Kate’s Cozy Corner

Ten months.

It had been ten long, grueling months since Bucky last got a taste of you.

After taking your virginity, he paid for your groceries—as promised, because he believed himself to be a gentleman—and messaged you a few days later, inviting you to film another video with him.

You were his loyal fan.

You were there for every single one of his videos.

Hell, your own username was dedicated to him.

So when you left him on read for ten months without leaving a single trace behind, he grew furious. He tried making excuses for you—perhaps you were too busy? Or maybe you went on vacation? He tried circling back to your social media, which was how he had first found you, but you had privated all your accounts and deactivated your TikTok.

Naturally, pessimistic thoughts began to fill his mind.

Was he too rough when he took you? Did he freak you out by finding you at the grocery store? Worse, had he scared you away for good?

Bucky knew where you lived. It would’ve been easy to just show up at your front door and demand answers—but he couldn’t do that. Not with the threat of a restraining order looming in the back of his mind.

Ten months. He couldn’t believe he had let you stray away from him for that long.

There was so much you could’ve done during that time. You could’ve moved, had sex with other men, or even found a relationship.

You went from being his loyal fan to a ghost.

Bucky knelt on his mattress, holding up a clear silicone toy that looked tiny compared to his hands. He squeezed a generous amount of lube into his palm and spread it carefully along his half-hard cock, making sure none of it dripped onto the sheets.

His camcorder was propped against a pillow, angled perfectly to capture him from the waist down. With his bare abs and thighs fully in frame, he settled back on his heels, gripped the toy firmly, and guided it toward his cock.

A rough groan escaped him as he teased the sensitive tip against the entrance. The lubricant made every movement slick and audible, the wet sounds filling the otherwise quiet room.

“Fuck. Been waiting for this all day.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he slowly worked the toy against his shaft. He continued at an unhurried pace, his grip tightening as he lost himself in the sensation.

“Good girl,” he muttered without thinking.

The words slipped out on instinct, a praise that always led back to you. As the room filled with the sounds of his grunts and movements, his thoughts drifted to the memory of you. They always did. He pictured your soft lips wrapped around his dick, the way he had your face pressed into the pillow as he took you from behind—the moments that had replayed endlessly in his mind over the past months.

At some point, imagination alone had stopped being enough.

Whenever he wanted to relive it, he would pull up the private video he recorded of the two of you, letting it play in the background while he lost himself in the pleasure of his toy.

“God,” he groaned, your name slipping from his lips in a breathless rasp.

He made a mental note to cut the part where he whispered your name like a prayer before uploading the video to the site.

“Shit—fuck. I miss that tight little pussy.”

With a loud groan and both hands holding the toy tight, he drove his hips deep into the toy until it made an unmistakable tearing sound. Too lost in the haze of his own desire, he didn’t even realize he tore through yet another toy to the memory of you.

Seed filled the silicone, marking every cloudy surface with his thick cum.

Once he caught his breath, he let the toy fall from his grip and pushed it aside.

From there, the rest of the evening followed the same familiar routine.

He would take a shower, get dressed, make himself something for dinner, then spend the rest of the evening at his computer. He would spend his time editing the footage, preparing it for upload to the same porn site he had been posting on for years.

Except this time, there was no excitement after hitting the ‘post’ button, because you wouldn’t even be there to watch them.

After the video went live, he waited for the likes and comments to start pouring in, holding onto the faint hope that your username might appear among them.

As usual, it never did.

Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t what disappointed him this time.

Every time he jerked off with the intention to post a new video—your video was always in the background. It got to the point where people started to leave comments asking who the mysterious girl was. Who those sultry, seductive moans belonged to.

He would even get comments asking if he’d be willing to record another video of the two of you together and post it online.

Every time he read those comments, he would scoff, laughing to himself.

I would like to know the same thing.

After posting his latest video, his comment section had been flooding with the same demands for weeks.

wankingandspanking: hell yeah man! love the new video. but who’s the babe in the video you’re watching??

StraightJorkinIt: U breaking ur toy was so hot, but what’s even hotter is the girl moaning in the back. xx

Bwasexual: The toys are getting a little old, don’t you think?? Bring a real woman in. especially the one in the vid you’re jerking to ;)

Each comment was a direct insult to Bucky’s pride.

He was one of the platform’s top creators—yet now, his community was entirely consumed by you.

He had spent the last ten months trying to get you out of his head, trying to just use your video as a quick jerk off aid and move on. But how could he when his own fans wouldn’t let him forget?

How could he, when he couldn’t even cum to anything else anymore? His memory was flooded of the way his cock had disappeared in and out of your tight pussy while he had you bent over from behind. By the recollection of your cute, virgin mouth stuffed full of cock—his cock—for the first time ever.

How could he possibly forget how sweet your tight little body was, like it was made for him?

Bucky’s frustration was peaking. At the very least, he was making money off of this.

Just as he was about to shut down his computer and call it a night, a new notification popped up.

He clicked it, and what he saw made the air in his lungs vanish completely.

Pleasure_Ring: Love the video!

Bucky blinked.

Was he seeing this right?

He rubbed his eyes, but lo and behold, your comment was still there. He double—and triple—checked the username, ensuring every single letter matched and that it wasn’t some random copycat trying to impersonate you.

But no, it was you.

When he clicked your profile, the interface loaded your old message thread. He saw the green indicator showing you were currently online, sitting right above his last unanswered message asking you to film with him again.

He couldn’t believe it.

You were real. You were still here, ten months later, watching him.

Bucky didn’t realize he was holding his breath as his fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to spam you with messages—to demand where the hell you’ve been, to beg for your phone number so he would never lose track of you again.

No, he couldn’t risk ruining this moment. He had to stay rational and seize this chance before you slipped through his fingers again.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: I saw the comment you left.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Where have you been?

A minute passed. Then another. He propped both elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his hands, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited.

Three minutes went by. Your little icon was still green—you were still online.

Then, his heart leaped.

Pleasure_Ring is typing…

Pleasure_Ring: Why? Did you miss me?

Bucky’s brow twitched. Your messages from ten months ago had been sweet, alluring, and almost innocent. If you had been texting him consistently, he might’ve read this as a flirtatious little comment to make his dick hard.

But right now, he just felt pissed off.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Quit playing around. Of course I missed you. Where did you go?

There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t risk scaring you away just yet. His heart raced as he watched the screen.

Pleasure_Ring is typing…

Your bubble kept appearing and disappearing. You would type, then silence. You would type again, then nothing.

Bucky felt like he was going insane. He was just about ready to send another message himself, until one finally popped up under your name.

Pleasure_Ring: I think it’s best that we talk in person.

Pleasure_Ring: Can we exchange numbers?

And of course, Bucky gave you his number without a second thought.

You sat alone at the coffee shop Bucky had agreed to meet you at, fiddling with your mug and glancing anxiously out the window.

The meetup was set for noon, and the closer the clock ticked to the hour, the more your mind began to spiral.

It had been ten months since he last saw you. Ten months since he had you bent over your own bed, your face pressed into the pillows, ravaging you like an animal.

You were growing anxious. What if he had lost interest? What if he took one good look at you and realized you were nothing like the woman he had been infatuated with all this time?

The bell above the door chimed. You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky was right there. He looked just as handsome as the day you met him. His presence seemed to take up the entire space of the coffee shop, just as it had when he first approached you at the grocery store.

His eyes swept across the room. The moment they landed on yours, your thighs instinctively clenched together. He was wearing that same cold, stern expression he had when he first told you to strip for him.

Naturally, it did things to you.

He marched over to your table, dragged the chair back, and dropped into the seat directly across from you. He didn’t bother with a polite smile, and his gaze didn’t warm up at all.

Was he angry? Was this a nuisance to him—taking time out of his busy day just to see a girl he slept with ten months ago?

“Bucky,” you breathed, forcing a polite smile. “How are you—”

“Where have you been?”

You blinked. You were about to stammer out a quick excuse, but he breezed on past.

“Ten months without a single word from you.” He leaned closer across the table. “Where have you been?”

Despite his harsh tone, he was anxiously bracing himself for your answer. He expected you to say you had lost interest, or that you found a boyfriend to practice your new... sexual experiences on. You hadn’t even given an explanation yet, and he was already fuming with jealousy.

You looked down at your coffee mug, avoiding his gaze. Looking him directly in the eye right now was simply too much to handle.

“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” you mumbled. “Ever since… that night, I’ve been… uh—how do I even say this?” You chuckled awkwardly, scratching lightly at your cheek. “I guess I’ve been feeling a little ashamed of myself.”

Bucky watched your shoulders slump as your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap.

“Ashamed?”

“Ever since we slept together, I’ve felt insecure about not being able to... keep up with you.” You winced. “I mean, you’re obviously experienced—I had a great time, and everything—but it made me realize that, at my age, when everyone else seems to be out there having fun and figuring things out, I’m nowhere near as experienced as they are.”

Your voice dropped lower as you glanced around the room.

It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation suited for a small, intimate coffee shop.

Bucky frowned, crossing his arms. Your explanation wasn’t giving him the reassurance he had hoped for.

“So you were embarrassed about sleeping with me?”

Your eyes widened.

“No! It’s not like that.” You shook your head. “I had an incredible time with you. You gave me an experience I’ll never forget. I mean...” You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a conspicuous whisper. “You were the one who took my virginity, after all.”

That, at least, managed to draw the hint of a smile from him.

“It’s just...” you hesitated. “I’m ready to start dating, and in the current dating scene, sex matters, you know?”

There it was.

The sentence Bucky had been dreading.

While he had spent the last ten months thinking about you—worrying about you, searching for some way to reconnect, replaying the video you’d filmed together and jerking off to it, moaning your name—you had spent those same months looking forward to a future with someone else.

“So...” You hesitated. “After reading all those comments on your videos, the ones talking about how good I sound, and remembering the offer you made ten months ago to film another one...” Your gaze dropped briefly. “If that offer still stands, maybe you could teach me?”

“Teach you?” Bucky repeated, the words leaving him almost like a scoff.

Just as innocent as the day he first met you, you nodded shyly.

“Teach me how to be better at sex.”

An awkward silence took the space between the two of you.

You were preparing yourself for rejection. For Bucky to push back his chair, walk away, and decide this conversation had been a mistake. After this, you wouldn’t be surprised if he even blocked your number and your profile, cutting off the last connection between you.

Instead, he studied you for a very long moment.

“You know,” he said slowly, his gaze finding yours, “the comments have been asking us to film a video together, right?”

The look he gave you was difficult to read—careful, calculating, and almost suspicious.

“I know,” you said bashfully.

“If you want me to teach you,” he said, leaning forward as his voice dropped soft and intimate, “then we’re going to do the same thing we did before, but I want this done at my house instead. I’ll record.”

He paused, studying your reaction.

“And this time, I’m posting it online.”

You sat there frozen.

It wasn’t exactly the compromise you expected, but you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised. After disappearing from his life for months, after leaving things unresolved between you, part of you knew he would want something in return.

Bucky leaned in closer, his hand finding yours on the table. His fingers curled around yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ve read the comments,” he said. “You might be insecure about your experience, but my viewers love you. They’re curious. They want to know who the woman behind that voice is.”

Heat rushed to your face. The confidence in his words only made your pulse quicken, and the slow sweep of his thumb across your knuckles wasn’t helping at all.

“I’ll teach you everything you want to know,” he continued. “I’ll take care of you. You know I will.”

For a moment, his confidence faltered and his eyes looked pleading, revealing something almost hopeful beneath it.

“What do you say, doll?”

Your heart had been pounding ever since Bucky sat down across from you at the coffee shop. It hadn’t slowed once—not during the conversation, not during the drive over, and certainly not now as you stood behind him while he unlocked his apartment door.

Bucky stepped aside, holding the door open for you. After a moment's hesitation, you stepped inside.

The studio apartment was dimly lit. The blinds were drawn, leaving only the warm glow of a lamp to light the room. In one corner sat a computer setup—his workstation where he recorded and edited his videos.

Your breath caught at what was displaying on the monitor.

Your chat history.

His studio was the definition of a man cave. What caught your attention, however, were the sex toys scattered throughout the apartment without a hint of shame.

Some of the toys were immediately recognizable from his videos. Having been a longtime viewer, you had seen them often enough to identify them at a glance.

Bucky tossed his keys onto a nearby surface and motioned for you to follow him toward the bed. As you approached, your gaze landed on something unfamiliar at his bedside table.

“What’s this?” You pointed to a toy shaped like the lower half of a woman’s body. Unlike the others, you didn’t remember ever seeing this one in any of his videos.

Bucky glanced at it. “Oh, that?” He came to stand beside you. “Custom made. I use it off-camera.” His tone was casual, almost dismissive. “Had it modeled after you.”

You were suddenly grateful for the low lighting, because that meant he couldn’t see the stunned expression that immediately crossed your face.

Modeled after you?

Your eyes drifted back to the toy, taking in the details—the shape of the hips, the skin tone, it was an unmistakable similarity. What shook you up, though, was the tear in the toy around her upper abdomen, a sign that Bucky’s cock tore right through the silicone.

The sounds of his belt buckle being undone drew your attention back to him.

“Had it set to the maximum tightness,” he explained gruffly, setting the belt down on his chair and reaching for the familiar camcorder he used before. “Still not nearly as tight as you felt—but it made do during those ten months you were gone.”

A moment later, he lifted the camera and pointed it in your direction, the red light flickering to let you know it was on.

“Go ahead,” he prompted, watching you. “Undress.”

You bit your lip as you stood in front of him, feeling far more self-conscious than you expected.

For some reason, the atmosphere felt infinitely more tense than it had the first time you undressed for him.

Bucky seemed to notice your hesitation immediately. He lowered the camera slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don't know about this, Bucky.” You fiddled with your fingers, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on your bare feet against the floor. “What if I'm not good at this?”

A slow, patient sigh escaped him.

Without a word, he set the camera on the bedside table. It remained angled in a way that still captured your body, but his attention had shifted entirely to you. His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, letting his fingers tickle your lower belly.

“Are you feeling shy, doll?” he murmured softly.

The question was quiet enough so that the camera wouldn’t pick it up. It wasn’t meant for an audience. It was just for you.

“Look at me,” he commanded gently. “You’ve got a perfect, tight body. There are a lot of people that would kill to be in my position, and you’re scared to show it off?”

He lifted your shirt up until it exposed the lace of your bra. His large hand cupped over your breast, giving it a squeeze that made you gasp softly.

Bucky grinned. “Ah, there she is.”

While his left hand fondled your tits, his other hand crept up to your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. His eyes wandered down to your lips—exposed, plump, and vulnerable.

“When you get a boyfriend—you’ll have to learn how to kiss,” Bucky murmured. “Do you know how?”

The question felt almost condescending. He should already know the answer. You were still inexperienced, still clueless, but despite it all, you couldn’t help the ache that began to form between your legs from the way he talked to you.

Your voice came out soft and trembling, but to Bucky, it sounded like music to his ears.

“… Teach me?”

A low growl vibrated from his lips as he closed the distance in one, smooth motion. His lips collided with yours—hungry and consuming—letting his tongue delve past your lips and into the wet warmth of your mouth.

He held your face tight, forcing you to take every inch of his tongue and every surface of his lips. It was hot, messy, and wet. During every second of his ravishing, his hands continued to explore your body, groping you through your bottoms. He held you so close, you could already feel him throbbing against your leg.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling away slightly to catch his breath. “Still taste so good. So sweet, just for me.”

He stepped away, breathing just as hard as his dick felt.

With the warm lamp glowing next to him, it outlined the sheer size of his dick throbbing in his pants. You watched it pulse, a little wet spot forming near the tip, before his large hand came down with deep, circular rubs to soothe the ache.

“Bucky…” You gasped softly.

His other hand snatched the camera off the bedside table, nearly knocking down the picture frames. With a shaky hand, he lifted the camera up to you again.

“Strip.” He commanded, rougher this time. “Strip. Now.”

Your heart raced. His patience was fraying, and without upsetting him further, you began to undress. You abandoned your top, your pants, all until you were left standing in nothing but your panties and bra.

Bucky groaned at the sight, his palm working faster over his clothed erection.

“God, look at that,” he zoomed in on the wet spot collecting at the front of your panties. “You’re fucking soaking for me, doll. And all I did was kiss you.”

Shame flooded your face. As you unhooked your bra and worked for your panties next, Bucky’s voice pulled you to a stop.

“No,” his hand shot out, catching your wrist. “Keep those on. I want to see the mess you’ll make after having my dick in your mouth.”

With his grip tightening around your wrist, he ushered you to the ground until your knees made contact with the floor. He tugged his pants down with force, and his cock sprang out heavy—slapping you in the cheek and making you wince.

He was big and hard. Seeing him up close like this, with his hand around his shaft and his tip rubbing against your cheek, you weren’t sure how you took him the first time.

“Do you remember the first time you sucked my cock? When you tried fitting it all in on your first try?” he rasped a chuckle, slapping his cock against your face and smearing his pre-cum over your wet lips. “Your mouth was so small—you could hardly fit anything past the tip.”

You flicked your tongue out, giving his cock a shy kitten lick just to tease him.

“Oh, fuck,” he shuddered. “You slut. You want it in your mouth again? Wanna try again for me?”

He pointed the camera closer to your face, his other hand tangling in the back of your hair, nodding you closer to his shaft.

“Come on. Open up. Show me what you remember.”

You licked the pre-cum that was beading at the tip. It tasted just like it did the first time—salty and thick. Bucky groaned, his hand tightening in your hair, pushing you forward for more.

You opened your mouth, letting your lips wrap around the swollen head. His cock was warm and hot, already twitching in your mouth and he wasn’t even halfway. Encouraged by the camera and his breathy grunts, you sunk your head deeper.

Bucky felt like he could cum right there. Your mouth was still so tight and inexperienced. He was half tempted to pin you against the side of the bed and face fuck you until his balls were dry—but he forced himself to hold back.

“God. Is this—fuck—the best you can do, really?”

He brought his camera down, the lens pointing right where his tip disappeared in and out of your plump lips, making sure to pick up every wet squelch that left your mouth.

“You can do better than that,” he hissed, pushing his cock deeper into your throat. “I know it hurts, baby. Just remember what I said the first time. Stretch those lips, relax your jaw, breathe in and out of your nose.”

You fluttered your lashes as you looked up at him. Your eyes were sheen with tears that threatened to spill out from the ache of your mouth being stretched open. He rocked his hips forward, making you gag and choke.

“Oh, christ,” he grunted, his cock twitching as your throat tightened around him. “You guys listening to that? She’s gagging for me.”

He was talking to his potential viewers. Your eyes widened with embarrassment as an instinctive moan left your lips and vibrated around his cock.

“Mph!”

“Fuck, she’s sloppy—drooling all over my floor, but her mouth is so tight. Could cum just from this,” he started drawing his hips back and forth, forcing himself deeper.

He angled the camera closer to your face, capturing your pleading eyes and stretched mouth.

“Does it taste good, sweetheart?” he asked, despite knowing your inability to answer. “Come on, show that pretty face off for the camera.”

With your mouth stuffed full of his cock, all you could do was nod in desperation.

“Damn, what a good girl. The fans are going to love this,” he let out a shaky laugh.

His hand kept your head still, and without warning, he pushed his hips even deeper into your mouth. He pushed until your jaw ached from the stretch and your nose made contact with the dark, musky curls sitting on his pelvis.

Bucky tossed his head back, letting out a deep, pleasurable moan.

“Ohh, shit.”

You gagged and choked, your hands finding his bare thighs as you attempted to push your head away for a quick breath. His cock was sitting heavy on your tongue, and drool began to shamelessly drip down your chin and onto your thighs.

Despite your mouth being overworked, you were getting wetter by the second.

“Shh… shh. I know, baby. Just stay right there.” Bucky cooed, his blue eyes hazy with lust. “Just let it sit in your mouth. Breathe in and out through your nose. That’s it.”

You did as instructed, keeping your mouth stuffed full of cock like a good girl. But every time you breathed in, all you could smell was him. His musky, masculine scent only made your head spin with desire even more.

Another deep groan tore from his chest before he gripped your hair tight, pulling you away from his cock with a wet pop. Saliva mixed with his pre-cum drew from your lips like a silver string as you coughed for air.

“Fuuck,” he groaned, fucking his hand for a few pumps as he watched you struggle.

Bucky’s cock was angry, pulsing and throbbing with a mind of its own. His cock was sheen with your saliva, and he was dripping out so much pre-cum, he looked just about ready to cum right then and there.

“Goddamnit. Ten months later, and your mouth is still good enough to make me almost fucking cum,” he hissed angrily. He bent down, catching your stray tear with his thumb. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. You wanted me to teach you, didn’t you?”

He spoke so gently in a way that might’ve fooled his viewers, but every word that left his lips felt hauntingly patronizing.

You nodded with a sniffle. “Y—yes…”

Bucky smiled, his eyes softening as he took in your utterly debauched state.

He knew he was being a little mean, but he couldn’t help it. It’s what you deserved after ghosting him for ten months.

“That’s a good girl. My girl.” He nodded to his bed, standing up. “Go.”

Swallowing hard, you pushed yourself up—your mind dizzying and your legs feeling like jello from standing up too fast. You crossed over his crisp, white sheets—the mattress dipping under each crawl.

You didn’t know what position he wanted you in, so you played it safe and laid flat on your back.

Bucky’s expression was completely unreadable. His eyes were dark, his breathing labored, but his cock was still stiff, angry, and unsatisfied.

He adjusted the camera, zooming in on the cute bow on your panties.

“Spread your legs. Show everyone how wet you are after getting a taste of my cock.”

Biting your lip and turning your head from shame, you slowly spread your legs. With your thighs wide and your damp panties on full display, Bucky’s gaze somehow felt even heavier and more tense.

He growled, a deep rumbling sound of satisfaction. He stepped closer, meeting you at the bed. Every dip and creak from his moving weight made your heart race. His camera lens was focused solely on your panties, highlighting the growing wet patch on your crotch.

“Mm,” he hummed, his fingers dragging up and down your underwear, letting the fabric cling against your slick folds just underneath. “So wet. Could smell you from here, baby.”

You felt your body growing weaker by the second.

You wanted to beg him to fuck you—to take you just as he had the first time. But with the camera pointed steady in his hands, you knew he was trying to drag this out for as long as possible.

“Bucky,” you panted, eyes pleading. “I can’t take it anymore. I need your cock—”

“Aw, you’re begging?” Bucky huffed a laugh. “Ten months without a single word, and now you’re in my bed, demanding for my cock. That’s real cute, doll.”

Bucky brought the camera up to your face, and instinctively, you shied away from it. Despite your agreement to film, the lens pointing directly at you made you burn with an embarrassment you didn’t feel the first time.

Maybe because, in the back of your mind, you knew he’d be posting this one online—meaning you’ll be watched by thousands of people.

Sensing your hesitation, he lowered the camera with a slight frown, brows furrowing.

“Do you want to stop, doll?”

Stop?

Your heart clenched, eyes widening as you faced him.

“Stop?” you repeated softly, making sure you heard him right.

The softness in his eyes made your body feel warm. Bucky lowered his camera completely and angled it in a way that wouldn’t capture you in this vulnerable state. He was serious. He would stop for you if you changed your mind, despite your initial agreement to this as the compromise.

“If you don’t want me to upload this, I won’t.” He reassured. “I’ll keep this video for myself—just like the first one.”

His hand found your hip, his thumb tracing soft and gentle circles with a tenderness that only encouraged you to give yourself to him completely.

“I promise,” he added.

“No. I… I want to do this,” you searched his eyes, trying to soothe your nerves. “I can do it, Bucky. Please teach me.”

It was hard to ignore the way his cock hung heavy between his legs—twitching at your admission. The corners of his lips tugged up in a satisfied, smug smile.

“That’s my good girl.”

While one hand repositioned the camera back to you again, the other found the waistband of your panties, giving it a gentle tug downwards. With the fabric slipping slipping down your thighs and past your ankles, you hissed at the cool air greeting your wet cunt.

“Christ. You soaked the fabric right through, doll.” He held the garment up, the lamp highlighting every glistening wet spot as he made sure to capture your essence on camera.

He leaned over you with a grunt, setting your panties down on the side table. Your eyes followed his movement, and you sucked in a breath at seeing the toy he modeled right after you—resting there with a loose hole and an obvious tear in the abdomen.

It was haunting, almost like a warning for what you’re about to take.

Bucky nestled himself in the space between your legs, letting his length rest heavy on your stomach. His tip tickled your belly button, grinning proudly at the size comparison of his cock to your body.

“Did you fuck anyone else after me?” he rasped as he rocked his hips back and forth, grounding his cock against your belly.

You shook your head, face blistering from the sensation.

