. 

“I’m not dating, Buck.” He leaned against the counter behind him, still staring at you intensely.

“But, you would tell me if you were?” You were starting to get aggravated, this felt like an interrogation.

“What does it matter to you?” You said, voice louder than intended.

“We have a child together. I should know if you’re bringing random guys home.”

Now you were mad. He made it sound like you were out hooking up with any guy that showed you attention.

You stepped towards him, pressing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest.  “For your information,” you seethed, glaring into his darkened eyes. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Bucharest. Don’t you dare imply I’m hooking up with randoms.”

You watched as his pupils dilated, his eyes turning almost black. His vibranium arm whirred as he clenched the counter behind him. 

“You haven’t been with anyone else?” He asked, voice dangerously low. 

You hadn’t meant to let that slip, to tell him that he was the last guy you slept with.

You took a step back, dropping your hand and putting much needed space between you two. When did it get so hot in here?

“It’s a bit hard to find time for yourself when you’re raising a kid solo.” You were sick of the focus being on your nonexistent sex life.

“What about you, Bucky? Now that Jamie is going to be staying at yours, I have a right to know who you’re dating.” You were only asking for Jamie’s sake. It had nothing to do with the twisting in your gut at the thought of Bucky with anyone else.

He stepped forward, crowding you against the counter behind you. His eyes did a slow drag up your body, lingering on your lips for a few seconds.

“I’ve got all I need right in front of me.”

Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your breath hitching. This was not the Bucky you knew in Bucharest, he was never this forward.

“No funny business,” you whispered, though there was no heat to it. 

“It’s not funny business, it’s the truth. Thought you wanted me to be honest, doll.” 

You glared at him. How dare he use your words against you. 

You pushed at his chest and he took a step back, giving you some much needed breathing room.

You went back to cleaning up the kitchen, Bucky falling in step beside you after a minute.

There was a buzz in the air between you and Bucky, your body hyperaware every time he shifted next to you—slowly closing the gap.

“Do you have photos?” Bucky suddenly asked.

“Photos of what?” 

“When you were pregnant.” 

You whipped your head to him, staring at him with wide eyes.

“What? Why…why are you asking me that?”

He shrugged like it was a normal thing to ask someone. 

“I want to see.”

“Bucky, I’ve already sent you photos of when Jamie was a baby.”

“I’m not asking for those.”

You shook your head at him. “You’re weird, you know that?” He just stared at you blankly. “Fine, whatever. I’ll send you some later.” 

The side of his mouth twitched, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. 

“Good girl.” 

Every time Bucky looked at you all you could think about was those two stupid words. On their own they’re completely acceptable, harmless. Put them together and they’re a totally normal praise to say to a child. But when he said them to you in that low voice? There was nothing harmless or normal about your body’s reaction. 

And you knew he knew what he was doing to you. There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes raked over you, and the gifts he kept on getting you? They were not for the sake of co-parenting or whatever bullshit half-excuse he used. 

The bouquet of flowers he turned up with the other night? “Something nice for you and Jamie to look at.” 

The gift voucher for your favourite clothing store? “Can’t have the mother of my child wearing old clothes.” That was a bullshit excuse and you both knew it. 

“You use that massage voucher, doll?” He asked when he came to pick up Jamie for their first sleepover. 

You woke up feeling hot and flustered, with a notification on your phone telling you that you were ovulating. The heat lingered all day, your clothes irritating your skin every time you breathed. Now Bucky was standing in front of you with that half-smirk, asking about whether you used his gift, and it was not fucking helping. 

“You look…tense, it might help.” He stepped closer, your back pressing against the doorframe.

“Gotta make sure you take care of yourself, sweetheart.” 

Oh. That was new. He hadn’t called you that before.

He raised his vibranium hand slowly, running a cold fingertip along the heat blooming on your neck. “Got any plans tonight?”

You shuddered at the feeling, your brain going blank as the dull ache in your core amplified.

“…What are you doing?” You asked, voice barely a whisper. 

“Jus’ making sure Jamie’s mom is looking after herself, taking care of her needs.” 

Jamie came running from her room, her backpack unzipped and overflowing—even though you had already packed it and double-checked it had everything she needed.

Bucky took a step back, clearing his throat before turning and catching Jamie with ease. Your ovaries started a war inside you, your core cramping with need watching Bucky interact with your daughter.

“Bye Mama!” Jamie kissed your forehead, her spot in Bucky’s arms making her taller than you.

“Have a good night, sweetheart.” Bucky mumbled with a wink, grinning at your cheeks flushing even more red.

Bucky brought Jamie back early the next evening, her body slumped in his arms with little snores escaping her.

“How the hell did you get her to sleep?” You whispered, astonished that she was passed out so early.

He shrugged like it was nothing. “We did some soccer drills at the park, I let her try out some taekwondo moves on me. Helps that the serum gives me a high stamina.”

He walked Jamie to her room, tucking her into bed like it was second nature. He came back to the lounge to find you stood frozen, your mind still reeling over high stamina.

Blame it on your smart mouth, or on your ovulation obliterating your filter, but you opened your mouth without thinking.

“High stamina? Where was that in Bucharest?”

Your wide eyes gave you away—you had clearly not meant to say that. You weren’t disappointed with the sex you and Bucky had, god no, but you wouldn’t say it was a good example of super soldier stamina.

A devilish smirk spread across his face, stalking towards you like he was a predator and you were his prey. 

“Cut a guy some slack, doll. You were the first woman I’d touched since the 1940s. I’m surprised I lasted as long as I did.”

He was right in front of you now, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear—his hungry eyes latched on your lips.

“You want a redo? Want me to show you how long I can really go for?” 

Your pulse jumped in your neck, a breath getting lodged in your throat, the ache from the day before hitting your core at full force. 

“…Bucky, we—we said no funny business.” 

His hand moved to your chin, gripping it gently and tilting your head up. There was a fire blazing in his eyes as he stared into your soul.

“No, you said that.” His vibranium hand rested lightly against your hip, testing. You gasped at the cold seeping through your clothes, relieving some of the heat and making your core clench with need at the same time. 

He dropped his head, brushing his nose against yours.

“Did you take care of yourself last night, sweetheart?” His voice was low, husky.

Your body flushed even hotter. His proximity had your brain short-circuiting and butterflies raging in your stomach, the smell of his aftershave and something uniquely him overwhelming your senses with every shuddering breath you took. 

“I asked you a question,” he gripped your chin tighter, his tone bordering on demanding.

“I…had a bath, drank some wine…” the vibranium hand on your hip slipped higher, cupping your waist and pulling you closer. A tiny gasp got caught in your throat.

“Did you touch yourself?” His nose brushed across your cheek, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“You—you can’t ask me that, Bucky.” Your voice shook. Your hand clutched his shoulder, the vibranium cold against your palm even through his shirt. The ground beneath you felt unsteady, your body swaying towards him for support.

“Sure I can, your wellbeing is important to me. Answer the question.” The hand on your chin moved, a calloused thumb brushing your bottom lip.

The touch had your mind blanking, tingles erupting beneath his thumb and travelling through your body, gathering in the pit of your belly. Your head felt fuzzy and the world narrowed to him, only him.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He hummed, satisfied.

“Good girl.”

Your thighs clenched at the praise, the warmth in your core begging for relief. You watched his tongue swipe along his bottom lip, leaving them glistening and looking so fucking tempting. 

“It wasn’t enough though, was it?” He walked you backwards slowly, a small gasp escaping you as your back hit the wall. “No, I think you need more.” 

His head dropped to the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to moan. It had been so long since someone had touched you—since Bucky touched you—and the need pulsing through you was making you delirious.

Both Bucky’s hands dropped to your hips, squeezing tight as he stepped closer. One of his thighs slotted between your legs, the pressure against your core making you whimper. 

“You need to be more careful about what you put in your calendar, doll.” 

You struggled to understand what he was saying, too overwhelmed by his closeness and the dizziness it was causing.

He pressed a faint kiss to your throat, right where your pulse was beating wildly. He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“God, I’ve been hard ever since I saw that notification yesterday.”

That had you reeling, a fraction of reality slipping through the haze. What was he talking about? 

You found your voice, although meek and small. “What notification?”

His vibranium hand slipped from your waist to your back, pulling you into him until your back arched, your core shifting against his thigh. The slight friction made your body thrum, your hips instinctively rolling to chase the feeling.

“The one letting you—me—know that you’re ovulating.” 

You gasped, horror running through your body. You didn’t even think about how your tracking app was linked to your calendar. 

“I can smell it, sweetheart. How fucking needy you are.” His words had the horror dissolving into liquid honey, the need he was talking about dripping from your core. 

His right hand gripped your hip tighter, his fingers digging in as he moved your hips, dragging you back and forth on his jean-clad thigh.

“I wanna take care of you. Let me make you feel good.” He whispered, his mouth hot against your ear. 

Any worries you had about crossing boundaries, about ruining Jamie’s relationship with her father disappeared, replaced by a blazing fire.

“Please,” you whispered desperately.

Bucky didn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours in a bruising kiss. His hands pulled you tighter against him, your hips flush with his. Your hands found their place in his hair, tugging the soft strands and making him moan into your mouth. 

His tongue slipped past your lips with no resistance, meeting yours in a battle for dominance that you had no intention of winning. He bit your bottom lip, tugging it as he pulled back. He dropped his forehead to yours, both of you panting heavily from the kiss.

“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, pressing small kisses to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.

You whined when he stepped back, missing his warmth and the friction between your legs. 

“Patience, doll.”

And then he was dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up the sides of your thighs and gripping the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down torturously slow. He groaned low at the sight of your panties, the dark wet patch exposing your need for him.

He pressed a quick kiss to the patch, making your head hit the wall with a thud. He chuckled at you, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger.

“So responsive.”

He placed one of you thighs over his shoulder, peppering your inner knee and thigh with soft kisses. He stopped at your mid thigh, turning his head to lavish your other leg with the same attention. Your breathing grew heavy at the teasing, the need in your core growing unbearable the more he avoided where you needed him most.

“Bucky, please, stop teasing,” you whined, your voice echoing in the apartment.

He chuckled darkly, looking up at you like you were a feast he couldn’t wait to devour. 

“Gotta be quiet, doll. Don’t wanna wake Jamie up now, do you?” His tone was mocking and you wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

He relented his teasing, rising to his full height and gripping your hips. His mouth found yours again, softer this time but still just as hungry. Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as you tried to grind your core against the bulge in his jeans. He let out a small broken moan, leaving your lips to kiss along your jaw and neck. 

“Jump,” he muttered into your neck. You did as he said, your legs wrapping around his waist as he hoisted you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. His hands grasped your ass, rolling your hips against him harder. He spun you around, walking towards your room with his face still buried in your neck, biting and tugging your sensitive skin.

He closed the door behind him softly, dropping you gently onto your bed. He stood at the end, quiet as his eyes raked over your half-dressed body. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He dipped down to kiss you passionately. 

His hands grasped the hem of your top, dragging it up your body and over your head. He stopped momentarily, staring at your naked breasts in awe.

“I didn’t worship you like you deserved, sweetheart. I’m not making that mistake again.” 

Then he dropped his head, kissing a path down your neck and across your collarbones. He ran his tongue along your skin, biting the soft swell of your breast gently, avoiding your nipple. Your hips bucked under him, desperate for more. His hands tightened on your hips, pushing them into the bed to stop your squirming. He finally took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and grazing his teeth against it. You let out a sharp gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders. His flesh hand came up to palm your neglected breast, pulling and twisting the nipple between his fingers, eliciting more debauched gasps from your lips.

“So fucking pretty,” he mumbled, switching his mouth to the other breast to give it the same attention. His vibranium arm whirred as your hips tried to buck more, holding you down with ease. 

His flesh hand stayed palming your breasts as his mouth descended, his stubble scratching the soft skin of your stomach. He stopped, pulling back slightly as his eyes focused intently on your skin—more specifically, on the stretch marks covering your lower belly.

He let out a low moan, pressing his forehead against your stomach like he was collecting himself. His hand on your breast trailed down, calloused fingertips reverently tracing the jagged lines your pregnancy left behind. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured absentmindedly, like he was in a trance. “You’re always beautiful, but seeing those photos of you pregnant with my child.” He let out a dark chuckle. “You don’t know what that did to me, doll.” His dark eyes met yours. “I’ve fucked my fist every night looking at them. Seeing you big and round with my baby—shit, doll.” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Makes me wanna get you pregnant again.”

He dropped his mouth to your skin, his lips kissing your stretch marks with a tenderness that had your heart clenching painfully. He took his time, worshiping every scar with his lips. Your underwear was soaked, his actions and words making you so overwhelming needy that it hurt.

You pushed on his shoulders, trying to get him to move down to your core—to offer you some relief. He relented his soft kisses, grabbing your panties and pulling them down your thighs. He moaned, watching the way the fabric clung to your wet pussy—a line of slick keeping them tethered. He stuffed your panties into his back pocket once he removed them, throwing you a wink.

“A souvenir,” he muttered before diving in. 

His mouth was hot on your core, his tongue dragging a line up your slit before latching onto your clit. He sucked greedily, a hum sounding in the back of his throat. Your hands flew to his hair, grasping the strands and pushing him further into your core. He switched between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue, listening to your moans and whines to see what you liked. His flesh hand splayed against your stomach, stroking the marks there as he held you down. It was both tender and dirty, and it had the heat in your core spreading like wildfire. His vibranium hand trailed along the top of your thighs, making you gasp and shiver. 

He lifted his mouth off you, your slick glistening on his lips and beard—you almost came from the sight alone. He watched you closely as his hand inched higher, a cold finger brushing against your lower lips. You gave him a quick nod, muttering “please” and he didn’t waste any time.

He dipped a finger into your entrance, moaning at the wet heat and little resistance. He pumped it slowly, sucking your clit back into his mouth—making your back arch and hands tug harder, pulling at his scalp and making him moan into you. The noise had you preening, the ball in your core tightening. He inserted another cold finger, curling against the spot that had your legs shaking. You let out a long moan, your breath coming quick as you climbed higher. 

“Come for me, sweetheart.” He mumbled, his voice vibrating against your core. A third finger joined in and the stretch had tears brimming your eyes, the pleasure he was unleashing on your body too much. You came with a cry, your body tensing and shaking under him. He slowed down slightly, dragging your pleasure out until you were whimpering and pushing his head away from the overstimulation.

He crawled up your body, peppering more kisses on your skin as you struggled to catch your breath, coming down from your high slowly. You giggled as his stubbled tickled your stomach. He brushed your cheeks gently, wiping away the few tears that escaped from your pleasure. He looked at you with what looked like love in his eyes, causing your cheeks to flush and heart to beat harder.

He kissed you deeply, the taste of you on his tongue turning you on more. You returned the kiss with fervour, wrapping your legs around his clothed waist and grinding your hips against his bulge.

He moaned at the feeling, his arms on either side of your head shaking with restraint.

“Can I fuck you, doll?” You responded with an eager nod.

“Will you let me fill you up?” You continued nodding, a little whine and pleads leaving your lips.

He removed himself from you, ripping his clothes off in a hurry. He dropped on top of you and you relished at the feeling of his bare chest against yours. Your hands found his shoulders as he rubbed his cock along your dripping slit. You both let out matching moans.

“Wanna give Jamie a little sibling.” It wasn’t a question.

You nodded deliriously, your breath hitching as his tip caught your entrance. He pushed in achingly slow, kissing you as a high pitched moan escaped your throat. He grabbed your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he plunged deeper—a deep groan rumbling in his chest. You whimpered at the stretch of him. He thrusted slow and gentle at first, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of your tight walls hugging him. He picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot—sharp gasps escaping you with every thrust. Your hands clutched his back tighter, your nails digging into the flesh slightly. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, your breathy pants and gasps, and his low moans filled the room.

His hand moved from your hip to your core, rubbing circles on your clit in time with his thrusts. You were still sensitive from your first orgasm and you could feel the fire spreading from your belly at record speed.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” Bucky muttered against your lips. You clenched around him tightly, the praise adding more fuel to the fire. “You like that? You like when I call you a good girl?” You nodded, babbling incoherently as everything became too much and you seized below him. A harsh gasp escaped you as you came a second time, your nails scratching along his back and drawing blood. 

“Fuck—squeezing me so tight, sweetheart. Shit,” he grumbled out as he continued to fuck you through your high, only slowing down when you let out a sob.

He cradled your face in his hands, brushing away tears with a concerned look on his face. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Just breathe,” he cooed softly, pushing hair back from your face. His eyes roamed over your features as you collected yourself, gasping in small breaths as your mind came back to your body. 

“You still with me?” You nodded shakily. “Wanna keep going?” 

“Please, need you to come inside me.” You whispered, a shaky hand grabbing his jaw and kissing him softly.

He groaned into your mouth, his cock dragging inside you slowly—making you whine.

“You got any idea what you do to me, doll? Fucking begging me to breed you,” he gave a harsh thrust and you let out a broken sob. 

He shushed you, moving his flesh hand to your mouth as he continued to thrust mercilessly.

“You’re gonna wake Jamie up.” You moaned behind his mouth, your eyes rolling back and your body feeling weightless.

He pulled out suddenly, making you let out a pained cry at the loss of him. “No, no, please, don’t stop.” You babbled, your hands grabbing his arms trying to get him back inside you.

He chuckled at your desperation before grasping your hips and flipping you over, positioning you on your hands and knees. You had little time to adjust to the new position before he was slamming into you, his cock pounding your walls at a relentless speed. Your moans were muffled by the pillow beneath your head, the fabric getting soaked in your drool and tears.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby,” he moaned, clutching your ass cheek before bringing his palm down in a harsh slap. Your body jumped forward, pain radiating from his slap and morphing into pleasure. You clenched down on him in a vice like grip, his hips stuttering in response. 

“You want another baby, doll? Want me to get you pregnant again?” 

You nodded your head vigorously, mumbling out “yes” and “please” like they were the only words you knew.

He slapped your ass two more times and you let out a broken sob, tears flowing down your cheeks as the pleasure became too much. You could feel Bucky getting close, his thrusts losing rhythm and his grunts increasing in volume. 

“God, you’re gonna look breathtaking, not gonna be able to keep my hands off you.” He muttered out, cursing as you gripped him even tighter. His hand moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. Your back bowed from the oversensitivity, trying to escape his touch but needing it at the same time. You bit the pillow below you as you came for a third time, your wail ringing out in the dark room. Bucky thrusted three more times before stilling, coming inside you with a long drawn out groan. He kept pumping inside you, his warm seed filling you completely. You sighed at the feeling, bliss running through your veins. Bucky caught you as your body collapsed, all your strength leaving you. You felt completely ruined.

Bucky pulled out with a groan, gently rolling you over so you were laying on his chest. His hand trailed up and down your back in soothing patterns, the both of you quiet as you came down. He pressed a kiss to your head, breathing you in deeply. You traced a pattern on his sweaty chest, sleep pulling at the corners of your eyes.

“We should probably talk,” you mumbled.

“Later,” another kiss to your head. “Wanna enjoy you in my arms a little longer.”

More tears pricked at your eyes and you hugged him tighter. You took in a shaky breath as you prepared yourself to say what’s been on your mind since Bucharest.

“I…I think I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s chest shook with a trembling exhale below you.

“I know I love you, sweetheart.” 

June 2016 - Bucharest, Romania

Sleep had become a rare commodity the past couple weeks. 

The group of guy backpackers staying below you refused to turn their music down after eleven—if anything, they turned it up louder to spite you—and you could hear them fucking the poor girls who made the mistake of going home with them after the pub. Every night. Fortunately for you, the guys had awful stamina and they were finished within five minutes. This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, if you hadn’t ‘lost’ your headphones three days after you moved in to the short-term stay apartment—you were ninety-nine percent certain one of them had broken in to your room and stolen them, but you had no proof.

Sleep would welcome you for a few hours before the screaming across the hall started. The first time the deep, throaty screams made their way through your paper thin walls, you startled awake so violently you jumped out of bed and twisted your ankle. You limped out of your apartment—if you could call it that—with a Romanian dictionary held high as your weapon, your socked feet quiet on the concrete floor. It wasn’t hard to find the source of the screaming—the aftermath of a nightmare, heavy breathing and sobbing, was crystal clear through the door opposite yours. 

It was on day four of being woken up by your neighbours nightmares when you finally saw him. You were running late for your first class of the day, arms full of marked papers and keys hanging from your mouth as you opened your door, when you caught movement in your periphery. He was climbing up the stairs silently, his head titled towards the ground with a cap on top of his long dark hair, obstructing the view of his face. The first thing you noticed was the size of him—he was tall and broad, big muscles still noticeable under layers of clothes. The second thing you noticed was his gloved hands—an odd sight in the Bucharest warmth—one of them holding a bag of plums. 

Plum guy. You had seen him while out on your daily morning walks, buying plums at one of the fruit vendors down the street. You had no idea that the gentle giant you watched make quiet conversation with the vendor was the man whose sobbing and whimpering had your heart clenching at three every morning. 

The keys in your mouth dropped on top of the paper stack, the small jingle and thud making the man tense, his eyes darting to you—standing in your doorway staring at him. You quickly looked away, grabbing your keys and locking your door. 

He was opening his own door when you crossed the short distance to the stairs—and to him, given that his door was right next to the stairs. He turned his head slightly, a gloved hand clenched tight on the doorknob.

You smiled softly as you walked closer to him. “Bună dimineaţa,” you said quietly. He tracked your movements closely, offering you a brief nod before he disappeared inside his apartment. Not a talker, then. 

Later that night—or technically early the next morning—you were bent over the small kitchen table, struggling to read your student’s handwriting. You had just over a week left teaching English to Romanian middle-graders, and then you would be on a flight back home to the States. 

You were trying to rub the red ink off your hand when the first gasp echoed from across the small hallway. You looked towards the apartment door on instinct, halting your movements and waiting for another noise. It came a few seconds later—a loud gasp that sounded like someone was struggling to breathe. Then a pained shout, in what you were almost certain was Russian. The shouting turned into whimpered pleas within minutes. You felt tears well behind your eyes listening to the man across from you have another nightmare. Your heart bleed for a man you didn’t know, didn’t even know his name. You only knew he spoke gently to fruit vendors and bought fresh plums everyday.

Call it sleep deprivation, homesickness, or basic empathy, but you felt deeply enough to come up with a plan—to offer the hurting man some kindness. You finished marking papers as quietly as you could before you fell into bed, barely audible sniffling sending you to sleep with a heavy heart. 

In the morning you thought strategically about how you would approach him. Knocking on his door empty handed made no sense, and following him around the fruit market seemed an even worse idea. But, like him, you wanted to buy plums. And, it made sense to buy them on your usual morning walk.

You left earlier than you normally would, wanting to be at the market before him so it didn’t look like you were stalking him. You were making idle chit-chat with the vendor, asking what traits constituted a ‘good’ plum—half of you was interested, the other half was stalling in the hopes that plum guy would show. 

Conscious that you were in the way of paying customers, you turned to leave and found your neighbour standing two metres away, watching you apprehensively. How long had he been there?

“Bună!” You greeted him with a kind smile, a little louder now that you were outside. His eyes narrowed slightly, giving you a once over as he studied your body language. Despite how hard you worked on your Romanian pronunciation, your American accent came through strong and you knew he noticed it. 

Another brief nod was your reply. You tried to not let your disappointment show but his eyes darted to your shoulders, watching them deflate.

“Morning.” Oh. You were not expecting that. 

You were expecting the American accent even less. 

He spoke quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. He stepped to the left, turning his body slightly to let you pass. It was progress at least—you would take the simple greeting as a win. 

You saw him again later that day. You were stomping up the stairs cursing to yourself, more papers to grade overflowing your arms and a takeout bag dangerously close to slipping from your fingers. You tripped on the last step, the takeout dropping on the floor and spilling right in front of your neighbours door—half of the papers in your arms following shortly after. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You exclaimed louder than you intended, pissed that your dinner was now all over the floor—some of your students work now stained with pho. 

You bent down slowly, gently lowering the rest of the papers on the clean ground next to your ruined dinner. You didn’t notice the door in front of you opening—the sight of boots next to your mess making you flinch. You jerked your head up to find your neighbour watching you carefully, the side of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. You flushed red, embarrassed by the mess you’d made and flustered from seeing him without his baseball cap. He was handsome. 

“Shit, I—sorry, I’m in the way. I’ll just, uh…” You stumbled over your words, feeling suddenly intimidated by him. 

He squatted down to where you were crouched awkwardly, your arms still holding the pile of papers. He looked down at the mess of pho and essays, his eyes assessing the damage.

He picked up a soggy paper, a stray noodle sliding down the page. He read the page slowly, noticing the name and age in barely legible scribbles. He let out a quiet huff, his blue eyes flicking to your shocked ones. “Might have to give out a few automatic passes.”

He spoke first. He’s looking at you with amusement swirling in his gorgeous blue eyes, and he spoke to you first—even more, he made a joke.

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning closer to see what students name was written at the top. “He struggles more than anyone else in the class, giving him a pass may cause suspicion…” You trailed off with a small, teasing smile. 

He placed the ruined essay back on the mess, his movements gentle.

He stood to his full height, nodding towards the stack in your hands. “You should put those inside. I’ll clean this up.” He moved back towards his door to let you pass.

You stood back up and hesitated, biting your lip as you looked down at the mess. “No, this is my fault. I’ll sort it out.” 

“You should put those down first. Don’t wanna ruin more of your student’s work.” A muscle in his cheek twitched, like he was holding back a smile. 

“Right, yeah, that’s smart.” You stepped over the mess and walked the few steps to your door, fumbling with the keys in your bag. You glanced over your shoulder as you opened the door, seeing plum guy crouched down and picking up papers gently. You shook your head fondly at the sight—of course he would clean it up anyway.

You entered the small apartment, making your way over to the dingy kitchen table and dropping the stack of papers and your bag onto it. You closed your eyes and took a couple breaths, shaking off the nervousness seeing your neighbours face properly had caused.

He’s just a guy. A handsome, tormented, gentle guy—whose name you still don’t know. 

In the time it took to give yourself a pep talk, plum guy had finished collecting the papers and was standing in your doorframe. He cleared his throat softly causing you to turn around quickly. His eyes roamed around your small apartment while yours focused on him—he made the doorframe look small, his shoulders just as wide and his head close to touching the top. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you walked towards him.

His eyes met yours, soft and hesitant. “I know.”

He looked down at the papers in his hands, extending them towards you. You offered him a grateful smile as you grabbed them. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

He stuffed his hands in his front pockets, shrugging his shoulders at your gratitude. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his eyes scanning you and the apartment—looking for any hidden threats. 

He took a step back, nodding his head once in goodbye.

You blurted your name out quickly, not wanting to miss the first chance you’ve had to properly connect with the man. 

He tilted his head towards the ground, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. His eyes darted side to side, like he was thinking. Hard.

Finally, he lifted his head but kept his eyes downcast. “…Bucky.”

Your eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, surprised by the unusual name. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” His eyes met yours again, more sure this time. 