“No, Bucky. There was no one else…”

A satisfied groan tore from his lips. He grabbed himself at the base, guiding the tip toward your entrance.

“Is that so?” he mumbled. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”

With a slow forward push of his hips, his tip fought against the tightness of your entrance. He sucked in a breath as he slipped in deeper, and your walls immediately clenched around the intrusion. You were so tight—Bucky had to grit his teeth to keep his composure.

Whimpering, you held onto his shoulders for support as he stretched you from just the tip. “Fu—fuck..”

“Fuck, baby. Still so goddamn tight. Just breathe in and out,” he gasped, his voice thickening in a way that made it sound like he was trying to calm himself down. “In and out while I sink into you deeper. That’s it. Good girl…”

Your back arched off the bed as he filled you. Your legs were stiff around him, your lips whimpering and mewling with every inch he was forcing your tight body to take. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stretched your pussy out with just half his cock.

“Have you been keeping up with my videos?” He asked.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You were too stuffed—too concentrated on trying to get your body to accommodate the sheer size of him.

“I—I haven’t—” you answered truthfully.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, pointing the camcorder to where the top half of his cock disappeared in and out of your tight cunt.

“The videos would’ve scared you,” he pushed his cock a little deeper, making you cry out. “Kept breaking my toys. All my damn fleshlights are torn right through. Had to keep ordering new ones, but fuck, they didn’t feel nearly as good as your tight, virgin pussy did.”

The broken sex doll that laid on his bedside table was certainly a testament to that.

Bucky’s hand found balance near the side of your head, his muscles and veins popping from holding his weight while the other hand was too occupied filming every inch of his cock delving deeper in your pussy.

“How does it feel, baby? Still as big as you remembered?”

“Still big, Bucky,” you winced when he angled his pelvis, his cock twitching in time with every clench your pussy gave him. “I’m trying to take it all—to big the good girl that you remembered—”

He tossed his head back with a groan. He tried his best to control himself—he really did. But the longer he stayed inside your warmth, the more his mind started to fray.

“Fuck—so cute. Such a good girl,” he groaned, sheathing himself completely inside until his dark curls were greeted with your wet folds. “Oh my god.”

Bucky stilled inside you, basking in your warmth. Your body felt like a wet, tight hug wrapping around his cock. This was the sensation he sought after the day you left. The very feeling he’d been looking for in the useless sex toys he was constantly ordering.

Now that you were finally here—pinned beneath him and his camera—he was afraid that if he moved, he would cum right there on the spot.

“Bucky?” your voice was soft, breaking into a gentle moan. “Are you okay?”

His eyes fluttered down to look at you, and his breath caught.

Your hair was fanned out so beautifully against his white sheets. Your body was laid bare and perfect for him. You asked the question in such a soft and innocent tone—it did nothing to dull the ache in his balls and did everything to make his heart heavier.

He should be asking you the question, with you lying there stretched out with more than you can take, but alas.

“You’re asking if I’m okay?” he huffed a raspy laugh, shifting his hips to deliver a deep and hard thrust inside you. “No, I’m not okay. I want to fuck you right through the mattress. Want to split you open and make you cry on my cock. But I can’t—I have to control myself and teach you how to take me again.”

The red light of the camcorder flickered in the dark room as he began rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out of you—capturing every moment of him claiming you a second time.

The bed started to creak, accompanied with his grunts and your soft moans of pleasure.

Bucky’s breathing was heavy, every deep, punishing roll of his hips making your eyes roll back.

The tip of his cock was kissing your cervix so sweetly, you felt your body giving out. He was right—your pussy was acting like a vice, wrapping impossibly tight around his thick shaft, refusing to let him go.

The camera shook in his hand as he aimed it directly at your hips. He had failed to capture the moment he pumped you full of his cum last time, and he was going to make damn sure he got it right tonight.

“Not a single drop going to waste,” he panted, his hips rutting uncontrollably against yours. “Gonna pump you full—God. Should fill up your womb so you’ll never leave me again.”

Your heart started to race as his words danced in your mind. Surely, this was just make-believe dirty talk. A performance he put on for the camera to secure a good payout from his loyal subscribers, right?

But as his body moved even more erratically, the bed groaning under every hard, bruising thrust, you began to fear otherwise.

“Fuck—this little slut thought she could use my cock to practice for other men,” he laughed, the sound deep and condescending. “Said she wanted to learn how to take dick for her future boyfriend. What a fucking joke.”

Your face burned with humiliation. You couldn’t believe Bucky was airing out your private confessions to his viewers like this.

“Oh my god! Bucky, please don’t say that—”

But your protests were useless. Your pussy was already spasming, clenching around him in a tight, weeping mess at every degrading taunt that left his lips.

“Ah, fuck. My sweet girl is milking me so hard—she doesn’t want to let go.” He chuckled, watching the wet friction of your hips through the camera screen. “You want to cum for me?”

You nodded, letting out a pathetic whimper.

Bucky leaned over you, shoving the camera close to your face. “Come on, baby. You’re on camera. I need you to speak up so everyone else can hear you.”

Pleasure was coursing through your body in ways that a simple vibrator could never match. Ten months without Bucky—and without touching anyone else—had left you chasing a high you couldn’t replicate. It was never like this.

You nodded frantically, losing all control over your own autonomy as tears of pleasure blurred your vision.

“Yes, Bucky! Please—please, please, I want to cum!”

Your cries were loud enough to peak the camera’s built-in microphone. Your walls clamped down around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as your back arched off the mattress with a loud moan, letting the climax rip straight through your core and down to very tip of your toes.

Bucky groaned, his entire body going stiff as your pussy milked him ruthlessly. Fuck. He missed this. He missed the tightness of your cunt. He couldn’t find this sensation anywhere else.

“Christ. Look at that,” he growled into the camera, his hand shaking as he kept the lens focused on where you squeezed around him. “She’s squeezing me so tight—it nearly hurts. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too.”

His balls slapped against your pussy with every hard thrust. He was chasing his release—his face twisted into a mask of pleasure as he felt his balls tighten and his cock twitch. You were already past your high, but Bucky forced you to ride it out for him.

“Shit, the idea of her having sex with someone else...” he snarled to the camera, his voice breaking as he slammed deep into your pulsing heat. “...of someone else’s cock buried deep in what’s supposed to be mine. I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

You cried out his name, your nails digging into his back as he used your body ruthlessly, just like one of his sex toys.

“Fuck, fuck—shit—fuck!”

A litany of curses spilled from his lips as his cock buried all the way to the hilt.

He shuddered violently, pinning your hips flat against the mattress as his orgasm tore through him, flooding every surface of your womb with thick, warm seed. He held himself deep, marking you from the inside out, leaving his cum to fill you completely until it was dripping onto the sheets.

Bucky brought the camera down with a shaky hand, capturing the way your puffy slit was pulsing around his cock, and the way his cum trickled out of you.

“There we go,” he breathed, satisfied. “Captured every second of it, baby.”

Ensuring that you kept your end of the bargain, Bucky uploaded the video to his profile.

Before hitting post, he texted you multiple times to make absolutely sure you were comfortable with your face and username being shown.

When you finally agreed, you never expected the video to blow up overnight. You knew Bucky was a popular content creator, but perhaps the sight of a woman’s body—your body—in the thumbnail stood out against his usual solo content.

Today, you sat at your desk, pulling up his profile out of habit, just like the ritual you used to have ten months ago. Your mouse hovered over the video, and you hesitated before clicking.

Two million views.

A wave of nerves hit you—the thought of being perceived by two million strangers while completely bare and vulnerable was overwhelming. Yet, for some reason, the idea of it excited you more than a girl like you should admit.

You finally clicked the link. The video started with you stripping for him, then dropping to your knees, and just minutes later, you were sprawled out bare on the mattress while he pumped you full of his cum.

You were already soaking through your underwear just watching it, your thighs rubbing together shamelessly from the memory of being filled by Bucky. The way his breathy moans sounded so much more enthusiastic than they ever did in his solo videos filled you with absolute pride.

You made him feel that good.

And apparently, you made his entire comment section feel good, too.

Daddywants2play: hooooooooolyy fuck. she’s so hot. my balls are so heavy just from watching her tits bounce. u lucky dog

Bwasexual: Omg!!! Do you guys need a third?

pegm3please: God so fucking hot. Is she going to upload anytime soon?? Just gave her a follow.

Your brow rose at the last comment.

Gave her a follow?

Instinctively, your mouse hovered to the top right of the screen where the notification bell was displayed.

It showed over 99+ alerts. You were used to seeing two at the absolute maximum—a like from Bucky on one of your comments, and his reply.

Bracing yourself, you clicked it, and a wall of notifications flooded the screen with dozens of different usernames following you. Your follower count had gone from exactly one—Bucky’s account—to well over a thousand in just a single night.

You couldn’t believe it.

People loved watching you.

They loved you enough that, despite you having zero videos posted, no profile picture, and an entirely blank description, they were hitting follow anyway—eagerly expecting to see more. You mentally patted yourself on the back for having the foresight to remove the links to your personal social media accounts beforehand.

A warm flush traced your face. The crazy part was, it wasn’t from embarrassment at all.

It was pure excitement.

Without thinking, you snatched your phone off the desk and dialed a familiar number. It only rang twice before a deep, sleepy voice answered on the other end.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky rasped. “Everything okay?”

“I just saw the video,” you said, the words tumbling out fast. You couldn’t contain your excitement. “I woke up to a little over a thousand followers—and there are so many comments!”

He paused on the line. You could hear the rustle of sheets as he sat up.

“… And are you okay with that? Do you want me to take it down?”

You bit your lip. You couldn’t believe what you were going to say next. “I’m more than okay with it. But… um…”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He pulled the phone away from his face for a split second to make sure you were still on the line.

“Sweetheart, what is it?”

A breathy sigh left your lips. “I… I want to become a content creator, too. Will you teach me?”

And just like that, the air left Bucky’s lungs completely.

Everything he could possibly want—and more—was finally being served to him on a silver platter.

This meant more videos, more collaborations, and endless opportunities to have you completely to himself.

“Yes,” he swiped at his camcorder and car keys. “I’m coming over. Be ready for me.”

hopping off the bed turn my swag on. happy almost one year anniversary to pornstar bucky and the first bwa collab. once again, thank you to my dear friend @unificsation for the premise. thank you to @barnesonly for the cyber sex bucky edit she made inspired by this fic that i goon to nightly. thank you to @blowingbarnes and @buckybunni for being pornstar bucky's number one fan (i never forgot) thank you to @houseofhyde for giving me the inspiration to write this after sum silly joke. and thank you for all the love and support for part one. i would like to dedicate this oscar to you guys /j

I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

“Hey,” Bucky says immediately.

Too sharp.

Too fast.

Your shoulders jerk violently.

His stomach drops.

“Sorry,” he says, softer now. “Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You don’t answer.

That’s what scares him.

You always answer.

Even anxious, even exhausted, even spiralling—you answer.

Usually with a joke. Usually with something self-deprecating and wry and designed to make everyone else comfortable while you quietly unravel inside your own skin.

But now you’re breathing too fast.

Your eyes are fixed on the floor.

And Bucky realizes with cold certainty:

Oh.

Oh, this is bad.

He’s seen panic attacks before. Hell, he’s had enough of them himself. But yours always look different than his. Quieter. Like you’re trying to contain the catastrophe internally so it doesn’t inconvenience anyone else.

“Can you look at me?” he asks carefully.

Nothing.

He crouches slowly several feet away, metal hand deliberately visible, movements gentle.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “That’s okay.”

Broken ceramic litters the floor between you both.

You whisper something he can’t hear.

“What was that?”

Your voice cracks.

“Everything feels wrong.”

Jesus Christ.

That sentence nearly tears him in half.

Because he knows that feeling.

The horrible skin-tight sensation of existing incorrectly. Like your bones are full of bees. Like every thought in your head is moving too fast and too loud and none of them can be stopped.

Bucky swallows hard.

“What do you need?”

“I don’t know.”

You sound ashamed of it.

Like not knowing is somehow a personal failure.

His chest aches.

“Okay,” he says again. “That’s alright too.”

Your breathing gets worse.

Shorter.

Faster.

Your fingers dig into your sleeves hard enough he worries you’ll bruise.

Bucky looks around the kitchen helplessly.

He knows combat. Extraction. Interrogation. Trauma. Survival.

But this?

You falling apart in front of him while he desperately tries to figure out how to help?

It scares him more than most things.

“Can you stand?” he asks.

You shake your head immediately.

“No? Okay. Okay.”

Think.

Think.

Usually when you’re anxious, you like warmth. Blankets. Hoodies. Pressure against your chest.

Pressure.

His eyes flick downward thoughtfully.

“Can I try something?”

You laugh once.

It sounds awful.

“Depends how weird it is.”

His mouth twitches despite everything.

“Probably pretty weird.”

You finally look at him then, eyes glassy and overwhelmed.

“Fine.”

He moves carefully around the broken ceramic before lowering himself to sit beside you against the cabinets.

For a second he hesitates.

This could go horribly.

But then he remembers the way you curl under every blanket in the compound during storms. The way you once admitted sleeping better when Alpine sprawled over your ribs like a furry paperweight.

So Bucky exhales once and says:

“C’mere.”

You blink at him.

“What?”

“Just trust me.”

Which you do.

That’s the dangerous thing.

You always do.

You shift toward him uncertainly, and before he can overthink it, Bucky pulls you gently sideways until your back rests against his chest.

Then he wraps one arm around your middle.

And slowly—carefully—leans enough weight against you that you’re partially pinned beneath him.

Not crushing.

Just heavy.

Solid.

Warm.

The effect is immediate.

Your breathing stutters.

Then slows.

Bucky freezes.

You go still beneath him.

“…oh,” you whisper.

His heartbeat trips.

“Too much?”

“No.”

Another breath.

Slower this time.

“No, that’s—”

Your shoulders finally unclench for the first time since he walked into the kitchen.

“Oh my god.”

Bucky stares at the side of your face.

“You okay?”

“You’re heavy.”

“I’m aware.”

“No,” you say weakly. “I mean—good heavy.”

Something inside him softens so violently it nearly hurts.

Carefully, cautiously, he shifts a little more weight against you.

Your eyes flutter shut.

And then—

Then you melt.

There’s no other word for it.

The tension leaves you in visible increments, your body gradually surrendering under the pressure of his weight and warmth. Your breathing evens out. Your death grip on your sleeves loosens.

Bucky can practically feel your nervous system recalibrating beneath him.

“What kind of sorcery is this?” you murmur.

He huffs a quiet laugh.

“Dunno. Maybe you’re broken.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“You’re calmer.”

“…unfortunately true.”

Bucky smiles before he can stop himself.

And because you can’t see his face pressed near your hair, you miss the terrifying realization blooming in his chest.

He likes taking care of you.

Too much.

In ways that feel dangerous.

Because this—holding you down gently against his chest at two in the morning while your breathing evens out—feels more intimate than half the things he’s done with actual girlfriends.

That should concern him more than it does.

Instead, he tightens his arm around you slightly and says softly:

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Don’t move.”

His heart does something deeply embarrassing.

“Wasn’t planning to.”

After that, it becomes a thing.

Not intentionally at first.

Neither of you discuss it.

But a week later, after a disastrous mission briefing leaves you overwhelmed and shaky, Bucky finds you curled miserably into the corner of the common room couch.

He takes one look at you.

“You spiralling?”

“Maybe.”

“Move over.”

You snort tiredly.

“There is literally no room.”

“I’ll make room.”

And somehow he does.

The others walk in to discover you pinned beneath the bulk of the Winter Soldier like a hostage being gently comforted.

Sam stops dead.

“…what the hell am I looking at?”

Without opening your eyes, you answer:

“Medical treatment.”

Bucky feels you relax further when he settles more weight across you.

Sam stares.

“You’re using Barnes as an emotional support sandbag?”

“Yes.”

“…and this works?”

“Yes.”

There’s a beat.

Then Sam points accusingly at Bucky.

“You look way too pleased about this.”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Bucky ignores him.

Mostly because Sam’s right.

The horrifying truth is that Bucky likes this arrangement so much it’s becoming a problem.

He likes when you seek him out now.

Likes the sleepy, “Buck?” you murmur from doorways when your anxiety gets bad.

Likes how trusting you are with him.

Likes the way you immediately soften once he presses close.

And he especially likes the fact you never seem afraid of him.

Not of his metal arm.

Not of his size.

Not of the sheer physical reality of him.

You just curl beneath him willingly like he’s safety instead of danger.

It ruins him slowly.

The worst part is how domestic it becomes.

You’re both pathetic enough not to notice immediately.

It starts with movies.

You’re anxious after a rough therapy session, so Bucky sprawls partially on top of you on the couch while some terrible reality baking show plays in the background.

Then it becomes routine.

You reading while he rests against you.

You napping underneath him.

Your legs tangled together while Alpine sleeps smugly on Bucky’s back like she approves of the arrangement.

One night Natasha walks into the living room, sees the position you’re both in, and physically backs out again.

“Nope,” she says immediately.

You blink sleepily from beneath Bucky’s chest.

“What?”

“I’m giving you both privacy to deal with…” she gestures vaguely, “…whatever this is.”

Bucky frowns.

“We’re watching TV.”

Natasha stares at him.

“You’re lying on top of her.”

“To help her anxiety.”

“Mhm.”

“That’s literally all this is.”

Natasha looks directly at you.

“Are you aware he’s in love with you?”

Bucky nearly chokes to death.

You burst into startled laughter.

“What?”

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Men are exhausting.”

Then she leaves before either of you can recover.

The silence afterward is catastrophic.

Bucky can feel heat crawling up his neck.

You clear your throat awkwardly beneath him.

“Well.”

“Nat talks too much.”

“Yeah.”

Another silence.

Then quietly:

“You’re not in love with me, right?”

And there it is.

The moment.

The opening.

The place where honesty could exist.

Bucky should tell you.

He should.

Instead he says, “You’d know if I was.”

It’s a lie.

A terrible one.

Because he is so violently in love with you it feels like organ failure sometimes.

He loves your laugh.

Your stubbornness.

The way you ramble when tired.

The way you pretend your anxiety makes you difficult to love while offering everyone else endless patience and gentleness.

He loves how you trust him with your softest parts.

He loves you so much it scares him.

But you relax at his answer.

And somehow that feels worse.

“Oh good,” you murmur.

His chest aches.

“Yeah.”

You smile faintly beneath him.

“Because that would make this complicated.”

Bucky stares at the ceiling all night afterward unable to breathe properly.

Things get worse after the nightmare.

Not his.

Yours.

Bucky wakes around three in the morning because someone is pounding on his door hard enough to shake the frame.

He’s moving before he’s fully awake.

When he opens it, you’re standing there shaking.

Not crying.

Which is somehow worse.

Your face looks pale and distant and terrified in a way that spikes immediate panic through him.

“Hey,” he says sharply. “Hey, what happened?”

“I can’t calm down.”

Your voice trembles violently.

“I tried—I tried everything and I can’t—”

“C’mere.”

You practically fall into him.

Bucky catches you automatically, metal arm bracing your back while your fingers clutch desperately at his shirt.

Your heartbeat is terrifying.

Way too fast.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “I got you.”

You bury your face against his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I woke you up.”

“I don’t care.”

And he means it.

He’d wake up for you every night for the rest of his life if it helped.

The realization lands hard enough to nearly stagger him.

Before he can think too deeply about that deeply alarming truth, he guides you toward the bed.

“Lay down.”

You obey immediately, exhausted and overwhelmed.

Bucky climbs in beside you without hesitation.

Then carefully—carefully—he settles partially over you, broad chest against yours, one heavy thigh between yours, arms caging you safely beneath him.

The second his weight settles, you exhale shakily.

“There you are,” he whispers.

Your eyes close.

“There you are.”

The room goes quiet except for your breathing gradually slowing beneath him.

Bucky should move once you calm down.

Instead he stays.

Because you’re warm beneath him.

Because your fingers are curled loosely in his shirt.

Because every instinct in his body screams protect protect protect.

And because he’s hopelessly, catastrophically gone for you.

You fall asleep first.

Bucky knows because your grip loosens and your face softens against his shoulder.

He should leave then.

Instead he remains exactly where he is for nearly an hour staring into the dark.

He brushes hair away from your face carefully.

God.

He loves you.

He loves you so much.

And he’s completely fucked.

You realize the truth accidentally.

Which feels fitting.

It happens during a mission debrief after a rough extraction goes sideways.

Nothing catastrophic.

But enough to leave everyone frayed.

You’re wound tight all evening afterward, anxiety clawing under your skin while the team argues over tactical mistakes.

Eventually you stand abruptly.

“I need five minutes.”

Bucky’s up instantly.

“I’ll come with you.”

You don’t even question it anymore.

That should probably concern both of you.

The hallway outside the conference room is quiet.

You lean heavily against the wall, pressing your palms into your eyes.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“For what?”

“I’m being annoying.”

Bucky’s expression hardens immediately.

“You’re not.”

“I’m literally one inconvenience away from imploding.”

“So?”

You laugh weakly.

“So normal people don’t require human compression therapy to function.”

His face softens.

“Hey.”

You look at him.

And Bucky says very carefully:

“There is nothing wrong with needing comfort.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly undoes you.

Your throat tightens unexpectedly.

“You always know how to help.”

The words hit him hard.

Too hard.

Because he does.

He knows your breathing patterns now. Your tells. The difference between stress and genuine panic. He knows exactly how much pressure helps. Exactly where to hold you.

Like your bodies learned each other instinctively.

Your eyes drift across his face.

And suddenly—

Suddenly you see it.

Not all at once.

But enough.

Enough to notice the unbearable tenderness in his expression.

Enough to notice how carefully he handles you.

Enough to realize no one looks at someone they don’t love like that.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Oh.

Bucky notices immediately.

“What?”

You stare at him.

“You are.”

His entire body stills.

“What?”

“You’re in love with me.”

The silence that follows feels enormous.

Bucky looks almost cornered.

Like you’ve found something he desperately wanted hidden.

Finally, rough and quiet:

“Yeah.”

Your heart stumbles violently.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why?”

A humorless laugh escapes him.

“Because this arrangement only works if you feel safe.”

“I do feel safe.”

“You know what I mean.”

He steps back slightly then, expression tight.

“If I made this weird, I’m sorry. I can stop. I should’ve stopped earlier.”

The thought hits you like physical pain.

“No.”

Bucky goes still.

You swallow hard.

“Don’t stop.”

His eyes search your face carefully.

“Doll…”

“I mean it.”

Your pulse pounds.

Because suddenly everything makes sense.

The gentleness.

The devotion.

The way he always comes when you need him.

And maybe—maybe you’ve been avoiding the truth too.

Because loving Bucky feels terrifyingly inevitable.

“I think,” you say slowly, “I think maybe I’m in love with you too.”

Bucky looks stunned.

Actually stunned.

Like the words physically knocked the air from him.

“You don’t gotta say that because—”

“I’m not.”

You step closer carefully.

His expression turns painfully vulnerable.

“You make me feel safe,” you whisper. “You make my head quiet.”

Something in him breaks open then.

His hand comes up slowly, brushing against your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” he murmurs.

Your breath catches.

“No.”

“You ask for me when you’re hurting.”

His forehead rests against yours.

“You trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

Bucky closes his eyes briefly like that means everything.

Because it does.

When he kisses you, it’s careful at first.

Gentle.

Almost hesitant.

Then you kiss him back and suddenly he’s holding your face like something precious, kissing you deep and aching and relieved.

Years of longing pour into it.

You clutch his shirt instinctively.

Bucky makes a soft wrecked sound against your mouth.

And then—

Because apparently neither of you can be normal people—

He murmurs against your lips:

“You anxious right now?”

You burst into startled laughter.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh my god.”

“You want me to lay on you or not?”

You laugh harder, bright and helpless and happy enough it nearly kills him.

“Only if you kiss me again after.”

Bucky smiles then.

Real and warm and breathtaking.

“Deal.”

And later, tangled together in his bed with most of his weight draped over you while your fingers trace lazy patterns against his spine, you realize something quietly extraordinary:

For the first time in a very long time, your mind is calm.

And wrapped around you like armor, like warmth, like home itself—

Periods have always sucked for you. Messy, irritating, and downright painful. The kind that feels like a grapefruit spoon is being jiggled inside of your uterus and stomach, scraping up your walls.

So Bucky seeing you cozied up to the best of your abilities in bed, lying on your stomach, arms wapped around your abdomen, with products strewn around you in a chaotically organised mess — lukewarm peppermint and ginger tea on the bedside, as well as a half-drank glass of water, hot water bottle on the floor, no longer hot, and five different types of medication at the foot of the bed. Painkillers, anti-inflammatory... — He couldn't help the sigh as he leaned against your door frame, arms crossed over his chest, as with his leg across his ankle, just taking you all in.

You hummed from your side of the bed, muffled by the pillow, eyes still shut in an attempt to not think about the pain inside your uterus. If I cant see it, it doesn't exist. But the throb aches on and on, and on. "Keep staring. Your eyes are burning into my back, I actually think it's helping the cramps."

Bucky laughed at that. The small, amused kind that exhales softly from his nose and leaves a soft smile on his lips. He faces away with a shake of his head. "That bad, huh?" He asks.

You sigh deeply, finally rolling from your position and onto your back where you could finally glance at the soldier.

He looks so warm clad in an old, worn navy blue shirt, thats gotten more muted with each wear and wash, as well as some plaid grey pajama pants you got him a few Christmases ago. It's automatic, how your arms immediately reach up to him with another hum, too tired to think, or do.

"C'mere," you sigh like the words have a toll on you. "You're like a walking furnace, I need you."

Bucky's smile widens as he moves towards you, a hum on his lips as he situates himself on the bed, crawling closer, until he finally flops down on his side of the bed. His arms immediately wrap around your middle, pulling you into his heat. "Need me, huh?"

You laugh, cozying up into his chest, nosing his heartbeat and scent to calm you down. "Aren't you insaciable." You mumble into his sternum, the vibrations of your sleepy voice tickles, goosebumps erupting on his skin. Your legs tangle with his, socks grazing his own, and your arms envelop his mid-section, snuggling up into him as best as you could.

He shrugs, his warm hands smooth your hair, running down to your back where they take purchase, rubbing against your shirt in an easy motion. He kisses your forehead and murmurs, "Heard it helps. But hey, if you're not in the mood, you're not in the mood. We don't have to do anything," he kisses your head again like a confirmation, a stamp. "We can just stay like this for however long you want."

You'd be lying if you said his voice wasnt creating a pool in your tummy.

Sure, periods had you sensitive and needy, always needing to satiate that ache between your legs, but the mess always had you averting your wants and just leaving it be. But this time, his soft whispers and gravelly lilt had you by the throat.

"I mean," you shuffled in his hold, thinking about his proposition. "It wouldn't hurt to try, but the mess is what i'm worried about."

His brows taut, arms squeezing you just a little tighter for a moment as if to ask you to continue. "What do you mean?" He mutters into your hair.

"I mean the sheets, they'll be ruined, Buck."

He holds your head in his hands, making you look into his eyes. You couldn't help but revel in the warmth they emitted, sighing and fluttering your eyes as his thumbs stroked your flushed skin. "We got a washer, it's no problem—"

You grumble at his words, "It's blood though—"

He smiled as he leaned forward, lips grazing your own as he spoke. "New sheets, sweetheart. We can make a day of it." Before devoting you with a gentle peck on your lips. Albeit, yours were chapped, but Bucky never minded.

And as if he couldn't get enough of your touch, his kisses frequented. Warm palms over your cheeks slid down as the kisses slowly bled into a long, well needed, act of reverence and tongue — coasting to your jaw and your neck. His mouth is warm against yours, spit slicking against the two of you, softening your rough, bitten lips. Working carefully, yet ardently, devotion and tenderness wrapped in your contact.

Bucky situates himself above you, skillfully keeping his attention on your lips. As your mind finally catches up to his plan, you croon into his mouth as his right hand stays put on your throat. His thumb placed against your pulse point, revelling in how your heartbeat fastens and stutters at his hold. His left hand caressed down your torso, down the curve of your waist, to your hip, just to stroke up and down over the thin fabric of your shirt.

His warmth releases from you for a moment, keeping as close as possible, his lips tickling your own. "Can I take this off?" Bucky fingers at the worn cotton and you snort softly.

"You don't need to ask, Buck." Nosing his stubbled cheek, you lean back into the connection. cold fingertips toying the soft curls at the base of his neck, and he beams.

"Just making sure, sweetheart," his knees push your own apart, positioning himself fully above you on his haunches. Staring down at your chest, your nipples peaked from under your sleep-shirt. "Prettiest fuckin' thing." He breathed out. You couldn't tell if he was talking to you or himself.

Without wasting another second, he brings his hands up, gently grazing the mounds with his heated touch, thumbs grazing your nipples with a reverence similar to that of some kind of worship. You revel in the attention with gentle exhales and fluttering eyelids, back arching slightly off the mattress with each drag of his digits. Your fingers stayed buried in his hair, toying, holding him in your palms like water.

Your ribs ached with his tender groping, he savours your reactions, watching you grow more desperate as he tweaked at your flesh a little harder. You felt yourself gush, arousal and blood as your lover sat, coaxing a particularly high whine from you.

"Fuck, please." You begged, breathing ragged. You tug on his tuftss delicately, creating a fist on his nape while he teases you.

He knows this isnt the best time to be playing, asking you questions, drawing it out, but you look so beautiful all flushed, hair a chaotic halo against the pillows. You make it so easy. "What'd'you want, baby, talk to me."

That earns him a restless grumble that turns into a whiny laugh. Eyes fastening shut, hips bucking into his hard erection, trying to give him any sembelance of a hint — but Bucky pauses his movements, palms squeezing your tits like a parting goodbye.

You roll your eyes, "Your mouth, Buck." And you see that glint in his eye, one that says 'I've got all day, doll', only for you to tilt your head in a manor that replies 'I'm bleeding from my vagina, I will cut you", to which he inhales with the softest smile, absolutely whipped. Eyes shining with admiration, you almost want to pull yourself up to kiss his eyelids.

"Course, doll. Anything you want."

His warm hands skim across your stomach, pushing up your shirt until your bare from the waist up. he creates a trail from your lips, suckling and nipping, trailing heat down your collarbone, to your sternum, and the swell of your breast — where he finally takes you into his mouth. His free hand, vibranium, fondles your other, keeping that easy pace from before, making sure to stay careful of your soreness. Bucky hums into your plushness, creating a palliative effect under your skin with the vibration and warmth. He alternates between the two, twin touches, keeping you satisfied.

Curving your back, you groan at the sensation, pressing your chest into him as his tongue swirls and his hand kneads — his flesh palm squeezes your hip, fingers teasing the hem of your sweatpants and underwear.

You gently pull him off of you, both groaning at the loss, staring at the wet mess he created before catching your breath. "Kinda unfair that i'm the only one in this room with my tits out, Barnes," your eyes flitter downward to his own chest, nipples peaked beneath the worn fabric, before finding his eyes again with a smile.

"Off."

"Yes, ma'am."

His chest prickled with goosebumps as he rucked his shirt off, throwing it to the side without a care. Scars littered the breadth of his chest, white lines against muscles, soft stretch marks extended his pecks and biceps. You didn't know where to touch first, hands clutching his hips, thumbing the hem of his sleep pants, bottom lip pulled into your mouth, heart erratic, searching for a place to start like a kid in a candy shop.

Before you could get a proper feel of the tissue, he starts to drag your pants down your thighs, stained panties with them, pad crunching at his act. A heavy mixed scent of heady arousal and metal, thick in the air and it only deepens the desire coiling within Bucky, putting the fabric aside, and pushing your knees open, exposing you completely to him.

You shudder at the sudden coldness, exhaling with part arousal and part unease, as your lover locks his sights on your weeping entrance. Clenching around nothing, a rush of lining escapes, making your hips buck at the uncomfortable, jelly-like feeling — but Bucky takes delight in it.

Jaw clicking, tonguing at his teeth, he smiles with a shake of his head as he watches the blood spill against the bedding, staining the cotton. You try to wiggle out his grasp, pulling your knees up, squirming, only for his hands to lock onto your thighs, holding you open, and keeping him closer.

Your warmth, your smell, it's all he can feel, see, smell, hear.

"Fuck, you look…" He couldnt even finish the sentence. Moving his hands up, cupping closer and closer, until his thumbs find you. Using his left thumb to reveal your clit, he experementally brushes his right thumb against your swollen bud, earning a jerk of your hips and a tight whine. Your hands struggle to keep still, moving from his hips, to his arms, his neck, and finally tugging at his pants, using the heels of your feet to haul them down.

You gasp as he circles your clit, achingly slow, humming uncontrollably with contained moans. You could barely talk, using all your power to buck up the strength to tell him what you want. "Take — Shit! Take these off—!"

Your hips rolled helplessly into his touch, tugging at his pants carelessly, shifting the hem lower and lower until it skimmed the soft fuz that coated his mound. Your hips desperately chasing the friction you craved as his thumbs rolled against your throbbing bud, pulsing around nothing, feeling the edge ebb over in overstimulated flutters.

Whining, you palm at his wrists, holding onto his skin. Your brain teeters between pushing and pulling him away, wanting the relief, yet unwilling to overwhelm yourself. Bucky caught the furrow in your brow and the quiver of your thighs, all the tell-tale signs.

"I got you, baby." He whispered. Not fully pulling his touch off of your cunt, but simmering it down, keeping that spark alight as he uses his free hand to push down his pants and briefs clumsily until he could kick them off the bed.

He was excited, worked-up. Solid and heavy, adorned with veins, and one thick cord on the underside. Blushing a deep red, slick with want, it looked painful. You took it within your hand without hesitation, making him shudder in your hold. Giving him a few soft tugs, you pull softly to guide him closer.

Urging him to sit between your legs, his vibranium hand coasts the expanse of your torso as you tease yourself with his head. Small up and down motions from entrance to clit, coating him in your arousal and blood. He whined at the sight, so deprived of your warmth, his hips move on their own. Slipping through your grip, grunting into your shoulder as he lowers himself over you like a safety blanket.

"Impatient much?" You quip, lips muffled by his hair.

Bucky finally holds his hips up, letting you guide him inside, the broad head of his tip pushes against your opening. The two of you share a deep, longing exhale. His stretch eases with your cycle, leaving him able to bottom out with relief, allowing the two of you to revel in each other's warmth.

Your eyes fluttered shut with his breadth, the ache of ease and fullness veiling your senses as he shifts momentarily, clutching him inside you like you never want him to leave. Just keeping still. Your legs stay open, curved at the knees, hands dragging up and down his back with reverence, comfort, spilling goosebumps all over your soldier's body. Bucky keeps his head bowed into your collar, breath hot, sticky and shuddering against your skin, softly dragging his lips, not quite a kiss but a quiet contact.

Your warmth — this warmth — is different. Silky and slick, heavier in a sense that he's giving. It's not just a link for you both, it's a harmony built on awareness and comfort. A fufillment.

Sure, he had the idea first, but that idea was built on keeping you relaxed, and contented.

You whisper his name, a silent exhale of vowels and consonants that hung from your lips like ripe fruit. Bucky exhales against you, a full body motion, chest shuddering at your voice, and his hips started to shift — gentle, minute grinds of his hips against your cirvix, pelvis grinding down onto your mound — encouraging you to taste the flavour of his name in your mouth, feel it's motions, how he fits into you so perfectly it's like you were moulded from the same dough. The pleasure quickly magnifies.

Tingling in your senses, a sparkler amongst your hips as he sank into you, pushing airy gasps from your lips as he picked up the pace. Donning a similar sound, his breath glued against you, both hands on your hips, holding you tight and close.

Your own traced the path of his back again, memorising the ridges of hard muscle, before kneading into the soft flesh of his ass. Molding your palms, your fingers, the heels of your palms into the fat as his strokes grew faster — still attentive in nature.

The tightening of your belly grew. Your joint heartbeats quicken against your ribs. The pressure pushed back, inflating through your body, stealing all of your thoughts, leaving you a shell of pleasure and him. Your hips arched into his, nails digging into his ass, chasing his friction. "Buck — oh god —"

"C'mon baby," his voice trails in the crook where your neck meets your shoulder. Softening you down, he uses his words as a tool, knowing how lax it gets you in these moments. He lets you lie and feel him wholly, aiding you through your time of need. "Doing so good for me, taking me so well."

He moves himself up on his haunches, keeping precise and measured thrusts, gentle in how his hips work. His hands stay planted around your waist, grip unwavering but tender, keeping you there like you could slip from his touch at any moment, thumbs circling the flesh of your tummy in easing strokes.

You coat him so nicely, reddening his shaft, slipping onto him like a dream. He licks his lips as he watches how you hold him, squeezing around him, how sensitive you are by the soft murmurs of whimpers leaving your lips with every inch he fed.

"God, look at you… My pretty girl."

It's all almost too much for you to handle. His body on yours, how Bucky just wants to make you feel good — stretch out the pleasure for as long as you need to keep your mind off the cramping in your abdomen. And fuck, was he doing a good job.

He strokes his palms down your belly, patiently smoothing your skin, before his thumbs find you once again. He holds you unfolded, splaying your pussy open as he starts to move his fingers once again.

You twitched with his rubs, barely able to speak, mouth open, body fluttering around him with each drag he gives, filling you to the brim, sending shocks all through your spine like a livewire.

"Mine," he rasps, leaning back down, kissing your sternum, your collarbone, your neck, jaw. Forehead to forehead, you breath each other in, the thick scent of sex and metal surround you, as Bucky ruts inside like he can create more space. "Made for me… That's my girl, can feel you milkin' my cock. Come for me, pretty, atta girl."

Your body seized beneath his, a tremour releasing from within you, rippling outward with each thrust he gave. Your vision whites out as your cunt clenches his cock, chokes it, sobbing out his name. Wrung out and high from Bucky's praise, from body and voice, you cling onto him like gravity.

His breath bates against you, murmuring songs of sweet adorations. "My girl, my good girl. Takin' it so well, choking my cock —fuck!"

He stills inside of you, grunts vibrating down your collarbone and into your stomach, feeling him twitch inside of you, balls throbbing around your warmth with each rope of release. You kiss the top of his head gently.

Bucky props his head up, drowziness taking over both of you with half lidded eyes and sleepy smiles. "You okay, darling?"

Your brain was still numb. Catching up with your still buzzing body, still full with his half-hard cock, his cum, and the walls of your uterus. So, the best you give is a very enthusiastic thumbs up, which gets him nuzzling back into your neck with a grumbling chuckle.

The sound flitters through you like a cozy fire, basking in his post coitus heat with your hands stroking his back and arms.

"Did so good," pushing himself up with a grunt, he holds his body weight with both hands beside your head, painting your face with chaste kisses, smirking at how shy you grow with each tickle of his stubble. "I'll get you all washed up, baby, dont move a muscle."

As he pushed himself back on his haunches, humming as he slides out of you. Bucky exhales sharply with the sudden chill, but quickly pauses at the sight between your legs.

Sinful, grotesquely rich, a painting of red and brown splatters against your mound, thighs and ass — and worst of all, your poor hole was still pulsing. Each wave releasing a mouthwatering glob of Bucky's white seed and your red blood.

Without a thought, Bucky's fingers found your skin, middle and pointer together, collecting the thick release, and pushing it back inside. Your hips shook as if driven by a motor, thighs shivering, and your throat closed, as he just watched the release fall, only to push it back in, hypnotised and unable to look away.

It wasnt until you whine did he snap out of it. His fingers leave your warmth, but you quickly dinounce his departure, holding tightly onto his wrist.

Bucky didnt wanna hurt you, make you overstimulated and more fucked out than you already were — but the mess between your legs was calling out to him like beacon. He parts your lips once again, making sure to keep his touch gentle and soft.

You convulsed at his feel, a sinful mix of red and white oozing from your hole, it made his breath stutter.

"You've got no clue how crazy you make me," he groans under his breath, losing himself once again, staring straight at the feast between your thighs. "You look so good in pink, sweetheart."

Your body wobbles as Bucky leans himself down, his mouth immediately latching onto your pussy.

Gasping at his tongue, your fingers find his hair, keeping him close as he cleans you all up himself. Licking a fat stripe from entrance to clit, lapping like at you delicately like ice-cream, gathering your tastes on his tongue. He groans into you, making out with your lips methodically, an easy rhythm with a hint of urgency.

The hums of his pleasure make your hips buck, humping into his face for more as he suckles at your clit. You couldn't stop the silent pleas fumbling out of your mouth, clipped from exhaustion and overstimulation. Bucky holds your pelvis to the mattress, keeping you tight in his grip, minimising your squirms and jolts. Your whimpers come out incoherent, fingers tugging at his hair as he works his tongue inside of you.

Lapping, sucking, spitting, swallowing… The wet squelches of his mouth on your messy cunt only deepen the final wave, rocking your hips back and forth as best as you could, with a sick desperation that took over your body.

"That's it, make a mess of me," Bucky's growl reverberates through your hips and up each vertebrae. A fullness, a weight fills you once more as he eats you like a starving man, savouring the taste of both of you interlinked. "Need it so bad, need you to come on my tongue, baby, please."

With a whisper of his name, your body snapped. Pleasure erupting through your body so violently, your thighs threatened to clamp around his head. Legs kicking outwards, hips jolting in waves as he continued to lap every second of bliss from your body until you were completely and utterly ruined.

You lay there, trembling in his hold as he slowly weans off your clit. Massaging your thighs as he steadily kisses up to your mound, sitting back up.

He takes you in. Breathing heavy and uneven, thighs wobbling with the intensity, eyes locked in on his own. Bucky shuffles up close to you, both dirtied hands coming up to cup your cheeks, and you take him in, paying no mind to the dried stains rasping against your cheeks. In fact, you lean into it, into his hold. "Thank you."

You snort, shuffling yourself up until your back hits your pillows against the headboard. Bucky's moves his hands to squeeze your ankles, rubbing them softly — the sheets already look like a crime scene, theres no need to care about pants anymore.

Your brow creases, and you whisper. "For what?"

"For that," he widened his eyes to emphasise. "Took guts, kid. And you tasted amazing."

"Shut up!" flicking his shoulder, you laughed with your full chest. Bucky's own smile widens, pearly whites against the darkening smudges across his jaw and lips.

He gets up, gathering your discarded clothes for the washer. "I'm running you a bath… And I'll buy some new sheets tomorrow," Bucky huffed, stroking a hand down his mouth like it could cover the red-ish brown stains across his lips, chin and cheeks. "Could make it a date."

You smile up at him. Despite the amount of you that covered his body, messy splotches on his skin — face, arms, fingers and waist — you couldn't help but feel proud. Like this was some kind of claim on him.

"Fuck, you look… so good right now." You take his naked form in with your lip between your teeth. Savouring his presence, how you got that.

Hands on his hips, clothes under his arm, he clicks his fingers to the direction of the bathroom. "Bath. Now. Go pee and all that other stuff. I'll get you fresh clothes, with a pad, and run you a bath,"

You get up with a grunt, body picking up speed as you feel an oncoming wave leak out of you. Passing the door, right next to Bucky, he takes the oppertunity to pinch your butt.

"I'll join you in a bit, sweetheart. Just gotta throw these in the wash and get you some new clothes, okay?"

"'Course, baby." As you turned your heel to go down the hall, Bucky calls out to you.

"Oh and by the way," you turn your head, watching him lean against the doorframe, eyes raking your body as you slow your walking. "We're doing that again."

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There was a tall man, probably your age, with long brown hair, extremely pale skin, large brown eyes, and a perfect smile. He looked like a magazine model.

He stared at you for a second before saying your name in a very surprised way. His smile grew on his face.

"Darren!" you replied.

Bucky let go of your hand more out of habit than because he wanted to. You didn't move away from his side, but the boy came close enough that Bucky took a step back.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, wrapping your arms around the boy's neck as he bent down to hug you.

"I’m waiting—for... a date," he admitted, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "And you?"

"I live in the area, but we came for coffee."

You smiled, turning to look at Bucky, and put your hand on his arm as a sign of introduction.

"This is James."

Bucky held out his hand, and the boy took it immediately.

"Barnes," he replied, not knowing what else to add.

"Darren Mitchell." He shook his hand for a few seconds and then returned to his initial position.

"I'll go find a table." Bucky turned to look at you, and you smiled at him. It was a simple gesture to give you some kind of privacy.

You nodded, and Bucky opened the door to the café and went inside.

You stood outside for a minute, still thinking about what to say.

"Can I... can I steal a minute of your time?"

You nodded, and he sighed before continuing.

"Your brothers came looking for me a few months ago. Something about you dating a dangerous man?" You rolled your eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Darren. You know how they can be."

"Is that the 'so dangerous man' your brothers were talking about?" he asked, staring at the coffee shop.

"Yes, I'm sorry. It's not what it looks like." He shook his head.

"Look—I think if anyone can say they know you, or at least tried to—it's me. And I'm sure you're the last person who would be with someone who would put you at risk."

You smiled slightly. That confirmation of what you had been repeating for months felt good in your chest.

Bucky, standing in line to buy coffee, noticed some dream-catchers on the back of the clerk—probably on sale. He knew it was ridiculous, but he knew you would love it. He looked at the door—you were still outside talking with Darren.

He was not oblivious; he realized sooner than later that he was your ex-fiancé. And based on the way you both talked, he was sure none of you had hard feelings against the other.

"I'm glad to see you happy. I don't think I ever saw you radiate this happiness when you were with me."

You bit your lip trying to think what to say.

"No, Darren. I was very happy with you. It's just—I think we wanted very different things." You wanted to comfort him immediately.

"No, this isn't a session of self-pity. I think it's the truth. I realized I was asking you for more of the same, more than what you always told me you couldn't give, and I never wanted to listen."

"Thank you for understanding."

He smiled crookedly.

"And I'm glad to see you found someone who keeps up with your pace of life."

"He's... my neighbor. A friend." You tried to shield yourself. It wasn't a lie. But at least it shielded you from reality.

"Well, your neighbor seems like a good man. I hope he soon stops being just your neighbor."

You both laughed nervously.

"I think I'll change the location of my date for tonight—but it was nice to see you."

"Don't you worry—I don't want to ruin your night. We can probably just leave for our building."

At that moment, Bucky returned from the coffee shop, holding both coffees on a tray and a paper bag on the other side. He just looked at you, as if he couldn't bring himself to look Darren in the eye.

"I think it’s better if we get going." You suggested, and he nodded.

"Nice to meet you, James," Darren said.

"Likewise, Darren."

Bucky felt the emotional weight of a dream-catcher in the pocket of his jacket. It was small, brown, and yellow. And somehow it weighed like a rock in his pocket.

"So he's..."

Bucky asked as he held the tray with the coffees in his hand. You held the paper bag, searching for Bucky's hand with your free hand.

For the first time, you took the metal hand. Bucky, almost instinctively, wanted to pull it away, but you squeezed a little harder, preventing him from pulling away. With that gesture, he relaxed to allow your hands to remain intertwined.

"Yes, he's my ex-fiancé." You admitted, looking straight ahead.

"I always thought he was an idiot." Bucky let out a small laugh.

"He's a great man, but like anyone who grew up in a military environment, he had a predetermined path in life and thought that was our only option. I think I changed his perspective on the world the day I gave him back the ring and didn’t let the cheating part slide."

"He seemed genuinely happy to see you."

"We were genuinely happy to see each other, Jamie. We grew up together, we've literally spent less time apart than the time we had together."

He was silent for a moment.

"But that's in the past, and there's nothing to make me think I made a wrong call."

Neither of you said anything else. He didn't even dare mention the gift he had now. When he set the tray on your kitchen table, he noticed how pensive you were.

"You know you furrow when something is holding your thoughts?" You sighed.

"I don't know—Darren told me my brother reached him to talk about… well, me—"

"Is that so?" He handed you your coffee while he sat on a stool.

"Whatever—he knows me well enough to know they were being ridiculous."

While you were talking and drinking your coffee, you noticed how he was rolling his eyes every time he checked his phone.

"What's going on?"

"Do you have a sleeping bag I can borrow?" He asked, setting his phone on the table.

"I think I might have one in the bedroom." You paused. "What do you need it for?"

"Sam tore mine, and he wants to train outdoors tomorrow—and maybe spend the night there."

"If you go to my room and open the closet at the top, there should be one there."

Bucky approached the bedroom. He didn't go in there often; he used to think of your room as the most sacred place of yours.

When he opened the closet and noticed a couple of boxes. As he tried to move them to find what he was looking for, a large yellow folder fell at his feet.

Bucky tried to pick it up quickly, but something disturbingly familiar sent a chill through his spine.

There was the security camera photo from the night Stark's parents died.

Bucky held that photo for a second.

There he was—an old ghost that haunted him even after years freed from it.

Then his curiosity got the better of him, and he began to sift through the files and saw everything.

Mission folders from decades ago, lists of names that he unfortunately knew all too well, security camera photos with horrid images, sealed documents in Russian. Each of the images seemed to burn his hand, and each of the names he could read seemed like a ghost he could never erase from his mind. Finally, he found what looked like something printed from the internet, something clearly highlighted by hand.

"Did you find it...?"

You came into the room, but your voice was silenced by a gasp. Your hand went straight to your mouth.

"Jamie..."