“Likewise,” he muttered before leaving your apartment, closing the door softly behind him. 

You felt a small smile take over your face as you stood still, watching the space he just occupied. Progress.

Half an hour later you were bent over the drying essays, determined to make sense of the smudged scribbles when two sharp knocks sounded against your door.

You furrowed your brows, not sure why anyone would be knocking on your door—the only person who knew you lived here was your neighbour, Bucky. You shot up from your chair quickly—it must be him. 

You opened your door a second too late, just catching his door across the small hall closing behind him. You looked down to the floor, surprise knocking you breathless for a moment. There on the concrete at your feet was a bowl of soup, steam rising from it. You picked it up slowly, your heart doing flips in your chest. Bucky had made you soup. He had cleaned up your mess outside his door, and had made you soup to replace your ruined dinner.

That night you found yourself silently crying along with him, the sounds of his nightmare causing you physical pain. What had happened to him?

It was Saturday afternoon and you were pacing the length of your apartment, trying to hype yourself up. Bucky’s clean bowl was resting in your palms, feeling like a loaded gun. You had a plan—to return the bowl and try make conversation, maybe even get him to laugh. That would be nice, right? For him to laugh, for you to hear something from him that wasn’t sounds of agony in the middle of the night. 

You raised your hand hesitantly to his door, giving it two soft knocks. You waited patiently, straining to hear any movement behind the door. A minute passed and nothing. You tried again, knocking with more confidence this time. Thirty seconds passed and you were shifting on your feet, starting to feel disheartened.

“Bucky,” you called softly. “I—sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to return your bowl—from the other night?” It came out as a question, your confidence fading and you started to feel silly. Obviously the guy wanted to be left alone.

You turned to leave when the door in front of you opened, Bucky’s large frame obstructing your view of his apartment. He was without his baseball cap again and his hair was damp, like he had just stepped out of the shower. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans like usual, gloves covering his hands. His eyebrows were raised slightly at you standing in front of him, nervously biting your lip with his cheap bowl in your hands. 

You extended the bowl towards him. “Thank you, for the soup the other night. I…wasn’t expecting it. Beats the granola bar that’s been sitting in my bag for weeks.” You chuckled awkwardly.

He grabbed the bowl with a quiet nod.

“And, thank you again for cleaning up the mess I made. You really didn’t need to.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it.” His voice was deep, still rough from lack of use. You found it comforting—you wanted to hear more.

You took a breath to steel your nerves, plastering on what you hoped was a disarming smile.

“I was planning on baking a plum pie this afternoon.” You started, watching as a confused expression took over his face. “My mom’s recipe—I used to bake with her, and I’ve been feeling homesick lately so…” You trailed off, hoping the lie wasn’t obvious. 

Your mom didn’t bake plum pies, and the last time you baked with her was when you were nine—you ended up in tears with little burns on your hands. 

“Would you…would you like some? Or want to join me?” 

His surprise at your invitation was evident, though it was quickly replaced with suspicion. 

“…Why?” 

“You like plums, right? I saw you down at the market.” He was still looking at you skeptically, his big arms now crossed over his chest. Your voice wavered slightly, “think of it as a thank you gift, for your help the other day.”

He sighed at you thanking him again.

“…Fine. I’ll come over in a couple hours.” 

Bucky looked abnormally large sitting at your small kitchen table. His shoulders were tense, his gloved hands clutched together tightly in his lap, his eyes darting around the small space absorbing every detail he could. His brows furrowed at your suitcase on the other side of the room, your clothes spilling out next to the bed.

You followed his line of sight, an embarrassed chuckle escaping you. “Sorry for the mess, this is just a temporary situation. I wasn’t expecting to be living out of my suitcase, still.”

His eyes flicked back to yours in interest. “Temporary?”

You turned back to the dirty dishes, needing something to do with your hands when he’s looking at you like that. Like he wants to know more about you.

“Yeah, I was meant to fly back home a couple weeks ago, but the school I’m teaching at asked me to stay until school finished for the year—they offered to pay for the flight transfer.” You shrugged lightly.

He shifted slightly, the small chair squeaking and straining beneath his weight. “Home?”

You noticed he didn’t talk much and when he did it was in small sentences. Though he was asking you questions now, and you took that as more progress. 

“The States—Philadelphia, to be exact.” You took a breath before asking him, “where’s home for you?”

He was silent for a minute before quietly muttering, “Brooklyn.” 

You turned to him, flashing him a bright smile you couldn’t tame. “Oh cool, my parents are planning on moving there in a couple months! Any non-touristy places they should check out?”

He hesitated again. “It’s—uh, it’s been a while since I was last…home.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead staring intently at his clenched hands. You took the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

You bent down to check on the pie in the oven, sighing in relief that it didn’t look like an absolute disaster. 

Turning back to Bucky you tried to think of anything else to talk about, wanting to know more about the quiet man. 

“The pie should be ready in a few minutes. Do you want to…watch something, maybe? While we eat.”

His response was a small nod.

You walked over to grab your laptop off your bed. You sat down on the chair across from Bucky, noticing how he leaned away from you and put his hands in his lap.

“Anything in particular you want to watch?” You briefly glanced at him as you scrolled through the streaming apps.

“Dealers choice,” he hummed quietly. 

You picked A New Hope, deeming it an acceptable movie to watch while eating pie with your neighbour.

Bucky waited until you took your first bite of pie before he inhaled his slice in less than a minute. You let out a small laugh at the sight of him—hunched over in the small chair, shovelling the pie in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for days. 

He looked up at you sheepishly when he heard you laugh. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, mouth full of plum and pastry.

“No, don’t apologise—I take it as a compliment,” you smiled at him, licking your fork clean. His eyes tracked the movement carefully, causing your smile to turn to a small smirk. He looked back down to his empty plate quickly, his shoulders tense after being caught staring.

You stood up and grabbed his plate, cutting a much larger slice of pie for him. He offered you a bashful smile as you put the plate in front of him. 

“Thanks…it’s, uh, pretty good.”

Your body rushed with warmth at his compliment, your cheeks flushing and a small smile now permanent on your face. 

“I’m glad.” 

He ate the second piece at a normal pace, only half interested in watching the movie playing from your laptop on the table. You caught his eyes watching you every few minutes but it didn’t put you on edge. From the few times you’ve interacted with him you gathered he’s a cautious, suspicious guy—the occasional staring didn’t bother you.

Suddenly, the floor started to shake below you—the telltale sign that the backpackers had started partying early. Their music was more bass than anything, making everything in your apartment vibrate slightly. You rolled your eyes and sighed in annoyance—you knew it was going to be a long night.

Bucky stood up and grabbed your empty plates, walking over to the sink to wash them. You opened your mouth to stop him, to tell him you’ll sort it out. He shut you up with a sharp look and shake of his head.

“That happen often? The…music?” He asked, his head tilting towards the floor.

You let out a small scoff. “Yeah, basically every night. This isn’t even the worst of it.”

He grunted in response, displeased. 

“You don’t hear it from your apartment?”

“I do, it’s just not this bad. Becomes background noise after a bit.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s fucking awful music.”

You laughed at that. “Right?! I’m pretty sure they’re aspiring DJ’s…all I know is that I hate them.” He let out a deep laugh that sent a thrill through your body. God help you, you wanted to hear it again. 

“What music do you like?” You tried to ask casually.

He paused, deliberating his answer. “I like…older music, jazz. Not a fan of the modern stuff.”

That didn’t surprise you at all.

You hummed in response. “Yeah, I get that. My grandma made sure I listened to all the classics—I have a soft spot for Sinatra, among others.”

“Huh,” was all he offered. He started walking towards the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“This was…nice. I—um, I enjoyed your company. Pie was good, too.” 

You giggled at his nervousness—there was something so charming about this big guy being awkward. 

“Yeah, me too. We should do it again, before I go home.”

He hesitated opening the door. “When’s your flight?”

“Friday morning.”

“Monday after work. I’ll bring the plums.”

Later that night, you made the unsafe decision to take an after midnight stroll around Bucharest, choosing to potentially put your life in danger than listen to the gut wrenching sounds of Bucky’s nightmare. It was a bad one—you tried burrowing your head in all the pillows and blankets you had, but you could still hear the harrowing screams and cries. Potentially being mugged seemed a lot more appealing in that moment. 

Bucky knocked on your door an hour after you got home on Monday, with plums in his hand and a request that you teach him the plum pie recipe. 

“Oh Bucky, it’s really not that special. Any recipe you find on the internet will be just as good!” And you knew that was true, because your recipe was the first result when you googled ‘plum pie recipe’. 

“I want to know your one. Promise I won’t get in the way.” His eyes were almost pleading, and you hated the way your heart clenched at his kicked puppy expression. You could see the exhaustion lining his eyes, how his torturous, sleepless nights were taking a toll on him. Your eyes burned with tears just looking at him. 

That’s how you ended up hiding in your bathroom, staring unblinking at your phone screen trying to commit the plum pie recipe to memory. 

He didn’t get in the way, just like he promised. But you could feel him hovering over your shoulder, his eyes solely focused on your hands as you made the pie. His rapt attention made you stumble a few times, completely forgetting steps and measurements. 

He still didn’t talk much, only offering small grunts and hums when you explained techniques and made the occasional awkward—trying to be funny—comment. 

You sat closer to him at the table this time, cheering internally when he didn’t lean away or move his chair further from you. 

You let out a breathy chuckle as a thought crossed your mind.

“What?” Bucky asked curiously.

“Nothing, just had a thought.” You shook your head with a small smile, pushing around a large chunk of plum with your fork. 

“Do you not get those often?”

You gasped in shocked delight, not expecting him to make a lighthearted dig at you. You looked up from your plate at him, seeing his blue eyes twinkling and an almost smirk tugging his mouth. 

“Wow,” you dragged out. “And to think, I was just starting to like you…” You teased him back.

He huffed out a small laugh.

“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. What were you thinking about?” He shovelled more pie in his mouth, waiting for your response. 

“You remind me of a cat.”

“What?” He laughed out, his mouth full of pie.

“You’re like a cat. Aloof, wary of people, ready to run out the nearest exit.” You spoke softly, not wanting him to perceive your words as an attack. “But, with a bit of patience and treats,” you nodded towards the pie, “you start to become curious…even trust a little, maybe. It’s not a perfect analogy—it was just a thought.”

He looked at you with a strange expression on his face—something achingly tender, with a mix of disbelief and sorrow. He didn’t answer for a minute, just watched you like he still couldn’t figure you out. 

“What kind of cat would I be?”

“A black cat, for sure.”

You saw him two more times before Thursday afternoon. The first time he joined you on your morning walk around the neighbourhood, the both of you silent—basking in each other’s company and enjoying the quiet summer morning. The second time was late on Tuesday night, when you finally had enough of the backpackers bullshit and were banging on their door demanding they shut the fuck up. Bucky was there within a minute of you shouting, gently pulling you away from the door where two sleazy backpackers were leering at you.

“It’s not worth it,” he said your name softly. 

“Fucking assholes,” you seethed. “I know they stole my headphones, Bucky!” 

You were no match for his strength as he carried you up the stairs, your legs thrashing uselessly. “They were expensive,” you whined like a pouting toddler.

Saying goodbye to your students on Thursday was by no means easy. Even though you only taught there for a few months as part of your gap year, the kids had dug their way into your heart and left you in tears when they hugged you goodbye. 

You recovered by the time Bucky knocked on your door in the late afternoon, plums in one hand and a small bunch of wildflowers in the other. You were frozen, staring at him with what you were sure was a lovestruck expression on your face. 

He held the flowers out for you to grab, your hand brushing his gloved one in the process. He quickly pulled his hand back at your touch, running it through his hair as he looked everywhere but you.

“For your last day,” he said, like that explained everything. “Sorry, they’re nothing, uh, special—they were the only ones the florist had left…” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder.

You snapped out of your smitten daze, a soft giggle leaving you at his nervousness. He looked at you then, his shoulders relaxing.

“They’re perfect.” 

You opened the door wider for him to come in, walking to the kitchen to put the flowers in a glass of water while he closed the door behind him. 

You turned your head sideways, shooting him a teasing look. “You know…they’re going to die in a couple days. I won’t be here to look after them.”

You watched in fascination as a flush climbed up his neck, painting his cheeks red. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a nervous huff. “I didn’t think about that.”

“You can always break in after I’ve left, grab them for yourself before the pricks downstairs steal them.” 

“We don’t want that happening,” he chuckled, putting the plums on the counter next to you. “I’m starting to see why you hate them so much.”

“You’re only seeing it now? They’ve been my number one enemies since I moved in.” You grumbled bitterly. 

You rolled your shoulders back with a sigh—you didn’t want your bitterness clouding your last night with Bucky. 

“Okay, let’s change the subject,” you clapped your hands together, turning to face Bucky fully. “I’m thinking one last plum pie, and maybe we can finish that movie we were watching the other night?”

“Whatever you want.”

An hour later you were both sat at the small table, the half-eaten pie between you and Bucky barely paying attention to the movie, again. His eyes were fixated on your packed suitcase and duffel bag next to the bed. He looked…sad, mournful even. There was a small crease between his furrowed brows, the sides of his mouth downturned, and he hadn’t eaten much in the last few minutes.

“Hey,” you started, voice low and soft. “You okay?”

He whipped his head back to you, his glassy eyes meeting yours for a second. “Yeah,” his voice broke faintly. He cleared his throat, looking down at the pie.

“I’m…gonna miss you.” 

You sucked in a breath, the emotion in his voice making your throat feel tight. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you looked at the man in front of you. You wished you could take away all his pain, all his sadness.

You gently laid a hand on his arm, your eyes darting between his for any signs of unease—the only other time the two of you had touched was when he dragged you away from the backpackers door. His arm was solid and cold through his long-sleeve, almost unnaturally hard. His shocked eyes looked into yours as your thumb rubbed his sleeve faintly.

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

You removed your hand and looked back at the movie, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

Tension hung thick in the air, causing you to clear your throat and try relieve some of the tightness in your chest.

“You kinda look like him,” you said to Bucky, nodding towards your laptop—a close up shot of Luke Skywalker on the screen. 

“Yeah, I can see it,” you continued, turning your face to see him already looking at you. “If you cut your hair short, shave the beard…” You trailed off, your eyes catching on a bit of plum on his chin.

You raised a hand without thinking, your attention transfixed on the piece of fruit and his pink lips an inch above. His stubble faintly pricked your thumb, your touch featherlight as you swiped the bit of plum away. A small gasp caught in his throat, his chin leaning towards your touch unconsciously. 

Your eyes couldn’t leave his lips, a faint purple tint to them from the pie. 

“You really like plums.”

“They’re meant to help with memory,” he murmured, distracted.

That caught your attention, your eyes darting up to his in question. He let out a deep exhale, the air brushing against your hand. 

“I had an accident…a few years back. Can’t remember much from before, it’s—uh, it’s coming back in bits and pieces.” Your heart clenched painfully, the sorrow for his lost life bleeding through his eyes. 

“Is that—,” you swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Is that what your nightmares are? Memories coming back?” You asked gently, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his chin. 

His eyes widened in panic. “You—you know about the nightmares?”

You moved your hand from his chin, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you pushed a loose strand behind his ear. His body involuntarily shivered from your gentle touch.

“Yeah…I’ve known since my first night here,” you whispered. “The walls are pretty thin.”

His eyes dropped to his lap in shame. “God, I am so sorry,” he rasped out your name, his deep voice thick with emotion. 

You cupped his face with both your hands, tilting his head up until his eyes met yours. “Never apologise for your pain, Bucky.” The anguish and self-hatred you saw in his eyes made yours tear up. “Can I—would it be okay if I hugged you?”

He stared at you for a long moment, then finally gave you a nod.

You stood up slowly with Bucky following your lead. You looked into his eyes once more, checking he was still comfortable with this, before stepping forward and winding your arms around his waist, your palms resting lightly on his back. He sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, his muscles going stiff under your hands. You gently rested your cheek against his chest, his heart beating fast beneath your ear. He didn’t reciprocate the hug for a moment, his arms hovering at his side like he didn’t know what to do.

“Breathe,” you whispered into his shirt. He took a few shuddering breaths in and out then raised his right arm slowly, hesitantly draping it over your shoulder. You felt some of the tension leave his body as he sunk into your embrace. His gloved hand instinctively traveled from your shoulder to the middle of your back, pulling you closer into his warmth—surprising you both.

“Sorry,” his voice was quiet, a slight tremble lacing through. “It’s…been a long time, since I last…hugged someone.” His voice cracked at the end and your heart broke into a million pieces. 

You hugged him tighter, your hands clutching the back of his shirt—tethering him to you. A small sound slipped out of you, something between a gasp and a pained whimper. The lump in your throat grew bigger, spreading down your chest and sitting heavy on your heart. 

He rested his chin on the top of your head, so gently you barely noticed it at first. He let out a staggering breath and then rested the weight of his head on yours fully, purposely. He moved slightly, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhaled deeply. His arm around you tightened, pulling you tight against his strong body.

“…I can’t believe you’re real.” 

You croaked out a watery laugh against his chest. Fuck, he had no clue what he was doing to you—that you were going to be leaving half of your heart behind when you got on that flight in the morning. 

You pulled away from him an inch, moving your hands from his back to cup his face gently. You looked into his glistening blue eyes before looking down at his lips, watching as his tongue peaked out to wet them.

“Can I kiss you?”

He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips on yours hesitantly. He sucked in a sharp breath before pressing his lips to yours firmly. You let him set the pace, letting him know he was the one in control here. His hand moved from your back to your waist, pulling you up into his chest as he deepened the kiss. A whimper caught in your throat when his tongue swept along your bottom lip, your mouth opening for him immediately. His chest rumbled with a low moan, his kisses growing more desperate. Your hand slipped from it’s place cupping his jaw, trailing along his skin before tangling in the long hair at the nape of his neck. He let out a whimper at the feeling, breaking the kiss and taking in deep breaths. 

“You okay?” You asked softly.

His breathy chuckle brushed against your lips. “Yeah, more than okay.”

He kissed you again, more sure this time. Both your hands tangled in his hair, gently tugging his scalp as you kissed him with just as much desperation. His stubble scratched against your skin as he moved his lips, kissing along your jaw and making you gasp. The noise encouraged him, his kisses gaining more confidence, making their way down your neck. You titled your head back, granting him more access. He kissed and licked all over your neck, gently biting down on a spot under your ear making you release a moan. He focused on the spot, sucking and biting as you let out more moans and gasps. His hand on your waist gripped tighter, his fingers digging slightly as he pulled you flush to his body. That’s when you felt it—hard and unmistakable, pressing against your lower stomach. 

You broke away from the kiss, watching his eyes flutter open to look into yours. You moved a hand from his hair, brushing your thumb against his jaw. 

“Let me help you feel good.”

He swallowed audibly, his eyes leaving yours to glance at his left arm hanging stiffly at his side. You watched an internal struggle play out on his face, his darting eyes exposing his overthinking mind. 

“We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with,” you said softly.

He let out a small, disbelieving chuckle before kissing you again—his mouth both achingly tender and bruisingly desperate against your own. 

“Did you fall from heaven?” He whispered against your lips, walking backwards and pulling you towards the bed without breaking the kiss.

You giggled and rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up,” you mumbled.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. He took his hand off of your waist and ripped the glove off with his left hand. He brought his hand up to your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and gazing at you reverently. You let out a little gasp, not expecting him to initiate skin to skin contact first. He leaned in to kiss you again, hungrily claiming your mouth with his. He moved his bare hand down to your hip, slipping tentative fingers under the hem of your shirt and brushing your skin—igniting your nerves and sending shivers along your body. His hand cupped your waist under your shirt, pressing your hips down ’til they were flush with his.

He let out a wrecked moan from the contact, his hips jerking against yours involuntarily. You rolled your hips experimentally, relishing when he let out a deep groan—his body vibrating beneath yours. You rolled your hips faster, spurred on by his noises and his bulge pressing deliciously against your jeans. He broke away from your mouth, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last long if—if you keep doing that.” He sounded ruined. A needy whine tore out of you, your need for Bucky overwhelming you. You ground down on him harder, the ball of desire in your core slicking your underwear and making you greedy. He moaned out your name, clutching your hip to stop your movements. He lifted his head off your shoulder, his glazed eyes meeting your own. 

“Do you have a condom?” He asked, panting already. 

You jumped off his lap, opening your suitcase in a rush to find a condom. You found the open—but unused—box at the bottom, grabbing a couple before joining him on the bed again. He rolled you onto your back, hovering over you with a small smirk on his face. 

“Eager, are we?” 

You nodded quickly in response, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a needy kiss. He gripped the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it up and off your body, pausing to stare at your clothed breasts. He kissed down your neck, lavishing your collarbones and chest in tender, hungry kisses. 

“God, you’re a work of art.” He mumbled into your skin. Your heart swelled in response, unexpected tears pricking behind your eyes. No guy has ever said anything like that to you, it’s normally ‘you’re hot’ or they don’t compliment you at all.

“Take off your pants,” he muttered. He removed himself from your body, standing at the foot of the bed to take his own jeans off, your eyes widening at the impressive bulge in his boxers. You felt more wetness gather in your core, preparing you for what was to come.

You eagerly pushed your jeans down, kicking them off your feet. He climbed back over you, holding his body up with his left arm next to your head. His right hand trailed down your torso slowly, stopping at the wet patch of your panties. He pressed down on it, pulling a desperate whimper from you, your hips rolling up to his touch. He pulled your underwear down your legs one-handed, throwing them somewhere behind him.

He pulled his boxers down to his knees, grabbing one of the foil squares on the bed next to you and ripping it open with his teeth. He rolled the condom down his cock, gasping from the sensitivity. 

He leaned down to kiss you tenderly. “Still wanna do this?” He asked breathlessly.

“Please, Bucky.” You whimpered.

With his mouth on yours, he lined himself up and pushed in slowly. You both gasped at the feeling—he was the biggest you’ve had and you couldn’t control your walls clenching down on him. A pained moan tore from his chest as you gripped him tight, your hands winding through his hair and tugging the dark strands.

He mumbled curses, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He pushed in more, and you let out a sound you’d never heard before—the stretch of him sending you to another world. He started off with slow thrusts, letting you adjust to his size.

“More,” you moaned against his mouth. He picked up the pace, hitting the spot that had your back arching and stars forming behind your eyes. You clenched down on him hard, his hips stuttering and head dropping onto your chest at the feeling.

“Christ, shit—I’m not gonna last long.” He whimpered, his thrusts starting to lose rhythm. He moved his hand to your centre, finding your throbbing bundle of nerves and rubbing firm circles. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, the fire in your core spreading through your veins.

Bucky thrusted a few more times before coming, your name slipping from his lips in a half moan, half whimper. He continued thrusting into you, his release long and overwhelming. He doubled his efforts on your clit, sending you over the edge with a sharp gasp of his name. It wasn’t an all-consuming, white hot pleasure but it was good. Warm, like golden sun rays spreading through your body.

He laid his head on your chest, the both of you panting after your releases. You raked a hand through his hair, rubbing soothing circles on his scalp. He shuddered at the feeling, tears slipping from his eyes and wetting your chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For making me feel human.”

You woke up before six the next morning, finding cold sheets next to you where Bucky once was. Sitting on the small kitchen table was your stolen headphones, a ripped piece of paper with chicken scratch handwriting next to them. 

You were right 

- Bucky

A week later you were at your parents place in Philly, sitting on the floor in their lounge sorting their stuff into boxes for donation or storage. Your mom turned the TV up louder, drawing your attention to the breaking news story. There on the screen was a video of the man officials suspected bombed the United Nations—James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Bucky.

 Oh, shit. 

Present day - Brooklyn, New York

The referee’s whistle shrieked loudly, piercing your ears and signalling the end of the soccer game. You had little time to prepare for the blur of messy dark braids and mud sprinting towards you, colliding with your legs and making you stumble back. 

“I did it, mama! I didn’t let a single goal in!” 

“I saw, peanut—I am so proud of you!” You squatted down and hugged your daughter tightly. “Did you have fun?”

She bounced in your arms, nodding vigorously. You pulled back, seeing the beaming grin on her face—proudly displaying the small gap in her top front teeth. She lost her first tooth the week before and she was ecstatic when the tooth fairy visited her—she tried to stay up two hours past her bedtime to ‘catch’ the tooth fairy, but fortunately for you she was out like a log long before you went to sleep. 

“Can we get ice cream? Pretty please?” She asked, her blue eyes wide and bottom lip jutted out in a small pout—the puppy dog expression pulling on your heart strings.

You stood up, combing the loose strands back from her face and wiping a smudge of mud off her forehead.

“Hmm, how about we go home first and get cleaned up?” The both of you headed towards the field’s exit, waving goodbye to her teammates and their parents.

She rolled her eyes. “But home is far away, the ice cream store is closer!” Where she got her attitude from, you had no idea. Well, you did—while she was the spitting image of her father, her personality was a mirror of your own. 

“You have a great point, Jamie. But—” you leaned towards her and took an audible sniff of her hair, dramatically taking a big step back and holding your nose. “—you’re stinky. We need to get you cleaned up for the public’s sake.”

She let out a high-pitched giggle, a familiar smile gracing your face at the sound. It was the most beautiful sound—your daughters joy was all that mattered to you. It meant you were doing something right.

“Okay,” she dragged out. “Does that mean I get two scoops?”

“What?! Two scoops? You won’t be able to sleep after that, bug.” 

The two of you made your way down the street, walking the normal ten minute route back home. She continued to try her luck, trying to guilt trip you into giving her more sugar and you were close to breaking once—when her big eyes glistened with tears—but you held strong even when your heart tugged. God, what you would do for those baby blues.

You were halfway home when a group of men in suits stepped out of the cafe ten metres ahead of you. They were taking up the whole sidewalk, laughing obnoxiously and all exuding alpha male energy. You pulled Jamie closer to you out of instinct, your eyes scanning for an open gap in the group of men when something—someone—caught your eye.

He looked…older, more refined. His hair was slightly shorter, the once styled strands tousled—likely from him running his hands through his hair. His suit was tailored to him perfectly, the faded blue and dark grey combination making his heavy stubble stand out. He held his head high, his shoulders rolled back in a quietly domineering stance. He looked confident, comfortable even. 

You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating wildly in your chest. The world around you faded, your attention focused solely on him as he shook his head with a small laugh, a faint smile curving his lips. 

Bucky Barnes, in the flesh. 

Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Jamie’s little hand tugged on yours, confused as to why you stopped walking.

“Mama?” 

You sucked in a sharp breath, reality crashing down on you—along with a bucket of anxiety and fear.

You tightened your grip on her hand, spinning the both of you around and hurrying in the direction you came from.

“What’s wrong? Where are we going?” Jamie asked in her sweet small voice.

You brushed a hand over her head, tucking loose strands behind her hair. “Nothing’s wrong, peanut. I just—you were right, it makes sense to get ice cream now!”

She instantly perked up, her little feet walking faster than you—dragging you towards the store.