You tried to approach him, but your feet remained planted on the cold floor of your bedroom threshold.

"I can explain—My brothers—"

Tears began to well up in your eyes.

"They tried to convince me that this was you. They gave this to me the day before I decided to take some time for myself."

You approached and knelt in front of him.

"I kept it because I didn't know how to get rid of it. I know it's probably not the only one in the world, but I didn't want something like this lying around in some dumpster in the city."

"You've had this for so many months and never said anything to me? Did you look at these images while you were MIA?"

You nodded.

"I wanted to understand. I had to understand what you had been through. I knew you weren't the person who they were telling—"

He closed the folder and shut his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself.

"I’m—I’m so sorry, Jamie."

He shook his head. "I have nothing to forgive you for. You had every right to know what you were facing."

You approached him carefully—movements more of a question. He turned to look at you, confused. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he took you by the waist, pulling your body close to his side, allowing you to ground him.

You didn't notice, but before he left, he left on your kitchen shelf the dream-catcher he had bought earlier. Somehow, he knew you would appreciate it, but he was not completely ready to give it to you personally.

Lola was stirring her coffee while she scrolled on her phone, "How have things been going with Bucky?"

You shrugged.

"That doesn't seem good."

A sigh escaped your lips, and you looked down, "We saw Darren some days ago at our usual coffee shop. He was nice and all, you know how he is."

Lola rolled her eyes. If she hated someone, that was Darren. "We spoke for a while, then we went back home to drink our coffee. He was on a date, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"And then?"

"When we were at my apartment, Bucky tried to reach out for something, and he found the folder I've been hiding from him. The one my brother shoved on my face…"

Lola bit her lip, "Sounds harsh for the week previous to a birthday."

You cocked your eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"Well, c'mon. Imagine being a few days before your birthday, and then you meet your girl's ex-fiancé, and then you find a collection of your own past in her house."

"Birthday?" You tilted your head to the side.

Lola gasped, "You don't know when's Bucky's birthday?"

The reminder hit your head. You saw it. You saw it plenty of times through the documents, the websites, in everything you read—his birthday was there. You were so immersed in other things that you never really kept that information.

"I did know. I just… I didn't have anything prepared."

"Well, you're on time. Steve just told me he asked to be left alone that day."

You furrowed your brow; Bucky never asked you not to pass by or anything similar.

"It will be fine, Jamie's been busy lately, so that gives me some grace to do some things."

An imaginary to-do list started to happen in your mind. Bucky had never mentioned anything about his birthday before, but that didn't mean you weren't going to make him remember that celebrations were something good—and that he deserved one too.

When you were trying to find your recipe book, you found it.

A brown with yellow hues dream-catcher. You furrowed at the sight; you had never seen it before.

"Lola, did you buy this?" You put it in front of her.

Lola examined it carefully, "Not really my thing, but they look a lot like the ones on sale at the coffee shop."

Your cheeks heated immediately. Lola's wide smile appeared.

"Shut up."

"I didn't even open my mouth."

You sighed.

You knew exactly that he had done it. He had left it there, without you even noticing. You wanted to think it was casual; you needed it to be casual. But you knew that this was the very first time he did something like this, and somehow, he did it just his way. In silence, just for you and him.

How were you supposed to act after this?

"My heater is making that strange noise again. Could you help me?"

It was very early in the morning when you sent that message, knowing that it would take Bucky less time to find everything he needed to help you repair the heater than it would take him to cross the hallway to your apartment. So, when you sent the text, everything was already organized.

There was a homemade cake on the table—which you had spent two days baking and decorating. It was white with a couple of decorations in different shades. There was food from Bucky's favorite restaurant, a couple of coffees on the table, and his favorite beers in the refrigerator for later.

The doorbell rang twice, and you felt coldness in your hands.

When you approached the door, Bucky was leaning against the doorframe with one hand, balancing himself. You let him in, and Bucky stood still for what seemed like an eternity for both of you.

His gaze scanned everything. The small decoration on the wall behind the table, a couple of balloons stuck to the wall and another couple on the floor, a cake in the center with a candle on it; the food, although he knew perfectly well that it was from his favorite restaurant, was already served on a couple of porcelain plates. A couple of coffees from your usual coffee shop, and you in a simple black dress, unbeknownst to you, Bucky's favorite dress.

"Happy birthday?" you said, your tone more questioning than celebratory.

"How... Steve...?" You shook your head.

"Lola..."

"I don't want to ask," he said, trying to avoid whatever is going on between them.

"I didn’t want to ask either."

You both laughed.

You approached him and wrapped your arms around his waist without asking, without even announcing yourself. He returned the hug, lifting you a couple of inches off the ground, with the care that characterized him every time he hugged you.

"You shouldn't have."

"But I wanted to."

Your feet touched the ground again, and you looked up to meet his gaze; you remained frozen in that position for a moment. It seemed as if time had stopped, and even if it hadn't, you didn't care.

"Thank you for this," he whispered. You slowly caressed his back, feeling every scar, every muscle, every piece of skin that stood out.

"Thank you for accepting it."

For a moment, your gazes remained locked on each other as the air around you grew thicker; your chests continued to rise and fall in unison, neither daring to say anything. He allowed himself to caress the back of your neck with your hair between his fingers, while your hands continued to squeeze Bucky's shirt.

Bucky's body bent down slightly, your foreheads meeting in the middle with you standing on tiptoes, your breaths beginning to mingle. He paused, admiring the perfect sight of you with your hair tousled by his hands, your cheeks flushed from the heat of the moment, your eyes closed, and your lips slightly parted as if inviting him to take the next step. It was solely a god’s solace.

But even there, he only managed to squeeze your neck lightly, his warm hand caressing each side of your neck and resting his forehead completely on yours. He couldn't stop smiling, even though his thoughts filled him with doubts.

'Am I really worthy of this moment? Is she really willing to experience this moment with me?'

After a couple of seconds of waiting for the inevitable, you realized it wasn't going to happen. You slowly opened your eyes and found Bucky smiling at you as he stared intently.

"So..." He caressed your neck again.

"Is your heater working perfectly?" He joked to break the tension.

"I haven't even turned it on in days."

You moved back a few inches, so lightly that neither of you immediately missed the contact.

The night passed with him trying to memorize every detail you had done—from the balloons, just a few, the homemade cake, his favorite beers—the ones that somehow reminded him of ol' times.

"Jamie, I've got a question."

"Mhm…" He hummed while pacing down his beer.

"Don't you get drunk?" He chuckled, "Like I've seen you drinking a lot of times, and I've never seen you once drunk."

He shook his head.

"How much do you know about my story?"

"Uh… well, just… enough, I guess?"

"You know who Zola is, right?"

You sighed and nodded. You were really trying not to remember that name—Just hearing his name made you feel sick.

"Well, most people think Zola forced the serum on me after I fell from the train—the reality is that the serum helped me to survive from that fall," he sighed, "If we can call it help."

You bit your lip. You were really trying not to make a drama out of this; he was just telling a story from his past. Nothing you hadn't experienced with other veterans—and nothing you hadn't read about him.

"When Steve saved me the first time from HYDRA, I had already been injected—I remember those nights trying to get drunk. Trying to find solace in alcohol—and it never arrived."

He furrowed at the memory, "So, basically, I can't get drunk with normal alcohol."

"Normal alcohol?" You tilted your head.

"I can get drunk with Asgardian alcohol—When I spent some months on Wakanda, M'baku, Jabari's leader, brought occasionally some Asgardian beverage, it did the trick."

"Oh…"

"You're an idiot."

Bucky entered the compendium as Steve trained.

"Come on, Buck! She deserved to celebrate with you."

"You could have told me something."

"And ruin her surprise? No way. She would have killed me."

Steve shook his head as he sat down on the gym floor.

"She didn't even do anything big, did she?"

"A cake that probably took her all day to bake, food from my favorite restaurant, bad movies, and my favorite beer." Bucky summed it up.

"And did you enjoy it?"

The memory of the moment he held you in his arms and was about to kiss you came to mind. He didn't even have a chance to pretend he wasn't smiling.

"That smile is all the answer I needed."

"Can I get two coffees?" Bucky spoke to the barista as he looked at his phone, where he had written down the coffee you usually ordered.

The guy mumbled your name, smiling as he wrote it on the plastic cup. Bucky nodded with a sideways smile.

"Thanks."

You were about to arrive. You had spent the whole day texting him about your day, telling him what a terrible day you had had downtown and how you needed a moment to relax.

"Jamie?" Sam snorted the biggest laugh his chest could have, "She calls an ex-assassin, 'Jamie'?"

Steve tried not to laugh, looking down at his own phone, faking he was reading something.

"C'mon, Buck. She calls you Jamie, got you all domestic—and you can't even answer a text message from her correctly?"

"What—" Bucky sighed, "What am I supposed to say?"

"Buck, she's crying out for help," Sam replied, looking at your messages.

"I told her to rest. What else can I say?" Bucky frowned.

"Take her out for coffee, surprise her with something, you idiot."

Sam snatched the phone to text you, telling you he would meet you at your usual café after your shift ended.

When Bucky left the training room, Sam was still laughing at the fact that you called him 'Jamie'.

"Jamie… Really, Steve? A hundred years, tortured, ex-assassin, and a twenty-five-year-old psychologist calls him Jamie."

Steve shrugged his shoulders.

"Is that something recurrent?" He nodded, "Oh—I'm inviting her next time, you can bet."

Steve chuckled and shook his head.

And there was Bucky, following Sam's advice, sitting at one of the round tables, two coffees in front of him, two plates of pastries as well. You walked into the café, your hair tied back, your sweater about to slip off your shoulder, red lipstick as if you had just reapplied it, and a smile that Bucky could swear lit up the entire café.

"One more veteran yelling at my face and I swear I’m gonna quit," you said, dropping your bag on the table. Bucky smiled to himself as you stood with your hands, grounding yourself on the table.

"You know that's a lie. You could never be without them." You exhaled, lowering your head. He pushed the cup towards you.

"At least tell me your day was better than mine." You finally sat down across from him.

"It wasn't as bad as yours." You smiled. "I saw Dr. Raynor for my biweekly therapy session."

"Do you know that you're seeing one of the most feared therapists among all of us who work with veterans?" He nodded.

"I don't think I could be with anyone else."

"And is it for life?" He shook his head.

"They're doing everything they can to reduce the frequency of sessions over time. They want me to become part of society as a functional man."

You noticed how Bucky recited it from memory; he had probably repeated it countless times.

"I think talking about my therapist was the worst thing I could have said to you to get you out of your bad mood."

You shook your head after finishing your drink.

"I'm sure you’ve never hit Dr. Raynor." Bucky closed his eyes as he remembered that night with you.

"Did they hurt you again?" You gestured quickly, denying it.

"No, that's not a recurring issue. They have very little tolerance for violence. If a patient hits me, they usually transfer them; they can't risk it escalating."

"You told that man he had already done it in the past."

"Let's just say I'm not the most orthodox when it comes to following all my professional rules."

"For God's sake. You could put yourself in danger."

"I'm fine. It's not like I get hit every week. Plus, Bernard is one of my patients who needs the most help. It's just a matter of being a little more patient with him."

Bucky pressed his lips together in a hard line. He didn't want to interfere with your work, but he hated knowing that you were taking those kinds of risks.

You furrowed and sighed, “I promise you I’m fine. If anything happens again, I’ll transfer him.”

When night fell, you both got up as you said goodbye to the barista. You had made that space your own even before Bucky came into your life, and now he was part of that everyday routine. The boy waved goodbye to Bucky, too.

You nudged Bucky's side, and he raised his hand and waved it twice from side to side to say goodbye as well.

“Jamie,” you said, fidgeting, “Can you come with me to the doctor’s office tomorrow?”

He knitted his eyebrows in the middle, “I can go with you, but why do you have to go? Everything alright?”

“Oh, yep. Just procedure.”

“If you want, I can.”

“See you at seven a.m., then.”

He nodded and waited for you to come into your apartment. He didn’t want to admit it yet, but every time you asked him to do things like that, it melted him from within.

“What is this, again?” Bucky asked while he sat in the waiting area.

“I just need to get a wellness check every once in a while.” You said as you wrote down and ticked boxes on a paper, “And you should too.”

“Do you really believe that I come often to these kinds of doctors?”

You chuckled, “Well, I don’t know.”

A nurse approached you, and you handed her the paper. She was mumbling the things you wrote down while she nodded.

She repeated your name, and you nodded. “We are doing some blood tests. If you need company, your partner can come with us.”

Bucky didn’t even have time to react to her comment when you were already pulling him from his seat and walking down the hallways with him by your side.

You sat on the examination table while the nurse prepared the materials.

“Miss, any allergies that we should be aware of?”

“No, ma—”

“Her tongue gets itchy when she eats raspberries,” Bucky interfered. Your mouth fell open immediately.

The nurse cocked an eyebrow.

“She also gets itchy with blueberries, but not so often as with raspberries.”

“Is that correct, miss?” You sighed and nodded.

“Yes, it’s correct, but—”

“We will have to run an allergy screening test, ma’am. Is that okay with you?” The nurse interrupted.

“Yes, it’s fine.” You looked directly at Bucky, who was clenching his jaw.

"Oh, so Little Ms. Sunshine can throw a party for him, but if I ask him to come over to have some beers, suddenly he's too busy?" Sam chastised.

Steve chuckled and took a glass bottle with some amber liquid in it.

"What's that?"

"Oh, some Asgardian liquor Thor sent me. I told him it was for Bucky—he wanted to come, but I asked him for more time for Bucky to get used to all of them together."

Sam pursed his lips and nodded.

"So, is he coming?" Steve hummed in approval.

"How did you get him to stay away from her for more than a solid minute?"

"Oh, I didn't do anything… I… kinda made Lola beg her to have girls' night out… and then Bucky had to stay home… alone."

Sam choked out a laugh, "You two are whipped."

Bucky took you to the restaurant where Lola had begged you to have dinner.

"Be careful," He asked before parking in front of the restaurant.

"You'll be fine, too?"

"Yeah. Probably a couple of beers, and then I'll head home. If you need something, just give me a call."

"Will do." You waved goodbye and ran to Lola, who was waiting for you in the entrance.

Bucky arrived at the compound—there, Sam was holding a beer while he talked to Tony. Steve was pouring some liquid into two glasses while Banner looked at his glass.

"Look who did us the honor!" Tony chanted, "But, where's my favorite plus one?"

"Tony," Steve scolded, "She's busy now."

"Oh, with Mrs. America?" Sam snorted a laugh.

Steve pinched his eyes closed—he hated himself for trusting Sam would behave.

The evening was relaxed; everyone was trying not to focus solely on work. You might even think they were just a group of old friends, rather than a team made up of two super-soldiers who were over a hundred years old, a former military officer, a tech genius, and a doctor with gamma radiation-induced abilities.

Bucky had been pouring the liquor down his throat all night. It had been a long time since the last time he drank and felt something. He was not so fond of doing so. Nothing changed much, but he hated the hangover that came after it.

Bucky was sitting on the couch when Banner approached him.

"What are you up to?" Banner patted Bucky's back.

He sighed, "Not much. Just the alcohol doing its job."

"How's she doing?"

"If you let outside the fact that she's been harassed for the sole reason of being my friend, good."

He chuckled, "Has she complained?"

"You know the answer to that, Banner." A low and guttural sigh left his lips, "The thing is—she doesn't deserve it. I'm the one who did all that shit, I'm the one who should pay for it. Why does she have to pay for something if she wasn't even born when it happened?"

Banner laughed; it was raw but sincere. "You know you don't have to pay for those things either, right?"

"Give me a break, Banner. I'm being serious—she's so kind, I don't even know why she wants to keep being friends with me after everything that has happened."

Sam interjected, bringing Bucky a new glass.

"How funny it is to hear him say they are friends when she got to celebrate him on his birthday, huh?"

"Oh, she did?" Banner leaned on his knees, and Bucky grunted.

"Look, I get it. She's been nice, but there's no way in life she—"

"She, what?" Banner pushed.

"She could feel something for me. She's kind, strong, extremely nice—"

Steve was just a few steps away with Tony, and everyone was now in silence, hearing how Bucky poured his heart out, letting himself be led by the alcohol.

Just some blocks away from the compound, you and Lola were walking out of the restaurant. She had decided she had had enough of the place.

"What about we crash the boys’ night?" Lola asked, hugging you by the arm.

You scrunched the bridge of your nose, "I don't think it's a great idea."

"Let me just send Steve a text, letting him know we will be there in a minute."

You rolled your eyes and hooked your arm on hers to start walking in the direction of the compound.

Steve chuckled at Lola's text. He knew better than to try to change her mind.

"I'll be back in a minute," He announced, "Banner, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Bucky was now with his eyes fixed on the floor, still trying to connect his ideas to his mouth. Banner walked next to Steve till they reached the threshold of the entrance

"She… uh, she will be here any minute, is it too much to ask to try to keep Buck in line?"

"I—don't think I can do much." Banner stuttered.

"Just keep him in line."

Steve and Banner welcomed you at the entrance. As you arrived in the living room, you noticed Tony pouring an amber liquid into Bucky's glass.

"Tony!" Steve scolded.

Tony snorted a laugh as soon as he saw you standing there.

"Nice to see you here!" He chuckled, "Didn't expect you…"

"Uh, we… were nearby, but if we are interrupting something, we can head home."

"And what? You didn't bring any cookies with you?" Sam asked, "I've heard they are good."

You giggled, "I'll make sure that next time Jamie comes, to bring some for you guys."

Tony pursed his lips and nodded.

Bucky finally approached you, "Why didn't you call me to pick you up?" His voice was raspy and low, a glassy hint in his eyes that you had never seen.

"Are you okay?" You tilted.

Tony chuckled from behind, "We finally got the Winter Soldier drunk."

You gasped, "Are you okay?"

His so ever stern image was now completely replaced with a man you had never seen before. You caressed his flesh arm while you looked at his eyes.

He huffed a laugh, "Have I ever told you that you have such beautiful eyes?" Steve face-palmed. Banner gasped and walked to Bucky.

"I—No, you've never—"

"Well, I think I should have done it before."

"Jamie, I think you're drunk…"

"Yes, I'm drunk, but I'm also appreciating how beautiful you are."

"Barnes, what about we go and take a seat?" Banner took him by the shoulders.

You stayed there, still mesmerized by what had just happened.

"I think we should leave," Steve murmured to Lola.

"Why? We just arrived," Lola furrowed, "And Bucky seems to be having a great night."

"Yeah. I don't think Bucky would appreciate being this exposed while drunk."

Lola sighed, "Fine."

You were now sitting next to Bucky, "I'm seeing you're having a great night."

"Now that you're here, it's much better." You low chuckled.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. Steve was smiling at you from behind.

"Did he drink that Asgardian thing?" He nodded, "Does it have any repercussions?"

He shook his head, "He's this drunk because Tony kept pouring more in his glass, but he will metabolize it in an hour or two."

Somehow, it was nice having Bucky that way—but you knew this was not the person you were falling in love with.

"What about we get going?" Steve asked, and you nodded. Lola was offering you her arm while Steve made Bucky stand up.

"The night just started. Why are you leaving?" Tony teased, "I'm sure with the next drink I could make Bucky confess his love."

You bit your lip, "I think we are fine for the night, Tony."

"I think Jamie is tired—he really needs a rest."

You said goodbye and started to walk towards the door as Steve instructed. Sam was standing next to Tony and Banner, "Jamie." He scoffed a laugh.

"Who would think someone her size would tame him?" Tony tilted his head.

"You're never gonna let him live after this, right?" Banner turned his head to Sam.

"I'm gonna remind him of this every damn time."

After a silent drive, you noticed how Bucky got back to his normal self with every passing minute; Steve had left with Lola just a minute ago, and Bucky was leaning against his doorframe. You could now see a hint of clarity after some time.

"Are you going to be fine?" You giggled, "Never seen you like this before."

"I'll be fine," He chuckled, "Long time since I've felt this way."

"Drunk?"

"Excited." He lowered his voice.

"About what?"

"About seeing someone." His gaze was fixed on you.

"Are—Are you flirting with me, James Buchanan Barnes?"

"I really have no idea what I'm doing," You snorted a laugh, "Is it working?"

"Definitely working. I hope sober Jamie could keep this."

Next Part. Bucky Barnes General taglist: @maplesyrizzup @wickedfun9 @herejustforbuckybarnes @w1nter-fairy @sassandscribbles @globetrotter28 @buckysouvenir @singulartoast @buckybsdoll @mathcat345 @elliestwoleftfingerss @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @phoenix-in-writing @onyx8514 @shitbewild @idkbeautiful @misswhiddless @buckybarneswife08 @beefybuckyplease @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals @bunnybarnes1 @repsfolkwhore @rufles2 @eilish007 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @armystay89 @emmyrietveld0 @sebbymybaby21 +add yourself to my tag list!

You listen closely to his movements, book still up in the clutches of your hands but now forgotten as you listen, exhaling harshly through your nose at the cat's nonchalance.

Slumping his backpack down next to the shoe rack, toeing off his boots, and pulling off his jacket with a sleepy sigh. But this wasn't fatigue. This was deeper, more sullen. Lodged between joints like gum, and you could feel it on him, feel it a whole room away. It radiated off of him in a boiling aura.

You keep your gaze on the door, watching his shadow dance in the cracks of light beneath the wooden frame, easing closer and closer before the groan of the old lumber finally snaps your gaze upwards to the man himself.

He looks caught. It makes the edges of your lips tilt upward in a gentle smile.

"Ah, shit," Bucky huffs a quiet laugh, trying to hide the tiredness that was already etched into his face. "Didn't realise you were awake."

You hum an affirmative, shutting your book closed and turning to lay it on the floor beside you, using the movement to look at the analog clock on your bedside table. The hands pointed to the numbers like little snitches.

1:26 am

"Didn't know when you'd be back," You shuffled yourself up, back to the bedframe, stretching your arms out front with a soft grunt.

Domestic, Bucky couldnt help but think.

Home.

Your voice stayed quiet, a quiet, gravelly lilt from sleepiness. It made Bucky's stomach tingle. "Wanted to greet you straight away. Didn't want some sleepy, half-assed grunts, y'know?"

Smiling at your words, he walked in closer, settling himself on your side of the bed, sitting and staring, like he usually does. Taking you all in like its the last time he'll see you. Like he wants this moment, you, etched into his brain, behind his eyelids forever. and he does.

"M'yeah, I know," he murmurs, vibranium hand settling gently on your knee, stroking, giving it a soft squeeze as if to remind himself that you're real. He glanced back at Alpine, still sprawled out on her back, fluffy belly to the ceiling, so blissfully apathetic. "Didn't wanna keep you up though, didn't wanna bother."

A tut sounded as if automatically, a playful roll of your eyes and cross of your arms over your chest. But the smile was still there, beaming. All teeth and no harshness, all you and warmth.

"Oh, James Buchanan Barnes!" You chastised in a soft voice. a faux-bothered tone that makes his cheeks strain everytime, it reminds him of his mother. He cant help but sometimes believe you'd be wonderful in that role. "You can never be a burden to me. Ever. I love you too much."

The words come easy to you, so, so easy. like a knife slicing through warm butter, or the run of a spatula through perfectly made caramel.

Bucky glances down bashfully, shuffling in his seat as you watch, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

If you told yourself years ago that you'd have the Bucky Barnes blushing in your shared bed, next to your shared cat, in your shared apartment, with your shared little life, you'd laugh. Maybe even try and sneak a knife to your own throat.

But if it wasnt such a sight to see.

You observe. His muscles pulled, how his joints cracked with every minuscule movement.

His eyes, though full of love and something so fuller, the bags look more prominent than you remember. Deeper, darker. You cant help but hold a hand out on his jaw to thumb at the skin gently. And Bucky relishes in the touch so quickly, it melts your heart, shutting his eyes at the softness of your warm palm.

“Buck,” your voice hushed, as if anything louder would break the spell of your touch, like finally getting a stray cat to come and sniff your hands. “You okay, my love?”

He looked up, his eyes shine in the light, speckled yellows and oranges against his blues, a combination you want to swim in.

You gulp thickly.

It seems with all the months you and bucky spend together, all the small moments in tandem — familial, homely — the more you understand his ways.

How Bucky works.

Your Bucky.

You nod affirmatively at the wordless decision you made.

"I'm making you a bath." Your tone stayed firm, a lilt of playfulness just for him, a lighthearted gesture. Before he could suck his teeth in protest and whine, you slapped your thighs and pushed yourself up off the bed, immediately walking to the en-suite bathroom with a hum that meant 'no protests, it's happening'.

But Bucky Barnes is a stubborn man who hates when other's put him before themselves, especially when it's you.

"Sweetheart—" He attempts to argue, head tilting to the side, a smirk latching onto his lips as he watches you walk away. No protests. That's the problem when two stubborn people fall in love, someone has to win.

And it's always you.

He heard your snicker reverberate off the tiled walls, the extraction fan whirring as you flick the light switch on.

"No 'but's," next came the water. The splatter echoing as you test the temperature until it was just perfect for him. "Now, clothes off." You quipped with a click of your fingers.

He could feel blood rise to his cheeks, stinging from how hard he was grinning. Only you could boss him around like this, only you can draw him a bath without a single word of protest. God, he would let you beat him to a pulp and he'd say thank you — walk through endless miles of land, sea, rain and thunder just to hear one witty retort. He'd do anything.

He glanced at Alpine, whos now laying upright. Body long, tail swishing in slight agitation at the loud noises, airplane ears deployed. The two shared a look.

"She always this bossy?" He whispers to the girl with a smile. She replies with a soft shirp, paired with a loving, slow, blink.

"I love it. Don't tell her that."

Bucky couldnt help the shy smile that found his lips as he stepped into the bathroom.

The overhead lights were off, the only thing illuminating the bathroom were the few candles scattered around the tub for whenever he wanted to treat you.

You knelt at the side of the tub, hand dipped into the bubbly water, swirling your fingers around, enamoured by the shapes of the foam in the dusky blue.

Looking up with a sleepy smile, you quipped, "Aren't I the best girlfriend ever?" you say sarcastically, as if the statement wasnt true. As if he wasn't thinking that exacty.

Bucky hums, eyes still trained on you. "Oh, absolutely." His voice takes on the same lilt as yours, but the words cling truthfully to his tongue.

The room smells faintly of lavender, bergamot and you. He recognises the scent as a mix your favourite bath oils, even the candle he got a while ago.

'No reason, just… Reminded me of you.'

"Didn't I tell you to take your clothes off?" you smirk, eyeing him up and down.

Bucky huffed and looked down on himself. Technically, he did take his clothes off, only to cover himself with a worn pair of plaid pyjama pants, your favourite to steal.

"Didn't wanna come in here naked like a pervert." He states, and it makes you laugh, wholeheartedly. A cheek straining smile adorns your face as you walk over to him, hands immediately finding purchase on his chest.

His cheeks warm up. From the touch, your laugh, or the condensation of the bath, he's not sure. Maybe its your overall presence.

"Not anything i haven't seen before, sergeant," smoothing your hands over his pecks, you hum. His own palms find your waist, the differing material making your breath hitch as the coldness of metal grazes your skin under the hem of his your shirt.

"Go on, get in before it gets cold," you whisper, dotting a soft peck to his lips. "Please."

The water's perfect.

Everything is perfect.

You're perfect.

He doesn't even realise the sharp exhale that escapes his lungs as he lounges back, taking in the warmth that surrounds his body — the scents, the feeling. It's all you.

You took his pants and folded them up neatly on the counter next to the sink. with that, you layed out some towels for when he's eventually done.

You cant help but stare from the doorway.

Leaning on the wood with your shoulder, hip jutting out with your arms crossed over your chest, and you just stare.

It's rare for Bucky to have moments of peace — as if he doesn't feel most comfortable around you, but you still see that crinkle between his brows. That's just my face, sweetheart, he'd grumble into your neck as you teased, trying to thumb the creases away.

You sigh at the image in front of you. So calm, so still. You watch the way his chest rises and falls with each slow and steady breath. How his shoulders relax ever so slowly.

"You're staring."

You flinch at his sudden words. A soft smirk on his face, eyes still shut.

"Am not."

"Am too."

You tut, huffing a laugh under your breath as you stand straight. His eyes are still shut, but that damn smile is wider than ever.

"Fine," you breathe, "Can't blame me though, you're just so pretty."

That gets his eyes open. rolling his head to the side to look at you. A playful retort simmering in the back of his mind, he tongues at his gums. But he turns away demurely.

"yeah, yeah." He hums, waving you off, never the best at taking compliments. You love ruffling his feathers.

The two of you stay in soft silence for a little while longer. Just gentle breaths, the occasional drip drip of the tap, and screeches of traffic from a few blocks away. But its comforting. Your own white noise.

"I should, uhm…" You murmur, throwing a thumb over your shoulder like this was some casual act between two acquaintances. "I'll leave you to it, i'll be in there—"

As you turn your head back to point back at the bed, the water moves. A heavy slosh that gets your attention, whipping your head back to your lover.

Bucky's sat up now, hands in the water, back arched a bit. He looks childlike — young.

The position, the lighting, the way his eyes sparkled with soft whisps of candle flames.

It made your chest ache.

And then came his voice.

His mouth moved quicker than his brain could handle, stuttering on his own tongue, trying to state his need.

“I— well, wait," he inhales and exhales like you taught him to. You cant see it but you can tell he's tapping his thumb on each finger, counting one, two, three, four as he gathers his thoughts.

"Can,” he exhales hard, something about the request catching in his throat before he can finish, but he swallows at the shame and continues. “Can you stay?”

Your heart clenches in the confines of your chest, just about ready to burst. You dont take pity. none of that solemn eyes, pouty lipped ‘aww’s. You just smile and nod like it’s nothing, like it was just another thursday.

“Yeah, of course.”

You make it so easy, he thinks. Loving you is so, so easy.

You settle behind him, kneeling next to his head on the cold tile floor. Your hands instinctively move to his shoulders, moving him back to position. His skin is hot to the touch, like a fireplace in the middle of a snowstorm. You lean into it.

Thumbs gently working the knots of his muscles, earning you a breathy grunt.

"You dont have to." Bucky starts, but you hush him quickly with a graze of your lips to the curve of his ear.

"I want to." Your breath traces against his temple. It warms him greater than the bath itself. His body overruns with goosebumps as your hands trail their way from his shoulders, up his neck in a light stroke, and into his hair.

The soft tendrils envelop your fingers as you play. Running them along his follicles with no destination, just pure want and caresses.

He feels like a dog. Automatically going limp into your touch as you work his scalp with your magic, letting his entire body weight drop back, like an overgrown puppy who thinks theres still space for him on your lap.

He makes a noise, you cant help but believe he's purring at your touch.

His full weight within your hands, his complete and utter openness — naked, figuratively and metaphorically, within your space and hold. It opens you up in a way.

You're not sure why it's hitting you tonight, but you're so happy it did.

"Bucky," you murmur. The edges of his name clip into a whisper, like your voice isnt ready for your words just yet, like the universe is trying to hold its palm to your mouth. But you swallow, and speak again, quieter, just for him.

"I'm so lucky to have you."

He looks at you over his shoulder, confusion written all over his face. Brows furrowed and lips curled in a questioning smile as if to say 'where did this come from?'

It makes you smile, a lazy huff expells from your nose at his manner. No matter what, He's always so handsome.

"You… filled something in me. i dont know what, but," your hands still in his hair, the hold slipping to the dip where his shoulders meet his neck. You thumb at the meat in slow circles as you think through your words. But you sigh and think 'fuck it'.

"I feel like a person with you. A real, full person. I feel capable — normal, like nothing bad has ever happened to me—" You crinkle your nose as your voice cracks at the edges, a sting coming through your nostrils as you feel the tears seeping at the edges of your vision.

Bucky keeps his eyes on you, the whole time. The softest smile on his face, eyes glassy and speckled with the remnants of light from the soft orange of the flames. You can tell he feels the same sting.

His hand find your cheek, the water ripples with the movement, but none of that matters. You move your own to over his, fingers intertwining against your warm skin. You inhale as steadily as you could. Slowly, deeply.

He doesnt talk, doesnt quip, doesnt try and shut you down like he used to. He lets you take your time, stand your ground, compose yourself.

"If i could do it all again… Just to be here with you," You whisper. Bucky's breath stutters, awaiting the blow, knowing what you'll say next. "I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Sniffling, you nuzzling closer into his grasp as if theres any more room left.

You turn your head, eyes still on Bucky's — now wet, tear stained from the droplets threatening to fall, you can see a couple free themselves — and peck a small kiss against his palm, and another, and another, until his breath hitches with a sharp inhale.

His bottom lip wobbles slightly, but his lips stay on a smile. So true and real, it makes your stomach erupt with adoration. You almost unlock your hands embrace to thumb at it, just a small gesture to say 'whats this?'

But you refrain, you let him feel, you let him soak in your words.

And he does.

His throat works, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly.

"Me too." Bucky whispers, just a breath, a heave, but it hit you like a freight train. Like all the air in your lungs expell, only to give him the strength and air to finish the sentence.

The tears fall freely now. Fat, salty, tracks running down his stubbled cheeks, down to his chin where it sticks uncomfortably down his neck. The beads drop, mixing with the bath water in a soft melody, and you both just stay within each other's comfort. Holding, looking, connected.

Eventually your free hand finds his own cheek, mirroring his hold on your own. Thumb tentatively wiping the tears away from his eyes, finally finding purchase on his skin. His short beard tickles your palm. You want to tattoo that feeling on your skin forever.

He inhales. Pink lips parting, wet with tears. you want to kiss him so badly.

"Everything."

hellooo :”) it’s been such a hectic and stressful few months but im now satiated in my new house,, writing to help with the stress,,, i got a couple full fics in the works that are almost ready to be released :)

i really apologise for the sudden leave, it was not a good time for me on and offline, but its getting better now. i hope you guys are all okay <3 i’ve missed this a lot !!

taglist: @devililithh @buck-star @buckyfmd @umbreoni @bckyslover @nikkitabarnes @miraclediviner @barnes-babydoll @kqtholins @wint3rbarnes @spdrveil @swimmingnightcolor

bucky taglist: @demiebarnes @wsoldiersgf @dolcesaints @wildflowersandvibranium @colettebarnes @ssop-hiee @the-once-and-future-bitch @metal-armed-muse @bucklesby-barnes @herejustforbuckybarnes @overwintering-soldier @slutdier @sebastianstanisahotmf @demiebarnes @phantom-wolf-girl

Bucky hadn’t slept. The apartment looked exactly the same as it had hours ago, and the morning light did nothing to ease the headache brewing behind his eyes. The couch was still pushed too far back. The laptop still sat on the coffee table. Like the room had frozen on purpose just to piss him off. He paced back and forth across the living room, metal fingers flexing and unflexing like they had nowhere to go. He’d started pacing sometime around dawn and apparently his body had decided that was the only motion it was capable of now. He couldn’t sit. Couldn’t stand still. Felt like if he stopped moving, he’d have to actually think. Every time he stopped moving, he could hear your voice from last night. Please, James. Please. “Get a grip, Barnes,” he muttered under his breath, though the empty room just swallowed the words, leaving them hanging weak and useless like everything else he'd said and did lately. The phone was still on the table. He hadn’t touched it since the block went through. Hadn’t had the guts to flip it over and look at the blank space again. He’d stared at the ceiling for hours instead, replaying everything until it turned into one long loop he couldn’t escape. You were gone. And you had every right to be. That didn’t stop the panic clawing up his throat. By five in the morning he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to see something, anything, that proved you still existed outside of the mess he’d made. Needed to know you hadn’t vanished off the planet the second you vanished from him. So he did the stupid thing. He made a new account. New email. New username. Even new password, for God knows why. He wouldn’t remember it in an hour anyway. Saved it to apple passwords. As the confirmation page loaded, this made him a very pathetic stalker, the kind of guy who deserved to be laughed at, and he still clicked subscribe anyway. He subscribed again before he could talk himself out of it, the familiar profile picture popping up like a punch to the chest. Just the same teasing little glimpse of skin and shadow that had wrecked him from the beginning. His eyes went straight to the activity log. Last seen: 9:14 p.m.

Hours ago. Before everything. Nothing. No new posts. No stories. No updates. Not even a note. There was nothing to show you’d even touched the account since the call ended. “Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered to it, like you could somehow hear him through the website. “Just… be okay. Please be okay.” He refreshed the page. Then again. Then a third time like that would magically change the answer. But it was still nothing. A fucked up feeling settled in his stomach. He closed the laptop harder than he meant to. There was one place he knew you had to be. One place he could actually see you with his own eyes instead of hunting ghosts on a screen. The hospital. Internship shifts didn’t pause for heartbreak. They didn’t care if you’d slept or cried or sworn off men forever. You’d be there because you were responsible and you took your job too seriously to call in sick over a broken heart. He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and was out the door in under five minutes. The bike ride across the city barely registered. Just traffic lights and potholes and the cold needling into his cheeks while his brain ran in circles. He rode like he was chasing something he might never catch again, By the time the hospital came into view, his heart was pounding for an entirely different reason. Please be there. Please don’t hate me. Killing the engine, hejust sat for a moment, trying to get his breathing under control. Everything felt the exact same as it did a month ago. Everything except the fact that you were hurting this time, the reason being him. Bucky scanned the room the second he walked in. He didn’t have to look long. You were at the nurses’ station. The sight of you hit him so hard he had to stop moving. You looked… exhausted. This wasn’t your usual kind of tiredness. The one with with messy hair and a lazy smile after a long shift. This was different. Your shoulders were slumped. The usual brightness in your face was muted, like someone had turned the volume down on you overnight. He hated that he knew the difference. Hated that he’d memorized your tired smiles and now he was looking at the version that had nothing left behind it. You looked like you hadn’t slept at all. Guilt punched him square in the chest. That was his fault. Every last bit of it. For a second he thought about turning around and leaving. About walking right back out the doors and sparing you the shock of seeing him. But he just wouldn’t be a coward anymore. Forcing his feet to move, he took steps in your direction. You didn’t notice him at first. You were flipping through a chart, biting the inside of your cheek in that familiar little way you did when you were concentrating. He remembered thinking it was cute the first time he saw it. He remembered a lot of things now that made his stomach twist. He was halfway across the lobby when you finally glanced up. Your eyes landed on him. And you smiled. The same polite, easy smile you’d given him the very first day. The kind of smile you gave patients because that was your job, because you were good at it. It felt like a knife between his ribs. That smile wasn’t for him anymore. For Bucky-the-patient, sure, but not for the Bucky-or-James who'd lied his way into this mess. “Bucky,” you waved him over like he was just another familiar face in your day. His heart did something painful. You didn’t know.

Of course you didn’t know.

He walked up to the counter on legs that felt way too heavy for his body. Up close he could see the details he’d missed from a distance — the faint redness of your conjunctiva, the way you kept blinking like they were dry, the way your fingers trembled just a little when you set the chart down. “Hey— didn’t expect to see you. You okay?” Your voice sounded normal. Friendly. Tired, but normal. The words stuck a bit, because how do you say you're here to beg forgiveness in a lobby? It nearly killed him. Already slipping into that automatic caretaker mode he’d watched you use a dozen times, you asked, “need to see the doctor?” Same gentle voice. The one he’d gotten way too attached to. Attached like a fool, now it just underscored how much he'd ruined. He shook his head, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must look standing there. You didn’t seem to mind though. Or if you did, you hid it well, professional as always. “No… I’m not here for that.” You tilted your head, confused but still smiling. “Oh. Paperwork or something? Follow-up appointment?” “I’m here to see you.” Jesus Christ, that sounded so fucking stupid out loud he wanted to punch himself in the throat just to keep him from speaking. Your brows knit together in confusion. “Me?” “Yeah,” his voice had fallen down a few octaves. “You.” There was a beat where you just looked at him, clearly trying to figure out what he meant. He could practically see the thoughts lining up behind your eyes — confusion, curiosity, the professional part of you searching for a reason that made sense. He took a breath he didn’t feel ready for. He didn’t plan to say it. Didn’t even think it. The word just slipped out like muscle memory. “Sweetheart—” The second the word left his mouth, everything changed. He saw it happen in real time. Your smile faltered. Just a tiny crack at first, like a hairline fracture. Your eyes focused on him in a way they never had before. Recognition crept in slowly, horribly slowly. Slow enough to torture him as it dawned. He watched the moment the pieces clicked together. The voice. The nickname. The way he said it.

Your face went blank. “Wait. No— no, that’s not—” He reached for you on instinct, hands hovering uselessly in the space between your bodies. “Baby—” “James?” your voice trembled on the single word. “Yeah, babydoll. It’s me. James. Bucky.” Words tumbling out, hoping they'd bridge the gap but knowing they wouldn't. What else was there, really? Nothing that fixed this. All the air seemed to disappear out of the room. You stared at him like you were trying to wake up from a bad dream and he refused to fade. Emotion crossed your face in waves. Waves he wished he could stop, but he'd started them. Disbelief hitting youfirst, like surely this was a joke; then understanding sinking in, and finally betrayal washing over. Your eyes filled with tears so fast it stole the breath out of his lungs. Panic surged inside him, “hey, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please… can we talk? Just let me explain—” He reached out and gently gripped your arms before he could stop himself, desperate to keep you from slipping away. You flinched like his touch burned. “Don’t… Just don’t.” “Please, sweetheart—” “Don’t… call me that.” The words were soft, but they hit harder than anything else. People were starting to look now. A few curious glances from nurses and visitors who didn’t understand the storm brewing in front of them. You didn’t seem to notice. Tears spilled over, tracking silently down your cheeks, and you didn’t even try to wipe them away. “All this time,” you breathed, more to yourself than to him. “All this time it was you.” “Yeah, and I know how bad that sounds. I know. But I can explain everything, I swear—”

“You lied to me.” Your voice wobbled on the last word like it didn’t want to come out. Four simple words. They were a slap to his face. Bucky’s hands dropped from your arms. “I know. And I hate myself for it. I never meant for it to go this far. I never meant to hurt you.” Your laugh was small and broken. “Well, congratulations. You did.” Every ounce of exhaustion you’d been carrying seemed to rise to the surface at once. Your shoulders shook, whether from anger or hurt he couldn’t tell. “I trusted you… I told you things I’ve never told anyone. I let you see me. I begged you to see you. And you just— you were standing right in front of me the whole time.” The memory of that plea flashed behind his eyes and he felt sick all over again. “I wanted to tell you. I did. I swear I did. I just— I didn’t know how to start.” “So you thought hiding was better?” you shot back, finally finding your anger. “You thought letting me feel stupid and used was better?” “No… God, no.” You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hand, furious at the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. “I feel like an idiot,” you admitted in a low voice. “Like a— like a complete, pathetic idiot.” “Don’t— don’t say that. None of this is on you.” “Isn’t it?” you asked, looking at him like you didn’t recognize him at all. “Because it feels pretty on me right now.” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out that didn’t sound weak and useless. The world refused to pause for either of you. A phone rang somewhere. Someone laughed down the hall. Your whole world had narrowed to the man in front of you. “I need you to let me explain,” he tried again, softer this time. “Please. Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.” For a split second he thought you might actually consider it. Then your expression hardened. “No.” The word was firm this time, stronger than the first. “No,” you repeated, taking a shaky step back from him. “I… just don’t want to hear it.” “Sweetheart—” “Stop calling me that,” you snapped. First time he’d seen you do this, and he’s the reason. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

You stared at him for a long moment, like you were memorizing a stranger who used to feel safe. “I have to get back to work,” you said finally, the professional mask sliding back into place with visible effort. “Please don’t walk away,” he begged before he could stop himself. He knew you’d walk away. Didn’t matter. He was still going to follow you. Had to. Explaining was the only plan he had, and it wasn’t even a good one. There was never a version of this morning where he would have just stood there and let you disappear down the hallway like a stranger. His feet moved before his brain had fully caught up. You walked fast. Faster than he’d ever seen you walk before. Like you were late for something important instead of just trying to outrun him. You didn’t look back once. Not even a glance over your shoulder to see if he was still there. But he was.

He stayed a few steps behind at first, close enough to keep you in sight but not close enough to touch. He didn’t trust himself to touch you again. Not after the way you’d flinched like his hands had burned. That kept replaying worse than anything else. Worse than the yelling he’d expected. Worse than silence. The hallway opened up into another nurses’ station, busier than the first one. You slipped behind the counter like it was a shield and he hovered awkwardly on the other side, suddenly aware of how out of place he must look. Big guy in a leather jacket, looming where he didn’t belong, eyes glued to an intern who clearly wanted nothing to do with him. Great. Fantastic. Perfect. He watched you pick up a chart with hands that still weren’t quite steady. Watched you focus very hard on anything that wasn’t him. Watched the way your jaw tightened when you realized he wasn’t leaving. He felt about like he was sixteen years old and hopeless. “I just— I just need a minute. Please.”. You pretended to read something on the paper in front of you, but he could tell you weren’t really seeing it. Your eyes kept skimming the same line over and over again. “I’m not trying to make a scene.” He kept his voice low on purpose. “I swear I’m not. I just… I need to talk to you. Just for a minute.” You inhaled slowly through your nose like you were counting to ten. “Bucky… James— whoever you are,” you spoke without looking at him, voice tight and professional in a way that hurt more than yelling would have. “I’m at work.” “I know.”

“I have patients. Shit… you know what? Even if I didn’t, I don’t wanna talk now.”

“I—”

“Surely you must understand why this isn’t the time?”

He opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again because, yeah, he did understand. He understood too well. You were trying to hold yourself together in a place where falling apart wasn’t allowed. Still, he couldn’t make himself back off.

A nurse at the station glanced between the two of you, picking up on the tension. She had probably seen a hundred versions of this exact situation. Concern flickered across her expression as she leaned a little closer to you. “Hey, hon, you okay over here?” You finally looked up then, and Bucky hated the way you forced a small smile onto your face. “I’m fine, Dana, it’s just… a misunderstanding.” Dana didn’t look convinced at all. Her gaze flicked to Bucky, taking him in with that assessing, protective nurse stare. “Need me to call security?” she asked you quietly, like he wasn’t standing right there. That was what he was to you now. Not James. Not the guy you’d poured your heart out to at three in the morning. Just some man making you uncomfortable at work. For a split second he thought you might say yes. He even braced himself for it. But you shook your head. “No,” came your voice softly. “It’s okay.”

Hope flared in his chest so fast it almost hurt. You didn’t want security. You didn’t want him dragged away. That had to mean something. It had to mean you didn’t completely hate him. Maybe you still cared enough to— “He’ll go away on his own,” you added, still not looking at him. The hope died just as quickly as it had bloomed. “Alright,” Dana squeezed your arm briefly. “I’ll be right here if you need me.” Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat as she walked a few steps away, leaving the two of you alone again in the middle of a room that suddenly felt way too small. He’ll go away on his own. You’d said it like a fact. Like he was a problem you were waiting out. Like he was already fading from your life and you just needed a little patience until it was official. He hated how much that hurt. “I’m not going away.” He heard how stubborn it sounded and didn’t care. You let out a humorless breath. “Of course you’re not.” “I mean it.” “Good for you.” The sarcasm in your voice was so unfamiliar it almost made him flinch. You’d never talked to him like that before. Not as Bucky. Not as James. You’d always been soft with him, even when you were teasing. This version of you felt like a stranger. A stranger he helped create. He stepped a little closer to the counter, lowering his voice so only you could hear him.

“Please— just one minute. Outside, or — or an empty room, hell, a fuckin’ supply closet, I don’t care. I just need one minute.” You finally looked at him. Your eyes were still red-rimmed and so full of hurt that he had to fight the urge to reach across the counter and pull you into his arms right there in front of God and everyone. For a heartbeat he thought you might soften. Thought you might give in. “No,” your voice was firmerthis time. “I don’t want to talk to you.” He nodded slowly, like he was trying to absorb a language he didn’t speak. “Okay,” he said, even though it very much was not okay. “I get that you’re mad. You have every right to be mad.” “I’m not mad,” you replied, turning your attention back to the chart in front of you. The lie was obvious.

“You’re kinda trembling,” he pointed out before he could stop himself. “That happens when people don’t sleep.” The words slipped out sharper than you probably meant them to, and he latched onto them immediately. “Have you eaten anything since last night? Or— I don’t know— coffee, water, something?” The question came out softer than everything else he’d said, genuine worry breaking through the panic. You let out a disbelieving little laugh. “That’s none of your business.” “It is my business if you’re running around this place on an empty stomach and no sleep because of me.” “Since when do you get to care about that?” you shot back. The sting of it made him wince. “Since always… I just can’t stop caring about you, even if you don’t want me to.” You pressed your lips together, clearly fighting back another wave of emotion. “I don’t need you to take care of me.” Your voice did that shaky thing you were pretending it wasn’t doing. He could see the conflict on your face, the way part of you wanted to fold and the other part wanted to keep your armor on as tight as possible. You’d always worn your heart right out in the open with him. Now he was the reason you were trying to hide it. “I’m working,” you said after a beat. “I don’t have time for this.” “Then let me at least do something useful,” he was grasping at anything that would keep you from slipping completely out of reach. “Let me get you something to eat.” “I don’t want anything from you.” “You look like you’re about two seconds away from passing out.” Your glare would have been impressive if your eyes weren’t so glassy. “I am perfectly capable of getting my own food.” He hesitated, searching your face for any crack, any tiny opening he could fit himself into. There wasn’t one. Still, he wasn’t ready to give up. “Just let me do this. I just… don’t want you to keel over in the middle of a shift.” You stared at him for a long moment, clearly torn between telling him to go to hell and bursting into tears. He hated that he’d put you in that position. “Five minutes. I’ll grab something from the cafeteria and bring it back. You don’t even have to talk to me.” “I don’t want you buying me things.” “I’m not buying you things. I’m buying you breakfast. There’s a difference.” It was fucking stupid, but it was worth a try. Your mouth twitched despite yourself. That twitch, like you were fighting a smile despite the mess, gave him a spark of hope that flickered weak. For a second he caught a glimpse of the you he knew, buried under all the hurt he’d caused. It only made the guilt worse. You looked down at your hands, then away from him, then back again like you couldn’t quite decide where to put your eyes. “I don’t need you hovering,” you said finally. “I won’t hover,” he promised. “Scout’s honor.” “You were never a scout.”