“Finally! Can I get two scoops?”

You nodded in a daze, your mind racing. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, honey.”

Had he seen you? Had he seen Jamie? 

You spent countless sleepless nights tossing and turning over the past five years, playing out millions of different scenarios. You had numerous scripts drafted in your head, what you would say to him—how you would tell him he had a child, a daughter. But seeing him a few feet away from you, alive and well—and so fucking handsome—your mind went blank. 

It wasn’t the right time, you told yourself. Other people were around—you couldn’t put Jamie in that situation.

Trying to get a sugar crazed Jamie to bathe was like trying to tame a sticky-fingered tornado. She jumped over furniture, slid between your legs, and slipped through crevices like she was boneless. You were starting to regret enrolling her in taekwondo classes.

“The hell? How are you moving like that?” You flopped on the couch in defeat, the pounding in your head exacerbated from chasing her around the apartment.

You blinked and suddenly a jar was shoved in your face, half full of crumpled dollar notes, glittery pink and purple letters spelling out ‘swear jar’ on the white label.

“You said a swear word!”

You pounced on her, securing your arms around her waist and pulling her tight against you. You blew raspberries on her face and neck, holding her tighter as she squirmed.

“Let me go!” She squealed through giggles, trying to wriggle out of your arms.

“Not a chance, peanut.” 

After her bedtime routine that took twice as long with the sugar in her system, you sunk into the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other. 

Your phone shook slightly in your grip, anxiety pinching your chest. The last time you looked up Bucky on the internet was over a year ago; you found out he was saving the world alongside Captain America and had been pardoned of his crimes from when he was the Winter Soldier. It was hard to process—that the gentle man you had spent a tender night with in Bucharest, the man that was Jamie’s father, was off saving the world when the world had been anything but kind to him.

But now, you knew he was in the same city—the same borough—as you, and you couldn’t keep running from the truth. 

Ever since that night you’ve felt an ache in your bones, like you had left a part of yourself behind in that shitty apartment. You missed him, but you were so confused. After the UN bombing you tried to find out everything you could about him, and when the two pink lines appeared clear as day on the pregnancy test you knew you had to tell him. But, he had disappeared—gone off the face of the earth and you had no ways to contact him. You thought he had died.

Then the blip happened. Jamie and you came back to find a world that had changed—that had forgotten about you. Your apartment in Philly had new residents, all your belongings gone—you had taken Jamie for a walk in the park and then suddenly five years had passed when you blinked. You moved to Brooklyn to live with your parents while you rebuilt your life, and keeping Jamie safe in a world that was torn apart was all that mattered. The Avengers had brought back half of the world, and that’s when you found out Bucky was alive—his face plastered on the TV screen along with dozens of other superheroes. You didn’t know how to reach out and you didn’t know if you wanted to—you and Jamie were just finding your footing and you didn’t want anything to jeopardise that. And truthfully, you were scared.

When Jamie asked about her dad you told her that you had lost contact when the blip happened, and that you were looking for him. You told her he was once in the army and fought for your country, that he took down bad guys like it was nothing. She occasionally asked, “have you found daddy yet?” and your heart broke every time you looked into her bright, hopeful eyes—the exact same shade of blue that you had fallen for over plum pie.

Taking a long swig of wine, you typed his name into google—your thumb shaking as you hit the search button. 

And there he was.

Congressman James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Representative for Brooklyn.

A memory from two weeks prior surfaced, when you were slumped over your home desk—trying not to panic over the next months budget. Jamie had begged to join a swim club, even with her already busy schedule of school, soccer, and taekwondo. You were starting to struggle on your teacher’s salary, but you couldn’t say no to her. You wanted to provide her with everything she wanted and more.

You were barely paying attention to your mom on the phone, gossiping about brunch with her book club friends earlier that day.

“You’ll never guess who we saw—that new Congressman, the handsome one. You know, I heard that he’s single…” 

You sighed at her tone, knowing what she was suggesting. “Great, I’ll make sure to tell dad he’s got competition.” 

“Oh, hush! That’s not what I was implying and you know it.” You dropped your head onto the desk with a groan. “It’s about time you put yourself out there, give dating a go again. You never know who you’ll meet.”

“Mom, I’m busy—“

“We’re worried about you, honey. All you do is work and take care of Jamie—who takes care of you?”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me, thank you very much. Jamie and I are happy on our own.” You mumbled, a headache starting to pound against your temple. 

There was a pause on her end, and you braced yourself for what was coming. 

“…Have you—has there been any updates on Jamie’s father?” 

“No—look, sorry, I’m busy with school stuff. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” You ended the call without waiting for your mom’s goodbye, guilt gripping your chest like it always does when someone brings him up.

Little did you both know, the congressman she was gushing about was Jamie’s father. 

You gulped down the rest of your wine, saving the number for his office in your phone. 

“What the fuck.” You muttered, your voice echoing in the quiet apartment. You had no clue what you were going to do. 

Jamie’s giggles could be heard from across the grocery store, bringing an unconscious smile to your face. She was with your mom in the bakery section, giving her opinion on what her grandpa’s birthday cake should be. You could already picture the awestruck expression on her face—no doubt her nose was pressed against the glass with wide eyes taking in all the baked goods.

You were in the fruit and vegetables section, gathering ingredients for your plum pie. It had become a tradition without meaning to—baking the pie for your loved ones on special occasions, or even when they just needed comfort. It was a staple in your kitchen now, you had even altered the recipe throughout the years, truly making it your own.

In the weeks after you left Bucharest, you would find yourself making it when you missed him. When you couldn’t get to sleep at night, the sounds of his nightmares echoing in your mind, you were in the kitchen making the goddamn pie. And then when your pregnancy cravings kicked in, all you wanted was that stupid pie. And him. But you couldn’t have him, so the sugar filled pastry would have to do.

Walking through the section, you felt your phone sitting heavy in your pocket, weighed down by the numerous email drafts in your inbox and his office number in your contacts. 

You were focused on selecting the right apples—Jamie was seriously picky with them—when a deep voice called out your name. A low, gravelly, familiar voice—one that you hadn’t heard in years. 

You turned around and there he was, standing a few feet away, wearing a similar suit to when you saw him outside the cafe. His hair was just as messy, dark strands swooping on his cheeks, making his blue eyes look even more electric, intense. You watched as they widened in surprise, an awed smile overtaking his face. He took a small step towards you and you resisted the urge to take one back, your brain struggling to comprehend that Bucky was right in front of you. 

“It really is you.” He spoke softly, dazed.

You blinked.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. You were meant to meet at a cafe, or a park—a safe, common ground. Not at your local grocery store after five pm on a Friday, your hair frizzy from a long day at work and running around after your daughter. 

“Bucky, hi,” you mumbled, still in shock.

“You—you look great, beautiful.” He shook his head as if in disbelief, his eyes trailing up and down your figure. 

Your nerves lit up in response, your body begging you to step closer—to close the gap between you and the man you had spent the past five years yearning for.

“How are you? Are you still teaching?” Your breath caught in your throat—he remembered. He remembered you, and he remembered the brief conversation you’d had about teaching during your gap year. 

Then, as if fate had orchestrated this whole interaction, your daughter came skipping over, a big giddy grin on her face.  

“Look, mama! Nana said I could get Pop the Captain America cake for his birthday!”

Bucky watched closely as Jamie crashed into your legs, your hand instinctively rubbing her back in soothing circles—more for you than her. You watched his eyes drift over her, starting at her messy dark braids, then taking in her taekwondo uniform, finally ending on her crocs—covered in princess and Captain America charms. 

She peered into the basket in your hands. “Oooh! Are you making plum pie tonight?!” You think the whole store heard her yell. 

Bucky’s eyes shot up to yours, a stunned and confused expression on his face. He looked speechless.

Jamie turned around, finally noticing the other adult in front of her. You watched the infectious grin take over her face, proudly showing off her missing tooth. She waved to Bucky. “Hi!” 

You had taught her the importance of stranger danger—well, as much as you could teach a five year old—but her kindness was built into her DNA, she couldn’t help smiling at and greeting every stranger she met.

Bucky was still speechless, his wide eyes looking into your daughters—seeing the same blue you imagined he saw in the mirror. He let out a stunned breath, his body swaying slightly like the rug had been pulled out from under him—because it had. You knew he knew.

“Sorry, hun. I don’t know what you feed her, but I’ve never seen a kid run that fast.” Your mom panted as she joined the accidental family reunion, the Captain America cake in her hands. She looked at the man in front of you, doing a visual double take as she recognised him. 

“Oh! Congressman Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stuck her hand out to Bucky, shooting you a side-eye that screamed “what the fuck aren’t you telling me.” Bucky shook her hand absentmindedly, his eyes not leaving Jamie for a split second. 

You were stood frozen, unable to think. Both your mom’s and Jamie’s eyes were watching you curiously. Why weren’t you saying anything?

Bucky finally looked away from Jamie, his confused yet hopeful eyes meeting your panicked ones. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, at a loss for words. He licked them nervously then tried again.

“…Is she—“

His voice brought you back to earth, back to your body.

“It was really great seeing you, Bucky—I hope you’re well! We’re running late—like super late, so we need to get going.” You grabbed one of Jamie’s hands tightly, using it to pull her with you and to ground yourself. Your mom hesitantly followed, her eyes darting between you and Bucky—suspicion written clearly on her face. “We’ll—I’ll see you later!” You said to him over your shoulder, scurrying towards the checkout as fast as you could.

Your hands shook as you bagged your groceries, barely noticing that you had only gotten half of what was on your list. You took in a deep lungful of air once the three of you were outside. 

Your mom called your name softly yet sternly. “What was that in there? How do you know—did you call him Bucky?”

You sighed, exasperated. “Mom, it’s nothing—“

“No, that was not nothing! You’re acting strange—what’s going on?”

“Please, just drop it!” You nodded towards Jamie next to you, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. “We’ll talk about it later, promise.”

She narrowed her eyes at you but ultimately let it go.

The next morning you were rushing around the lounge, struggling to get Jamie into her soccer kit as she zoomed through the apartment.

“Jesus—just sit still, peanut. Don’t you wanna go play with your friends?” She nodded eagerly, stopping her mad dash around the place so you could get her shirt on. She didn’t stay still for long though, running back into her room with one sock on. “How do you always have so much energy?” You muttered to yourself.

Three heavy raps sounded against your front door. You knew who it was immediately—who else would be knocking at your door before nine am on a Saturday.

Your heartbeat hammered in your throat as you walked to the door slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. You took a deep breath in and grasped the doorknob, stopping for a second to collect yourself.

You opened the door and were greeted by the sight of Bucky, looking devastatingly handsome in a blue t-shirt and black leather jacket. It should be criminal to look that good so early in the morning. His eyes met yours and you could see the emotion swirling in them—hope, determination, and something that looked too close to hurt for your liking. Shit.

You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it.

“We need to talk.”

“Bucky, hi—how do you know where I live?”

“I have my ways.”

He looked over your shoulder, straining his neck to see into your apartment behind you.

“Look, I agree we need to talk—“

“Why did you run off?”

And yup, there it was—the hurt crystal clear in his voice.

You closed your eyes briefly, the familiar clench of guilt overwhelming your chest. 

“I—it wasn’t my intention to…run off, I just—“ You stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. He looked at you expectantly, the exhaustion from a sleepless night evident on his face.

“You what? Were you ever gonna tell me?”

The accusation in his tone slapped you across the face. 

“Bucky, that’s not fair—you don’t even know—“

And, like usual, your daughters timing was impeccable.

“We’re gonna be late!” She barrelled towards you, knocking you off balance as she slammed into the backs of your legs. 

Bucky instinctively grabbed your upper arms, holding you steady as you regained your balance. Your nerves buzzed alive under his hands and you couldn’t help but notice—no gloves, he wasn’t wearing gloves anymore. 

He stepped back from you just as quick, and your body felt the loss of his touch immediately. Goddamn traitor. 

He squatted down to Jamie’s level, smiling at her with the softest look you’ve ever seen on the man. 

“Hi, I’m Bucky.”

You were suddenly annoyed with him. Coming to talk to you unannounced was one thing, but introducing himself to your daughter when you hadn’t had a chance to place boundaries—yeah, that pissed you off. 

“Hi, I’m Jamie!” 

The look he shot you had some of your anger dulling, the guilt you were so familiar with clouding over. You both knew the name Jamie was no mistake, and the flurry of emotions that crossed his face showed what the name meant to him. 

“Jamie?” His voice wavered. “That’s a great name.”

She beamed brightly at him and you felt the world shift beneath the three of you. There was no going back now.

“Are you coming to my soccer game?” 

That shocked both of you.

“Only if your mom wants me there.” And then two pairs of blue eyes are staring at you—one pleading, the other just waiting, letting you know the ball is in your court. And it’s not fair.

“Jamie, we need to talk about you inviting strangers out with us.” Bucky visibly flinched at the word ‘strangers’—it hit like a punch to your gut. “But, sure. Bucky can come with us.”

The ten minute walk to the soccer field was…nice. Bucky fit in like the missing puzzle piece, and it was doing complicated things to your heart. To be fair, Jamie talked the whole time. She was excited to tell someone new all her stories from school, yapping his ear off about everything she could think of. And Bucky was lapping it up. He had a soft smile permanently plastered on his face, his eyes on Jamie the whole time. From the second you stepped outside of your building, he positioned himself to be on the car side of the street, angling his body to protect Jamie—making your heart flip in your chest even more, and waking up something dangerous in your core. 

There was no missing the looks sent your way from the other parents when you arrived—especially the looks your fellow soccer moms shot Bucky. Great, the last thing you wanted was Jamie to be stuck in the middle of their rumour mill.

Jamie sprinted towards her friends already warming up for their game, leaving you and Bucky alone for the first time. You drifted towards the other side of the field, putting distance between you and the gossip hungry parents. No one else needed to be privy of your conversation.

The air around you and Bucky grew heavy, neither of you speaking for a few minutes as you watched Jamie hug her friend after they fell, asking if they were okay. An overwhelming sense of pride took over you, tears warming your eyes at the sight of your daughter being so kind, so caring. 

Bucky cleared his throat softly.

“She’s…happy,” he said wistfully.

“Yeah,” you mumbled softly. “Means I’m doing something right.” 

He looked at you then, his eyes scanning your face as you kept your attention trained on Jamie. You couldn’t look at him. The exhaustion from the last few years was weighing heavily on you, and you knew one glance at Bucky would have you breaking.

He turned back, watching Jamie put her oversized goalie gloves on, chuckling softly as they dwarfed her hands.

“She looks like my sister.”

That had you looking away from your daughter, focusing on the man next to you offering more information about himself. You didn’t know he had a sister.

“Becca was full of energy at that age, too. We both were,” he shook his head with a small laugh. “Ma used to say our house was tornado central with all the damage we caused.”

You let out an amused huff. “I figured she got her energy from you—I was more on the reserved side as a kid. She’s now in three different after school sports activities, but I think they just make her more energised.” 

He made eye contact with you briefly. “Three, huh? That’s…a lot.” 

You both grew silent again, watching Jamie dive for a ball and successfully defending the goal.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Were you gonna tell me?” He asked again, no accusation in his voice this time—a pensive sadness in its place. It only made you feel worse, the tears from earlier blurring your eyes.

“Bucky, I—“ you took in a deep breath, trying to control your emotions. “I was planning to, I swear.” You kept your eyes on Jamie, her smile bringing you some comfort.

“When I found out I was pregnant, I tried looking for you—I really tried. But, you just vanished…I thought you were dead.”

He sucked in a sharp breath at that, looking down at the ground.

“I didn’t want to go through the pregnancy alone, I was fucking terrified. Then, Jamie was born and she became my whole world—I would do anything for her.” Your throat grew tight and a single tear slid down your cheek.

“After the blip, I could only focus on her, on building a better life for her. And then I found out you were alive, that you had helped save the world, and I was…scared. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, and Jamie’s father—you—being a superhero, putting your life in danger…it was a risk I didn’t want to take. I didn’t want you in our lives if you were just going to be…ripped away from us. It would break Jamie—it would break me.”

Your voice cracked and Bucky lifted his head, looking at you with concern. You brushed the tears off your cheeks and continued.

“Plus, I don’t know if you know this, but getting in contact with the Avengers when you’re a civilian…it’s pretty fucking hard.”

He let out a small laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“I thought about reaching out last year, when I saw you were fighting alongside Captain America—who Jamie is obsessed with, by the way—but I just couldn’t get past that fear. It was easier to…live without you than potentially have you torn from us. Well, that’s what I tried to tell myself.”

You both watched as Jamie hit the ground, hard. Bucky stepped forward instinctively, like he was about to run to her side. She recovered quickly, jumping back up with a giggle. 

“She’s tough,” he mumbled with a small smile. 

He turned to you, determination and longing shining in his eyes.

“I get that. I get why you didn’t reach out, you were putting Jamie’s safety, her happiness, first.” He let out a humourless chuckle, “it’s a fucking complicated position to be in, I’ll give you that.”

“I want to be in her life, in your life—if you’ll have me.” 

You looked back at Jamie in time to see her waving at you, at both of you. 

“Yeah,” you muttered softly. “I don’t think she would let you leave, even if you tried.” 

“Good.”

You both settled in to a comfortable silence, before you couldn’t resist asking what you’ve wanted to know for the last five years.

“Where were you—“

“What does she know—“

You both laughed softly. You tipped your head towards him. “You go first.”

“What does she know…about me?”

Yeah, you were expecting that.

“I told her you were in the army, that you fought bad guys…that we lost contact after the blip. She asks for updates, wanting to know where her daddy is.”

His brows pinched, his mouth trembling slightly like he was holding back tears. He cleared his throat twice. 

“How do we tell her?”

There it was, the question you had been dreading—because you had no fucking clue. 

“…I don’t know—hope she figures it out herself?” 

The look he shot you was deadly. 

You sighed. “Fine, I’ll sit her down one night, tell her gently.”

“I want to be there.” 

Of course he does. Of course he just walks back into your life and wants to be involved in everything. Half of you is fucking thrilled he’s here and wanting to be part of your lives, but the other half is terrified he’ll think it’s too much and leave you both—or worse, die and leave you broken.

His eyes watched you carefully and you knew he could sense your internal battle.

“I’m not going to leave, I promise.”

And, because it was the reason you suffered many restless nights, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

“What happened to you? After Bucharest?” 

He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a breath.

“I was in Wakanda. I…couldn’t trust my mind, and they helped me. Brought me a bit of peace.”

You could see it, how different he was to the man who once lived across from you. He was still gentle, soft, but more sure of himself—more confident in who he was. He no longer walked around like he was ashamed to be alive. 

“And now…you’re a Congressman? I’ll admit I’m a little shocked, it’s quite the difference to the guy who could barely make eye contact with me.” You teased lightly.

He scoffed, shaking his head with a small smirk. 

“Trust me, speaking in front of Congress is much easier than talking to the pretty girl across the hall.”

Your body flushed with warmth. Was he seriously flirting with you? 

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions in check. You were not going to crumble for him that quickly. 

“We need to set ground rules, if we want this to work. For Jamie’s sake.”

He nodded solemnly, catching the seriousness in your tone.

“No showing up unannounced—we have a routine, and Jamie can get easily distracted.”

“Noted.”

“Communication is important, okay? Let me know if you want to see her, or if you have to cancel last minute. We have to be honest with each other—you need to tell me if it’s too much. If we’re too much.”

“Not gonna happen,” Bucky muttered.

“And absolutely no funny business—I’m serious, Bucky. I’m not jeopardising her relationship with you because we couldn’t keep it in our pants.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped, but he nodded regardless. 

“Whatever you say, doll.” 

You glared at him when he said ‘doll’—that was not helping. 

“Should I come ‘round tonight to tell her? I can bring dinner.” Bucky was rocking back and forth on his feet, barely containing his eagerness. You bit your lip to suppress a smile.

“No, not tonight. She has a playdate this afternoon and she’s always a nightmare to calm down afterwards.” 

“Tomorrow, then?” 

You rolled your eyes, the smile breaking out across your face.

“Fine.”

“…Any chance you can make that plum pie?”

Jamie was lying on the couch, her head hanging off the side when Bucky knocked on the door the next evening. You had told her earlier that he was coming around for dinner and she had barely sat still since. It was a pain in the ass, if you were being honest. She clung to your torso like a koala as you tried to vacuum the apartment, making the chore take twice as long. Her crayons and toys covered the dining table—you had already put them back in her room three times that afternoon but she kept on bringing them back out. And there was a purple stain on her chin—which you were fairly certain was a bit of plum pie mixture she had swiped when you turned your back. 

“I’ll get the door!” She all but screamed as she ran towards it. 

“I hope you like burgers,” came Bucky’s deep voice from behind you. You turned to find Jamie giving him a tour of the apartment, starting with the small kitchen you were standing in.

She gasped, delighted. “They’re my favourite!”

“Thank you,” you said, taking the bags from his hands and putting them on the counter. 

“Of course,” Bucky replied, his eyes traveling down your body before meeting your eyes. You tried to not let that affect you, busying yourself with gathering plates and napkins.

“Peanut, can you please grab your stuff off the table?” You asked Jamie. “Don’t forget to wash your hands, too.”

Jamie grumbled her objections but did as you asked, huffing as she gathered her mess of toys. 

You turned to Bucky. “Sorry for the mess, I cleaned earlier but…”

Bucky nodded, a small smile on his face. “Tornado central.”

You grinned at him. “Exactly.”

Jamie ran back to the kitchen, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him towards the lounge. “C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.” She was no match for his super soldier strength yet he let her drag him around with no complaint. 

You put the finishing touches on the plum pie, sticking it in the oven before setting the dining table for dinner—all while listening to Jamie show Bucky your quaint apartment.

“And finally, this is mommy’s room—“

“Peanut, I don’t think he needs to see that.” You raised your voice slightly, rushing down the hallway to see them already in your doorway. You did not need Bucky in your room—that would just open pandora’s box and you were not prepared to deal with that.

“Your mom’s right, I don’t need to see her room,” Bucky said, though the small smirk on his face said something else entirely. You really hoped he didn’t catch the bra hanging from the laundry basket.

“Let’s eat before it get’s cold, yeah?” Jamie didn’t need to be told twice, forgetting her tour and sprinting down the hallway.

You and Bucky followed behind her, and he was an inch too close for your liking.

“Red, huh?” He muttered lowly. Your body went hot—he definitely saw the bra.

The burgers were good, like really good, and you weren’t afraid to tell him.

“Where did you get these? I think they’re the best I’ve had in Brooklyn—wait, no, in the city.” You practically moaned.

Bucky’s smirk was bright and smug. “It’s a small hole-in-the-wall near my office. I can take you there sometime.”

Jamie was bouncing in her chair, happily nibbling away at her food—unaware that her life was about to change in a second. You made eye contact with Bucky, both your faces falling serious. It was time.

“Hey, Jamie? There’s something I—we—need to talk to you about.” You spoke to her gently, putting your burger down and wiping your hands. Her bright eyes met yours and you knew you had her attention.

“You know how I said I was looking for your dad?” She nodded eagerly, her eyes briefly flicking to Bucky. She was a smart kid, you could practically see the gears in her brain turning.

“Well, I—uh,” you stuttered. Now that you were here, your mind had gone blank. How the hell do you tell your daughter her dad is sitting right next to her?

Bucky placed a hand on yours, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. He shot you a look saying “I’ve got this” before turning to Jamie fully. 

He sucked in a breath. “I’m…I’m your dad, Jamie. And I would love to be in your life, if you’re okay with that.”

Bucky had barely finished his sentence before Jamie lunged, wrapping her little arms tight around his neck—no doubt smearing sauce on his shirt and hair.

He was taken aback for a quick second before returning her hug, his hands gently cradling her back. And that’s when you noticed it—his arm, the left one. You had seen it in pictures, on TV, but never in the flesh. His vibranium thumb was rubbing soft circles on her back, soothing her as sobs wracked through her—her little frame overcome with emotion. A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched them—overwhelmed with guilt from keeping them apart for so long, and something else warm blooming in your chest. 

Bucky pressed a kiss to her head, closing his eyes tightly like he was fighting back tears. He pulled back slightly, his hands moving to brush away the tears on Jamie’s cheeks.

“Does this mean you’re moving in?” Jamie asked sweetly.

He let out a watery chuckle. “No, no I’ll be staying at my place. It’s not far from here.” His eyes shot up to yours quickly before continuing. “But, I’ll come ‘round as much as I can. And, I’ll be at all your soccer games—promise.”

By this point she had fully crawled onto his lap, bouncing happily in his arms. “What about taekwondo and swimming? Will you be there?”

“If I don’t have to be away for work.” 

She pouted at him, opening her mouth to argue when the oven’s timer went off. She jumped off his lap, running the short distance to the kitchen. “Plum pie!” She squealed, excited. 

You put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered. He looked at you with glassy eyes that you were sure mirrored your own. 

“Get the pie, I’ll clean this up.” He nodded towards the mess of burgers and napkins. 

You shooed Jamie away from the oven and she climbed back onto Bucky’s lap—natural, like it was where she belonged. You put your hands on the counter, dipping your head down and taking a few breaths. This was going better than you imagined, but it was also dangerously twisting your heart. 

“You’ve got no idea how much I missed this,” Bucky muttered, looking at the pie in your hands. His eyes dragged up your body, meeting your own with a darkened gaze—it was obvious he was not just talking about the pie.

Your hands shook imperceptibly as you plated up three slices. Bucky was the first to dive in, letting out a low moan as he tasted the pie for the first time in five years. Jamie giggled at him from her place in his lap.

And you? You were frozen in your chair, a warmth spreading in your core from his moan. It was fucking sinful, and he had no right to make a noise like that at your dining table—even if it was him showing his appreciation for your baking. It felt like it was more than that.

You were in the kitchen cleaning up while Jamie had convinced Bucky to sit on the lounge floor with her, showing him her favourite toys. You looked over your shoulder, catching her holding his vibranium arm in her little hands—gazing at it in wonder.

Then you watched the realisation hit her.

“…You know Captain America.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sam? Yeah, I know him.”

And then she was shrieking, hugging the arm tightly. 

“Can I meet him? Please, please, pretty please?!”

Bucky laughed loudly at her excitement. “Yeah, princess. I’ll see what I can do.”

You watched as he stood up slowly with Jamie hanging from his arm. She swung on it, giggling nonstop. A smile spread across your face, despite the way your ovaries were screaming at the sight. The ‘no funny business’ boundary you set was looking a lot less appealing now, and it had barely been twenty-four hours. 

The three of you were stood at your front door, Jamie clinging onto Bucky’s leg like her life depended on it. You and Bucky had your phones out, syncing your calendars so you were aware of each others schedules, routines. 

“You weren’t joking,” Bucky muttered, looking at the colour coded schedule you had for all of Jamie’s activities. You rolled your eyes—you took your schedule very seriously, there was no joking when it came to having your daughter’s life prepared.

Bucky squatted down, pulling Jamie into a hug. “I’ve gotta go now, angel. You be good for your mom.” He tried to pull back but she held on tighter, her little fists clenching his jacket.

“No,” she whined. “Please don’t go.”

“The sugar crash, right on schedule.” You mumbled, gently prying her hands off of him. She let out a cry as you gathered her in your arms, her little hands reaching for Bucky. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. He gave you a small smile and shake of his head, stepping forward to kiss Jamie’s forehead.

You were exhausted by the time you tucked Jamie into bed. She cried for half an hour after Bucky left, and it fucking broke your heart. You weren’t expecting her to get attached to him so quickly, but that was your daughter—she loved with her whole heart. And you couldn’t blame her, you felt like crying after he left too. All your feelings for him came rushing back as you watched him with your daughter—his daughter.

This was not going to be easy on your heart. 

A few weeks passed and everything felt so right. Bucky kept true to his promise—he didn’t miss a single one of her games and came to her taekwondo and swimming classes when he wasn’t needed at the Capitol. He spoiled her with gifts—even when you told him not to—and he had started spoiling you too. You tried to brush him off with an eye roll every time, but the flush on your cheeks gave you away. 

First, it was a nice bottle of wine, one you would never buy for yourself. Next, a box of expensive chocolates he had been “gifted” and didn’t want—you called bullshit. Then, it was a massage voucher—when you tried to refuse it, he promptly said “it’s either this or I give you one myself, doll” and you snatched it out of his hands before he could see the deep red crawling up your neck. The more he did for you and Jamie, the harder it was for you to ignore the way your heart tugged towards him—the way your body lit up every time he threw you that secret smirk. You were growing more frustrated each day and it was starting to show.

You were sitting in the break room at work, half paying attention to the geography teacher who was gossiping about one of her sophomore classes—apparently two of her students had a cute back and forth and she was coming up with a plan to push them together.

She called your name, looking at you expectantly.

“Huh? Sorry, bit out of it today,” you muttered, your cheeks growing warm.

“I was talking about Sophie and Ben—they’re in your third period English class, right? Don’t you think they would be cute together?” She all but squealed.

You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed them. I don’t know if we should be meddling in our students relationships, though. Besides, it’d just make me feel depressed about my lacking love life…” You trailed off, your mind already wandering to Bucky and the look on his face when Jamie called him ‘daddy’ the night before.

Your colleague dropped into the chair next to you, chin in her hand as she peered at you in interest. “Oh? Are you looking to date?” You were about to shake your head, but she continued. “My cousin just moved here and I think you would be perfect for each other! You’re definitely his type.”

You rolled your eyes, the last thing you wanted was to be set up on a blind date. “No, I’m not dating. It’s fine, really—“

But she was already grabbing your unlocked phone, pulling up your calendar and looking for a free slot. She found one—next Saturday, when Jamie would be staying the night at Bucky’s for the first time. She typed on your phone, setting up an appointment for eight pm—“Date with Michael!”

“I’ll text you his details!”

There was no way in hell you were going to text him to arrange a date. You already had a date scheduled that night—your bath, a bottle of red Bucky had given you, and the toy you hadn’t unboxed yet.

Later that night, Bucky was in your kitchen drying dishes slowly, a faraway look on his face. You had just tucked Jamie in for the night, and he didn’t notice when you returned to the kitchen.

“Hey,” you started. “You okay?” 

“Who’s Michael?” He asked gruffly, his eyes boring into yours.

You furrowed your brows at him, very confused. “Michael? I don’t know a Michael.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning the screen to show you an appointment in your synced calendar—the appointment you had forgotten to delete. 

You let out a breathy chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Oh, that. My coworker was trying to set me up with her cousin, she put that in my calendar.” You shrugged.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He looked pissed.

“Tell you what, Bucky? I’m not going.”

“I think I have a right to know if you’re dating, doll.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at you. Fuck, he looked hot. 

“I’m not dating, Buck.” He leaned against the counter behind him, still staring at you intensely.

“But, you would tell me if you were?” You were starting to get aggravated, this felt like an interrogation.

“What does it matter to you?” You said, voice louder than intended.

“We have a child together. I should know if you’re bringing random guys home.”

Now you were mad. He made it sound like you were out hooking up with any guy that showed you attention.

You stepped towards him, pressing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest.  “For your information,” you seethed, glaring into his darkened eyes. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Bucharest. Don’t you dare imply I’m hooking up with randoms.”

You watched as his pupils dilated, his eyes turning almost black. His vibranium arm whirred as he clenched the counter behind him. 

“You haven’t been with anyone else?” He asked, voice dangerously low. 

You hadn’t meant to let that slip, to tell him that he was the last guy you slept with.

You took a step back, dropping your hand and putting much needed space between you two. When did it get so hot in here?

“It’s a bit hard to find time for yourself when you’re raising a kid solo.” You were sick of the focus being on your nonexistent sex life.

“What about you, Bucky? Now that Jamie is going to be staying at yours, I have a right to know who you’re dating.” You were only asking for Jamie’s sake. It had nothing to do with the twisting in your gut at the thought of Bucky with anyone else.

He stepped forward, crowding you against the counter behind you. His eyes did a slow drag up your body, lingering on your lips for a few seconds.

“I’ve got all I need right in front of me.”

Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your breath hitching. This was not the Bucky you knew in Bucharest, he was never this forward.

“No funny business,” you whispered, though there was no heat to it. 

“It’s not funny business, it’s the truth. Thought you wanted me to be honest, doll.” 

You glared at him. How dare he use your words against you. 

You pushed at his chest and he took a step back, giving you some much needed breathing room.

You went back to cleaning up the kitchen, Bucky falling in step beside you after a minute.

There was a buzz in the air between you and Bucky, your body hyperaware every time he shifted next to you—slowly closing the gap.

“Do you have photos?” Bucky suddenly asked.

“Photos of what?” 

“When you were pregnant.” 

You whipped your head to him, staring at him with wide eyes.

“What? Why…why are you asking me that?”

He shrugged like it was a normal thing to ask someone. 

“I want to see.”

“Bucky, I’ve already sent you photos of when Jamie was a baby.”

“I’m not asking for those.”

You shook your head at him. “You’re weird, you know that?” He just stared at you blankly. “Fine, whatever. I’ll send you some later.” 

The side of his mouth twitched, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. 

“Good girl.” 

Every time Bucky looked at you all you could think about was those two stupid words. On their own they’re completely acceptable, harmless. Put them together and they’re a totally normal praise to say to a child. But when he said them to you in that low voice? There was nothing harmless or normal about your body’s reaction. 

And you knew he knew what he was doing to you. There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes raked over you, and the gifts he kept on getting you? They were not for the sake of co-parenting or whatever bullshit half-excuse he used. 

The bouquet of flowers he turned up with the other night? “Something nice for you and Jamie to look at.” 

The gift voucher for your favourite clothing store? “Can’t have the mother of my child wearing old clothes.” That was a bullshit excuse and you both knew it. 

“You use that massage voucher, doll?” He asked when he came to pick up Jamie for their first sleepover. 

You woke up feeling hot and flustered, with a notification on your phone telling you that you were ovulating. The heat lingered all day, your clothes irritating your skin every time you breathed. Now Bucky was standing in front of you with that half-smirk, asking about whether you used his gift, and it was not fucking helping. 

“You look…tense, it might help.” He stepped closer, your back pressing against the doorframe.

“Gotta make sure you take care of yourself, sweetheart.” 

Oh. That was new. He hadn’t called you that before.

He raised his vibranium hand slowly, running a cold fingertip along the heat blooming on your neck. “Got any plans tonight?”

You shuddered at the feeling, your brain going blank as the dull ache in your core amplified.

“…What are you doing?” You asked, voice barely a whisper. 

“Jus’ making sure Jamie’s mom is looking after herself, taking care of her needs.” 

Jamie came running from her room, her backpack unzipped and overflowing—even though you had already packed it and double-checked it had everything she needed.

Bucky took a step back, clearing his throat before turning and catching Jamie with ease. Your ovaries started a war inside you, your core cramping with need watching Bucky interact with your daughter.

“Bye Mama!” Jamie kissed your forehead, her spot in Bucky’s arms making her taller than you.

“Have a good night, sweetheart.” Bucky mumbled with a wink, grinning at your cheeks flushing even more red.

Bucky brought Jamie back early the next evening, her body slumped in his arms with little snores escaping her.

“How the hell did you get her to sleep?” You whispered, astonished that she was passed out so early.

He shrugged like it was nothing. “We did some soccer drills at the park, I let her try out some taekwondo moves on me. Helps that the serum gives me a high stamina.”

He walked Jamie to her room, tucking her into bed like it was second nature. He came back to the lounge to find you stood frozen, your mind still reeling over high stamina.

Blame it on your smart mouth, or on your ovulation obliterating your filter, but you opened your mouth without thinking.

“High stamina? Where was that in Bucharest?”

Your wide eyes gave you away—you had clearly not meant to say that. You weren’t disappointed with the sex you and Bucky had, god no, but you wouldn’t say it was a good example of super soldier stamina.

A devilish smirk spread across his face, stalking towards you like he was a predator and you were his prey. 

“Cut a guy some slack, doll. You were the first woman I’d touched since the 1940s. I’m surprised I lasted as long as I did.”

He was right in front of you now, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear—his hungry eyes latched on your lips.

“You want a redo? Want me to show you how long I can really go for?” 

Your pulse jumped in your neck, a breath getting lodged in your throat, the ache from the day before hitting your core at full force. 

“…Bucky, we—we said no funny business.” 

His hand moved to your chin, gripping it gently and tilting your head up. There was a fire blazing in his eyes as he stared into your soul.

“No, you said that.” His vibranium hand rested lightly against your hip, testing. You gasped at the cold seeping through your clothes, relieving some of the heat and making your core clench with need at the same time. 

He dropped his head, brushing his nose against yours.

“Did you take care of yourself last night, sweetheart?” His voice was low, husky.

Your body flushed even hotter. His proximity had your brain short-circuiting and butterflies raging in your stomach, the smell of his aftershave and something uniquely him overwhelming your senses with every shuddering breath you took. 

“I asked you a question,” he gripped your chin tighter, his tone bordering on demanding.

“I…had a bath, drank some wine…” the vibranium hand on your hip slipped higher, cupping your waist and pulling you closer. A tiny gasp got caught in your throat.

“Did you touch yourself?” His nose brushed across your cheek, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“You—you can’t ask me that, Bucky.” Your voice shook. Your hand clutched his shoulder, the vibranium cold against your palm even through his shirt. The ground beneath you felt unsteady, your body swaying towards him for support.

“Sure I can, your wellbeing is important to me. Answer the question.” The hand on your chin moved, a calloused thumb brushing your bottom lip.

The touch had your mind blanking, tingles erupting beneath his thumb and travelling through your body, gathering in the pit of your belly. Your head felt fuzzy and the world narrowed to him, only him.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He hummed, satisfied.

“Good girl.”

Your thighs clenched at the praise, the warmth in your core begging for relief. You watched his tongue swipe along his bottom lip, leaving them glistening and looking so fucking tempting. 

“It wasn’t enough though, was it?” He walked you backwards slowly, a small gasp escaping you as your back hit the wall. “No, I think you need more.” 

His head dropped to the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to moan. It had been so long since someone had touched you—since Bucky touched you—and the need pulsing through you was making you delirious.

Both Bucky’s hands dropped to your hips, squeezing tight as he stepped closer. One of his thighs slotted between your legs, the pressure against your core making you whimper. 

“You need to be more careful about what you put in your calendar, doll.” 

You struggled to understand what he was saying, too overwhelmed by his closeness and the dizziness it was causing.

He pressed a faint kiss to your throat, right where your pulse was beating wildly. He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“God, I’ve been hard ever since I saw that notification yesterday.”

That had you reeling, a fraction of reality slipping through the haze. What was he talking about? 

You found your voice, although meek and small. “What notification?”

His vibranium hand slipped from your waist to your back, pulling you into him until your back arched, your core shifting against his thigh. The slight friction made your body thrum, your hips instinctively rolling to chase the feeling.

“The one letting you—me—know that you’re ovulating.” 

You gasped, horror running through your body. You didn’t even think about how your tracking app was linked to your calendar. 

“I can smell it, sweetheart. How fucking needy you are.” His words had the horror dissolving into liquid honey, the need he was talking about dripping from your core. 

His right hand gripped your hip tighter, his fingers digging in as he moved your hips, dragging you back and forth on his jean-clad thigh.

“I wanna take care of you. Let me make you feel good.” He whispered, his mouth hot against your ear. 

Any worries you had about crossing boundaries, about ruining Jamie’s relationship with her father disappeared, replaced by a blazing fire.

“Please,” you whispered desperately.

Bucky didn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours in a bruising kiss. His hands pulled you tighter against him, your hips flush with his. Your hands found their place in his hair, tugging the soft strands and making him moan into your mouth. 

His tongue slipped past your lips with no resistance, meeting yours in a battle for dominance that you had no intention of winning. He bit your bottom lip, tugging it as he pulled back. He dropped his forehead to yours, both of you panting heavily from the kiss.

“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, pressing small kisses to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.

You whined when he stepped back, missing his warmth and the friction between your legs. 

“Patience, doll.”

And then he was dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up the sides of your thighs and gripping the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down torturously slow. He groaned low at the sight of your panties, the dark wet patch exposing your need for him.

He pressed a quick kiss to the patch, making your head hit the wall with a thud. He chuckled at you, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger.

“So responsive.”

He placed one of you thighs over his shoulder, peppering your inner knee and thigh with soft kisses. He stopped at your mid thigh, turning his head to lavish your other leg with the same attention. Your breathing grew heavy at the teasing, the need in your core growing unbearable the more he avoided where you needed him most.

“Bucky, please, stop teasing,” you whined, your voice echoing in the apartment.

He chuckled darkly, looking up at you like you were a feast he couldn’t wait to devour. 

“Gotta be quiet, doll. Don’t wanna wake Jamie up now, do you?” His tone was mocking and you wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

He relented his teasing, rising to his full height and gripping your hips. His mouth found yours again, softer this time but still just as hungry. Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as you tried to grind your core against the bulge in his jeans. He let out a small broken moan, leaving your lips to kiss along your jaw and neck. 

“Jump,” he muttered into your neck. You did as he said, your legs wrapping around his waist as he hoisted you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. His hands grasped your ass, rolling your hips against him harder. He spun you around, walking towards your room with his face still buried in your neck, biting and tugging your sensitive skin.

He closed the door behind him softly, dropping you gently onto your bed. He stood at the end, quiet as his eyes raked over your half-dressed body. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He dipped down to kiss you passionately. 

His hands grasped the hem of your top, dragging it up your body and over your head. He stopped momentarily, staring at your naked breasts in awe.

“I didn’t worship you like you deserved, sweetheart. I’m not making that mistake again.” 

Then he dropped his head, kissing a path down your neck and across your collarbones. He ran his tongue along your skin, biting the soft swell of your breast gently, avoiding your nipple. Your hips bucked under him, desperate for more. His hands tightened on your hips, pushing them into the bed to stop your squirming. He finally took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and grazing his teeth against it. You let out a sharp gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders. His flesh hand came up to palm your neglected breast, pulling and twisting the nipple between his fingers, eliciting more debauched gasps from your lips.

“So fucking pretty,” he mumbled, switching his mouth to the other breast to give it the same attention. His vibranium arm whirred as your hips tried to buck more, holding you down with ease. 

His flesh hand stayed palming your breasts as his mouth descended, his stubble scratching the soft skin of your stomach. He stopped, pulling back slightly as his eyes focused intently on your skin—more specifically, on the stretch marks covering your lower belly.

He let out a low moan, pressing his forehead against your stomach like he was collecting himself. His hand on your breast trailed down, calloused fingertips reverently tracing the jagged lines your pregnancy left behind. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured absentmindedly, like he was in a trance. “You’re always beautiful, but seeing those photos of you pregnant with my child.” He let out a dark chuckle. “You don’t know what that did to me, doll.” His dark eyes met yours. “I’ve fucked my fist every night looking at them. Seeing you big and round with my baby—shit, doll.” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Makes me wanna get you pregnant again.”

He dropped his mouth to your skin, his lips kissing your stretch marks with a tenderness that had your heart clenching painfully. He took his time, worshiping every scar with his lips. Your underwear was soaked, his actions and words making you so overwhelming needy that it hurt.

You pushed on his shoulders, trying to get him to move down to your core—to offer you some relief. He relented his soft kisses, grabbing your panties and pulling them down your thighs. He moaned, watching the way the fabric clung to your wet pussy—a line of slick keeping them tethered. He stuffed your panties into his back pocket once he removed them, throwing you a wink.

“A souvenir,” he muttered before diving in. 

His mouth was hot on your core, his tongue dragging a line up your slit before latching onto your clit. He sucked greedily, a hum sounding in the back of his throat. Your hands flew to his hair, grasping the strands and pushing him further into your core. He switched between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue, listening to your moans and whines to see what you liked. His flesh hand splayed against your stomach, stroking the marks there as he held you down. It was both tender and dirty, and it had the heat in your core spreading like wildfire. His vibranium hand trailed along the top of your thighs, making you gasp and shiver. 

He lifted his mouth off you, your slick glistening on his lips and beard—you almost came from the sight alone. He watched you closely as his hand inched higher, a cold finger brushing against your lower lips. You gave him a quick nod, muttering “please” and he didn’t waste any time.

He dipped a finger into your entrance, moaning at the wet heat and little resistance. He pumped it slowly, sucking your clit back into his mouth—making your back arch and hands tug harder, pulling at his scalp and making him moan into you. The noise had you preening, the ball in your core tightening. He inserted another cold finger, curling against the spot that had your legs shaking. You let out a long moan, your breath coming quick as you climbed higher. 

“Come for me, sweetheart.” He mumbled, his voice vibrating against your core. A third finger joined in and the stretch had tears brimming your eyes, the pleasure he was unleashing on your body too much. You came with a cry, your body tensing and shaking under him. He slowed down slightly, dragging your pleasure out until you were whimpering and pushing his head away from the overstimulation.

He crawled up your body, peppering more kisses on your skin as you struggled to catch your breath, coming down from your high slowly. You giggled as his stubbled tickled your stomach. He brushed your cheeks gently, wiping away the few tears that escaped from your pleasure. He looked at you with what looked like love in his eyes, causing your cheeks to flush and heart to beat harder.

He kissed you deeply, the taste of you on his tongue turning you on more. You returned the kiss with fervour, wrapping your legs around his clothed waist and grinding your hips against his bulge.

He moaned at the feeling, his arms on either side of your head shaking with restraint.

“Can I fuck you, doll?” You responded with an eager nod.

“Will you let me fill you up?” You continued nodding, a little whine and pleads leaving your lips.

He removed himself from you, ripping his clothes off in a hurry. He dropped on top of you and you relished at the feeling of his bare chest against yours. Your hands found his shoulders as he rubbed his cock along your dripping slit. You both let out matching moans.

“Wanna give Jamie a little sibling.” It wasn’t a question.

You nodded deliriously, your breath hitching as his tip caught your entrance. He pushed in achingly slow, kissing you as a high pitched moan escaped your throat. He grabbed your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he plunged deeper—a deep groan rumbling in his chest. You whimpered at the stretch of him. He thrusted slow and gentle at first, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of your tight walls hugging him. He picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot—sharp gasps escaping you with every thrust. Your hands clutched his back tighter, your nails digging into the flesh slightly. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, your breathy pants and gasps, and his low moans filled the room.

His hand moved from your hip to your core, rubbing circles on your clit in time with his thrusts. You were still sensitive from your first orgasm and you could feel the fire spreading from your belly at record speed.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” Bucky muttered against your lips. You clenched around him tightly, the praise adding more fuel to the fire. “You like that? You like when I call you a good girl?” You nodded, babbling incoherently as everything became too much and you seized below him. A harsh gasp escaped you as you came a second time, your nails scratching along his back and drawing blood. 

“Fuck—squeezing me so tight, sweetheart. Shit,” he grumbled out as he continued to fuck you through your high, only slowing down when you let out a sob.

He cradled your face in his hands, brushing away tears with a concerned look on his face. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Just breathe,” he cooed softly, pushing hair back from your face. His eyes roamed over your features as you collected yourself, gasping in small breaths as your mind came back to your body. 

“You still with me?” You nodded shakily. “Wanna keep going?” 

“Please, need you to come inside me.” You whispered, a shaky hand grabbing his jaw and kissing him softly.

He groaned into your mouth, his cock dragging inside you slowly—making you whine.

“You got any idea what you do to me, doll? Fucking begging me to breed you,” he gave a harsh thrust and you let out a broken sob. 

He shushed you, moving his flesh hand to your mouth as he continued to thrust mercilessly.

“You’re gonna wake Jamie up.” You moaned behind his mouth, your eyes rolling back and your body feeling weightless.

He pulled out suddenly, making you let out a pained cry at the loss of him. “No, no, please, don’t stop.” You babbled, your hands grabbing his arms trying to get him back inside you.

He chuckled at your desperation before grasping your hips and flipping you over, positioning you on your hands and knees. You had little time to adjust to the new position before he was slamming into you, his cock pounding your walls at a relentless speed. Your moans were muffled by the pillow beneath your head, the fabric getting soaked in your drool and tears.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby,” he moaned, clutching your ass cheek before bringing his palm down in a harsh slap. Your body jumped forward, pain radiating from his slap and morphing into pleasure. You clenched down on him in a vice like grip, his hips stuttering in response. 

“You want another baby, doll? Want me to get you pregnant again?” 

You nodded your head vigorously, mumbling out “yes” and “please” like they were the only words you knew.

He slapped your ass two more times and you let out a broken sob, tears flowing down your cheeks as the pleasure became too much. You could feel Bucky getting close, his thrusts losing rhythm and his grunts increasing in volume. 

“God, you’re gonna look breathtaking, not gonna be able to keep my hands off you.” He muttered out, cursing as you gripped him even tighter. His hand moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. Your back bowed from the oversensitivity, trying to escape his touch but needing it at the same time. You bit the pillow below you as you came for a third time, your wail ringing out in the dark room. Bucky thrusted three more times before stilling, coming inside you with a long drawn out groan. He kept pumping inside you, his warm seed filling you completely. You sighed at the feeling, bliss running through your veins. Bucky caught you as your body collapsed, all your strength leaving you. You felt completely ruined.

Bucky pulled out with a groan, gently rolling you over so you were laying on his chest. His hand trailed up and down your back in soothing patterns, the both of you quiet as you came down. He pressed a kiss to your head, breathing you in deeply. You traced a pattern on his sweaty chest, sleep pulling at the corners of your eyes.

“We should probably talk,” you mumbled.

“Later,” another kiss to your head. “Wanna enjoy you in my arms a little longer.”

More tears pricked at your eyes and you hugged him tighter. You took in a shaky breath as you prepared yourself to say what’s been on your mind since Bucharest.

“I…I think I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s chest shook with a trembling exhale below you.

“I know I love you, sweetheart.” 

it started when your supposed date didn’t show up. or maybe he decided he didn’t want to—that part becomes irrelevant the longer you stare at the empty seat across from you.

the plan was simple. nothing fancy, nothing that required effort beyond showing up. that’s why you wore a hoodie, a jacket layered over it to keep the cold from settling into your bones. sweats, your everyday shoes. practical and comfortable.

the diner smelled like coffee and grease. a bell chimed when you slid into the booth, the vinyl was cool against the back of your legs. you set your phone on the table, face-up.

minutes passed. then more.

the waitress refilled your water without asking, her eyes flicking briefly to the empty seat across from you.

then your phone buzzed.

can’t go, sorry lol.

that was it. no explanation. no apology worth the word. just a lazy little lol, tossed in like it might soften the blow. like it might turn embarrassment into something laughable.

you order a drink you don’t really want, just to justify sitting there a little longer. when it comes, you tip the waitress generously because she smiles like she knows you’ve been stood up.

outside, the cold air of december bites through the fabric and straight into your chest. you walk without direction, hands shoved into your pockets, and breath fogging in front of you, until the warm glow of a nearby hotel pulls you in like gravity.

the bar is dim and polished, all low lighting and murmured conversations. you take a seat and immediately order something strong. men notice you quickly—they all offered to buy you a drink but you declined them all politely.

you’re not here to be picked up.

until one businessman manages to break through the blur.

he stops beside the empty stool and asks if the seat next to you is taken. his voice is low, the kind that doesn’t need to compete with the noise of the bar to be heard. it slides in easy (wink wink), almost hypnotic, and you feel yourself straighten up without meaning to.

you tell him no, though it technically is. reserved for your dignity, which you misplaced somewhere between the first sip and the halfway mark of your second drink.

“i’m james barnes,” he says, and instead of immediately sitting, he offers his hand.

you tilt your head, studying him. men who introduce themselves like that usually want something more than a quick night. as attractive as he is—and he is—you’re not here to be impulsive. not tonight.

still, you take his hand. “and i’m married.” you say, flashing him a smile that’s sweet on the surface and unmistakably sarcastic underneath.

he laughs softly, clearly picking up on the tone—and just as clearly taking your words at face value. “you look pretty young to be married, no?”

his eyes sweep the room in an exaggerated, almost theatrical search, scanning nearby tables and passing faces. “i don’t see your husband anywhere.”

“marriage problems, s’why i’m drinking tonight.” you reply easily, lifting your glass and taking a slow sip, letting the lie settle comfortably on your tongue.

“like what? he had an affair?” he signals the bartender for a drink with two fingers.

his gaze never leaves you—not in a way that feels invasive, but attentive. definitely not like the other men who looked at you and immediately started imagining where you’d fit into their night. his gaze lingered, thoughtful.

“look, mr. barnes,” you begin, turning fully toward him this time. “i was lying about being married. i just wanted you to leave me alone.”

he doesn’t interrupt. he watches you with quiet focus, as if weighing the confession rather than reacting to it. then his mouth curves and a low chuckle slips out.

“tell me to leave,” he says. “and i will.”

everything sensible inside you screams to nod, to murmur a polite thanks, retreat back into yourself and finish your drink alone.

but he hasn’t looked away. hasn’t shifted or filled the silence. he’s still there, patient, waiting like he’s got nowhere else he needs to be.

“fuck it,” you whisper, barely louder than your breath, the words tasting reckless as they leave your mouth.

you lean in closer, close enough that the warmth of him seeps into your space, he tilts his head just slightly to hear you over the murmur of the bar.

“stay.” you say softly.

the night moves forward in a way that feels unplanned, shaped by shared glances and the slow warmth of alcohol.

for a while, the two of you sit beside each other without speaking. it isn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar, like you’re both aware of the space you’re sharing and waiting to see who will cross it first.

the music hums low in the background, glasses leaving damp rings on the bar as minutes slip by.

eventually, the alcohol settles in enough to loosen your nerves. conversation finds its way back easily, as if it had only stepped aside for a moment.