“Details.” Another almost-smile that you fought hard to suppress. God, he missed you and the smile he’d imagined a thousand times. “Fine,” you muttered. “Do whatever you want.” “Okay,” he was quick to say, like you might change your mind if he gave you too much time to think about it. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” You didn’t dignify that with an answer. He took a step away, then hesitated, looking at you again. “You don’t have any allergies, right?” You let out a tired breath. “No.” “Anything you hate or don’t want to eat right now?” Yeah, he was absolutely being a pain in the ass. “I’m so not doing this with you.” “Right— right. I’ll figure it out.”

Bucky stood in the middle of the cafeteria, staring at a glass case full of pastries, feeling stupidly and embarrassingly out of his depth. The kind of out-of-depth that made him question every choice leading up to this, wondering if a simple bag of food could really patch over the disaster he'd created. He hadn’t been inside a hospital cafeteria in years, and he’d definitely never been inside one with a mission this specific. Get her food. Something she’ll actually eat. Something she won’t throw back in your face. Scanning the options once more, he racked his brain for every tiny detail you'd dropped casually, those offhand comments now feeling like lifelines he should've held tighter. You drank too much coffee and not enough water. You skipped meals when you were stressed even though you pretended you didn’t, and he'd teased you about it before, never realizing how those habits might stem from nights like last one, the kind he'd caused. “Can I help you, sir?” The interruption jolted him, pulling him from the mental list he'd been building. The woman behind the counter was looking at him with polite impatience, probably wondering why a grown man was glaring at a muffin. “Uh, yeah. I need… breakfast. To go.” She raised an eyebrow like she was saying ‘pardon me?’ “Most people do at this hour.” Right. Real smooth.

He forced himself to focus. “Something easy. Light, I guess. But also filling. And not— not too greasy.” The woman gave him a look like she’d been awake since 4 a.m. and didn’t have patience for men who couldn’t make decisions.. “So basically everything and nothing.” He ended up grabbing more than he probably needed. A bottle of juice. A yogurt with fruit on the bottom because he remembered you saying once that plain yogurt tasted like sadness. A small sandwich in case you wanted something more substantial. And a stupid little chocolate croissant that felt like a peace offering he wasn’t sure you’d accept. Definitely overcompensating. The croissant especially, recalling how you'd mentioned craving sweets during tough shifts, but now it seemed pathetic against the hurt His hands hovered over the coffee station before he decided against it. You’d had enough caffeine. What you needed was actual fuel. What you needed was sleep. And probably a world where he didn’t exist in it. At least without his lies complicating everything, leaving you to heal on your own terms. He paid, shoved everything into a paper bag, and then just… stood there. Going back to you scared the hell out of him.

This was ridiculous. He’d fought wars, survived things most people couldn’t even imagine, and here he was terrified of handing a woman a sandwich. But it wasn’t just any woman, was it? It was you. The walk back through the hospital felt longer than it should have. Every step gave him too much time to think. Too much time to replay your face from earlier. The way your voice had trembled when you’d said his name. The way you’d looked at him like he’d taken something from you that you could never get back. All because he hadn’t told the truth soon enough. He stopped a passing nurse, asked where you might be, and got pointed toward the on-call rooms down a quieter hallway. He saw you sitting on one of the couches just inside the room, head flopped back against the wall, eyes closed like you were trying to steal five minutes of peace in a place that never gave any. You looked exhausted, wrung out, like someone had reached inside you and twisted. And it gutted him, knowing your exhaustion ran deeper today because of his mess. He knocked lightly on the doorframe. Didn’t want to scare you on top of everything else. Your eyes opened immediately. The second you saw him, every bit of softness drained away. He deserved that.

“I brought food.” He held up the bag like it might count for something. “I told you I didn’t want anything.” “Yeah. I didn’t listen. You still gotta eat.” You let out a tired breath, like you were already sick of him all over again and looked away, staring at the opposite wall like it was suddenly fascinating. He stepped inside carefully, like you were a skittish animal he didn’t want to scare. He set the bag on the little table in front of you and started pulling things out one by one. “Orange juice, yogurt with the fruit you like. A sandwich if you’re hungrier than you think. And… a croissant.” You stared at the small spread like it might be a trap. “I didn’t ask for any of this. Why are you even doing it?” Because I screwed this up and I don’t know how to unscrew it. “Because you need to eat.” “I don’t need you deciding what I need, okay?” You looked like a kid sitting there with your arms crossed, and eyes fixed on the floor. He didn’t answer you, everything that might come out of him would only anger you more. “Thank you. You can go now.” Your voice was formal, as though you were dismissing him. “Please… just give me five minutes.” You laughed, but there wasn’t any humour in it. “Five minutes for what? So you can feel better about yourself?” “No… to explain.” “You already explained enough.” “No, I didn’t. I didn’t explain anything that mattered.”

You finally looked up at him again, and the raw hurt on your face almost knocked the air out of his lungs. “I still have six hours left in my shift… six hours of pretending I’m fine and doing my job and not falling apart. I don’t have the energy to do this with you right now.” “I know… I know it’s a bad time.” “It’s not just a bad time, James. It’s a long time.” He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?” “I mean even if I wanted to talk to you, which I don’t actually, I can’t just disappear for half an hour. I have responsibilities… patients. Real things that matter.”

The way you said real things that matter felt deliberate. Like you were reminding him he wasn’t one of them. “I’ll wait.” “You what?” “I’ll wait,” he repeated. “Until your shift’s over.” “Do you have any idea how long six hours is?” He almost smiled despite everything. “Six hours isn’t gonna kill me.” “No. I’m not asking you to wait around all day like some lost puppy.” “I’m not a puppy.” “You know what I mean.” He did. He just didn’t care. “I need to talk to you,” he repeated, softer this time. “I need you to hear me out. And if waiting is what it takes, then I’ll wait.” Your expression wavered for a split second. Just a crack in the mask. Just enough to let a little emotion slip through. “Why are you doing this?” you whispered.

Because I love you. The answer came uninvited, stupid dangerous and far too big to say out loud right now. “Because you matter to me,” he said instead. That’s safer. You looked away quickly, like you couldn’t fathom hearing those words. “Please stop saying things like that.” “I can’t.” “You can. You just don’t want to.” He had no argument for that. “Whatever… do what you want I guess.” Relief and dread bloomed together in his chest. “So… I can wait?” “I’m not giving you permission. I’m just too tired to fight with you about it.” You gestured toward the door. “Now please leave. I need to breathe without you standing in front of me.” The honesty of that hurt, but he respected it. “Okay, I’ll be… outside.” “Don’t hover near the station.” “I won’t.” “Don’t talk to my coworkers.” “I won’t.” “And don’t expect anything from me when this shift is over.”

That one hurt the most even though he deserved every bit of it. “I won’t,” he said anyway. You picked up the yogurt finally, peeling the lid back without looking at him. He lingered for a second longer, wanting to say a dozen different things and knowing none of them would help. “I’m glad you’re eating.” Lame excuse in trying to talk to you. “Goodbye, James.”

Message received. He backed out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him, leaning against the wall for a long breath. Six hours. Six hours of sitting with his own thoughts. Six hours of wondering if you’d walk out at the end of it and tell him to go to hell anyway. He made his way out of the hospital in a kind of daze, the automatic doors whooshing open to let him back into the bright, noisy world he suddenly didn’t care about at all. His bike waited in the parking lot where he’d left it. He sat on the curb beside it instead, and started the long business of waiting. The curb was cold under him, but it felt like the only penance he could offer for now.

Everytime the automatic doors slid open, his heart would jump. But all of them would be false alarms. Everytime it was the wrong person. Until it wasn’t. You stepped out just after dusk, with your coat wrapped tight around you. You had your bag slung across your chest and a look on your face that was pure exhaustion. For a second you just stood there at the top of the steps, closing your eyes and breathing in the freezing air, trying to remember how to be a person again. When you opened them, your eyes landed straight on him. Something crossed your face so fast he almost missed it. Surprise first. Then disbelief. Then, slowly, something softer he was too afraid to name. A kind of calmness. He straightened immediately, hands falling to his sides, trying not to look like he’d been sitting there all day thinking about nothing but you. You walked down the steps toward him, boots crunching over the thin layer of fresh snow that had started to stick to the pavement. “Hey,” he greeted you quietly when you got close.

“Hey.” Up close you looked even more tired than you had earlier. Your eyes were heavy, your mouth set in a small unhappy line. But you were here. You hadn’t slipped out a side exit. You hadn’t pretended you didn’t see him. You hadn’t called security and had him dragged off like he half expected. That had to count for something, right? “You waited.” “I told you I would.” “I didn’t think you meant it.” “I try not to say things I don’t mean.” Fuck, he really shouldn’t go act all noble now. Thankfully, you didn't call him out on it. You let out a slow breath that fogged the air between you. “Okay… talk.” Just two words that carried way too much weight. He opened his mouth. Absolutely nothing of value showed up. That was when he realized he didn’t know where to start. All the things he’d rehearsed in his head for six hours suddenly sounded stupid and thin and nowhere near enough.

“I don’t really have anything better than I’m sorry.” Your expression didn’t waver. “You already said that. It didn’t fix anything.” Snowflakes drifted down lazily around the two of you, catching in your hair and on the shoulders of your coat. He watched one land on your eyelash and melt. "I've got a lot I should say. I know I do. But you look dead on your feet and I don't—I don't wanna dump all of it on you in a parking lot.” Something in your face softened just a fraction at that. “You don’t have to worry about me.” “Yeah, I do.” You didn’t argue this time. As the wind picked up, you shivered before you could hide it. He stepped a little closer, putting himself between you and the wind without meaning to. “Let me get you a cab, it’s freezing out here.” “It’s close… I can walk.” “But… it’s snowing.” “I walk every day.” “Not when you’ve been on your feet for twelve hours and haven’t slept.” Your eyes flicked up to meet his. “I’m fine.” “You don’t look… fine.”

“That’s not your problem anymore.” There was the reminder again, that he doesn’t have any right to be here. “I could take you home,” he tried again. You glanced at his motorcycle and let out a small, tired laugh that surprised him with how normal it sounded. “You’re on a bike. It doesn’t exactly come with snow coverage.” God, he’d missed that laugh so much. It was such a tiny thing, barely even amused, but it felt like someone had cracked open a window in a room that had been sealed shut all day. He found himself smiling before he could stop it. “I’ve ridden in worse.” “I’m sure you have, but that doesn’t mean I want to freeze to death on the back of it.” “I’ve got an extra helmet.” “Helmets don’t have heaters.” “They do kinda protect you from snow if you think about it.” You looked at him for a long moment, weighing something he couldn’t see. “I don’t know, James… It’s really not that far.” “Then it’ll be quick. You — you won’t even have to touch me if you don’t want to. I’ll go slow… very slow.” He could see the conflict in your face. The part of you that was still angry. The part of you that was exhausted and just wanted to be home. “Fine… but only because my feet feel like they’re about to fall off.” He reached for the spare helmet strapped to the back of the bike and held it out to you. You took it without meeting his eyes, turning it over in your hands like you’d never worn one before. “I — uhm— need directions. You’ll have to tell me where to go.”

“Obviously.” “Obviously,” he echoed, a little smile tugging at his mouth. You rattled off the address. He memorised it like it matterd. He’d probably remember it for the rest of his life after today. As the bike rumbled to life beneath him, he waited for you to to adjust the helmet and climb on behind him. He kept his posture careful, made sure you had room. Even then, he felt you hesitate for a second. Then your hand came up and rested lightly on his shoulder. Just enough for balance. Just enough to keep yourself steady. It wasn’t even close. The weight of your fingers on his shoulder did stupid things to his brain. He knew he didn't deserve that touch. He drove exactly like he promised he would. Taking turns easy, making sure the ride was smooth enough that you didn’t have to hold on tighter than you chose to. Every now and then he felt your grip shift, the smallest squeeze when the road got uneven, and each time it sent a quiet jolt through him. You trusted him just enough to get you home. For now, that had to be enough. He tried not to think too hard about how right it felt to have you there. Tried not to let his mind wander to all the other rides he’d imagined with you before everything went to hell. “Turn left up here,” you called over the engine. “Next right.” Your apartment building came into view sooner than he wanted it to. Too soon. Way too soon. He slowed to a stop at the curb, cutting the engine so the sudden quiet felt loud. He felt your hand leave his shoulder. He missed it already. “This is me.” You climbed off carefully, handing the helmet back to him without quite looking at his face. “Thanks.” Suddenly he was aware that he was running out of reasons to stay near you. This is it. The clean ending. You go inside, he drives away, and the two of you figure out the rest of this mess some other day. Or never. Except he didn’t want it to end like that. He fumbled with the strap of his own helmet, pretending to be busy with something that didn’t actually need doing. Adjusted the mirror. Wiped imaginary snow off the handlebars. Anything to buy a few more seconds.

Just a little longer. You must have noticed because, “are you stalling?” “No,” he spoke too soon, then decided lying about this is definitely not the way to go about it, “maybe. A little.” Your mouth twitched like you were trying not to smile. “I’m literally standing in front of my building, James.” “I know.” “So… what are we doing here?” “I don’t know. I just— I didn’t want you to walk in without saying goodnight properly.” You studied him for a second, and he had the uncomfortable feeling you could see every nervous thought bouncing around in his head. “Well,” you said finally, steppinga little bit towards the door. “Goodnight.” That’s it. This is it. You’re going inside, he will probably never see you again. “Yeah… goodnight.” He forced himself to answer, the words tasted heavier in his mouth. Your boots made their way to the entrance. He told himself to put the helmet back on, start the bike, and leave before he made things worse. Instead he just sat there and watched you go. Because apparently he was incapable of doing anything the easy way when it came to you. Because this might be the last time he ever sees you. On reaching the door, you paused. For a second he thought you’d forgotten something. Then you turned back, toward him. “James.” You called him. You’ve called him. Are you going to ask him inside? His head snapped up immediately. “Yeah?” You hesitated, like you weren’t sure you believed the words you were about to say. “Do you— I don't know. Do you wanna come inside?" There’s nothing that could describe what happened to Bucky. His brain short-circuited. Inside meant your space. Your couch. Your kitchen. Fuck, your bedroom. It meant walls and the two of you without the hospital or the parking lot or the weight of strangers walking by. It also meant he could screw things up even more. “I—uh,” apparently he’d forgotten how to speak. “You — you don’t have to invite me. I mean, if you’re just … you know… being polite, you really don’t—” “Wouldn't ask if I didn't mean it,” you interrupted his train of half formed thoughts. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Yep. Okay.” He winced at himself, at his cartoonish response. You were watching him fumble with a small, tired smile on your face, and he could see the tension in your shoulders ease just a little. Seeing him nervous probably helped. He didn’t know how or why, but he was sure it did. “Wow. You’re actually flustered.”

“A little.” “That’s new.” “That’s…. that’s not new. You always have that effect on me.” The honesty slipped out before he could stop it, and for a moment he thought if you’re going to take back your invitation, let him out into the night. But to his surprise, you pushed the door open wider. “C’mon. Before we both freeze out here.” He killed the engine and followed you inside. The warmth of the building hit him all at once, making his cheeks sting. He stomped snow off his boots and trailed behind you up the stairs, trying not to think too hard about the fact he was about to see the rest of your life for the first time. He’d seen your bedroom before. On a screen. In stolen pieces.

But this was different. This was real.

Your apartment smelled like you. That was the only way he knew how to put it. The living room was small but comfortable, a couch with too many pillows, a coffee table stacked with medical journals and random pens, a plant in the corner that looked like it was barely hanging on.

It felt like you.

“Sorry it’s a mess.” You flicked on a lamp, the light illuminated enough for him to see you differently. Soft.

“It’s not.” It really wasn’t. It was lived in. Couch cushions not perfectly straight. A mug on the table. A blanket that looked like it got used instead of arranged.

He found himself glancing down the hallway without meaning to, knowing your bedroom was back there somewhere.

Don't be a creep. She let you in. Don't make it weird. Don't fucking make it worse.

“Want something to drink?” You were already heading toward the kitchen.

"No — I mean, you should change or shower or… something. Get comfortable. You've had a long day."

You paused and gave him a look. “Are you telling me I look gross?”

Surely he didn’t mean that. “"What? No. Jesus. I just meant — comfortable. Like... change clothes, relax, sit down, not look at me." Not look at me because it’s fucking terrifying, he kept that last piece to himself.

You rolled your eyes a little but there was no real heat in it. “Right. Make yourself at home, I guess.” You disappeared down the hallway.

The second you were out of sight, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Okay. Okay, you’re inside. Don’t fucking screw this up.

He wandered into the kitchen because standing in the middle of your living room like a statue felt wrong. He found the fridge mostly empty in the way of someone who worked too much and forgot to grocery shop.

Eggs. Bread. Two takeout boxes he didn't want to inspect too closely. Some veggies that had definitely seen better day.

He hesitated at first, listening for the sound of the shower or a sink running, then made a decision before he could talk himself out of it.

You had needed food earlier. You probably still did.

So he did the only thing he could think to do. He cooked. An apology without words.

It was nothing fancy. Just scrambled eggs and toast, something simple and easy to eat. Even though he’s never been in your kitchen before, he’d heard you here a hundred times before.

It felt strangely domestic. Almost like the kind of normal he’d stopped believing he’d ever get.

Soldier instincts say he should know by default when someone walks in. But Bucky didn’t hear you until you spoke, you were stopped on the doorway. “Did you… cook?”

He had never been this self-conscious. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay. You just … didn’t eat much at the hospital.”

You just stared at the plate he’d set out for you on the counter, so much he thought he should bolt. But then you smiled. A real smile that reached your eyes.

“That’s really nice.” The same quiet voice you used on late night calls.

He could feel relief flooding him. “It’s not much.”

“It’s perfect.”

Sliding onto one of the stools, you pulled the plate closer, and he just watched the way your shoulders dropped, and the soft smile still lingering on your face.

“Sit. You cooked. You have to eat too.” It wasn’t quite a statement as much as it was a command.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes you are.” You pushed a second plate toward him. “Don’t argue with me.”

He didn’t.

You ate in comfortable silence, that felt almost normal if he ignored everything that had brought you here..

“So.” You poked at your eggs, moving them around on your plate. “You wanted to talk.”

This deserved his full attention. He set his fork down. “Yeah.”

Like you were bracing for impact, you folded your hands in front of you.

“Okay. Talk.”

Taking a long breath, “I’m sorry. And I know you don't wanna hear it again. But I need to say it anyway. I lied to you. I dragged it out. I should've told you the second I figured it out."

Your eyes dropped to the table. “You made me feel stupid,” you said softly.

The words hit him harder than anything else had all day.

“I didn’t mean to. Swear I didnt.”

“But you did. I— I told you things. Real things. And the whole time you knew exactly who I was and I didn’t have a fucking clue.”

“I wanted to tell you… every time I saw you I wanted to. I just— I didn’t know how.”

“That’s not a good enough reason.” Your hands started to shake. “I trusted you,” your voice wavered, he could hear the tears creeping in now. “I trusted James. I trusted Bucky. And they were the same person and neither one of them bothered to be honest with me.”

What would he even say to that? “I screwed this up.”

“Yeah… you really did.” A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and he felt his own eyes sting in response.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said quietly.

“But you did anyway. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’m so… tired of crying.” You wiped at your face angrily. “

He reached for you without thinking, then stopped himself halfway, hands hovering uselessly in the air.

“I’m so sorry.”

You looked at him then, he could see how close you were to falling apart. No, you were already falling apart.

“I don’t know what to do with you. I hate that I missed you.” Small, broken voice.

The confession undid him. He broke you.

“I missed you too.” He hated how useless and stupid that sounded.

He stared at the plate in front of him a little too hard, like the eggs were suddenly the most complicated thing in the world.

You went still, not even picking at your food.

He knew he couldn’t keep circling around it. “I need to tell you something.”

You didn’t answer him, fair. He didn’t expect you to.

“I’m gonna be completely straight with you… about everything. No more half truths.”

You watched him carefully, like you were trying to decide what to do with it.

"The day I came into the hospital — that same day, I found your page. Total accident. I swear I wasn't looking for you. I didn't even know it was you."

“Babydoll,” he clarified softly.

Not that it needs clarification, but he saw the way your shoulders stiffened at the name.

“I didn't know it was you. Not at first. There was no way to know. You didn't show your face. Something about you was familiar, but it was just a feeling. And then the next day, I saw that bandage on your finger, and the same thing on your hand that night. Same finger. Same day. And it just… clicked.”

“So you figured it out.”

“Yeah.”

“And you kept watching.”

There was no other truth. “Yeah… I wanted to tell you though… even if not right away. I did. But I didn’t know how to say it without sounding like some creep who tracked you down.”

A small laugh that was not at all amusing escaped you. “You are a creep.”

“I am.” That was the truth.

“I hate you.”

The three words hurt him more than everything, but this was what he deserved. He deserved to be hated. By you.

“I know,” it was an admission of defeat.

He swallowed and forced himself to keep going, because stopping now would be worse. “At first I told myself I wasn’t gonna talk to you. I thought I’d just… leave it alone. Keep it separate… you know. Hospital you, online you, two very different worlds.”

You gave him a look that said that was the dumbest thing you’d ever heard.

“But then your stream cut off that night. Right in the middle of everything. And you didn’t come back on. So I freaked out.”

Your face softened just a fraction, despite yourself. Something about this man freaking out because your wifi went off, seemed to falter something in your resolve.

“I didn’t know if something had happened to you, I kept checking and refreshing. I texted you because I was genuinely scared… worried if something had happened to you. That’s all true. Then it felt like—” He stopped, searching for the right words.

“Like what?” you asked.

“Like a dream… like some ridiculous, impossible dream. You were right there. You were real, and funny, and — and kind. And you actually wanted to talk to me.”

Your eyes dropped to the table again like looking at him was hard.

“So I couldn’t stay away. Even though I knew I should have told you.”

“You could’ve.”

“I know.”

“You really really could’ve, James.”

The way you said his name this time made his chest ache. It reminded him of last night when you basically pleaded with him.

“You could’ve pulled me aside at any point and just said it… instead you let me go on and on like an idiot.”

“I was scared.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not… it’s just the truth.”

You were quiet for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. “If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have reacted the way I did last night.”

“Yes you would have,” he said before he could stop himself.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah. You would have.” The gentleness of his voice surprised even him.

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again. “Okay… yeah probably.” A tiny laugh escaped you.

“I really wanted to show myself last night. Turn on the switch and everything’s out in the open and I could be down with it.”

“Coward.” You pushed your plate away, appetite apparently gone now. “So what now?” you asked. “You’ve apologized. You’ve explained. You’ve admitted you’re a certified creep. What’s the plan, James?”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I’m here to make things right.”

Your eyebrows lifted, in surprise or challenge, he couldn’t yet figure out. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“However you want me to.” The sincerity in his voice surprised even him. “I’m serious… whatever you need. Space, time, yelling at me, never seeing me again, I’ll do it.”

Maybe the never seeing him again part was a bit much. What if you actually choose that?

“And if I tell you to disappear?”

Fuck.

“Then I disappear.” The thought made him feel sick to his stomach, but he meant it.

You studied him for a long time. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not. But you matter more than my comfort. I’m the same guy… I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I am. Everything we talked about, everything we laughed about, that was me. All of it.”

You still looked unconvinced. “Except the part where you were lying.”

“Yeah… except that part.”

You rubbed at your eyes, the tiredness creeping back in. “I don’t even know what to believe… one minute you were this sweet patient who made dumb jokes, and the next minute you were—”

“Some asshole on the internet pretending to be someone else,” he finished for you.

“I was gonna say mysterious internet guy, but sure, we can go with asshole.”