“i don’t mean to be offensive,” you say, pausing when your words start to blur together. “but how old are you?” the question comes out softer than you intend.

he turns toward you with a quiet laugh, clearly amused. “how old d’ya think i am, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning closer so his voice doesn’t have to compete with the noise around you.

you look away, fixing your attention on the bar instead. even through the haze, you catch the intent behind his tone. he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he isn’t trying to hide it.

“no offense—again,” you add quickly, lifting your glass for a sip. “i’d guess… mid-thirties?”

his laughter comes, deeper this time, like the answer genuinely entertained him. “try older.” you glance back at him, brows lifting despite yourself. “older how?”

he takes a moment before answering, studying you with an expression that feels measured rather than guarded. “old enough to know what i want,” he says. after a brief pause, “and old enough not to pretend otherwise.”

something about the certainty in his words settles into your chest. there’s no embarrassment there, no need to explain or justify himself. just confidence shaped by time and experience.

you turn your glass slowly between your fingers. “and does that usually work?” you ask, attempting to sound casual.

his gaze shifts to you, steady and unmistakably focused. “depends,” he replies. “is it working on you?”

you don’t answer him right away. instead, you turn your head and look toward the bar, letting the moment pass without filling it.

the quiet settles between the two of you again until it fades into the background with every drink you both keep ordering.

after a while, you glance back at him, brow lifting as the thought returns. “it’s a reach if i go past mid thirties?” you ask, voice steadier now that you’ve decided to revisit the topic.

he hums in response and lifts his glass of bourbon, taking a measured sip before shrugging. “i’m flattered.” when he sets the glass down, his attention settles on you again. he looks at you longer than necessary, not in a way that makes you uncomfortable, but with a kind of focus that makes you aware of yourself.

you meet his gaze without looking away, letting it linger right back. the moment stretches until the band hits a louder note, the sudden swell of jazz pulling both of you out of it at once.

you clear your throat, using the interruption to shift things. “can you guess me?” you ask, raising your glass and taking another sip.

he looks at you with mild confusion. “your age?”

you nod, swallowing the sharp taste of your drink. you straighten your posture slightly, pushing your shoulders back as if it might give him a better view to identify how old your features are. you angle your face toward him, silently daring him to get it wrong.

he studies you for a few seconds, his gaze moving over you before dropping back to his glass. “early twenties,” he says, like the answer came easily.

your mouth curves into a wider smile immediately. “ding ding ding,” you reply, playfully, imitating a bell on a game show. “how did you guess that so fast?”

he tilts his head just a bit and clicks his tongue once before answering. “intuition, i guess.”

you watch him for a moment after that, the word settling in your mind. intuition. the way he says it makes it sound like he trusts it. like he’s used to reading people and being right about them. and sitting there beside him, feeling the warmth of alcohol and attention wrapped together, you get the strange sense that he already sees more of you than you meant to show tonight.

and instead of making you pull back, it makes you stay.

silence settles between you again. you busy yourself with your drink, tracing the rim of the glass with your thumb, letting the noise of the bar fill the space instead.

this time, he’s the one who breaks it.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice laced with curiousness. his gaze moves over you, starting at your face and drifting down to your shoes.

it isn’t judgmental. there’s no disapproval in it. if anything, he looks puzzled, like he’s trying to understand how someone dressed like you ended up in a hotel bar filled with tailored suits and polished heels.

you catch on immediately to what he’s asking.

“ah,” you say first, buying yourself a second as you take a sip. the alcohol gives you just enough courage to talk about it.

“a friend set me up with this guy. told me to dress casual.” you let out a small breath, eyes dropping to the bar. “then he bailed when i finally reached the designated spot. didn’t even bother with an explanation.”

your cheeks feel warm, and you keep your gaze fixed anywhere but on him. it isn’t just the outfit that makes you self-conscious. it’s the fact that you got stood up. that you’re sitting here alone, dressed wrong for the room, pretending it doesn’t bother you.

still, you tell yourself it’s better than being overdressed.

“i’m sorry,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing nor flirtiness in his voice. just understanding.

“don’t be,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “he was an ass over text anyway. i don’t even know why i agreed in the first place.” you huff out a small laugh and take another sip. “dating’s really hard these days.”

he nods, lifting his glass in quiet agreement before taking a slow drink. “tell me about it.”

the way he says it makes you think he means it. like he’s been through it too. and suddenly, sitting here with him, the night doesn’t feel like a loss anymore. it feels like it went exactly where it was supposed to.

as the night stretches on—and as drunk as you allow yourself to get—the flirting stops pretending to be subtle.

you lean closer without thinking, the space between you dissolving drink by drink. your palms slide up to the back of your neck, rubbing at the nape as if to ground yourself.

somewhere between shared laughter and the kind of silence that feels companionable rather than awkward, he settles both your tabs without saying a word.

you only notice when the bartender gives a polite nod in his direction and moves on, already wiping down the counter as if the decision had been expected.

it shouldn’t mean anything. it’s just a gesture. still, it makes your cheeks and chest warm.

you glance at your phone, more out of habit than necessity, and decide this is your cue.

you open your mouth to excuse yourself, already lining up the usual reasons. that it’s late. that you have somewhere to be early the next morning. that you really should go. all the polite exits you’ve perfected over time.

but before the words can leave you, his gaze lifts to yours and holds. he sees it immediately. the shift in your posture, the way you’re already halfway out the door in your head.

the corner of his mouth curves upward as he lets out a soft chuckle. “so soon?” he asks, clicking his tongue once, the sound easy and accepting. there’s no disappointment in it, no attempt to change your mind. just acknowledgment.

he stands from his seat and turns toward you, extending his hands again like he did earlier. polite. a goodbye made to look like a formality.

something about that does it.

you find yourself silently grateful for whatever impulse dragged you into this bar tonight, grateful you didn’t go straight home. before you have time to think better of it, your fingers curl around his tie. you tug him down just enough to meet you, and your lips collide with his.

he stills for a brief moment, caught off guard. surprise flickers across his face. he responds without hesitation, hands settling firmly at your hips, grounding and sure, pulling you closer as if it comes naturally to him.

────────────────────────

you don’t remember the night clearly after that. the details blur together, softened by intoxication and the way everything seemed to move too fast and not fast enough at the same time.

what you do remember comes in fragments.

bucky’s veiny, hard shaft stands upwards, tip leaning against your pussy. slowly, he pushes his whole length inside you. he takes a moment, letting your tight cunt adjust to his size before he starts to slide in and out.

“fuck… hmphh—“ you moan out, eyes closed shut as your nails dig and scratch on his shoulders, whimpering. his pace deliberately starts to fasten. his metal hand—which you had just noticed—squeezed your round tits, moulding them ruthlessly like he owns them.

the bed creaks under as bucky continuously thurst his throbbing cock in and out of you, whispering incoherent sweet nothings into your ear.

your moans were muffled by some fabric—the hotel’s comforter, maybe—as he brings his metal hand that was once placed on your left bosom down to your clit, rubbing the bud.

the feeling of overstimulation washes over you as you scream, hard, onto the pillow. “fuck—james…” you moan but before you could utter another word out, he presses both your lips together, swallowing your moans.

he pulls back, his thrusts sloppy but deliberate. “bucky…” his name leaves his mouth in a breathless whisper. he exhales hard at the sound, close enough that you feel it. you would’ve tilted your head in confusion if the sensation he’s giving you hadn’t already stolen your balance. “call me bucky.”

his palms slowly starts to wander around until it falls upon your thigh, he pins your legs on your shoulders as his thrust starts to fasten, reaching for both your highs.

within a minute, he pours his warm load inside, earning a loud moan from you. “f–fuck! bucky…” his thurst doesn’t stop, he continues to jerk his hip to fill you to the brim of his every drop.

a blink, and you’re standing beneath the spray of a shower, warmth sliding down your skin before disappearing against the tile. the water pours over your back, warm and steady—until you feel him step closer behind you, his presence unmistakable even before he touches you.

his cold metal hand contrasts with the warmth of the water tracing your body, making you shiver at the unexpected chill of his touch. you feel him pressing his body against your back, his lips slightly kissing your shoulder as his big, rough and calloused hands start to roam on your curves.

your breath catches when you feel his cock, already hard, press between your thighs, his lips press soft, gentle kisses on the curve of your shoulder.

his metal hand that was once placed on your hip to ground you slowly slides up, cupping your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, slow and torturous. you press back against him, moaning.

you feel his flesh hand grip on your hip before it leaves to guide his hardened cock between your folds. he slides it through your slick heat, letting the water and where your flush of desire gather.

he groans like he's been holding back for too long, and then he slams into you. you cry out, pulling away from his chest as your forehead hits the wet tiles, softly,

your arms are braced against the wall as he starts thrusting hard, relentlessly driving into you with the sound of water as skin and moans echoing all around.

“fuck, you feel so good like this,” he pants against your neck, one hand on your waist, the other sliding around to rub your clit in rough little circles. “s’fucking tight, sweetheart.” he groans.

you feel the pressure building fast as his cock hits deep and perfect, brushing over your spot over and over again. bucky then grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so your back arches just for him.

“look at you,” he growls, fucking you harder, deeper. “y’gonna come for me in this shower? make a mess all over my cock while the water washes it down the drain?”

you nod furiously, “shit—yes!” you screamed, nails scratching on the glass barrier, your breasts are pressed against the wall. a small, subtle smirk forms at his lips when he feels your walls clench around him.

your body intensifies as your climax shatters. your legs start to tremble, voice breaking as your orgasm crashes through you, waves of heat pulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, chasing his own release.

“fuck baby, i’m g-gonna fill you up.” another more brutal thrust, he groans, spilling inside you, filling you to the brim as the water keeps pouring down your bodies.

────────────────────────

it didn’t start as an arrangement. not officially. it began quietly. dinners that stretched late into the night. one meal turned into another, then into weekends away where time seemed to loosen its grip on both of you.

weekends turned into small, careful gestures. envelopes slipped into your bag “for convenience,” always phrased like an afterthought, never framed as obligation. gifts followed, expensive but considered, chosen with enough attention that they felt personal rather than transactional.

he never said the word sugar. neither did you.

you liked how steady he was. how he never seemed in a hurry to define things, to rush toward labels or expectations. he moved with certainty, like he already knew where he stood and didn’t need to prove it. being with him felt grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you were missing.

he never asked you to be his girlfriend.

and strangely, that never bothered you.

the relationship stayed unlabeled, floating somewhere between companionship and something deeper. you didn’t need a title to understand what it was. the way he spoiled you without hesitation, the way he paid attention to the small details of your days, the way he made space for you in his life without making it feel like a negotiation. it all spoke louder than any label ever could.

you already knew what it was, even if no one said it out loud. and for a long time, that was more than enough.

one night, during one of your date nights—the seventh, if you were counting—he takes you somewhere romantic, a table tucked in a quiet corner for just the two of you.

amid shared laughter and stolen bites from each other’s plates, the evening takes on a softness you don’t quite know what to do with. candlelight reflects in his glass, in the careful way he watches you like he’s memorizing the moment.

at some point, he reaches across the table. not abruptly. not like he’s about to make a grand declaration. his hand comes to rest near yours, close enough that you feel the warmth of him.

his voice stays steady, calm, but there’s intention behind it. his eyes don’t wander. they stay on you.

he tells you he wants you to move in with him.

the words land heavier than you expect, tightening something in your chest. not with fear, but with the weight of being chosen so plainly. there’s no dramatic buildup, no pressure in his tone. it feels like an offer he’s already thought through, one he wouldn’t make unless he meant it.

the answer comes easily, instinctively, before doubt has a chance to creep in.

you say yes.

the relief that crosses his face is subtle, but you catch it. his thumb brushes against your fingers. and in that quiet exchange, it feels like something shifts.

by the next day, boxes are stacked neatly around his house, your favorite things already finding corners and shelves as if they’d always belonged there.

you stand outside, watching as the movers carry box after box into his sprawling home. the sound of wood scraping against the porch and the faint hum of conversation from the movers fills the space between you, but it feels distant, like background noise to everything else.

he’s behind you. arms wrapped around your waist, firm and warm, sliding down until his palms settle casually tucked in the back pockets of your jeans.

he turns just enough to greet the movers with a polite smile. you notice the neighbors peeking from behind curtains and over fences. judging, no doubt, silently questioning what a girl your age is doing moving in with a man like him.

and yes, bucky isn’t exactly young. far from it, actually. his crow’s feet become visible when he smiles, and the salt-and-pepper streaks in his beard have grown long enough to remind anyone who looks that he isn’t getting any younger.

but that’s exactly what you like about him. the way he carries himself—not frantic, not chaotic. bucky’s relaxed, more intentional than most men your age, who wake up at five in the afternoon just to hit the club, chase fleeting highs, or pretend they have their lives together.

bucky doesn’t need to prove anything, and somehow, that makes him irresistible. you rest your head briefly against his chest, inhale the faint scent of his cologne mixed with leather and old books, and feel a rare, quiet kind of contentment settle over you.

the first night you stay over properly, you wander through the cabin barefoot, touching things like you’re cataloging them. the place smells like cedar and coffee and something faintly metallic, like winter air trapped inside wood. it’s too big for one person, you think.

bucky watches you from the doorway, arms crossed. he doesn’t hover, he just lets you exist in the space, lets the place learn you.

you stop in front of a bookshelf that takes up an entire wall. hardcovers, spines worn, margins bent and annotated. nothing decorative, everything looked used.

“you’ve read all of these?” you ask, glancing back at him.

“most,” he says. then, after a beat, “some more than once.” he shifts his weight slightly, pushing off the table with his hip. his gaze never leaves yours as he walks over toward where you’re standing.

you hum, running a finger along the spines. “that explains a lot.” he arches a brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you don’t talk like a guy who lives on energy drinks and podcasts,” you reply lightly. he laughs under his breath, shaking his head.

“is that the bar now?” bucky takes a careful step closer. the space between you shrinks until you’re well within his reach, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, the quiet steadiness of his presence.

his arm slips around your waist, drawing you back against him until your breasts meets his chest. his hand settles at your side, thumb brushing lightly as if to anchor you.

“for men my age?” you glance up at him, chin tipping just enough to meet his eyes. he raises a brow in response, the corner of his mouth twitching as the unspoken question hangs between you—“are you calling me old?”

you laugh softly. fingers trail over his chest, following the solid line of him like you’re proving a point. “absolutely,”

your fingers drift lower, brushing against the edge of his pants, a teasing touch you can’t seem to stop. without a word, bucky leans in.

his lips meet yours. your body instinctively leans into his, the press of him against you warm and steady. his hands find your waist, holding you closer, and for a heartbeat, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

he pulls back slightly, just enough that he can study your expression, and silence settles between you. it isn’t heavy or uncomfortable, but it hangs in the air, expectant.

his eyes roam over your face slowly, slipping from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“doll,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his arms that circle around you, pulls you closer. it’s not possessive; it’s steady, grounding. the press of his chest against yours feels like an anchor, tethering you to the moment and to him.

your palms rise to rest lightly against his chest, tracing the fabric of his shirt as if for reassurance. you tilt your head upward toward him, letting out a soft hum in response.

“remind me,” he says, voice low, carrying a weight that pulls your attention fully to him.

you raise a brow, a small, confused smile tugging at your lips. “bucky… what are you talking about?” you ask, curiosity laced behind your tone.

he doesn’t answer immediately. instead, he studies you, his gaze patient, like he’s weighing how much to reveal, or maybe just savoring the anticipation.

“that night,” he starts, voice softer now. “when we both were drunk.”

something clicks in your mind. the memory surfaces, hazy at first, like smoke curling in the air, then sharpening. you know exactly what he’s talking about.

you shift slightly, still pressed against him, your head brushing his chest, and you let out a small, soft sigh. he tightens his hold just a fraction.

that night in the hotel bar feels both like yesterday and a lifetime ago. the drinks blurred the edges of everything. and the next morning, you woke up to the quiet weight of him beside you, the sheets tangled around both of you, bodies bare and pressed together.

as much as you cherished how that one night had shifted the course of your life, you sometimes regretted being drunk enough to forget. not the act itself—you had no complaints there—but the details, the little fragments of touch, of words, of laughter lost to the haze of alcohol.

since that night, no matter how many dates you had gone on, how many weekend trips or long months spent in each other’s company, that night remained the first and only time you had slept together. not that you minded. you liked that he had been careful—a gentleman in every sense, even when everything else had been reckless.

“i don’t know,” you admit softly, tracing lazy circles on his chest with your fingertips, “i don’t remember half of what happened.” the words come out slow, a little unsure.

“all i know is that i enjoyed myself with you.” you tilt your head, meeting his eyes briefly before letting them fall, offering reassurance.

he doesn’t look away. his gaze holds steady, fixed on you. “i want you sober,” he says, voice low, insistent but gentle. “i want to remember all of it.”

“we can make a new memory of that night, if that’s what you want,” you murmur, letting a suggestive, teasing smile curl at the corner of your lips. it’s subtle enough to catch his attention, enough to pull a similar response from him.

his own lips twitch in amusement, that small, knowing smile that always seems to promise something more than words ever could.

then he leans in, pressing his mouth to yours. the kiss starts soft and you respond in kind, meeting him halfway.

his hands, which had once rested at your waist, slide down, wrapping under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. your arms instinctively loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the strands of his hair as your legs bend slightly, molding your weight against his body.

he doesn’t break the kiss. he deepens it slowly, lips moving against yours with patient intensity, letting the moment build.

he presses your back gently against the wall. your bare feet press against the cold marble floor. bucky’s warmth radiates from his body pressing against you.

his metal hand moves slowly, deliberately, rising to cup your face. the coolness of the metal contrasts with the heat of his touch, sending a shiver through you.

he pulls you in closer, closer than you could have imagined, until your foreheads almost touch and the world around you feels distant.

he pulls back just slightly, giving both of you a moment to catch your breath from the kiss. both your chests rise and fall rapidly, breaths heavy and uneven, as your eyes lock.

his gaze is intent, questioning almost, the kind of look that asks for your consent without words, his doe eyes asks if this is still what you want.

you don’t hesitate. you nod, letting him know that yes, this is what you want. yes, he has permission, even if it feels like he’s asking just to be certain.

he leans down again, slower this time, letting the moment linger. his lips brush yours briefly before moving lower, and you feel the warmth of him against your neck.

his teeth graze slightly, teasing, before settling into a more insistent press, lips and tongue tracing your skin in a way that makes your head tilt back instinctively.

the wall behind you holds you in place, your hands find their way to his shoulders, then his hair, as your body reacts to the steady motion of his touch.

reflexively, you let out a moan when bucky’s lips start to suck on your collarbone, leaving behind red marks that you know for sure will darken overtime.

his tongue traces over your bruised skin, almost comforting, before his knees start to bend down. finally, he kneels in front of you as he holds straight and steady eye contact.

your hands never leaves his hair, fingers tangling along while he stares at you with complete admiration. his hands move lower along with his body, until it stops to tug at the waistband of your pajama pants.

again, his eyes asks for consent to which you unspokenly respond to by the second time. you nod. and immediately, without hesitation, bucky pulls your pants down, exposing your lace panties and bare thighs to his greedy, lustful gaze.

he places his palm in your inner thigh, gesturing you to open wider for him to which you undoubtedly obliged. his hands slowly crawls upward to your pulsing heat.

he pushes your panties aside as his fingers work their magic on your clit. “fuck… you’re so wet.” he says, his fingers—two, to be exact—slowly slides inside of your hole.

he pulls his digits away as fast as he enters you. immediately, in response, you whine. “bucky…fuck—what? are you kidding me?”

he doesn’t give you time to even utter another sentence out, he pulls your panties down and takes your leg, one by one, placing it each on his shoulders.

all your weight shifted to his upper body and bucky—strong and steady as ever—hasn’t so much as flinched nor has complained.

he latches his lips on your clit and immediately, almost as if on instinct, you throw your head back, moaning, as your eyes roll backwards caused by the immense pleasure of his tongue.

his metal hand move from your thighs down to the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling it down as he frees his throbbing cock. his length sprung out, hitting his abs in the process, your take a glance down, and a gasp leaves your mouth.

sure, you’d been drunk that night—but you definitely didn’t expect, nor remember, him being that big. bucky’s lips twitch into a knowing smirk the moment he hears a sharp gasp leave your lips.

he pulls back, looking at you with the softest, almost puppy-like eyes he can manage—like whatever he’s doing is completely innocent, which only makes the irony of it all worse.

he takes his large cock in his hands, stroking it up and down gently as he maintains soft, steady eye contact with you. “that’s gonna stretch your pussy open, baby.”

he guides your right leg back down until your foot meets the carpet. your knees nearly give out when you realize they don’t quite work the way they did before. you would’ve fallen if not for bucky’s arms catching you just in time, steady and firm around you.

“careful now, honey,” he murmurs.

he lowers your left foot to the carpet as he slowly straightens, his flesh hand lingering, tracing the familiar lines of your curves. now you’re face to face with him—almost. you still have to tilt your chin up, just a little, to meet his gaze.

bucky teases his large tip to your entrance as you whine, rocking your hips, desperate and searching for any type of friction. “shit—bucky… bucky, please.” you beg, needy for the stretch.

“oh, honey. there’s no need to beg.” without giving you much space to respond, he thrusts his hip so quick that you didn’t even have the time to adjust to his size. your newly painted nails dig on his back as he continues to fuck himself into you.

“b-buck…” his pace fastens, his large cock slides in and out of you easily. he leans over, colliding both your lips together as he swallows your moans. “fuck…” he groans, biting your lower lip before dipping down to press a trail of wet kisses down your collarbone.

his metal hand grabs ahold of your bosom, squeezing onto them, thumbs flicking across your perky nipples as he makes use of his mouth. as you throw your head back, he takes it as an opportunity to make your body his own canvas.

“remind me—fuck—remind me how hard i came that night because of you.” he thrusts harder. his words were so explicit but you could still hear a gentle sweetness behind his tone. and as much as you want to answer him, you can’t help it—soft moaning sounds slip past your lips before you can even stop them.

“i’m gonna—” the words leave you unfinished, breathless, but he understands anyway.

“yes, baby. that’s right,” bucky murmurs softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “let it out f’me, hm?” his metal fingers glide over your skin, a gentle encouragement, like he’s guiding you all the way through it.

his flesh hand cups your face, caressing it as if to help you reach your climax. it wasn’t long before you a wave of pleasure washes over you when you reached your high.

bucky, though, hasn’t stopped fucking himself into you while he chases for his climax making your knees weaken, barely holding you upright as you cling to his muscular arms, relying on him to keep you steady.

he pulls out when he finally feels that he’s only a couple strokes left to finish. he holds onto you, grounding you to stay up while he jerks his cock, lining it up to your stomach as he spills his hot load to your skin.

“fuck, look at you.” he says with the most admiring expression. “y’gonna have to clean up,” he murmurs before pressing his lips onto yours for a quick peck.

“you’re not tired, are you?” he asks softly, searching your face when he notices how close you are to slipping away from reality and straight into dream land—eyes heavy, grip loose, barely anchored to the moment. you manage a small shake of your head in response.

“good,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips. “let’s take a shower… and recreate that night.”

for someone you’d half-jokingly expected to be slowed down by age, bucky’s stamina completely caught you off guard.

that night left you pleasantly sore and thoroughly spent, to the point where morning came with stiff movements and a slow, careful waddle from one end of the room to the other.

he trailed after you the entire time, apologizing under his breath, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure whether to help or admire—though the fond amusement in his eyes gave him away.

still, guilt won out. by the time you were fully awake, bucky was there with flowers in hand, your favorite breakfast laid out neatly, and that apologetic smile he only ever wore for you.

he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, like he was making a quiet promise to take better care of you—at least until next time.

────────────────────────

it’s been months since you moved in. long enough that his place no longer feels like a hotel you’re visiting, but not long enough to forget that it was his long before it was yours.

at first, it was fun. waking up in his bed, barefoot mornings in a kitchen with his shirts finding their way into your laundry without either of you acknowledging it.

you liked how easy it felt. how everything just appeared where you needed it. groceries stocked. gas tank full. your card already linked to his accounts.

you didn’t even notice when his attention started splitting. not at first.

it happens on a quiet afternoon. you’re stretched out on the couch, legs draped over his lap while he scrolls through his phone with one hand, the other resting loosely on your thigh. it’s absent, casual, like you’re something he’s used to touching without thinking.

then his phone buzzes. once. twice. and the third time earns an eye roll from you.

you feel it before you see it. the shift in him. the way his jaw tightens slightly and the way his thumb stills against your skin. “work,” he says, already halfway gone.

you hum in response, pretending not to care how his hand slips away as he stands. you tell yourself you’re not that person—the jealous one—you’ve never needed to compete for attention before.

still, when he comes back, phone tucked away like nothing happened, you don’t move your legs back into his lap right away.

and then work started calling more often. you tried to fill the gaps, the hours he was gone, with distractions that looked beautiful from its exterior. long shopping trips where the weight of bags did nothing to fill the emptiness inside.

dinners in softly lit restaurants where the wine tasted sweet, but conversation didn’t quite reach your heart. the quiet of the home, once comforting with him there, now felt hollow, even if every corner still smelled just faintly like him.

you kept busy, told yourself it was normal, told yourself he would return. and for a while, it worked.

until the days grew shorter, and the calendar flipped to late november, and you realized how long it had been since he’d been fully present—not just physically, but fully there, the way he always used to be.

and then december came faster than you expected. the season of giving, of warmth and cheer, of expectation wrapped up in shiny paper and ribbons.

everywhere you looked, lights blinked, bells jingled, and every corner of the city seemed to promise togetherness.

yet here you were, counting the hours, watching the calendar tick forward, feeling the absence more than ever.

it wasn’t that you wanted gifts, not really. it was the reminder that even as the world celebrated togetherness, you were waiting. and you had options.

now, that unlabeled relationship you had with bucky started to gnaw at your mood. it wasn’t that he didn’t care—it was that the absence, the uncertainty that begun to settle into your chest like a quiet weight.

you sighed, curling deeper into the throw blanket on the couch, letting it envelop you like a shield against the emptiness.

your fingers scrolled mindlessly over your phone, until the screen lit up with his contact photo. for a moment, your chest tightened, and then a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

without hesitation, your thumbs slid over the screen, tapping accept before the third ring even finished.

his face appeared, slightly grainy through the video, framed by the dim light of the hotel room he was staying in for the meantime.

tired, yes—but still devastatingly handsome, the way he always seemed to be even at the end of a long, exhausting day.

“hi, pretty,” he said, his voice low and warm. his eyes, heavy with fatigue, held yours through the screen, and your gaze lingered.

the white shirt he wore clung slightly to his chest, the buttons straining just a touch, and his tie was loosened, lying casually around his neck. he was sitting on the floor as it seems, laptop propped up on a small table, and the sight of him made your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t expected.

“hey,” you whispered back, wishing more than anything that you could reach through the screen and pull him into your arms. “busy day?”

“yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through the disheveled hair at the back of his neck. “sorry i didn’t call sooner.”

you forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “it’s fine. i get it… work’s been… work.”

he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours, but you could see it—etched into the lines of his face, the slight slump of his shoulders. the weight of stress pressed on him, and despite all your attempts to stay busy, to distract yourself with shopping trips and dinners and meaningless errands, a wave of longing swept over you.

you missed him. missed his laugh, the low rumble that always made you grin. missed the way his arm would find its way around your shoulders, holding you close without a word. missed how even the most ordinary days, when shared with him, felt somehow extraordinary.

“i was, uh… i was about to eat dinner,” you tell him, holding up the wooden spatula you’d been using to cook so it appeared in the frame.

his eyes widen slightly—not in surprise, but with that quiet interest he always had, the way he seemed curious about the smallest details of your life, as if he wanted to watch everything you did, even something as simple as eating, through the screen.

“what’re you having?” he asks, leaning a little closer to the camera, as if he could somehow peer past it. you shrug, letting your shoulders relax, and reply, “oh, just some veggies.”

he sighs, a low sound that carries more than just longing. “fuck, i missed your homecooked meals,” he mutters, the words soft but heavy, carrying a quiet weight of nostalgia and desire.

you stab a vegetable with your fork, lifting it slowly to your mouth and chew. the mundane motion somehow feels intimate now, shared across distance. “better come home soon,” you joke lightly, but even as the words leave your lips, there’s an undercurrent of truth neither of you needs to say out loud.

he watches you, eyes attentive, jaw slackening just slightly at the sight, and in the quiet that follows, you both feel the weight of the missing pieces in your days.

a small, playful thought nudged at the edge of your mind. maybe he just needed a little reminder. you leaned closer to the screen, tilting your head in that way you knew made him pause, smile threatening at the corner of your lips.

“bucky…” you began, teasing, letting the word linger just long enough to catch his attention. “it’s december… the season of giving gifts.”

he raised a brow. “yeah?” he asked, his voice lazy but amused, warm enough to make your chest tighten.

you leaned closer to the camera, letting the light catch the curve of your cheek, the small, sly smirk that formed unbidden.

“when are you gonna buy me presents?” you asked, words laced with playful mock seriousness, though neither of you needed to pretend. you didn’t need presents—not really. what you needed was him, just him.

“you have my card, doll,” he said, chin resting on his palm as he leaned toward the camera, the dim light casting shadows that made his tired eyes look sharper, intent. “you can spend as much as you’d like.”

you forced a casual shrug, pressing your lips together as if to hide the flicker of disappointment, shoving another vegetable into your mouth.

“right,” you muttered, chewing slowly, trying to seem indifferent.

you swallowed, glancing up at him, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the two of you, his smile faint but knowing, and the unspoken understanding that what you truly wanted wasn’t something wrapped in paper. it was him.

“when will you be coming home?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual, though there’s a tightness in your chest you can’t hide.

“soon,” he replies, voice calm, measured.

“soon?” you echo, but this time the word is edged with frustration.

it’s not just the hours he’s spent away—it’s the accumulation of weeks, of vague timelines, of an unlabeled relationship that’s been hovering over you for a year.

maybe it’s because you miss him. maybe it’s because the ambiguity of it all gnaws at your nerves. maybe it’s because he has this way of keeping everything vague enough that your mind can’t stop wandering down paths it knows it shouldn’t.

as much as you trust bucky—and you do, more than anyone—you can’t help it. the doubts creep in, tiny at first, then growing.

what if he’s cheating? what if he’s… married? had kids? the thought is absurd, impossible even, yet your mind insists on entertaining it. the unspoken lack of labels only gives these fears fuel.

bucky’s face on the screen shifts slightly, his brow furrowing as he tilts his head, perceptive even through a call. “y’mad at me, doll?” he asks, voice gentle, unaware of just how sharp your irritation has grown.

you let out a short, bitter laugh, pressing your palms to your face for a moment before pulling them down. “i don’t know… just—just come home. soon.” you emphasize the word soon, dragging it out like a warning, a plea, and a demand all at once.

before he can respond, before you can hear the soft reassurance you know he’d offer, you hang up. the screen goes black, and the quiet hits you in full force.

and even though your chest aches and the frustration still lingers, you can’t deny the truth underneath it all: you just want him. not excuses, not explanations—just him.

────────────────────────

the fight from that night was resolved when you woke up the next morning to a knock at the door instead of an apology in person—a massive and excessive arrangement of flowers delivered straight to the house, petals still cold from the morning air. tucked between them was a simple card, written in his familiar handwriting.

i’ll make it up to you.

and he did.

calls came more often after that. gifts—expensive ones at that—started appearing where arguments used to sit. it was his way of smoothing things over, of fixing without ever quite naming what had gone wrong.

by the time he finally returned from the business trip, jet-lagged and smelling like his usual expensive cologne, that’s when the thought crossed your mind.

an ultimatum—petty? maybe. selfish? definitely.

but who could blame you, when you were expected to share him with work like it was another person in the relationship?

at this point, you would even consider this “relationship” a three-way.

he drops his bag by the door as he loosens his tie, walking in, his eyes are already scanning the room until they land on you. you’re seated comfortably, legs crossed, drink in hand—a red wine, to be exact—watching him like you have all the time in the world.

“miss me?” he asks, voice warm and teasing.

you hum noncommittally, taking a slow sip. “maybe.”

he smirks, taking a deliberate step closer, his hand stretching toward you but you shift just enough, and his fingers meet nothing but air—not rejection, just a subtle claim of control.

his smirk falters for the briefest second as he pauses, studying you, noticing the small defiance in your movement.

“what’s that look for, doll?”

you tilt your head, eyes flicking to the still-packed bag, then back to him. “nothing,” you say, believably sweet but there’s a pause that betrays you. “just thinking.”

he knows better than to push. instead, he shrugs off his jacket, rolls his sleeves up, lets them fall just right, and sinks into the space like he owns it. like he owns you. the faint scent of him fills the room, close enough that your skin prickles.

maybe that’s exactly what sparks it—his calm confidence, the way he moves without asking, the way he expects you to notice and not resist.

you hadn’t meant to become that person. the one who watches the clock. the one who feels irritation bloom when his phone lights up. but somehow, somewhere between silk sheets and shared closets, you did.

tonight is no different.

he’s halfway through loosening his cufflinks when the phone buzzes. without even glancing at the screen, he lets out a low sigh and shakes his head.

“they need me,” he mutters, already reaching for his coat, the motion practiced, habitual.

you don’t respond immediately. instead, you take your time swirling the last bit of your drink in the glass—like an overdramatic villain in some silly movie—letting the amber liquid catch the light. your eyes follow him with a slow, deliberate intensity, noting the slight crease between his brows, the way his shirt clings to his chest beneath the tailored jacket.

“of course they do,” you say lightly, voice calm, casual as you let the words hang just long enough to catch him off guard.

he pauses, hand frozen on the coat, glancing back at you. “i’ll be quick,” he says, tone soft and apologetic, like he assumes he’s already forgiven before you’ve even spoken.

a smile tugs at your lips, but it isn’t warm, and it certainly isn’t sweet. it’s edged with mischief and a pinch of irritation you don’t bother hiding. “you always are,” you reply, watching the faint flicker of recognition—or is it guilt?—cross his face.

he hesitates again, suspiciously watching your careful movements and your slightly condescending undertone.

the phone in his hand, the weight of it heavy against his palm as you let the silence stretch, letting him feel it, letting him wonder how long you’ll let him get away with it this time.

the unspoken ultimatum hangs thick in the air. he can feel it, just as clearly as you do, and there’s a flicker in his eyes—curiosity, maybe caution—but mostly, he knows exactly what’s coming, and for once, he’s powerless to stop it.

he stops in his tracks. his brows knit together as he turns to face you fully. “what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, the edge in his voice betraying that he’s already feeling a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

it’s not that you want him to put you before his work, but his constant comings and goings have started to feel like more absence than presence. the stretches of time he’s gone outnumber the moments he actually stays, and you can’t help but notice, counting the hours and the empty space he leaves behind.

you set your glass down with slow precision, the faint clink punctuating the tension. standing, you move with unhurried confidence, heels clicking softly against the floor in measured rhythm.

each step closes the distance between you until the space separating you is negligible.

“it means,” you murmur, letting your fingers slide over the fabric of his chest, smoothing the jacket he’s about to leave in, straightening the lines as if correcting more than just fabric, “that you’re very good at disappearing.”

his jaw tightens, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise calm features. “doll—” he begins, but you stop him effortlessly with a single, soft tap to his tie, a corrective motion that feels casual yet commanding.

“no,” you say, “let me finish.”

and he does. because he knows better than to interrupt when the tension in your tone carries authority, when your presence alone demands attention.

he lets you, eyes darkening with curiosity and something far more instinctive, as if he already senses that this moment has shifted. that whatever control he thought he had is slipping right through his fingers.

you step closer. not enough to touch him—just enough that he can smell your perfume, feel the warmth of your body in his space. it’s intentional. you want him aware. you want him focused.

“i moved into your house,” you continue, voice calm in a way that makes the words sharper. “i wear your clothes. i sleep in your bed. i get spoiled, taken out, bought things without asking.”

your fingers trail down the front of his jacket, slow, almost idle, tracing the line of his torso like you’re inventorying what’s yours.

“but lately?” you pause, looking up at him through your lashes. “i feel like a very well-kept inconvenience.”

that lands exactly where you want it to.

his shoulders drop just a fraction, the smallest crack in his composure.

his jaw tightens. “that’s not fair,” he says, but there’s no real conviction behind it.

you tilt your head, studying him. “isn’t it?”

silence stretches between you. then his phone buzzes again, intrusive. you glance down at it pointedly, then back up at him, unimpressed.

“here’s the thing,” you say, tone bordering on bored, like this conversation is almost beneath you. “i’m not asking for labels. i’m not asking for you to buy me presents. i’m asking for presence.”

he exhales through his nose, eyes never leaving yours. “and if i can’t?” he asks, testing you.

you smile then, condescendingly, letting the sharp curve of your lips linger just long enough to make him uneasy.

“then i’ll remind myself that i have options.” there it was—the ultimatum.

and that does it.

his hand rises slowly, hovering at your waist, just shy of touching, as if testing the air between you.

the heat radiating off him, the subtle brush of his presence—it’s all deliberate. “you threatening me?” he asks, his voice low but threaded with a tension you can hear, feel, even through his calm tone.

“no,” you answer softly, letting the words stretch. “i’m informing you.”

another pause stretches between you, longer this time, thick with unspoken challenges and anticipation.

your eyes lock on his, watching the subtle shift in his expression—bucky’s tightening at his jaw, the almost imperceptible hitch of his breath, the way his chest rises just a little faster.

every fraction of a movement is magnified, a silent admission that he knows exactly what you mean and exactly what’s at stake.

his phone buzzes again, a faint vibration on the table, and you let your eyes flick to it.

a small smirk tugs at your lips. you let the moment linger, the power dynamics twisting between the two of you like a slow dance. the world outside ceases to exist: the phone, the work, the obligations—it’s all secondary to this precise, taut moment.

finally, with a careful exhale, he reaches for the table. his hand moves over the surface, brushing the phone before he sets it face down.

the click echoes softly, disproportionately loud in the quiet room. and just like that, he’s fully present, if only by intention, leaving the distractions behind the buzzing world outside, his attention’s left only to you and the unspoken challenge between you.

he’s yours now, entirely aware of it—and entirely helpless against the pull you’ve set in motion.

“i’m sorry,” he says at last. no dramatics. no excuses. just the truth, laid bare between you. “i got comfortable.”

you hum softly, the sound slow and pleased, like you’d been waiting for him to say exactly that. “you did.”

bucky steps closer, closing the space you’d left between you. this time, there’s no hesitation. his hand settles at your waist, firm, as if he’s grounding you.

his thumb pressing in just enough to remind you how easily he can hold you there. “won’t happen again,” he adds.

you tilt your head up to look at him through your lashes, letting the silence stretch. “and tonight?” you ask lightly, as if you’re only half-interested in the answer.

he doesn’t miss a beat. he leans in, close enough that his breath brushes your lips, his voice dropping into something private, intimate. “work can wait.”

“good.” you murmur.

his grip tightens just slightly at your waist. his other hand—the metal one—comes up, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your face just enough to keep your attention where he wants it.

whatever came next was no longer about work, or waiting, or options. it was about him making it up to you.

and whatever apology he owes you next, he clearly plans on delivering it without words.

but first, a thought crosses his mind. he pauses, letting his gaze linger on you, taking in the subtle rise of your brow, the soft curve of your lips, the way your hair falls around your shoulders.

for a moment, he just watches, quietly. “tell you what,” he says finally. “i’ll take you somewhere tonight.”

you raise an eyebrow, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “oh?” you murmur, letting your curiosity show, letting him feel that little flicker of anticipation he’s always so good at stirring in you.

“it’s still early in the night,” he adds, lifting his flesh arm to check his wristwatch. “6 pm,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before pulling you closer into his hug.

the heat of his chest pressing against you as his hands settle at the small of your back, firm and warm, and you can feel the weight of him there.

“m’sure there are still stores open,” he teases, his voice low and playful, carrying just the right hint of a challenge. “come on—let’s go spend all that hard-earned money.”

you hum softly in response, nodding, feeling a rush of something that’s equal parts satisfaction and longing.

you don’t actually need to spend anything, not really—you both know that—but indulging in a little retail therapy feels like claiming a piece of him that’s been absent too long.

it feels like reclaiming some control, too, letting the space of the house, the long stretches of empty hours, finally bend in your favor.

“maybe some christmas lights?” you suggest, letting your hand brush over the fabric of his jacket as he draws you even closer.

“whatever you want, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to the crown of your head, enough to remind you of the warmth and power he carries, even in casual gestures.

you let your own words continue, ignoring the sweetness for now. “this place could use a little lights. i haven’t gotten around to decorating it yet.”

he pulls back just enough to study your face, a mock frown forming that’s more amused than anything. “then what have you been doing all day while i’m gone?”

you tilt your head, pretending to think, letting your smirk widen. “other than being an online tutor… sulking,” your fingers trace the edge of his tie, a small gesture that makes his chest tighten slightly under your touch.

he lets out a low, rumbling laugh, a sound that vibrates against your side as he holds you a fraction closer.

────────────────────────

you both end up spending far more than you’d intended, but it isn’t mindless or careless. each purchase is deliberate—presents for your nieces and nephews, small decorative touches to make the house festive.

what you don’t notice, though, is the quiet mischief bucky slips in. when you linger over a glittering ornament, indecisive between two styles, he murmurs something about excusing himself and vanishes to the “bathroom.”

what you assume is a mundane errand is anything but. somewhere nearby, bucky barnes moves with the precision you’ve come to expect, selecting a small, sleek box. black silk peeks from the corner as he smiles to himself.

it’s intimate and entirely him: a black lingerie set, chosen not at random but with an intent that leaves no room for misunderstanding.

you’re standing in the kitchen, your newly bought items carefully lined up on the counter, slowly unpacking them, ready to be used—excluding the gifts meant for friends and family, of course.

you had immediately changed into something comfortable the moment you got home, shedding the layers of the day, and so had bucky. somewhere in the bedroom, he was swapping his suit and tie for the casual clothes you rarely see him in.

then you hear heavy footsteps approaching. your attention shifts instinctively, and when you glance up, you catch sight of him. gray sweatpants hug his hips, nothing on top. the sharp lines of his chiseled abs, the curve of his broad shoulders, and the defined sculpt of his biceps immediately draw your gaze, leaving you momentarily breathless.

a slow, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

reflexively, you glance away, pretending not to notice him, though your pulse betrays your awareness. he steps closer, two feet away, his presence pressing against yours in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

as you carefully pull the decorations from their plastic packaging, untangling the strings of lights and fluffing small ornaments, bucky suddenly places a small, neatly wrapped gift in front of you.

you glance at the gift, then at him, then back again, curiosity prickling at your skin. “what’s this?” you ask, lifting the box from the kitchen counter.

your hands are still dusted with the glitter from the ornaments. you’ve been unpacking the christmas lights, both of you promising that tonight would be about decorating, about being together—and now this unexpected addition catches you off guard.

his eyes glint with amusement—something tells you he’s thought about this longer than you realize. he leans closer, voice low and teasing. “go on, princess. open it.”

you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow, letting your gaze linger on him for a moment before returning to the box. “when did you find the time to buy this?” you ask, voice light but tinged with disbelief.

your fingers brush over the wrapping paper, running along the edges slowly as though savoring the mystery.

his grin widens, that rare, almost boyish look he gets when he’s pleased with himself and knows exactly how much attention he’s caught.

“when i went to the ‘bathroom,’” he replies, as if the explanation is perfectly reasonable, though the slight twitch at the corner of his lips betrays the mischief behind it.

you laugh playfully scoffing, shaking your head. “you’re so full of excuses.”

finally, shifting your gaze back to the box, you tear at the wrapping paper with impatience, letting the crinkle of the paper fill the space between you.

as it falls away, your fingers brush against the smooth black silk inside, and your breath catches ever so slightly.

he watches you like a kid giving their crush a secret santa gift. you notice the way he shifts, he way his jaw flexes as he observes your reaction.

when you finally see what the box contains, your fingers brushing over the silky fabric. you lift the lingerie out of the box, letting it fall back into the packaging and then catching his eyes again. there’s a quiet tension now, a mix of anticipation and playful control.

you glance back up at him, a teasing lilt in your voice. “a lingerie?”

he nods as he takes a step closer, he reaches for your wrist, his touch gentle but firm, tugging you just enough to close the space between you. “is this you… apologizing?” you ask.

he raises an eyebrow, letting the question hang as you step closer. without another word, he takes the lead, guiding you toward your shared bedroom.

“change for me, will ya, honey?” he murmurs as he settles onto the soft bed, his legs manspreading comfortably, eyes locked on you as you stand holding the lingerie in your hands.

there’s a playful gleam in his gaze, a silent command wrapped in warmth, letting you know exactly how he wants this moment to unfold.

“i hope you don’t think this isn’t your christmas present for me,” you state, teasing laced in your tone.

from the bed, you hear him murmur, “no?”—but you choose to ignore it, letting the small, pointed question hang in the air.

with a slow sway of your hips, you walk toward the walk-in closet, knowing exactly how much of his attention you have. the silky fabric of the lingerie in your hands feels heavy with promise, and the anticipation coils in your stomach.

the soft click of the closet door behind you marks the space you take for yourself, even as the tension between you two hangs thick in the air.

the moment you step out, his eyes widen, darkening with a mix of adoration and lust. he rises from the bed, closing the distance between you, drawn to you like gravity.

“don’t ‘ya look more pretty than the mannequin they use to display this,” he murmurs as his gaze roams you in appreciative, slow sweeps.

you can’t help but chuckle softly at his compliment, but before another word can leave your lips, he dips down, pressing his mouth to yours.

the kiss is firm leaving no room for hesitation. his hands find your hips instantly, pulling you closer, and you feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, every inch of him focused entirely on you.

his metal hand cups your cheek as it slowly moves its way to your chin, urging you to slightly open your mouth. and when you did, bucky wastes no time inserting his tongue inside your mouth.

your teeth grazes his tongue to which he grunts from. he swirls it as both your tongues collide, mixing both your salivas together.

his metal hand grips your waist firmly, guiding you as he steps backward without once breaking the connection of your lips. your eyes remain closed, hearts and breaths mingling, each step relying entirely on instinct.

you move slowly, carefully, blindly following him as he leads you toward the bed.

the playful tension from earlier melts seamlessly into something deeper, charged, a slow escalation that leaves no doubt who’s leading this moment—and who’s utterly captivated.

he stumbles slightly but eventually manages to guide you both safely onto the bed—careful, never once breaking the connection between both of your lips.

only when you’re both settled does he finally pull back, just enough to catch his breath. his gaze drifts from your eyes to your swollen lips, then back up again, filled with desire.

he murmurs a small, almost incoherent compliment, the words muffled but heavy with intent, before diving back in.

this time, his kisses trace a slow path—first along your jaw, lingering at the curve, then down the column of your neck, finally brushing against the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

the weight of his body against yours, the heat radiating from him, and the way his hands roam carefully over your waist and hips—all of it builds a tension that coils tighter with every second.

your grip tightens on his shoulder as he sucks on your skin, creating a promised purple mark. his tongue grazes over your skin, soothing the area his mouth bruised.

a soft moan escapes your chest, when you feel his trail of hickeys slowly, deliberately, travels downwards to where your breasts lies.

he pulls back only to whisper a compliment. “damn, princess… ‘ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in this lingerie,” his voice slurs, the words vibrating against your skin, leaving a shiver in their wake.

before you can even respond with a moan, he’s back on your skin—his lips trailing down the curve of your breast, nipping lightly, teasing, then pressing against the sensitive skin of your nipples.

his hands roam with purpose, sliding along your waist, cupping your hips, pulling you impossibly close.

suddenly, you press your palms against his chest in a silent motion for him to stop. he hesitates, eyes questioning, searching your gaze for a hint of what you want.

without a word, you shift abruptly, rising onto your knees. the bed creaks beneath you, a soft reminder of your movement. his eyes follow you as he adjusts instinctively, now leaning back against the headboard, letting you take the lead.

he watches you, every subtle motion, every sway, the heat in his eyes unhidden. you gather your hair with your hands, twisting it into a messy ponytail and holding it up for him.

bucky, ever the gentleman, doesn’t hesitate. his fingers move quickly, sliding through your strands as he fashions a makeshift hair tie.

he leans in close, eyes flicking to your neck and the curve of your shoulders, he murmurs, “looks good… but i think i like it even better when i do it myself.”

you lean down, moving with grace, and bucky watches you with undeniable admiration. he exhales softly, not from frustration, but from the quiet awe of having someone as stunning as you in front of him, completely in his presence, licking his toned abs.

“you’re so busy these past few months…” you start out, pressing soft, gentle kisses on his rock-hard abs as you slowly sink downward, every movement unhurried. bucky’s gaze never leaves you. his metal fingers cradle your hair, cool against the skin of your skull, guiding you just enough to keep you close—letting him take in every second, every expression, like it’s something he wants to memorize.

you continue. “i want a gift on behalf of you being busy,” bucky nods without hesitation, already ready to spend however much your heart desires but you shake your head.

your fingers slowly make their way to the waistband of his pants. bucky only then realizes what you’re implying, a teasing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “ah?” he hums, drawn-out and knowing.

“yeah,” he adds, voice steadier now, more sure of itself. confident. “i’ve got a big gift for you, honey.”

his flesh hand cups your cheeks, gently tilting your jaw upwards to face him. “you think you deserve a big gift, baby?” he asks, tone almost condensing. still, you nod anyway.

your hands slip down through the waistband, and with his help, it’s immediately discarded, thrown to god knows where. his throbbing length springs out, already leaking with pre-cum. he does a small gesture before speaking up, “go ahead, honey.”

you lean closer, your lips wrap around his tip. you hollow your mouth as you slowly take him, inch by inch. your tongue darts out, licking and tracing the veins of his throbbing cock and you watch him throw his head back to the headboard from the pleasure.

unfortunately, your gag reflex works to humble you, you pull away, coughing as your lungs steal as much air as it could.

“t—too big,” you whine, the sound only seeming to feed his already massive ego. bucky’s mouth curves into a slow smirk, his gaze dropping to you with deliberate, almost condescending ease.

“aww, c’mon, baby,” he says, tone coaxing and smug all at once. “you can do it.”

his metal fingers slide into your hair, adjusting before curling more firmly than before. he doesn’t force you—never that. instead, he guides you gently, matching your the pace your comfortable with, lets you set it, because that’s the kind of man bucky is.

you take his cock again, gagging as he thrust his hips when he finally notices you adjust to the pace. his metal arm holds a different angle, pushing your head up and down.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty.” bucky couldn’t help but to compliment as he watches you bop your head up and down with the help of his prosthetic arm.

“fuckin’ perfect.” he says, thrusting into your throat, causing you to suck in, hollowing the hole of your mouth, squeezing his length making him groan in response.

his body shivers when a wave of pleasure washes over him, demanding a release. as much as he wants to spill his release inside your mouth, watch as you have trouble swallowing before flashing him your tongue for proof that you did, he wants to savor this moment with you.

he pulls your hair, mouth leaving his tip with a loud “pop” noise. his gaze watches as you lick your lips, seductively.

“biggest christmas present ‘ya ever gotten?” he asks, teasing. to which all you can do is nod in response, your throat too overwhelmed and used to manage even the faintest sound.

“ride your present, honey.” and you obeyed. deliberately slow, you started crawling over to him, legs already spread, pressed against each side of his thighs, you straddle him.

he takes his cock to his flesh hand, stroking on it for a couple of times before he finally aligns himself to your entrance, pushing the thin fabric of the lingerie aside.

you slowly sink down, your head dipping, pressing on his chest as your warm walls slowly adjust to the stretch of his huge cock.

“fu… fuck, bucky… c-cant.” you moan, his large size almost stifling you. bucky’s hips grinds in a desperate attempt to search for friction as your tight walls swallow his cock deliberately slow.

“you can take it, baby.” he says, flesh hand placed on your hip as if to ground you. “shit,” he lets out, whispering more to himself when he feels you squeeze around him.

you mewled his name out when you finally take his cock whole. you stay there for a moment, catching your breath, chest rising and falling as bucky gently brushes a couple of strands of hair from your face, soothing and unhurried.

when you finally adjust to his size, you slowly bounce on his length. a loud moan escapes your chest just as a loud groan escapes his when the tip of his cock hits your g-spot repeatedly. his hips ruts into you, feeling your walls wrap around his cock almost so perfectly.

his hand—the metal one—makes itself useful as he places them on your bosom, squeezing your breasts while his flesh hand roams to trace every curve of your body.

“and i fuckin’,” he thrusts harder, cock almost slipping itself out of you if not for his gigantic size that makes a home of your sweet cunt.

“chose work,” he continues, “over you—this… fuuuuuck.”

his flesh hand that roamed around found its way to your back as his fingers casually, deliberately unties the strings of the lingerie, letting the thin strands of the undergarment detach from your body, giving his left hand more access to your tits.

your nails dig onto his biceps, leaving a red patch of scratches onto his skin as he completely rails you.

your mouth hangs open, ready to let out a couple of words for him puzzle together but as if he could read you already, he brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, “fuck, yeah, cum for me.”

your walls clench around his shaft and after a couple more thrust, you finally reach your climax, releasing all over him.

it takes bucky a few more strokes before he also reaches his peak, making him spill his orgasm inside of you, filling you up to the brim. you dramatically collapse against his chest, and his arms come around you instantly, like muscle memory kicking in.

“fuck… i’m tired,” you whine, pushing yourself up with your knee—moaning when his cock slips out of you—before finally settling down beside him on the bed, exhaustion sinking in as you relax against the mattress.

he takes a glance at you, smiling proudly, then pushes his fingers inside your cunt, smearing every last bit of his cum inside you, while you let out the loudest moan due to the sensitivity from the post-orgasm.