Despite everything, a small smile tugged at his mouth. “I missed this… you.”

“Don’t… get sentimental on me.”

“‘m sorry.”

Then came silence, both of you not wanting to fill it with anything.

“You really hurt me,” you spoke after a while.

He knew you wouldn’t just open your arms and let him in, but it hurt him more hearing you say that. The simplicity of the statement hit harder than any yelling could have.

“And I don’t forgive you yet.”

“I’m not asking you to.” He really really wasn’t. But he definitely hoped for it.

“I don’t even know if I can.”

Ouch.

“That’s fair.”

You stared at him like you were trying to peel him apart and see what was real underneath.

“Why did you keep talking to me?After you knew. Why not just… back off?”

He thought about lying. About making it sound noble. But you deserved better than that.

“Because I liked you. Way too much to stay away.”

“That doesn’t make it okay. You should’ve been stronger than that.”

“I should have…. but I wasn’t.”

He watched the way you twisted your fingers together on the table, nervous habit he’d noticed about you. The way your shoulders slumped now that the adrenaline was fading.

“You look dead on your feet.”

“Thanks.”

He hesitated, then spoke again. “Do you… want me to go?” The question felt dangerous. Because if you say yes, he will never have another reason, another opportunity.

You seemed to consider it. “No, not yet at least.”

Relief washed through him so strongly he almost felt like he was going to fall.

“But I might change my mind in five minutes. And I kinda want to hit you with something.”

“I’d deserve it… you totally should hit me, you know.”

A ghost of a smile bloomed on your lips. “You really don’t make this easy to stay mad at you.”

“I’m just trying real hard to not make it worse.”

“You’re doing an okay job.”

He took that as a small victory.

You carried the plates to the sink. He dried them.

Somehow you both ended up in the living room after that.

Choosing one corner, you left him no other choice but to choose the other.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded immediately. “Anything.”

You leaned your head back against the cushions, eyes on the ceiling.

“Was any of it real?” The question was quiet. It wasn’t even angry, no, it was just tired, like somehow you’d decided that it wasn’t.

He saw how small you seemed curled up there. It broke him how he’s made you doubt everything. “Of course it was real.”

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

You let out a slow breath.

“Because it was real for me… I know we never showed faces, and I know it was stupid internet stuff, but I actually… opened up to you. I talked to you about things I don’t talk about. I told you things I haven’t even told my friends. And I liked you,” you admitted, like the confession hurt coming out. “I really liked you. Not just the flirting and… the other stuff. I liked talking to you. I looked forward to it.”

He closed his eyes for a second. If he thought whatever you said before hurt the most, he was wrong. This is it.

“And now I don’t know if that makes me an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Feels like it.”

He shook his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t rewrite it like that. What we had, what we talked about, it was real for me too.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

There it was again. The question he kept tripping over. No matter how he’d explain, he’d always fall short. Because he was just s plain coward.

“I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you hating me.”

A bitter and humorless laugh leaves you. “Worked out great.” You pulled your knees up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them. “I kept replaying everything, every conversation, every joke. Every time I thought you were just being sweet. And now I don’t know which parts were genuine and which parts were you just… playing along.”

He felt that like a punch. “I wasn’t playing. Not once… It was real to me too, sweetheart.” The word slipped out, but you didn’t seem to mind, or you didn’t seem to mind enough to correct him.

Your eyes searched his face like you were trying to dig for proof.

“I was so worried about screwing this up. From the second I realized who you were. I kept thinking, don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up.” He let out a small, helpless laugh. “And then I messed it up worse than I could’ve imagined.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” you muttered.

He loved that there were still real pieces of you that came out, making him believe he could still somehow reach that part of you.

You shifted on the couch, exhaustion written all over you now. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the way your body seemed heavy with it. After a minute you spoke without looking at him. “Why are you sitting all the way over there, not even looking at me?”

Surely he must be hallucinating, “what?”

“You’re practically on the other side of the couch, like I’m contagious or something. Just because I work at the hospital doesn’t mean I’m contagious at all times you know. Also nothing spreads through eye contact. I mean, sure, there’s eye-to-hand-to-eye contact, but there’s no such thing as eye-to-eye contact.”

That brought a real smile out of him, reminding him once again of the true you, “I just didn’t want to… uhm… crowd you.”

“Or are you not looking at me because if you do you’ll get horny?” The words were blunt. Crude. Thrown out like a small grenade.

What the fuck?

Caught completely off guard, he managed to get one little word out. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He felt heat crawl up his neck. “That’s not— I’m not—”

“Because that’s what this was, right?” your voice became suddenly sharper. “Just some convenient fantasy. Doctor by day, porn girl by night. Best of both worlds.”

“Hey… that’s— that’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. It isn’t.” Firmer now.

You looked away. “I don’t even know why I said that,” you murmured after a second.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re hurting, and you don’t know what to do with it.” He shifted a little closer without really thinking about it, careful not to touch you still, just not so far away anymore. “I’m not avoiding looking at you for that… I’m avoiding looking at you because you look exhausted and sad and I know I’m the reason, and it makes me feel sick…. And I don’t want you to think I’m here for the wrong reasons, because I’m not.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Everything feels like the wrong reason right now.” You rubbed at your face with both hands. “I feel stupid.”

“Stop… saying that… please.”

“I do,” you insisted. “Because I handed pieces of myself to someone who didn’t even exist.”

“I existed… I just didn’t exist the way you thought… because I was a fucking coward.”

“Did you… did you ever laugh at me?” The question was so small it nearly broke him.

“No. Never. How could I?”

“Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“Did you ever show anyone, share that it was me?”

“No.”

“Did you save anything?”

He shook his head. “No screenshots. No recordings. Nothing.”

You studied his face like you were trying to decide whether to believe him. “I need you to be honest with me, James.”

“I am.”

“Even if it makes you look bad.”

“I swear, I am not lying now. I will never lie to you again.”

“I don’t know what to do with all of this.”

“You don’t have to decide tonight.”

“But I feel like I should.”

“You don’t,” he repeated. “You’ve had a horrible day. You’re exhausted. You don’t owe me clarity right now.”

“That’s annoyingly mature of you.” You laughed softly.

“I have my moments.”

Before long, another small silence settled in. You turned your head to look at him again. “I wish I could hate you properly. Would make things… easier.”

What could he even say to that? He nodded, accepting whatever you said, and what you are about to say .

“But I don’t,” you finished quietly.

Is this a relief? Or is this a punishment? He didn’t know. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Yeah… probably not.” Your agreement was casual but laced with that unresolved ache.

The honesty of it made him smile sadly. He hated that he was the reason you were like this.

Shifting, you pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over yourself. “I’m so tired.”

“I can go,” he offered immediately. That was the least he could do.

“No. Stay.” He knew he didn’t deserve to stay in your place, stay with you. But if this was what you wanted, he’d stay.

After what felt like seconds, he could see that you drifted off without meaning to.

One minute you were sitting there wrapped in that blanket, with heavy eyes, trying to listen to him talk, and the next your breathing went soft, uneven and your head tipped just slightly to the side.

He noticed the exact moment it happened. Your face relaxed in a way it hadn’t all night, the tension smoothing out like someone had finally turned the volume down inside you. And it made something in his chest ache, seeing how worn out you really were.

He stayed still for a few minutes, hardly breathing, like any small movement might break the fragile peace you’d fallen into. But the couch wasn’t meant for sleeping, and the blanket barely covered you, and he knew you’d wake up sore and miserable if he just left you there. He couldn’t do that to you.

He got up quietly to make your bed. Maybe he could wake you up, let you sleep there. Honestly, there was no thought process behind it, only that the couch seemed uncomfortable and you deserved to sleep in your bed at the end of this brutal day.

He moved carefully through your apartment, taking in the small details he hadn’t really had the chance to see before. The little stack of mail on the counter. A crooked photo frame on the wall. A mug left beside the sink with some faded cartoon on it.

Ordinary things. Real things. Your things.

He stepped into your bedroom with a strange, cautious feeling in his stomach, like he was crossing some invisible line even though you were the one who had allowed him here.

Your bed was exactly what he expected because he’s seen this a million times before, but this time it lacked any performance. Simple sheets, a soft comforter, a couple of mismatched pillows that looked like they’d been loved for years. The ones you use for comfort, not for show.

He started straightening the covers, smoothing them out with more care than the task really required. That was when he heard your footsteps behind him.

“What are you— Are you snooping?” Your voice was rough with sleep and suspicion.

He turned around to see you standing in the doorway, eyes narrowed at him like he’d been caught doing something terrible.

“No, Jesus, of course not. I was just—”

“Going through my stuff?” you cut in, like you were hell bent on saying something, pinning something.

“No, I was just making your bed,” his voice had gone softer.

You crossed your arms like you were protecting yourself. “Right.”

The look on your face hurt more than he wanted to admit. You knew it wasn’t true. He could see that you knew. But you said it anyway. Like you wanted to push him. Like you needed him to feel bad.

“You think I’m that much of a creep?”

“I don’t know what to think about you anymore.” He could hear the pain in your voice. It was very obvious you weren’t trying to blame him, only following your emotions. You stood there staring at him for a long moment, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“I’ll leave. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t.” The word came out sharper than he expected.

“Don’t what?” His legs were frozen in place.

“Don’t leave,” you turned away, suddenly not looking at him.

He searched your face, trying to understand the shift. “You just accused me of snooping. And… now you don’t want me to go?”

“I’m allowed to be conflicted,” you shot back.

Of course you are. You’re just human.

“I’m not snooping,” he sighed. “I just… didn’t want you to sleep on the couch, wanted to make your bed so you could sleep properly.”

You glanced past him at the neatly straightened sheets. “Oh.” Your shoulders sagged a little, finally understanding the whole situation. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. I’m being awful… and you were just trying to help.”

“You’re just hurt,” he corrected.

You didn’t argue with that or you didn’t have any energy left. He finished smoothing the comforter, folding the edge down the way he’d seen people do in movies, trying to make it look inviting instead of just functional.

When he turned back, you were still there, closer now. Too close if he was being honest.

He could see the tired redness in your eyes, the way your bottom lip was caught between your teeth. “Bed’s ready.”

“Thank you.”

“You should get some rest.”

But neither of you bothered to move. The space between you grew smaller by the second, like a single breath could tear it. You stepped forward, just to close the last bit of distance.

Before he could even process it, your arms slipped around his middle and you hugged him. It was tired, desperate and a little bit broken.

His body stilled in surprise, hands hovering awkwardly at first, not sure if he was allowed to touch you back.

Your face pressed into his chest. Before he could think better of it, you tilted your head up. He realized what you were about to do a second too late.

Your lips brushed his. It was barely a kiss. More like the idea of one.

Bucky pulled back immediately like he was shot. “Baby,” the word was barely a whisper, only that much he could manage. “Hey, no.”

Confusion painted your face as you blinked up at him, probably a little stung too. “Why not?”

He set his hands gently on your shoulders, keeping a small but firm distance. “Because this isn’t right.”

Your brows pulled further together. “Least you could do is entertain me,” you tried for a joke that didn’t quite land.

“I want to kiss you. Believe me, I do.” Getting those words out while being in such close proximity was a pain.

“Then do it.”

He shook his head. “You’re angry, and sad, and… exhausted.” He listed things that had nothing and everything to do with this.

“So?”

“So this is not how I want our first kiss to be.”

Your breath stopped, then became faster. “What does it matter?” It doesn’t mean anything anyway.” There was a tremble in your voice, he would’ve missed it if he was far.

Without thinking, he reached out, his hand landing gently on your waist. “It means everything to me. And I’m not gonna fuck this up.”

Bucky saw the anger giving away to pure, raw hurt. He saw it happen in real time, your eyes welling with tears.

“Stop saying these things… the right things.”

“I’m not trying to—”

"Yes you are. You're doing that thing. That calm voice. The one that makes me feel like I'm overreacting even when I'm not."

He realized his thumb had moved on its own and had no idea when it started. “It’s not a thing. It's just… me.”

An ugly sound left your mouth as your face crumpled. And then you did something that nearly broke him, you hit his chest. It was just a small, frustrated little fist against his shirt. But it was enough to break his heart. “I hate you.” Another weak thump. “I hate you for making me miss you.”

He made no efforts to stop you. He just stood there and took it. The least he could do.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his shirt and you hit him again, softer this time, more like you were running out of steam. “I was fine before you,” "I had a routine. I had my stupid little routine and my stupid little life and it was fine. I was fine… then you showed up and… and messed everything up.” Your shoulders shook, the fight draining out of you completely. “You ruined it, James.”

Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in.

This time you didn’t resist. You folded against him like you’d been waiting to. Your face pressed into his chest again, and he could feel the damp warmth of your tears through his shirt. “I’m so tired. I don’t wanna be sad anymore.”

His own eyes burned, chest aching in a way he didn’t have a name for. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Your fingers gripped him tight, not wanting to let go. And he didn’t.

He didn’t let go of you for a long time. Not until your breathing evened out a little and the trembling in your shoulders settled.

Eventually you pulled away first. Just enough to look up at him with tired eyes.

“I should leave,” he spoke softly, not to spook you, because it felt like the responsible thing to offer, even though every part of him hated the idea.

“No.” Your answer came too fast.

He tried again. “I… I can take the couch. You know, give you some space.”

“No.”

“Alright,” he said after a second. “I’ll take that chair over there.” He pointed at the chair by the window.

“No.”

A small helpless laugh escaped him. “Okay, then I’ll just stand here all night.”

“No.” You looked at him like the suggestion itself offended you.

He rubbed a hand over his face, unsure about what you actually wanted. “Sweetheart, you gotta help me out here.”

Instead of answering, you reached for his hand and tugged. “Bed.”

His brain went blank. Surely you didn’t mean that?

“Just… lie down with me… please.”

He’d imagined this moment a hundred times, a thousand times even, but none of them were under these circumstances.

The both of you lay there stiff as hell first, like teenagers who didn’t quite know what to do with their limbs. You were on your side facing the window, and he was on his back beside you, staring up at the ceiling and trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The room was dark, warm and filled with the soft sounds of the night. Everything that brings one to sleep.

It should have felt peaceful. It was anything but.

He decided against tossing and turning, he didn’t want to disturb you. Laying still like a statue near you, until your voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you sleeping?”

“No.”

A couple minutes went by and he figured you'd fallen asleep again.

Then the mattress shifted.

Before he could ask anything, you moved. Suddenly you were over him, knees bracketing his hips like you'd decided something without telling him.

No. No. Absolutely not.

His whole body went rigid with surprise. Apparently it didn’t get the memo about the situation, and it did exactly what a guy’s body would do, if the girl he loved straddled his crotch.

Shit.

“What— ah— what are you doing?”

There was hesitation in your eyes, but there was something else too. Something restless and raw.

You leaned down like you were about to kiss him.

Instinct took over before he could second guess it. His hands found your hips to steady you, to keep things from tipping over into something neither of you was ready for.

Gently, he rolled you off him and switched positions so he was the one hovering above you instead.

“What are you doing?” he asked again, a little more serious this time.

Your eyes searched his face. “I — I don’t know.”

“Are you checking… testing me? To see if I’m just here to get you into bed?”

Your mouth pressed into a thin line. “Maybe.”

The word stung more than he expected.

“If that’s what you think,” he tried to keep his voice steady, failing nonetheless, “then you’re wrong.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.” You turned your head away.

He climbed off you slowly, careful not to make you feel cornered, and settled beside you instead, lying on his side so you were face to face.

The distance between you felt less dangerous like this. Safer even.

“I know you’re hurting,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “And I know I’m the reason. But I’m not here for sex.”

You let out a humorless little sound. “That’s not what it looked like five minutes ago.”

He didn’t mean to get hard. It just happened. “I’m a guy with a pulse. You climb on top of me in the middle of the night… I’m not made of stone, though I wish I was. But that doesn’t change why I’m here.”

Expecting a response, he looked at you. But you stayed quiet, your gaze focused on the ceiling.

“So listen to me… and please believe me when I say this.”

Your eyes flicked back to his.

“Look- yeah. I liked your stream. I'm not gonna pretend I didn't. I'm not that noble. I loved watching you, loved seeing you confident and in control, loved that version of you. But that’s not why I stuck around.”

He took a breath before continuing. “I stayed because I loved talking to you.” The words came out simple and honest.

“I loved hearing about your day and your dumb vending machine coffee and the way you laugh at your own jokes before you even finish telling them. I loved the sound of your voice when you were half asleep. I loved that you called me out when I tried to dodge questions. That’s what mattered to me. That’s what matters to me.”

Your eyes were fixed on him, searching for any cracks.

“If it was just about seeing you on a screen, I could’ve done that with another account. I coudve stayed anonymous and kept my distance and none of this would have fuckin’ happened. But I didn’t want that. I wanted you.” The last part came out softer.

Sure, he’s just poured his heart out, amending all his mistakes, it’s normal to expect a reply. But you didn’t give him one. As time went on, he watched you blink slowly, the day finally catching up to you again.

But then you shifted closer on the pillow, studying his face in the dim light. “Are you gonna disappear if I fall asleep?”

Whatever he had expected you to say, it wasn’t this. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He reached out carefully and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, giving you plenty of time to pull back if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

He stayed exactly where he said he would, listening to your breathing slow down, hoping with everything he had that this fragile little truce was the beginning of something he hadn’t completely ruined.

Morning light crept in through the window and woke you up whether you wanted it to or not. For a few seconds you didn’t remember where you were, or why the bed felt different, or why the room smelled faintly like him instead of just you. The weight beside you registered then, pulling your focus to the man who'd turned your world upside down yet somehow made the bed feel less empty. Everything from the night before drifted back in slow pieces, unwelcome. He was still asleep. Curled toward you, one arm resting loosely across your waist, his shoulder angled in a way that almost looked protective. Like his body had decided sometime in the middle of the night that this was where it was supposed to be. The first thing you noticed was that he was warm. The second was how safe you felt without meaning to. It caught you off guard completely. You lay very still for a moment, watching him breathe. Up close like this he looked younger and softer. There were faint lines around his eyes and a tiredness to his face that hadn’t been as obvious yesterday. Dark circles, the kind that came from nights that weren’t really nights at all. He hadn’t slept much either. Your eyes traced over him slowly, taking him in without the panic and anger that had colored everything before. The slope of his nose. The stubble along his jaw that had grown in just enough to be noticeable. The way his lashes rested against his cheeks. He looked peaceful. And for the first time since all of this exploded, you let yourself think something gentle about him.

He didn’t mean to lie. The thought arrived quietly, without excuses attached to it. He didn’t wake up one day and decide to trick you. He worried too much about doing the wrong thing and ended up doing it anyway. He got scared. He hesitated. He made a mess. Your hand moved before you really planned it. Slowly, you lifted your palm and let it hover near his face, giving yourself a chance to change your mind. When you didn’t, you rested it against his cheek, fingers just barely brushing his jaw. His skin was warm under your touch. He made a small sound in his throat. That sound birthed an intense need right under your ribs.

You wanted to kiss him. The thought surprised you. You’ve felt this before with him, before all the hurt and drama, before he took your heart to pieces. But now you want to again. The realisation scared you a little. Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone almost absentmindedly, and he shifted closer without waking, like his body recognised you even in sleep. You didn't give yourself time to overthink it, you’ll probably chicken out if you did. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. It was small. Almost shy. You pulled back and watched him, expecting him to wake right away, to jump, to pull back like he had been doing all night. But he stayed where he was, breathing still even. A few seconds passed. Then his eyes fluttered open. At first he just blinked at you, unfocused and sleepy, like he wasn’t entirely sure if he was still dreaming. You saw the exact moment he realized where he was and who he was with. The moment everything came rushing back. “Oh.” His voice was laced with sleep. His gaze dropped to the way he was wrapped around you and he immediately tried to move away, pushing himself back on instinct. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” You didn’t let him finish. Your hand caught the front of his shirt before he could get far. “Don’t.”

James froze, you could see the panic already start to build behind his eyes. To ease him, you added, “I’m not mad.”

Still, he hesitated, unsure of what to do. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

He looked like he didn’t quite believe you, but he stopped trying to put distance between you.

The space felt too big anyway.

You tugged him closer again, just enough so he understood you meant it.

He watched you carefully, probably waiting for some kind of catch.

Truth is, there wasn’t one.

This time you kissed his cheek. You could feel him going very still.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Good morning to you too.”

You kissed his forehead next. Then his jaw. Each one was gentle, unhurried, like you were trying to tell him something without actually finding the words.

His face went warm under your lips.

“You’re… uh,” he started, then stopped. “You’re being very nice for someone who wanted to throw me out last night.”

A tiny laugh escaped you. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m trying not to.” He sounded flustered in a way you only heard on calls.

He looked different like this. Sleepy and confused and a little overwhelmed. Not the confident steady version you were used to. More like a boy who didn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

And he really didn’t. They hovered awkwardly between you for a second before settling carefully at your waist, like he was afraid to touch too much.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not planning to stab me, right?”

“Not today.”

“Well… that’s comforting.”

A smile broke before you could stop yourself.

You studied him for a moment, still close enough to feel his breath on your face

It felt like the both of you were trying to figure out the rules of a brand new game you’d never played before.

Clearing his throat, “just so you know, I wasn’t trying to… you know… crowd you. I move around when I sleep. I didn’t want you to wake up and think I was being weird.”

Immediately, you shook your head, “I didn’t think that.”

He watched you closely, like he was trying to figure you out maybe. “How are you feeling?”

The question was simple, but it carried a lot. That he cared, that he was not just in it for the fun.

“Better than yesterday.”

Relief flickered across his face before he could hide it, bringing a sort of warmth to you.

You let your fingers trail lightly along the collar of his shirt, just something to do with your hands, because staying still brought new thoughts into your head, ones you’d rather not have now.

“I meant what I said… about not going anywhere.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“I think so.”

He exhaled slowly, like that meant more to him than he wanted to admit. “This is just… not how I pictured any of this going.”

“You pictured waking up in my bed differently?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I — I didn’t picture waking up in your bed at all… not like this. I mean. You know what I mean.”

You did, but watching him stumble over his words was strangely comforting. “You’re blushing.”

“’m not.”

“You absolutely are… it’s kinda cute.” You laughed again, and the sound felt easier this time, less forced, reminded you of times when you used to laugh together.

His eyes fixated on you, while he let out a soft sigh. “You… confuse me.”

“How?”

“Last night you wanted to murder me. This morning you’re… kissing my face like I rescued a puppy.”

“That’s a weird comparison.”

“You get my point.”

“I’m allowed to feel more than one thing at once… and I’m still mad at you… but I’m not mad right this second.”

He nodded slowly, accepting that. You stayed close to him for a while longer, neither of you really knowing what to do with the quiet comfort that had settled between you.

Eventually you shifted a little, inching closer until your face was against his shoulder.

He hugged you back, but it was a bit awkward. A little hesitant, like he was trying to remember what he was allowed to do now and what he wasn’t. His hand rested between your shoulder blades, you could feel how cautious he was being.

It almost made you laugh.

Almost.

You could hear his breathing change, slower now, calmer, and it occurred to you that this was the first time since that night you didn’t feel like your chest was being squeezed from the inside.

“I have to get ready for my shift,” you broke the silence, even though you really didn’t want to. The words felt heavy leaving your mouth.

Nodding immediately, his hand started to release you from its touch, “okay. You go take a shower. I’ll make something to eat and then I’ll drop you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Didn’t know I signed up for a maid.”

A small crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “Baby, come on.”

Narrowing your eyes at him in mock offense, “did I tell you that you can call me baby?”

James looked at you like he’d given up, like he was sure this is it, he’s fucked up again.

“I don’t remember giving you permission.”

His face shifted from worried to confused to amused in about two seconds. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“…no.”

He reached over without thinking and tickled your side, just once. You yelped and laughed before you could stop yourself, instinctively curling into him to make him stop.

“That’s cheating,” you complained, still half laughing.

“I didn’t sign anything that said no tickling.”

To stop him from trying again, you wrapped your arms tighter around him and pressed your face against his chest. He went still, clearly not expecting that reaction, though after that, his arms settled around you properly.

Ending up nose to nose, you were close enough that you could see the little flecks of color in his eyes.

He held your gaze for a second too long and then suddenly looked away, staring somewhere over your shoulder instead.

“Are you scared of doing something to me?” The question slipped out before you had time to soften it.

“Yeah.”

“Because… you think you’ll lose control?”

He shook his head slowly, like you were ridiculous for asking him that. “No. Not that.”

“Then what?”

You could tell he’s hesitant, choosing his words carefully. “I’m terrified because this feels really good. Laying here next to you. Talking to you without everything being a mess for five minutes. And I don’t want this to turn into something I only get to remember later.”