“don’t fuckin’ waste your christmas present.”

main masterlist ⊹ ࣪ ˖ winter masterlist

© dolcesaints ✮ ‘25 all rights reserved.

⟡˙˖ ıl. from lovie. merry christmas, happy hanukkah, or whatever you celebrate! i hope this season brings you warmth, comfort, and moments of joy. wishing you all rest, peace, and lots of love this holiday season. <33333

⊹༘. ✦ . / general taglist . ! @wint3rbarnes @swimmingnightcolor @literallyjustuhgirl @wifeofbarnes @evvilgf @buckybunni @colettebarnes @slutdier @kkwanvince @soupiemeowmeow @thewinterswift @cherie-fawn @starstruck-cowgirl @yourmomoclockit @daddysbitchybaby @jamesbarnesrealwife @lewatinria @darlingdenise @chipotleburritobowl @daydreamin1220 @eah-marvel-trolls @yvesjgk @lovesreality @buckysslut @herejustforbuckybarnes @buggy14 @lanaunrealesed @okaytrashpanda @werewolfgirl1995 @buckysbunny @peanutbutt3rcup @rnurse-kole @writingshae @lillianacristina @buckybarneswife08 @avgdestitute @sweetybunnyy

Maybe that was why your lower belly still burned while your breathing slowly evened out, lying there with Bucky’s arm around your shoulders and his body still warm beside yours beneath the sheets. That night the sex had been as sweet as ever, his lips lingering on your skin only as long as they absolutely had to, his whispered words of adoration brushing against your neck.

Nothing calmed the heat in your pussy.

“Bucky?” you murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw that made him shiver briefly, just like he always did whenever your lips touched his skin.

And still he wouldn’t let you use your mouth to please him, you thought bitterly.

Even so, you didn’t let the thought discourage you.

His time would come.

Bucky only hummed faintly in acknowledgment, his body still loose and relaxed, his thumb stroking along your ribs. Not too high. Not brushing your bare breasts or the hardened peaks reaching toward him, begging for his mouth. Your lips pursed before you continued.

“I want to try something new.”

Your words clearly caught him off guard.

“Something… new?” he repeated, brow furrowing, head tilting like a curious puppy. It might have been cute if you weren’t already wet enough to make patience impossible. “New like… here, in bed? Or do you mean…?”

You barely let him finish before answering.

“I want to sit on your face. Fuck me with your tongue, Buck.”

The curse that slipped from Bucky’s mouth only made your cunt grow wetter, already clenching around nothing while a few drops of his semen still slid slowly between your thighs.

“Jesus, sweetheart. Why would you say—? What the hell…?” he huffed, chest rising fast as his arm tightened around your shoulders while you bit your lip and looked at him with those doe eyes that always made him give in. “We’ve never done that. I mean, I don’t think… that wouldn’t be good, and I—”

“Bucky, Buck, please,” you pleaded, lips already pouting as your leg shifted over his thigh, the friction of his bare skin against your center sending another wave of wetness through your folds. Bucky’s grip tightened even more. “I want to do it. You’re sweet and very chivalrous, but I need more. Please, please, my love. Just this once, and if it’s not good then we’ll never do it again for the rest of our lives, okay? I want to feel your tongue. Please, James.”

His name on your lips was enough to make his pupils expand like a predator’s, the feeling of his still-warm, soft cock against your thigh beginning to harden again. Bucky had never been a strong man when it came to you and your pleading.

“Climb onto my chest, sweetheart. Hands on the headboard.”

It was the only thing he said, in that rough tone that made heat coil deep in your stomach and wetness surge between your legs.

Excitement filled your chest at his words. You left a quick kiss on his lips before sliding your leg fully over his waist, dragging your wetness along the path of his abs until your ass settled on his bare chest. His hands moved down to grip your waist as if you were a doll made of clay beneath his touch. Your knees framed his head while Bucky silently examined the slick shine of your folds barely brushing his skin.

A low growl rumbled in his chest.

“Fuck, look at that. I just filled you and you’re already asking for more stuffing in that cunt, huh?” he muttered almost to himself, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip as he pulled your hips forward, his nose brushing your trembling thigh. “And how thoughtful. Still dripping my cum. Dirty little thing.”

“Buck, stop—oh, fuck.”

Bucky’s tongue dove between your folds before you could finish complaining. His lips wrapped around your clit with a gentle tug that made you gasp and whimper. He ate you like you were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, his tongue circling your clit while his nose brushed the start of your slit. Your eyes nearly rolled back as the wet sounds of his mouth filled the room.

“Oh, I—Buck, Bucky, please…” you moaned instinctively, your hips trying to roll to chase the sensation of his lips. Bucky growled low, pulling away with one last suck on your swollen clit, the pop echoing like your final sentence. You could have cried from frustration, looking down at him as your hands smacked the headboard.

“No! No, no… please don’t—don’t stop, I need it… I want—please…”

The teasing smile that left his lips would have earned him a slap if the heat twisting in your stomach weren’t so overwhelming.

“You asked for this, sweetheart. You begged for it,” he replied coolly, guiding your hips in a slow roll, his rough stubble dragging deliciously across your trembling folds. The sound that left your mouth was anything but dignified, but Bucky only kept smiling, lips swollen and wet. “So be a good girl, yeah? Stay still and I’ll give you a nice reward. But if you even try to move your hands off the headboard, I swear I’ll suck your pussy without giving you a single fucking orgasm. Understood?”

Your whimper came out faster than expected.

“Understood, understood! Please, just go back to—”

Before you could finish, his mouth was between your legs again. Your lips parted in a trembling sigh, your head falling boneless against the headboard while your nails dug crescent shapes into the fabric until it began to tear under the pressure. Bucky’s hands stayed anchored to your hips while his lips alternated between greedy sucks and kitten licks that made your head spin.

“Fuck, James! Don’t stop, please, don’t stop, don’t you dare—”

The words spilled out of you faster than your mind could process them. But Bucky kept that arrogant air as you sat on his face, the lower half of it buried between your thighs and his eyes shut in pleasure. Low groans vibrated against your pussy between every suck, his words muffled against your wet folds.

“So fucking good, baby… best meal I’ve ever had,” he breathed against the slick heat between your legs, his nose hooked against your clit while his tongue moved side to side in a furious lick that sent fire straight to your womb. “I can feel how much this pussy wants something inside it. Fuck, my girl can’t get enough of my tongue, huh? So wet, so damn ready for my tongue and my cock.”

His words only stoked the fire in your stomach, your breath catching in your throat when Bucky’s tongue slid between your folds, sucking at your entrance like he was eating a glazed donut from the inside out. Your forehead dropped against your forearm on the headboard as the knot in your belly snapped and your orgasm crashed through you, flooding Bucky’s mouth and dripping down his chin like melting ice cream.

“Shit, yeah, give it to me, give me everything. I want every last drop, baby. That’s it. My strong girl, so fucking sweet,” he groaned, sucking down your release in obscenely loud noises, his hands pressing your hips firmly onto his face until the curve of your ass settled fully against his wet chin. “More… I’m not full yet. Give me another, sweetheart. Give me another and then I’ll give you my cock.”

The frustrated moan that left your lips broke into a sob while his tongue returned to its assault, your body still shaking and your thighs weak against his cheeks.

“I can’t, Buck. Please, no. I can’t, I don’t have another one,” you pleaded to deaf ears while Bucky kept sucking through the aftershocks of your orgasm and the tremors wracking your muscles. “Jamie, please, Buck…”

“Give me another, sweetheart,” was all he said.

Your eyes filled with tears while Bucky guided your hips back and forth over his face, your slick soaking his bronzed skin. His tongue chased the salty taste of the drops of your orgasm his mouth had missed, sucking them up in quick, confident pulls that made tears run down your cheeks and your toes curl beside his shoulders.

“Buck, I can’t anymore! I can’t, please, it’s too much, too much!”

“Never enough,” he replied, the words nearly lost in the friction of his tongue against your folds as he licked up the pearly drops of wetness still pooling between them despite your pleas.

A sob tore from your chest as your thighs relaxed around his head. Bucky made a pleased sound, eyes shut tight and brows drawn together while he guided your hips, bouncing you against his hungry tongue. One of his hands left your waist, sliding like a snake beneath your stretched arm, his thumb brushing your nipple in slow vicious circles that made the knot in your stomach ache and tighten.

“I feel you getting close… give it to me, please, fuck, give me everything,” Bucky panted between increasingly fierce sucks that left your folds tingling and made your back arch. His thumb and forefinger pinched your nipple just enough for pain and pleasure to blur together—and for the second time that night, the pressure in your lower belly broke as your orgasm spilled in soft drops across his face.

Your sobs softened while Bucky licked and cleaned your release from between your legs for what felt like forever. His fingers left your nipple and settled back on your waist, his once fierce grip loosening until you felt his calloused but gentle fingers tracing soothing circles along your skin. Your muscles felt like jelly by the time his licking slowed, his hands guiding you back until you were once again sitting on his chest.

A hiccup caught in your throat as you looked down at his still-dilated blue eyes and the stains of your release smeared across the lower half of his face like a permanent mark of your claim.

He barely managed a breath before speaking again.

“I swear to God, sweetheart, I hope you like having a new seat, because we’re doing this every day.”

You dab the pink lip gloss on your lips that you know is his favourite. He'll lick it right off of you after all.

Perfect.

Checking yourself in the car mirror one last time, you make your way upstairs to your husband's office.

Your stilletos click against the expensive hardwood floor as you greet the receptionist and his assistant before strutting towards his cabin.

You don't ask if he's in a meeting or if he's busy. He might be the boss here, but you have an authority on him at all times, that you don't need any permission to walk into his office and interrupt whatever important work he's in midst of doing.

You don't knock on the door, clicking it open with a flick of your wrist and entering the room with a charming smile on your face.

He doesn't look up “jenna I would like another black coffee, please. I really need to get this client's paperwork done by today”

“You don't need any more coffee sir” you coax your voice into a sweeter tone, imitating jenna, his assistant “What you need is a good fuck”

His eyes perk up at that. Finding you where he expected jenna to be and the tension in his body loosens ever so slightly.

You walk towards the desk with more of a sway in your hips than normal and his gaze drops immediately. He shifts in his seat, just as you make your way around his desk and settle down on his lap like its your assigned seat.

He doesn't startle, or stop you. Instead his hands find your waist on their own. Fingers curling around the silky fabric of your dress “Wasn't expecting you today”

“I wanted to surprise you” your hands smooth their way up his shirt until they rest just below the knot of his tie.

He gulps “Well I'm surprised”

You grin, eyes finding his and coaxing the truth out of him as you say “So…what's got you all hot and bothered today sir”

He sighs, exhausted “I have to get this paperwork done by tomorrow and there's these reconciliation statements that need to be reviewed before Monday and a creditor’s payment is due so I'll have to—fuck”

A curse slips out of him as you grind down on the growing bulge in his pants.

“Honey I don't think this is the right time” he mutters, eyes pinching closed as he tries to keep his composure

“You need a break Mr. Barnes” your voice is sweet poison. Luring him in without knowing what's waiting for him.

“Yeah no shit” he attempts to joke but you cut him off “I mean it” the gravity of your voice tells him he's not getting out of this unscathed.

“Honey I don't think—”

“Shhh you don't have to think. You just have to be. Let me do the work bucky. You just relax.” You rock forward before drawing your hips back again, rutting onto his cock in a slow, teasing rhythm.

“Baby—ah fuck that's…” words are lost to him. He doesn't know how to describe this feeling. You sitting on him with that fucking gorgeous dress that he loves and looking down at him with wicked glint in your eyes

“Yeah?” You draw him out of his thoughts “Feel good bucky?”

“Yes, fuck—so good” he leans forward slightly and you envelope his mouth in a kiss that is meant to overwhelm. You let him fall into you. All his senses answering to you as you find his eyes looking into yours, mouth moaning your name, ears tinged red from your teasing voice, the sweet scent of your perfume filling his cabin as his hands try desperately to feel your skin on them.

One of your hands leaves its resting place in his hair and finds his metal palm trying to sneak under your dress before grasping it your hand and bringing it back up.

“Did I say you could do that?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shakes his head, obedient, it makes you smile “Then be a good boy and do as I say, okay” you peck his lips before moving from his lap and sinking onto your knees in front of him.

His palm comes to rest on your head, fingers curling around the hair as he brushes it away from your face.

You work at his fly with nimble fingers, tugging the zipper down and freeing his cock from the entrapment of his boxers.

It greets you just the way you knew it would. Hard and flushed pink all over, the tip of him glistening and tinged a shade of pink darker as it remains neglected.

You press a kiss on his shaft, and his hand tightens in your hair making you grin against him “So greedy, James. Thought you didn't want this?”

“I always want this” his voice is breathy, cracking at the edges.

“Yeah? You'll be a good boy for me won't you, then? Let me play with it nice and proper?” You look up at him from under your lashes.

“Yes please” he nods.

You take your time working him. Teasing licks on the length of him, tongue grazing the sensitive underside every so often as you ignore his forlorn tip even more.

All the while muttering filthy things under your breath, riling him up even more “Look how happy he is to see me, Bucky. All wet and pink and so fucking hard” you tap the head of him with a finger, barest of touch, but his whole body jerks in response.

“Baby, please” he whimpers when your tongue traces the shaft again, withdrawing before it grazes the tip.

“Please what, bucky?” You smirk, wicked and amused.

“Please, just—” his face burns redder with the moment, not wanting to say it out loud but knowing you're doing this on purpose to tease him.

“Say it, honey. What do you want?” you graze a single fingernail down the underside of his cock and he shudders.

“Do you want me here?” you kiss your way up his length

“Or here?” You press open-mouthed kisses on his frenulum and his cock twitches against your cheek.

You smile, mouth finding his balls and taking one in your mouth, “or maybe here?” You withdraw your mouth abruptly, giving him just enough of your touch to tease.

“Uh..” he groans, frustrated and waiting “baby please don't be like that”

“Like what?” You feign innocence.

“C'mon baby, tell me where do you want me” you push him further toward confessing his desires and he succumbs.

“Suck the tip, angel. Just a little, plea—aah fuck” he curses when your mouth closes over the head of him. Suckling slowly as your tongue swirls across the tip, delving into the slit, tasting the salt of him.

He moans, loud and unfiltered.

“yeah? Like that baby?” You pull away just to tease him with your words.

“Fuck yeah, just—ughh—like that.” He grunts

You work him slowly, almost teasingly. Taking him in little by little until he hits the back of your throat and his voice chokes on a moan at the feeling.

You hollow your cheeks, a hand going to play with his balls meanwhile. You cup them in your palm, tugging lightly and he whines “Harder please”

You can feel he's close in the way the muscles in his thighs tighten and his eyes pinch shut. And you, menace that you are, pull away completely.

His eyes open and find you looking up at him with the most innocent expression ever. The kind that doesn't say in the least of how you've edged him right now.

“Why would you do that?” His eyes have gone glassy with how pent up he is.

“You tell me. Why do you think you deserve to come bucky? You haven't been a good boy lately, have you?”

He tries to pull you back up onto his lap disregarding your words but your fingers grasp his jaw, making him look at you.

You feel the stubble scratch at your fingers, as you hold his gaze.

“You work too hard. Come home late. Have no time for me ‘cause you're overtired. And you still think you've been good?”

“I'm sorry” you hear him say. And the way he's looking at you tells him the apology is genuine. As much mad as you might be at him for not giving you the time for past few days, you know its not his fault. His work takes too much out of him and he's just as dedicated to it as he's to you.

You accept his apology in a sweet, chaste kiss. The kind that he feels in his bones. He moans into the kiss when he feels you settle above him.

He feels the warmth of your core, snuggle his cock. And he realises you were probably bare under that dress the entire time.

His cock twitches under you at the realisation and you grin tells him you're acknowledging it.

Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, opening them one by one before pushing his shirt off his shoulders.

His fingers move from your waist to his tie, loosening the knot but your hand comes to stop him “The tie stays on”

You tug at the fabric like a leash, pulling him in until his mouth rests on yours.

The kiss is heated. More tongue than lips, teeth clacking against each other until you're both breathless.

You rock forward, your warm core on his bare cock, sending shock waves through your veins. His tip nudges at your clit with every involuntary thrust of his hips and you both moan into the kiss.

And before you know it, you're sitting up and sinking down on him, walls clenching as you adjust to the sheer size of him. No matter how many times you take him. He hardly ever fails to take your breath away with how big he is.

But with how wet you have been since the moment you saw him, it doesn't take much resistance. He slides in right away, your walls snug around him as he revels in the feeling of you.

Home.

You grind down on him, rocking forward experimentally before pushing yourself up until just the head remains inside you and sinking down. Hard.

The moan he lets out is loud enough to summon all the staff working on that floor. And you’ve never been more grateful for the soundproofing in his cabin.

You set a pace almost instantly. Its nothing like the teasing way you had worked him in your mouth. It's brutal. Hard and fast that is meant to drive him towards his release.

Your hands grip his shoulders tightly as you bounce on him with practised rhythm. The kind that comes from doing the same thing over and over again.

His palm comes up to cup your breast through your dress, fondling it, and a high-pitched sound leaves you involuntarily.

The tip of him hits your cervix every time you sink down on him again, making him grunt

“Fuck. Baby, slow down. I'm not gonna last” he warns, trying to hold himself together and you want anything but. You want him to lose himself in you.

“You can fuck me slow later on, bucky.” You remind him “I want you to come now.”

“And when you come home early today, I'll be waiting for you in bed.” You feel him thrust up into you, noticing how close he is, you amp up your teasing, knowing he needs to hear your filthy words to climax.

“I'll even wear that lingerie you like. The pink one, you got me on your birthday. You'd love it, won't you?”

“Yes.” He pants against you “Fuck yes”

“And I'll let you do whatever you want. You can taste me if you want or have me on all fours. Like the time we did on our anniversary.”

The room reeks of sweat and sex now. The only sound is that of your skin slapping against each other as his thrusts grow erratic.

“You can even come inside. Give me all your babies. You'd be such a good dad, you know. They'd love you so much”

“Fuck—don't say that if you don't mean it” his voice is raspy, barely holding himself together.

“I mean it. Give it to me, bucky. Let me make you a daddy” he loses it at that. Burying himself to the hilt one last time before spilling into you with a loud curse.

You can feel the warmth of his release trickle down his shaft and your legs but none of you have it in yourself to care.

He's slumped back in his chair now. Chest heaving, eyes hooded, there's a dewy glow on his face that you only ever get to see on him after sex.

You smile despite yourself. Hand coming up to brush sweat slick strands of his hair back from his forehead.

He looks wrecked, coiffed hair messed up from your fingers in them, shirt rumpled from the way you were clutching it. Pants soiled and tie half undone.

You lean in, pressing soft pecks on his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose. He chuckles, coming down from the high.

“You did so good for me” you cup his face in your palms and feel his cheeks burn under your skin at the praise.

“Shut up” He hides his face in your chest, but you can feel him smile against you.

You stay like that for a few moments before attempting to stand up from his lap. But his arms come around you immediately.

“Wait.” His eyes soften “I haven't—you didn't come”

“I didn't need to. I came here for you, sweetheart. This wasn’t about me.” you reply, voice sweet and even, “But I'm holding you to your promise of coming home early.” you wink, already moving to smooth your dress down from where it's bunched at your waist.

But bucky, gentleman that he is, doesn't take compromises like that when it comes to you.

So just as you're about to turn away toward the door, his hand comes around your wrist pulling you back into him.

“You're not going anywhere until I have returned the favour”

Dividers by @diviniyae

Tag list : @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabie, @darlingdenise, @venigrantrogers, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67, @onyx8514, @globetrotter28, @buckysdecaflove, @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog, @herejustforbuckybarnes, @v33mustdie, @windsweptarmadillo

"Babe, have you seen this?"

You look up from your coffee to see Bucky staring at his phone, grinning.

"Seen what?"

He turns his phone around. It's an article from Vogue: "The Woman Who Stole Bucky Barnes' Heart: An Exclusive Look at Music's Hottest New Couple."

Your stomach flips. "Oh god."

"This is amazing," he says, scrolling through. "Look at these photos of you."

The article is full of professional shots—you and Bucky at events, but also solo candid photos of you that some photographer must have taken recently. You look… good. Really good.

"They're calling you a style icon," Bucky says. "And there's already fan accounts dedicated to you. Look—" He shows you Instagram. Multiple accounts tracking your outfits, your hair, your makeup.

"This is insane."

"This is awesome." He pulls you clos. "Everyone's finally seeing what I see, that you're gorgeous and cool and way out of my league."

"I'm not out of your league—"

"You absolutely are, and I love that everyone knows it now." He kisses your temple. "We have that album launch party tonight, you ready to be the most photographed woman there?"

“Is that what’s happening?”

"Oh, definitely. You're the hot new girlfriend everyone wants to know about." He's practically beaming. "I'm going to spend all night showing you off."

"Then I'm not going," you tease him, earning a poke on your side.

The album launch party is massive—a celebration for some indie band's major label debut. The venue is packed with musicians, producers, journalists and photographers.

The second you arrive, cameras flash in your direction.

"Over here! Bucky, look this way! Who's that pretty woman you that came with you?"

Bucky's hand is on your waist and he's smiling like it's Christmas morning. "This is my girlfriend," he announces to anyone who'll listen, giving your name. "Isn't she stunning?"

And he means it. You can tell by the way he looks at you and the pride in his voice.

Inside, it continues. He introduces you to everyone he can—producers, musicians, label executives.

"Have you met my girlfriend? She's incredible." "This is the woman I was telling you about." "Yeah, I'm the luckiest guy here, look at her."

You're getting attention like never before. Photographers asking for solo shots, journalists wanting to know your story. Someone from Harper's Bazaar asking if you'd be interested in being photographed for their next issue.

And Bucky is eating it up.

"You should do it," he tells you. "You'd be amazing."

"You're not worried about me getting too much attention?"

"Are you kidding? I want everyone to see how incredible you are." He pulls you closer and kisses you in front of everyone. "I want the whole world to know how perfect my girl is."

The first hour is perfect. You're laughing, glowing, and Bucky is right there beside you.

Then you meet Brian Clarke. He is an A-list actor, devastatingly handsome, charming. He's talking to a group near the bar when you an Bucky approach.

"Bucky Barnes," Brian says with a hint of recognition on his voice. "Great show in New York last month."

"Thanks, man. This is my girlfriend—"

"I know who she is." Brian's eyes are on you, warm and interested, it's like Bucky's not even a part of this conversation anymore. "I've seen the articles, the pictures don't do you justice."

"Thank you," you say politely.

"I mean it. You're stunning." He's not even trying to be subtle. "What do you do? Are you in the industry?"

"No, I—"

"She's incredible at everything," Bucky interjects smiling, but you feel his hand tightening slightly on your waist.

But Brian isn't looking at Bucky, he's looking at you.

"We should talk," Brian says. "I'm producing a film that shoots this summer and we're looking for fresh faces. Someone with your look—" He hands you a business card. "Call me, let's set up a meeting."

"Oh, I'm not an actress—"

"You could be." His smile is warm. "You've got the presence for it, and the camera clearly loves you."

Bucky's jaw is tight now.

"Think about it," then he turns to greet someone else.

You look at Bucky. His expression has shifted, he's still smiling, but there's tension in his eyes now.

"That was weird," you say.

"He wants to fuck you."

"What? No, he was just being nice—"

"Babe, I know that look. He wants to fuck you." Bucky's voice is low. "And he's not the only one."

You follow his gaze around the room and realize he might be a little right. Multiple guys are looking at you, some of them in a pretty obvious way, while others are more subtle about it. The way women usually look at Bucky when he's on stage.

"Come on, it's not that big of a deal."

But Bucky's watching a photographer asking you to pose for a solo shot, watching the journalist from earlier come back with more questions… and Brian glancing over at you again.

"Everyone wants you," Bucky says quietly.

"So? Everyone wants you, all the time. I deal with it."

"This is different."

"How?"

He doesn't answer, but you know him. He's still proud of you but now he feels threatened. Now other men see what he sees, other men want what he wants.

The next hour is torture for him.

You can feel Bucky getting more tense beside you. His hand on your waist gets tighter, his smile gets more forced.

When a music producer asks if you'd be interested in being in a music video, Bucky practically growls. When a model asks where you got your dress and compliments your figure, Bucky pulls you closer. When Brian comes back and asks you if you want to dance, Bucky steps between you.

"She's good," he says.

"Bucky—"

"We need to go," he mumbles before taking your hand.

"But the party just started—"

"I don't care," his eyes are dark. "I need to—come with me, now."

He doesn't take you to the exit, he pulls you down a hallway, past the bathrooms, finds a single-stall bathroom and pulls you inside, locking the door.

"Bucky, what—"

He kisses you, it's not soft like the ones he gave you when you first arrived. This time is hard and desperate.

"You belong with me, you're mine." He whispers between kisses, his lips traveling down your jaw and throat.

"I know—"

"Do you? Because every fucking guy out there is looking at you like they have a chance, like you're available."

"They know I'm with you—"

"Not well enough." His hands are on your dress hiking it up. "I need—I need them to know. Need you to look thoroughly fucked when you walk back out there."

"Bucky—"

"Tell me to stop and I'll do it if it's too much for you." He's already undoing his pants and you're already turned on, already reaching for him.

"Don't stop," you breathe.

He lifts you onto the counter, pushes your panties aside, and fucks into you in one hard thrust. You gasp, grabbing his shoulders.

"That's right," he groans. "Don't hold back, let everyone know who's making you feel this good."

The music is too loud for anyone to hear you, but you won't be the one breaking it to him, specially not when he's truly invested in making you feel this good. You moan, louder than you normally would, and his eyes darken.

"I love that sound," he sets a brutal pace, one hand gripping your hip, the other braced on the counter beside you. "Love knowing I'm the only one who gets to hear you like this. Tell me who makes you feel this good."

"You," you cry out as he hits deep. "Only you."

"That's my girl." He captures your mouth in a kiss swallowing your moans. You're so close already, the way he's fucking you pushing you right to the edge. He gets his hand between you, his thumb finds your clit and rubs rough circles. "Come for me, let me hear how good I make you feel. No one out there can hear you, just me."

You come with a cry, clenching around him and he groans. His rhythm falters and he comes with his face buried in your neck. For a moment, you both just breathe. Then he's pulling out carefully, helping you clean up with paper towels, fixing your dress.

"Your hair," he says, and helps smooth it down, but then he musses it a little. "Perfect, now everyone will know."

"Know what?"

"That you're thoroughly fucked, that you're mine." He says it with so much pride.

Your legs re shaky when you stand, your dress is wrinkled and your hair is messy despite his attempt to fix it. You look exactly like what you are: freshly fucked.

"I think we should—"

"Come on," he takes your hand, interlacing your fingers. "Let's go say goodbye."

Walking back into the party is surreal. Your legs are wobbly and you're holding onto Bucky's arm for support. Your hair is messed up, and you're pretty sure everyone can tell what just happened.

Bucky's radiating satisfaction at this point. He finds the label executives, the event organizer and some producers on your way out, parading you around with pride. You're flushed and a little embarrassed, but also kind of love it.

Brian catches you on the way out. "Leaving so soon?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, hand tight on your waist. "Got better things to do."

Brian's eyes flick to your messed hair, your flushed face and he smiles. "I'm sure you do, It was nice meeting you both."

"You too," you manage.

In the car, Bucky finally relaxes, pulling you close.

"I can't believe you did that," you say.

"Did what?"

"Paraded me around to everyone in our way out, you said goodbye to like fifteen people, even to the ones you said were annoying."

"I had to be polite," he grins. "Did you see their faces? They all knew exactly what we just did."

"Bucky!"

"What? I'm proud. Sue me." He kisses your temple. "You're my girlfriend and I want everyone to know it."

"You certainly made that clear."

Back at the house, Bucky is quieter. He helps you out of your dress and hangs it up carefully.

"I'm sorry," he says as he's running you a bath.

"For what?"

"For acting like a caveman back there." He sits on the edge of the tub, testing the water temperature. "The bathroom thing, parading you around… I know it was a lot."

"I didn't mind—"

"I know, but I still should've had more control." He looks at you seriously. "I'm trying to be better about the jealousy thing, but tonight when I saw Brian and those other guys… I lost it a little."

"A little?" you tease gently.

"Okay, maybe a lot." He smiles sheepishly. "But I'm working on it, I promise. I want to be the guy who can handle you getting attention without needing to drag you to a bathroom and—"

"I liked it," you interrupt him. "I liked that you wanted me that badly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You step into the bath and he immediately starts washing your hair, gentle fingers massaging your scalp. "You're allowed to be jealous sometimes, Bucky. You're allowed to want people to know I'm yours, as long as you trust me."

"I do trust you." His hands are so gentle in your hair. "It's them I don't trust."

"Well, they can see, but I'm not available."

He rinses your hair carefully with a smile on his face. "That's right, you're mine."

"I love when you say that."

"Good because I'm going to say it a lot." He helps you out of the bath, wrapping you in a towel. "I have a lot of time to make up for, all those months I should've been calling you my girlfriend and didn't."

He pulls you close, still damp from the bath and kisses you softly. "I love you."

"I love you too."

The kiss deepens, his hands slide under the towel, warm on your skin. You reach for him, pulling him closer. He lifts you easily, carries you to bed and lays you down gently. The towel falls away and he's looking at you like you're everything.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, hovering over you. "How did I get so lucky?"

"I'm the lucky one."

He kisses you again, slow and deep, and it's different from the party's bathroom. There's no desperation, no need to prove anything, just him showing how much he loves you.

He makes love to you slowly, thoroughly, whispering how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, how he's never letting you go.

When you both finish, you're curled up together in bed.

"Thank you for being patient while I figure out how to be a good boyfriend and for understanding when I get jealous and insecure." He kisses your forehead. "You're it for me, you know that?"

"You're it for me too."

Sam had always been your friend first, in particular the one who ate half of your bakery’s muffins and still smiled wide.

One day, he invited you to meet the guys.

Thor, Steve, Nat, Tony, Wanda… Bucky Barnes.

You offered him your cinnamon roll and he took it like it might disappear, as the faintest smirk appeared.

Later that day, after closing your shop, he guided you to the tower.

Once you where there, Thor boomed about Asgardian feasts loudly and intimidating since his massive body. 

Someone got close to you. 

Bucky Barnes. 

“Met him before. His people too. Loud but… solid.”

You laughed. “Like neighbors with bad music taste?”

His eyes softened. “Something like that.”

By night’s end, you weren’t sure which was sweeter, the cinnamon or his smile.

Two years since that first night, you went from “Sam’s baker friend” to an unofficial part of the Avengers’ circle. Every post mission debrief or movie night and even some random rooftop barbecue, had always an extra chair for you.

Bucky hovered near the dessert table, always pretending he just happened to be there while Thor called you the cupcakes' queen and tried to pay in gold coins.

One quiet evening Bucky leaned close, voice low. “You know, doll… two years… and I’m still not sure if I come for the company or the cinnamon rolls.”

By now, no one even pretended to not notice.

Sam had called it first. “You’ve got the look and Barnes has no clue…which makes this hilarious.”

Nat and Steve smirked every time you wandered into whatever room Bucky was in. Wanda gave you that knowing little smile, like she could read it straight from your mind. Even Thor once patted you on the back and called Bucky the brooding warrior who has clearly captured the heart of the baker.

Bucky, if he noticed he didn’t tease.

He just started finding reasons to be around you, claiming he was helping you in the kitchen, which meant leaning on the counter while you worked and occasionally stealing dough with a gloved hand. Sometimes he’d ask about recipes he clearly didn’t care about or offer to walk you home even when it was wildly out of his way.

One night after a long team meeting, you caught him waiting by the elevator, two mugs of tea in hand. “Thought you might want company,” he said simply, and you felt your cheeks warm.

If anyone had been watching, they wouldn’t have called it a crush anymore. They’d have called it inevitable.

Thor was a constant presence at team gatherings and if Thor was there, the Asgardians weren’t far behind. One of them caught your attention.

Freya.

One of the Valkyries and part of that circle for nearly as long as you’d been around. She was sharp eyes, battle braids and the kind of grace that made even Natasha pause to admire. She never seemed interested in Bucky or any man, for that matter. You weren’t even sure if humans were her thing at all.

“Maybe she only date god or goddesses.” You once told Nat.

It was more like a desire than a statement. You wished Freya only date god or goddesses.

Still, people whispered.

The sight of a Valkyrie and the Winter Soldier in the same room could spark rumors without a single word exchanged even tho Bucky never entertained them. Whenever Freya was around, he seemed… normal.

No stiffness, no awkwardness, just mutual respect between warriors who’d fought on the same side once or twice.

You tried to play it cool, telling yourself there was nothing to worry about. But every time Thor clapped Bucky on the back and called him brother Barnes, you couldn’t help the little flip your stomach did. It wasn’t because you thought they were competition, but because you realized Bucky really belonged in this strange, extraordinary world.

You’d seen Bucky train before, sparring with Sam and Steve, even Natasha but nothing quite prepared you for watching him step into the practice ring with Freya.

She was elegance wrapped in steel, moving like the fight was a dance only her knew the rhythm to. Her braid swayed as she parried each of his blows with almost casual precision, her smile faint but amused.

At first, it looked close.

Bucky was fast and calculating and his metal arm a blur, but you knew Freya was holding back not in a condescending way. She moved with the deliberate grace of someone who understood that a true victory here wasn’t the point. When Bucky finally landed the winning strike, pinning her sword arm, she yielded with a smirk and a single nod as if to say well done, soldier.

The others clapped. You clapped too, but your eyes were on him. The faint flush on his face, the way he glanced your way, as if checking to see if you’d been watching.

Of course you had and you were pretty sure Freya knew exactly what she was doing.

Later, as you were wiping down the counters, Freya appeared behind you arms crossed and an amused glint in her eyes.

“Human baker,” she said, tilting her head. “You watch him closely during training.”

You jumped slightly. “I… I just… it’s impressive. Bucky’s good.”

Freya chuckled softly, a sound like wind through metal. “Yes, but you watch him with… interest. Your cheeks betray you.”

You huffed, trying to hide your blush. “I’m not-”

“Do not deny it. It is… adorable.” She smirked, then softer and almost conspiratorial, added. “I would say he is fortunate, though I do not often see humans hold a soldier’s attention so completely.”

You bit your lip, unable to stop the small shy smile that spread across your face.

Freya just laughed lightly and walked away, leaving you blushing… and thinking about Bucky more than ever.

You had been in the kitchen, frosting cupcakes and humming softly, when the commotion outside caught your attention. The team was back from a mission, laughing and teasing and recapping every detail like children swapping stories. You wiped your hands on your apron and peeked around the corner.

“They were incredible together!” Sam said, practically bouncing. “I swear, Bucky and Freya moved like… like they were two halves of the same machine.”

Nat nodded, smirking. “Never seen him so in sync with anyone. She’s… perfect for him, in a fight anyway.”

Thor slapped Bucky on the back, laughing. “A warrior and a goddess! What could possibly stand against such harmony?”

Even Wanda grinned knowingly. “You can see it, can’t you? How well they complement each other?”

You felt a pang in your chest. Your gaze fell to the tray of pastries in your hands, suddenly aware of the gap between your world.

Flour, sugar and ovens

His? Super soldier, trained to kill and always in battle.

Freya, a goddess that could match him blow for blow challenging him, make him better.

And you… you were a baker.

A human.

You smiled softly, a mixture of pride and wistfulness. Bucky deserved someone extraordinary and it seemed the universe had already provided her.

After that mission, you started avoiding the compound.

It wasn’t dramatic at first, just small excuses.

Oh, I need to restock ingredients.

I have a delivery to make.

Deep down you knew the truth, every time you saw Bucky laughing with Freya moving in perfect sync with her, it twisted something tight in your chest.

You felt… replaceable.

Ordinary.

Human.

A baker in a world of gods and soldiers.

Sam noticed first. “Hey, you’ve been distant lately,” he said gently, pausing in the doorway of your shop.

“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile. Your hands busy kneading dough too hard.

But it wasn’t fine.

It never felt fine.

You wanted to be near them, part of the team you loved and yet every time Bucky’s eyes sparkled with Freya’s teasing, you felt painfully aware of your limitations. You slumped against the counter, gripping a rolling pin like it could anchor you to the floor. Maybe it was easier to stay away. Easier than seeing what could never be.

And so you baked.

You delivered.

You smiled at Sam.

You avoided the compound.

Because watching Bucky with a goddess made your heart ache in ways you weren’t ready to face.

It was a quiet morning in the shop when the bell over the door chimed. You didn’t look up, assuming it was a delivery or Sam dropping by, until a shadow fell across the counter.

“Hey,” Bucky said, voice low almost hesitant.

You froze kneading dough too fast, avoiding his eyes.

“Hey,” you murmured, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your face.

“I… noticed you haven’t been around the compound,” he said, tilting his head, concern threading his tone. “I know I shouldn’t assume, but… is it because of Freya?”

Your hands stilled. The rolling pin in front of you suddenly felt heavier than a hammer. “It’s… nothing,” you whispered. “I just… have things to do.”

Bucky stepped closer, his expression soft but intense. “You don’t have to avoid me,” he said, gently, as if treading on fragile ice.

Your throat tightened. The words should have made your heart leap, but instead, all you could feel was the cold edge of reality. He exhaled slowly, a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, and took a step back. His shoulders slumped, and for a heartbeat, he looked… human.

Vulnerable.

He advanced slowly and deliberately, forcing you to step back. Every movement was a teasing challenge but his eyes searched yours. Soft underneath the teasing.

You stiffened, apron tightening around your waist, and a flicker of resolve ran through you. “Stay back,” you warned, though your hands itched to reach out.

He tilted his head, eyebrows raised. A small smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve been avoiding me. Now you want to fight me?”

You squared your shoulders, trying to mask the panic and longing.

It’ll be easier if he hates me. If he sees someone else is… better. Someone worthy.

You met him with a glare, fists clenched and apron still dusted with flour. “I don’t want you here,” you snapped, voice trembling more than you intended.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, eyes searching yours. “Why are you pushing me away?”

“I’m… I’m not good enough,” you admitted, voice breaking. “Someone else… stronger…better. She should have you, not me.”

Bucky’s hands dropped to his sides, frustration flickering across his features. “That’s not true.”

“I just… I can’t-” you choked, tears stinging your eyes. “I can’t be what you need.”

He grabbed your wrists gently, holding you still. “You already are.”

The air between you was heavy, filled with anger, longing and the ache of unspoken love. “I don’t want… someone like you,” you whispered, looking away trying to steady your shaking hands. Your words sounded final but inside, they were a lie you repeated to yourself like a shield.

Bucky froze, his brows knitting together in confusion and hurt. “What are you saying?” His voice was low, almost pleading.

“I said I don’t want someone like you. That’s it,” you repeated, voice sharp trying to sound final.

Bucky’s eyes darkened, a mix of hurt and determination. “That’s not it,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Stop saying that. You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding,” you snapped, though your hands shook, betraying you. “I just… I can’t be what you need. You’re… too much for me.” You fought back your tears.

When you didn’t reply, he turned and left.

No dramatic exit, no final plea just the soft echo of the door closing behind him, leaving the shop heavy with silence. You sank against the counter. The scent of sugar and bread surrounded you, comforting yet hollow. His absence was palpable, the space he occupied now aching with the weight of unspoken words. And in that quiet, you realized something terrifying. The longer you avoided him, the more impossible it would be to come back.

Some days after, you kept your promise and bought them a box of your new creation. You were wandering looking for Sam, but you heard something else.

The training room was filled with the clash of metal and the hum of energy.

Bucky and Freya were sparring again, their movements seamless as a dance of precision and power. You lingered near the door, hesitant to step too close.

Freya paused mid-strike, tilting her head as if noticing something missing. “Bucky,” she asked, lowering her sword slightly. “Where is the little human today?”

Bucky froze for a split second, his breath catching. “Uh… she’s… busy,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Freya didn’t press, just nodded thoughtfully. “I see. I was curious. I hoped she might watch today. She always seems… present when you fight.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “Yeah… she’s usually around. Just not today.”

Freya gave a small, knowing smile. Not mocking or judgmental but just curious, like a goddess observing the quiet heartbeat of a world she didn’t fully belong to.

When he remained silent, you went for the exit texting Sam.

catch u later, need to go.

The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the bakery. You were stacking trays and wiping counters, counting down the minutes until closing, when the bell above the door chimed.

You froze.

Freya.

Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, the faintest smile playing on her lips.

You didn’t know whether to greet her, hide or pretend the shop was closed. Your heart hammered and your hands clenched around the rag you’d been using to wipe the counter.

She stepped inside anyway, unhurried, like she owned neither the space nor feared it. “I hope I’m not intruding,” she said softly, voice calm but carrying that otherworldly weight that made you aware of every sound, every movement.

You swallowed hard, words caught somewhere between your throat and your tongue. “I… it’s… um… welcome,” you managed. Your voice barely more than a whisper.

Freya’s eyes softened as she surveyed the little bakery, the flour dusting your apron and the cozy chaos of your world. “I wondered… about you, little human,” she said, and you realized with a jolt that Bucky had come up in your absence.

Your chest tightened, your mind went blank. You had no plan. No words. Just… the frozen, fluttering panic of being caught somewhere between fear, embarrassment and the quiet ache you hadn’t been able to shake. Freya merely watched, patient, unthreatening, yet somehow unavoidable like the quiet truth you’d been hiding from yourself.

You swallowed hard, finally finding your voice. “Do… do you eat human food? Like Thor?”

Freya tilted her head, studying you for a heartbeat. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.

Not at you, never at you but with you.

A rich, melodic sound that made the bakery feel both smaller and warmer at the same time.

You blinked, cheeks heating. “I… I didn’t mean-”

She waved a hand, still smiling. “No, no. It is… endearing. And yes, I do. Thor has shown me a few things.” Her gaze softened as she added, almost conspiratorially. “Though I do not find pastries as… necessary as you seem to.”

You laughed nervously, the tension in your shoulders easing just a fraction. Even if she was a goddess, she didn’t carry judgment, only curiosity and somehow that made her presence feel less threatening… and more personal.

Freya leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her gaze steady but kind. “You have been absent,” she said softly, as if stating a fact rather than accusing. “Not at the compound, not at training… even when Bucky and I return. Why?”

You froze, your hands gripping the edge of the counter. “I… I just… have been busy,” you murmured, avoiding her eyes.

She tilted her head, letting a faint smile linger. “Busy… or avoiding someone? You are not often so distant, little human. It troubles you, does it not?”

Your throat tightened. The words you wanted to say twisted inside you, caught between fear, pride, and longing. “I… I just… I can’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Freya didn’t press. She only nodded, as though understanding far more than you were saying. “You care for him,” she said quietly, and your stomach dropped. “And yet you feel… unfit. Perhaps… fragile.”

You swallowed, cheeks burning. “I… I just… I can’t compete. I’m… just me.”

She studied you a long moment, then smiled, almost softly. “I see. You do not realize… sometimes being just you is more extraordinary than any warrior, human or god.” The words hung in the air, heavy and warm, leaving you both unsettled and strangely comforted.

You flinched at her words, unsure how to respond. “But… you and Bucky…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Freya’s expression softened and she shook her head. A small and amused smile tugging at her lips. “Little human,” she said gently, “do not misread. Bucky and I… we are warriors on the battlefield. Nothing more. He is not mine and I am not his.”

Your shoulders sagged with relief, tension seeping out in a shaky exhale.

“I fought with him, yes,” she continued, eyes kind, “but I do not claim him, nor do I seek to. That… belongs to you, if he should ever choose.”

You blinked, stunned, heart racing. Somehow, the goddess of war had just given you permission to hope.

Freya’s smile lingered as she turned toward the door. “Do not fear what is not yours to fear. Be present. Be yourself. That is more than enough.”

And just like that, the weight of imagined rivalry lifted, leaving behind only the fluttering ache of longing and the fragile, sudden glimmer of possibility.

Freya paused in the doorway, looking back at you with a faint, knowing smile. “Before I leave,” she said softly, “you should know something.”

You blinked, wary. “What… what is it?”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Bucky… talks about you. A lot. Too much, perhaps.”

You froze, your hands gripping the counter as your heart skipped a beat. “He… does?”

Freya nodded, tilting her head. “Yes. He speaks of your kindness, your laughter… your baking. Of the way you care for others, even when you barely notice it yourself. It is… clear, little human. He values you more than you realize.”

Your stomach fluttered, a mix of disbelief and hope. Somehow, the goddess who could wield storms and swords knew exactly what your heart had been too shy to hear. “And,” Freya added, giving you one last reassuring nod, “he is not the type to speak lightly. When he says something, it carries weight. Remember that.”

With that, she turned and left, leaving the bakery quiet but your heart louder than ever.

The compound was quiet in the early morning, the kind of silence that made every creak of the floor sound loud.

You slipped in, careful not to wake anyone, hoping and praying that Bucky might be alone in the kitchen.

Luck, it seemed, was on your side.

He leaned against the counter. Mug in hand, hair tousled and eyes half-lidded with sleep and then he saw you. Your sundress caught the morning light, hugging you just enough to make you feel… exposed, aware, alive.

Bucky froze, gaze lingering a second too long, a flicker of something raw passing over his face before he tried to mask it with a casual sip of coffee.

“Morning,” you said, voice light but your heart thumped so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“Uh… morning,” he replied, and there was that brief awkward pause. The kind that made the air between you almost electric.

He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “You’re… here.”

You smiled softly, stepping closer, careful not to invade his space but wanting to close the distance. “I thought… maybe I could keep you company for breakfast.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, meeting yours fully now and you saw it.

The unspoken weight of everything neither of you had admitted yet. The crushed and longing and hesitant spark of hope. You talked, letting your words fill the quiet kitchen, recounting something small. A funny mishap with your bakery deliveries yesterday, the way a batch of muffins refused to cooperate. You laughed softly, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

Bucky, however, was impossible to ignore.

You noticed it first in the way his eyes lingered a little too long, following the curve of your smile or the tilt of your head as you gestured. He wasn’t being rude, not intentionally, he simply couldn’t stop looking at you. Every movement you made seemed to anchor him in place, like you were the gravity in the room. You tried to focus on your toast, on the butter melting in the pan, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed your awareness.

“Bucky?” You asked lightly, half-teasing and half-nervous.

His gaze snapped to yours and for a heartbeat, he looked guilty then flustered like a man caught entirely off-guard by how much he wanted to look. “I… uh… you’re… just… hard to not look at,” he admitted voice low, rough around the edges like he was saying more than he meant to.

Your stomach fluttered and you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling, or from reaching across the counter and seeing if he’d let you close the distance.

The kitchen was quiet again, except for the soft clink of mugs and the unspoken tension that wrapped around you both like morning light through the windows. You leaned a little closer across the counter, letting your fingers brush against his as you reached for a mug. “You’re staring again,” you teased lightly, your voice low and playful.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, eyes darting to yours, caught somewhere between panic and desire. “I… I’m sorry,” he muttered, but you only smiled stepping even closer shortening the distance until the warmth of your body pressed gently against his. Before he could pull back, your lips found his. Soft at first, testing and then firmer as he responded, hands hesitating midair.

You laughed softly, muffled by the kiss and pressed closer silencing him with another kiss. Your way of saying it was okay, that you wanted this too. Bucky’s hands finally settled on your waist holding you with a careful, reverent intensity. The kitchen around you disappeared.

Mugs, counters, morning light, all gone except for the heat and weight of the moment.

When you finally parted just enough to breathe, your foreheads rested together and you whispered, “don’t apologize. Not ever. I should be the one doing that.” His eyes softened, haunted but happy, as if he’d been holding back a storm for years and now, finally, he didn’t have to. “I don’t know why I talked you like that… you're literally everything I want.”

You perched on the counter, legs wrapped around Bucky as he stood between them, hands resting lightly on your hips.

The kitchen felt impossibly small, every brush of skin, every whispered laugh, intensifying the warmth between you.

Then you heard a click.

The sound of the compound doors opening. Your heads snapped toward the doorway.

Steve, Sam, Tony, and even Thor appeared, eyes wide and  mouths half-open.

“Uh… morning,” Sam finally managed, raising his hands like he’d walk into a bomb.

Bucky froze, cheeks flushing a rare deep crimson.

You clutched his shoulders, trying and failing to hide your own embarrassment.

Thor tilted his head, confused but unfazed. “Ah… love manifesting at dawn. Interesting.”

Steve cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Maybe… we… let you two… finish breakfast?”

Tony smirked, clearly entertained. “I’ll leave the kitchen… now.”

You and Bucky exchanged a panicked glance, hearts pounding, caught somewhere between laughter and embarrassment and the undeniable thrill of being so blatantly caught.

Before you or Bucky could recover, the kitchen door chimed again.

Freya stepped in, calm and graceful as ever, eyes immediately landing on the two of you. She raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Ah,” she said softly, voice like silk, “so this is what I missed this morning.”

You froze, cheeks burning, fingers tightening around Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, caught between embarrassment and the urge to shield you. “Uh… Freya,” he muttered, voice awkward. “Good morning.”

She merely chuckled, tilting her head. “Indeed. I thought I might find the little human here… but I did not expect… this.” Her eyes softened as they flicked to you. “It seems… the heart acts boldly even when the mind hesitates.”

“Freya?” You called softly, cheeks still warm. You shifted slightly on the counter, sliding a small package toward her. “That’s… white chocolate and raspberry. I thought you might like it.”

Freya’s eyes flicked down to the package, then back to you. A small amused smile curling her lips. “You made this… for me?”

You nodded, hands fidgeting with the edge of the wrapper. “I… I thought you might enjoy a taste of… human treats.”

She chuckled softly, the sound light and melodic, and took the package with careful fingers. “You are… thoughtful, little human. Very well. I shall try this delicacy of yours.”

Her gaze lingered on you just long enough to make your stomach flutter and Bucky, standing between your legs, glanced at you with a small affectionate smile clearly noticing the exchange.

Freya unwrapped the treat slowly, then took a bite. Her eyes meeting yours again. “Hmm… exquisite,” she murmured. “You excel not only in baking, but in… kindness.”

The words, soft as they were, made your chest tighten and somehow made Bucky’s hold on you feel a little warmer.

Freya was gone, leaving the kitchen quiet again, sunlight spilling across the counter.

You stayed perched there, legs wrapped again lightly around Bucky, still flushed from your little interaction with her.

Bucky’s gaze softened as he looked at you, amusement and tenderness mingling in his eyes. “You were worried… about me and Freya,” he said gently, voice low. “You don’t have to. I… I’m here. With you.”

You froze, heart hammering. You pictured in your mind your reflection, saying you didn’t want someone like him. “Bucky… I’m so, so sorry for what I said that night,” you admitted again, eyes fixed on his chest not daring to meet his gaze.

He tilted his head, a small, teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “That night? You mean when you tried to push me away?”

You nodded, cheeks burning. “I… I just thought… you deserved someone better. Someone… not me.”

Bucky chuckled softly, warm and low, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “And now?” He asked, leaning just close enough for you to feel his breath.

“Now… I know I was wrong,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Bucky’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk, eyes dark with that teasing glint he always had. “At first, I thought you meant someone like me… as in the Winter Soldier,” he murmured voice low, teasing but there was a hint of vulnerability underneath.

You froze heart thudding and cut him off before he could go further. “Bucky, please! Don’t say that,” you blurted, voice urgent. “That was the last thing I meant. I… I don’t even know what I meant back then… but for sure not that!”

He softened immediately, his hands finding your hips. “Hey… it’s okay,” he murmured, brushing your cheek lightly with his knuckles. “I get it. You were scared. But you don’t have to hide anymore. Not from me.”

You swallowed hard, chest tight, letting yourself lean into him just a little.

You drew a shaky breath, eyes locked on his chest as if the words might crumble on your lips. “Bucky… I… I feel safe with you,” you admitted, voice trembling. “Like… no one else makes me feel like this. And I… I love you. I really do.”

He softened, a quiet hum of affection escaping him as he cupped your face in his hands. “Hey… you don’t have to be afraid to say that,” he murmured. “I love you too.” 

Your fingers curled into his jacket, heart racing. “I… I got jealous,” you confessed, voice small. “Of Freya and I feel… so insecure… like maybe I’m not enough for you.”

Bucky’s thumb brushed your cheek gently. “You’re more than enough,” he said firmly, voice low and steady. “I don’t care about anyone else. You… you’re the one I want. Always.”

Your chest tightened, tears threatening, and you leaned into him, finally letting go of the fear you’d been holding onto for so long.

The words had been spoken at last simple and raw and entirely his. Your chest tightened and you could feel his hands settling more firmly on your hips, grounding you.

He leaned closer, whispering almost into your ear, “I wanted you… since that night Sam brought you here.”

You smiled, breathless, resting your forehead against his. “I… I wanted you too,” you admitted, voice trembling.

Bucky’s lips curved in a rare, genuine smile. “Then we’re both… exactly where we want to be.”

You smiled at him.

Bucky’s eyes traced your silhouette, a flicker of something sharp and teasing passing over his features. “You know,” he murmured voice low, lips close enough to brush yours. “You’re impossible. Sitting here like this… teasing me with that smile.”

You grinned, letting your hands rest lightly on his chest, tilting your head. “Maybe I like teasing you,” you whispered.

Bucky chuckled, one hand sliding to the small of your back, drawing you just a little closer. “I think… I could get used to this,” he said, voice husky. “Being close to you, feeling you here… you’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

You laughed softly, heart racing, brushing your lips along his jaw. “Oh, I have some idea,” you teased, leaning just enough to feel his breath catch.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just holding each other suspended between heat and affection and that deliciously charged tension only mornings like this could hold. In that quiet kitchen, the world shrank to just the two of you.