Whatever you’d expected, this wasn’t that. This moment felt delicate, like it needed to be handled gently. But you’re really not ready for that conversation yet.

Reluctantly, you pushed yourself up on your elbow. “I really do have to get ready.”

“Yeah… adult responsibilities and all that.”

Getting out of bed felt harder than it should have. He stood up with you, stretching a little, suddenly looking big and out of place in your small bedroom.

“I’ll be quick.”

“Take your time. I’ll figure out something edible in your kitchen.”

You grabbed your things and headed toward the bathroom, glancing back once to see him already moving toward the kitchen.

The shower helped clear the rest of the sleep from your head. Hot water, familiar routine, the simple comfort of something normal. You let yourself stand under the spray longer, replaying the morning in small pieces.

It was strange how different everything felt in daylight.

By the time you finished and wrapped yourself in a towel, the apartment smelled like coffee and something cooking.

That alone made you pause.

When you walked out, he was standing at the stove looking far too serious about scrambled eggs.

“You didn’t have a lot to work with,” he called out without turning around, “so don’t expect a five star breakfast.”

“I’m impressed you found anything at all.”

“You underestimate my survival skills.”

You leaned against the counter and watched him move around your kitchen. There was something almost domestic about it, something that tugged at you in a quiet, unexpected way.

He set a plate in front of you a few minutes later. “Eat. Doctor’s orders.”

“I’m the doctor.”

“Then consider it patient’s orders.”

A loud laugh escaped you because of its ridiculousness. You sat down to do as you were told.

The food was simple, but warm and made by someone who clearly wanted to take care of you. That mattered more than anything.

Halfway through the plate you glanced up at him.

“I liked it.”

Glancing at your plate, “the eggs?” “No. Well, yes, that too. But not just that.” You poked at your food, suddenly feeling shy for no good reason. “I liked when you made me eat. When you… you know… took care of me.” The words sounded small coming out of you.

“Can I be honest?” he asked, but didn’t wait for your response. “That’s my favorite part too.”

“Not my stripping?” You raised an eyebrow, because that surprised you.

A slow grin spread across his face. “You do a terrific job, don’t get me wrong.”

“But?”

“But no.”

“Not even when I jerked off for you?”

His cheeks went pink in an instant. “No,” he admitted anyway.

You laughed at the reaction. “Wow. That’s a hit to the ego.”

“It shouldn’t be.” He leaned back in his chair, searching for the right way to say it. “I liked all of that. Obviously. But the part I looked forward to the most was after. When you’d ask me to talk about my day, and I’d ramble on about stupid stuff, and you’d fall asleep while I was still talking.”

You stopped chewing for a second. “That… that’s your favorite part?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Not exactly sexy.” He shrugged. “Didn’t have to be.”

Something warm and uncomfortable and hopeful settled inside you all at once.

The two of you finished breakfast slowly, filling the space with small, ordinary conversation. Work schedules, bad hospital coffee, how little sleep either of you had gotten. Nothing earth shattering, but it felt important anyway.

When you finally stood up to get dressed, he cleared the plates without being asked. “Ready whenever you are,” he called out.

You got changed, grabbed your bag, and met him by the door.

He held your coat out for you without thinking, and you slipped into it with a small smile. This felt natural, like it was meant to be.

“You really are leaning into this whole caretaker role,” you teased.

“Figured I’d start building up some good karma.”

The ride to the hospital was quiet. Not the tense silence from before, just two tired people sharing space. He drove carefully, like he was more aware of you than the road half the time.

When he pulled up in front of the building, he turned toward you.

“You sure you’re okay going in today?”

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“Text me if it gets rough.”

He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how.

“Thank you… for everything this morning.”

“Anytime.”

You reached for the door handle, then paused.

“You’re still gonna be around later, right?” Your voice was shakier than you meant it to.

You scanned his eyes for any emotion, anything, mainly hesitation, but you didn’t find it. “Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.”

The rest of your shift dragged in that slow, heavy way work only drags when you are waiting for something.

Everytime the automatic doors slid open you glanced up without meaning to, expecting to see him leaning against the wall with that nervous, hopeful look on his face.

He’d said he’d wait, not come barge inside the hospital. But that didn’t stop you from hoping and disappointing yourself.

By noon you had convinced yourself you were being ridiculous. By three you had convinced yourself you were being delusional.

By the time your shift finally ended and you walked out into the cold evening air, you had convinced yourself of something worse.

He wasn’t there.

You just stood on the steps outside the hospital, letting the doors hiss shut behind you, feeling a small foolish knot form in your stomach.

Of course he wouldn’t be there. He had his own life, probably realized babysitting you wasn't as fun as it seemed at the moment.

Besides, he’d already done enough. He had driven you in, made you breakfast, stayed all morning. You hadn’t actually asked him to wait.

See you around later don’t really mean that he’d be waiting by the door.

Expecting it now felt childish, like believing in promises that were never really spoken.

Still, you looked anyway.

Your eyes scanned the sidewalk. But nothing. No tall familiar shape. No leather jacket. No slightly anxious smile.

You told yourself not to care. You didn’t listen. Listening would mean admitting how much you'd let him in already, how the absence gnawed like hunger.

That’s when you saw the bike.

Parked exactly where he had left it that morning.

Your chest did a strange confused flip. Relief and irritation mixed together. He was here, but he wasn’t here?

A tiny stubborn voice in your head whispered that maybe he had gotten tired of waiting after all. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe all the careful gentleness of the morning had worn off in the daylight. But who would leave their motorcycle behind?

You stood there for another minute, pretending to check your phone while the thoughts went in unhelpful circles.

Finally you sighed and did something you hadn’t planned on doing. You unblocked him.

Feeling a little pathetic, your thumb hovered for a moment, but you called him anyway.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you tried to sound casual, not at all suspicious, not at all missing him. “Where are you?”

There was a pause and a little rustling. “Turn around.”

Across the street, stepping out of the small café on the corner, he appeared holding a paper bag in one hand and two cups in the other. He lifted the phone slightly in a small wave.

“I’m right here,” he said into the line. “Sorry. It got a little cold out there.”

Deciding to walk toward him, “Were you just here all day?” you asked once you were close enough.

“Not all day. I went back home for a bit, showered, changed clothes, and then I came back with lunch.”

Lunch? For you? The idea bloomed within a moment, because no one's ever thought that far ahead for your sake.

“But when I got here you were already eating in the cafeteria with some other interns. You looked kinda busy… so I didn’t want to interrupt,” he smiled sheepishly, like he was the one that did something untoward.

“So you just… stayed?”

“Yeah.” Like it’s the most obvious thing.

“James.”

He gave you another sheepish smile. “I didn’t really have anywhere better to be.”

A strange warm ache spread through your chest. “So you waited outside the hospital for hours?”

“Not exactly,” he suddenly looked a little embarrassed. “I ate the lunch I brought for you, then I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I sort of just… hung around. And then it got cold, like I said, so I went in there for coffee.”

He held out one of the cups toward you. “Got you something too.”

The expression on his face was almost painfully hopeful.

“Oh, James,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He shrugged again, clearly unsure how to react. “It’s just coffee and a scone. Nothing dramatic.”

Nobody has ever done something like this for you before, the realization hit you harder than you expected.

Without thinking much about it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

He went still for half a second, surprised at your sudden affection, then relaxed into the hug like he had been waiting for permission all day.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you murmured against him.

“I — I wanted to.”

The simplicity of that answer made tears well up. You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Can we go home?”

You could see relief on his face. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

The ride back today felt different from the one yesterday. You held onto him a little more easily, not worrying so much about where your hands were supposed to go. He drove slower than necessary, like he was stretching the minutes on purpose.

By the time you reached your apartment you felt tired in a good way, the kind of tired that came after a long honest day instead of the exhausting kind that came from crying.

Dropping your bag by the door, you kicked off your shoes. “I have a show tonight,” you casually told him, shrugging out of your coat. “If you want, you can watch from here.” The words felt bold the second they left your mouth.

He froze halfway through setting the coffee on the counter. Just by staring at his face, you couldn’t decipher his thoughts.

“No. I’ll leave.”

But this, you hadn’t expected at all.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think you’ll be comfortable doing that with me sitting in the other room.”

You studied his face, trying to figure out if he was being noble or just scared.

“Who said you’d be in the other room?”

If eyes could spontaneously fall out of orbits, you’d think James’ would’ve done that this second. “What— I mean — what do you — uhm — mean? By … uh… that?”

Do all grown men get this flustered? You didn’t hide the smile on your face. “That you’d be in the same room?”

You don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t this. He stood there like a frozen statue, mouth half open in a small ‘o’, and it didn’t look like he was going to speak any soon, “okay,” you said after a moment. “Then I’ll cancel the stream. We can do something together instead.”

Finally, he seemed to gain back his composure, he shook his head. “No, you don’t have to change your plans for me. I’m already bothering you enough. You go on with your night and I’ll come by tomorrow.”

The idea of him walking out the door right now made your stomach twist.

“Oh, you’re cumming tonight,” you said before thinking it through.

His eyes widened and a deep blush crept up his neck. “Baby, please,” he muttered, a soft laugh slipping through.

You couldn’t help smiling at the reaction. Teasing him felt easier than admitting what you actually wanted to say.

Then you took a breath and said it anyway. “I like you, James. Or Bucky. Or whoever you are when you’re not confusing the hell out of me.”

He went quiet, really quiet, like he was trying to make sure he heard you correctly. “I don’t care if I’m James or Bucky. I’m just… yours. If you want me.”

The room felt suddenly much smaller.

Looking at him, you saw tired eyes and nervous hands twisting together, you realized something very simple and very frightening.

You did want him. You wanted the complicated, slightly awkward man standing in your kitchen who had waited a whole afternoon, just to see you walk out of a shift.

“I want you to stay.”

He didn’t do anything except nod.

“So,” you lifted the coffee he had brought you, “what exactly did you get me?”

“Vanilla latte. Extra hot. And a scone that the lady at the counter swore would change your life.”

“High expectations for baked goods.”

“I believe in small miracles.”

He leaned against the counter while you took a sip, watching you carefully like your opinion on the coffee was somehow very important.

“It’s good.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction.

The two of you settled, talking about nothing in particular for a while. Work stories. Bad patients. The ridiculous price of hospital parking. Ordinary things that filled up space in a gentle, easy way.

At some point he rolled up his sleeves to help you put away a few dishes you had left in the sink. You protested out of habit and he ignored you out of stubbornness. The domestic normalcy of it all made you feel oddly shy.

“So what do you actually want to do tonight?” he asked after a bit.

“I don’t know. I didn’t really plan past surviving the day. We could just… exist.”

He smiled at that. “Existing together sounds nice.”

You sat on the couch and he sat beside you, not too close but close enough. The television stayed off. The room stayed quiet. It felt like learning each other in small manageable pieces.

After a while he glanced at you.

“Are you really okay cancelling the stream?”

“Yeah. I don’t feel like pretending tonight.”

“That’s fair.”

You turned toward him a little more. “And I don’t feel like hiding you.”

Because finally, it felt like maybe the two of you were finally standing on the same side of the mess instead of opposite ends.

He was nervous again, you could tell. The careful kind of nervous, where he was afraid to say the wrong thing and tip the balance.

The two of you had spent so much time talking about the big heavy stuff that now the small things felt strangely intimate.

You watched him. He looked tired again, but he looked real.

Not like the confident voice you had imagined through a screen. Not like the stranger from the hospital hallway. Just a man sitting on your couch, holding a cup of coffee, hoping he hadn’t messed things up beyond repair.

“Thank you for staying.”

His face softened. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I do… nobody really… does that for me.”

He shifted closer without thinking about it, the space between you shrinking little by little in that natural, unspoken way.

“I want to be the person who does.”

You looked down at your hands, suddenly unsure where to put them, what to do with all the feelings that had been building for days.

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we okay?” You don’t know why you asked him that, especially because you were the one who should be making the decision.

He didn’t answer right away. He reached over instead, carefully taking the cup from your hands and setting it on the table beside his.

Then he turned back to you.

“We’ll get there… if you want us to.”

“I do.”

That was the moment something shifted. Just a quiet turning point, like two people finally stepping onto the same page at the same time.

He brushed a strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

You leaned into him without hesitation, fitting yourself against his side, your head resting on his shoulder. His arm came around you easily, like it belonged there.

He called you by your name for the first time ever, as he turned to properly look at you, “I’m scared of this, of whatever this is… I don’t want to ruin this again… not hurt you even by accident.”

“You won’t.” You surprised yourself with how sure you sounded.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re trying.”

He went quiet at that. He searched your face for a long moment, making sure you meant it. You did.

Reaching up, you touched his cheek, the same way you had that morning when he was half asleep. This time his eyes were open, watching you, waiting.

“I’m not angry anymore.” He could feel your words more than he could hear them.

“I know.”

“And I’m not doing this to test you.”

“Do… what?”

Your thumb brushed along his jaw and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch.

“This.” You leaned forward to meet his lips with yours, initiating the thing you’d long wanted.

When he kissed you back, it was slow and full of everything the two of you had been trying to say all day. An apology and a promise wrapped up in one simple act.

You kissed him back without holding anything in reserve.

His lips moved against yours like he'd been holding back a storm, and now that the dam had cracked, there was no containing it.

The kiss had started soft, almost careful, his mouth still tentative as if he were testing, afraid one wrong step might send everything crumbling again. But you pressed closer, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt at his chest, that seemed to unravel him just a little.

You could feel the shift in him, the way his hand at your waist tightened just fractionally, fingers splaying wide like he needed to remind himself you were real and here and not mad at him.

His other hand came up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw in a stroke that was so gentle, contrasting the growing hunger in how his lips parted yours.

God, this was him. Your James. The one you’d longed to see. Not the voice through a phone or the shadow across a screen, but flesh and breath against you.

The realization chased away the last lingering chill of yesterday's anger, leaving only this raw, aching want that had been simmering under everything else.

You wanted to drown in it, in him.

He broke the kiss first, but only barely, his forehead resting against yours as he dragged in a breath that fanned warm across your mouth.

Dark eyes met yours, when he pulled back just enough to look at you, a flush creeping up to his cheek.

"What?" Your hand stayed fisted in his shirt, not quite ready to let go, because if you did, maybe this fragile thing between you would slip away again.

Part of you still waited for the catch, the moment he'd pull back and remind you both of the mess, but he didn't. Instead, he just looked at you, like he was memorizing the way your mouth looked swollen from his, the way your breath came a little faster now.

"You're — Jesus, you're … perfect." Another low groan escaped him as you shifted closer, your thigh brushing his, feeling the hard line of him pressing insistently against the fabric of his jeans, unmistakable where it nudged your hip.

It sent a fresh wave of heat curling through you, making your core clench with a need that surprised you with how immediate it was, how it basically drowned out everything else.

He noticed you noticing, his body going tense under your hand like he'd been caught, a deeper flush staining his cheeks. "Sorry, I— shit, I didn't mean to—"

You cut him off with a small laugh that bubbled up unbidden, teasing despite the way your pulse raced. "Don't apologize for that." Your fingers loosened in his shirt just enough to trail down, brushing the edge of his belt buckle in a graze that made his breath hitch audibly.

He was so responsive like this, all that careful restraint from earlier cracking under the simplest touch, it chased away the last shadows of doubt.

You'd spent so long feeling exposed, vulnerable in ways that left you raw, but right now, with him flushing under your fingertips, it felt like power, like you could take back a piece of what he'd accidentally stolen.

His hand caught yours gently, holding it there, thumb tracing circles over your knuckles as he let out a shaky exhale. His eyes flicked down to your mouth, lingering there, and you could see the war in him.

The want was clear as day in the way his hips shifted almost imperceptibly toward you, but the hesitation still clung to him, like he was afraid one wrong move would shatter this.

Leaning in, you nipped lightly at his lower lip before soothing it with a slow drag of your tongue. Your free hand found its way to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the short hairs there, tugging just enough to tilt his head back to expose the line of his throat.

Pressing your lips there, you tasted the salt of his skin, feeling the way his Adam's apple bobbed under your mouth as he swallowed hard, another proof that this affects him much like it affects you.

"God, baby." The nickname slipped out, his hand sliding from your wrist to your hip, gripping just tight enough to bunch the fabric of your shirt.

You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, the way his body tensed and released in waves, like he was fighting not to pull you flush against him.

It made your thighs press together, the ache building sharper now, a steady throb that had you rocking forward without thinking, grinding lightly against the hard length of him.

Hissing through hiss teeth, his head fell back against the couch cushions, eyes squeezing shut for a beat. "If you keep — keep doing that, I'm not gonna be able to think straight, or last much longer, fuck —"

"Who said it was a problem?" The words came out bolder than you felt, laced with that teasing lilt you'd used on streams a lifetime ago, but this was different, it was real. Because it was just for him.

He turned his head, capturing your mouth again in a kiss that was less gentle this time, more insistent, his tongue sweeping in deep, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

Matching him, you let your teeth graze his lip, drawing another of those low, guttural sounds that made you clench tighter, gathering slick between your thighs.

His hand slid up your side under your shirt, palm against the bare skin of your ribs, stopping just short of your breast like he was waiting for permission. It made you want to push him further, to see how far that restraint would hold before it snapped.

"James... can we go to the bed?"

You felt him go still beneath you, his hand pausing its slow circles on your hip. He shifted you effortlessly in his arms, one arm banding secure around your waist as he stood, lifting you with him in a fluid motion that had your legs wrapping around his hips.

A surprised laugh escaped you as he carried you toward the bedroom, his steps steady despite the way his breath came ragged against your neck.

"Careful.” There was a smile in his voice as he nudged the door open with his shoulder. "You're gonna make me drop you if you keep laughing like that."

His free hand braced against the doorframe for a second, steadying you both. You could feel the tremor in his arms, the effort it took to hold back, to not just press you against the wall and take what he'd been denying himself all night. Take you.

"You won't." You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, lips brushing the carotid. "You're too strong for that." The words were teasing, but there was truth in them too, a quiet awe at the way he held you, careful and sure.

He lowered you onto the bed like you were glass, following you down without breaking contact, his body settling over yours in a way that pinned you gently, thighs bracketing yours, forearms braced on either side of your head.

The mattress dipped under his weight, and you arched up, chasing the friction that sent sparks skittering through your veins.

He didn't grind down like you expected. Instead, he hovered there. "God, look at you," he breathed, his hand coming up to trace the line of your collarbone with his thumb.

His touch was feather light, exploratory, like he was relearning every inch of you now that he could see it all, touch it all without the barrier of a screen.

"James..." It came out as a whine, needy and and his eyes flicked up to meet yours, darkening further at the sound.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, trailing down the column of your throat, lips parting to let his tongue flick out against your pulse there.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, the words vibrating through you as he nipped at the hollow of your throat, then lower, shoving your shirt up with one hand to expose the soft plane of your stomach.

His lips followed, open-mouthed kisses scattered across your ribs, tongue dipping into your navel in a way that pulled a startled laugh from you, quickly dissolving into a moan as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and tugged them down inch by inch.

The cool air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of his breath ghosting over your hipbone, his teeth scraping lightly there.

Every touch felt like worship, like he was mapping you out with his mouth, committing to memory the way your body responded.

He was everywhere all at once, hands sliding up your sides to push your shirt higher, exposing your breasts to the air, thumbs brushing the undersides in slow circles that had your nipples peaking tight and aching.

"Fuck," he groaned, voice muffled as he ducked his head to take one into his mouth, tongue swirling around the peak while his hand cupped the other, rolling it gently between his fingers until you were panting, hips canting up toward nothing.

The sounds you made mingled with his low hums of approval, the wet slide of his mouth as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, sucking until you were sure he'd leave bruises blooming under your skin, marks that would remind you of this tomorrow, of him.

Your hands found his hair, tugging at the strands, and he groaned against you, making you slicker, needier, the empty ache inside you throbbing with every flick of his tongue. "Please, James" you whispered, not even sure what you were begging for, just knowing you needed more, needed him to fill the space he'd hollowed out in you with all those careful, devastating touches.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, lips shiny and swollen, eyes nearly black with want as he took in the sight of you. Your shirt was rucked up to your neck, pants tangled around your ankles, skin marked from his mouth.

"Tell me what you need.” One of his hand slid down to hook into your panties, tugging them aside to let his fingers brush through the wetness there.

You keened at the contact, hips bucking up, and he pressed a kiss to your sternum, then lower, trailing down your stomach as he worked the fabric down your legs. "Tell me, baby. I'll give you anything."

"You," you managed, the word a moan as he settled between your thighs, shoulders nudging them wider, his breath hot against your core. "Your mouth... please, James."

It felt vulnerable saying it like that, exposed in a way that went beyond the physical, but the way his eyes softened even as they darkened made it worth it, made you feel seen in the best possible way.

He didn't make you wait. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then higher, lips brushing the edge of your folds before his tongue flicked out, licking a fat stripe up your center, a choked cry spilling from your lips.

"Oh god," you gasped, fingers flying back to his hair, holding him there as he groaned into you, the sound muffled and desperate.

He was starving for it, you could tell in the way he devoured you, tongue delving deep to taste you fully, lapping at your entrance before circling your clit with precise, devastating strokes that had your legs trembling around his head.

Every flick, every suck sent sparks, building that coil tighter and tighter until you were rocking against his mouth, chasing the pressure, the heat.

His nose nudged your clit as he thrust his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in shallow, greedy strokes that had you babbling nonsense, pleas and his name entwined together on your tongue.

"James— fuck, right there, don't stop—" One hand left your thigh to slide up, two fingers pressing in alongside his tongue, curling just right to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids, and you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like a wave, your walls clenching around his fingers as you cried out.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it, your whole body shaking as he worked you through it, not stopping until you were gasping at the oversensitivity.

He pulled back slowly, lips glistening with you, eyes locked on yours as he licked his fingers clean with a groan that bordered on paine. "Taste so fucking good." He pressed a kiss to your hip that had you twitching.

His mouth trailed back up, worshipping every inch he'd just ravaged. Kisses were scattered across your stomach, nipping at the underside of your breast, sucking gently at your nipple until you whimpered, still too sensitive.

He murmured praises against your skin, words half lost in the haze of your afterglow. By the time his lips found yours again, you were arching into him, hands roaming under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his back.

When you kissed him, you taste yourself on his tongue, the tang of it filthy and intimate, making you clench around nothing.

"Your turn," you whispered against his mouth, pushing at his shoulders until he let you roll him onto his back, straddling his hips in one fluid motion.

He went willingly, hands settling at your waist, but his face was a deep, burning red, spreading from his cheeks down his neck, eyes wide and dark as you rocked against the hard ridge of him straining against his jeans.

"Look at you." You leaned down to nip at his earlobe. "All flushed and pretty. Bet you'd cum in your pants if I kept going like this."

A strangled laugh escaped him, his hands flexing on your hips like he wasn't sure if he wanted to pull you closer or hold you still. "Don't— fuck, don't say that."

Once again there was no real protest in it, just raw want, his hips jerking up once before he caught himself, breath coming in short pants.

You could feel how wet you still were, slicking his jeans as you ground down, the friction pulling a moan from you that had his eyes rolling back for a second, grip tightening enough to bruise in the best way.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head in a slow reveal that let you take in the broad expanse of his chest, the faint scars scattered like stories you wanted to learn, the way his muscles shifted under your palms as you traced them.

He helped you, as he tossed it aside, and then you were working at his belt, the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet room, your fingers brushing the hot skin of his abdomen.

"Lift." He obeyed, hips coming up so you could shove them down, boxers following, until his cock sprang free. Thick and flushed a deep, angry red, the head glistened with precum that beaded at the tip and dripped down the shaft.

"Fuck." You wrapped your hand around him loosely, feeling the velvet heat of him twitch in your grip, a bead of precum slicking your palm as you stroked once.

He bucked into it, a choked groan tearing from his throat, head falling back against the pillows with his eyes squeezed shut. You could feel the tension coiling in him, the way he was holding back by a thread, and it thrilled you, that power, the knowledge that you could unravel him just like he'd done to you minutes ago.

"So pretty," you pressed a soft kiss to the tip, tongue flicking out to lap at the salt of him, drawing another ragged sound from deep in his chest.

“The photos never did him justice, James.” You placed another wet kiss to the underside, the veins ridging your tongue. He groaned beneath you, probably from you referring to his cock as ‘him’, probably from you calling him pretty. Definitely.

His hand found your hair, tangling gently, like he needed the connection as much as the sensation.

"Baby— please," he rasped, voice breaking on the word, hips stuttering up toward your mouth. "Gotta be inside you. Can't— fuck, need to feel you."

He flipped you in a blur of motion, suddenly above you.

Settling between your legs, his cock nudged against your inner thigh as he braced himself over you, forearms caging you in without trapping.

"James—" It came out a moan as you hooked a leg around his hip, pulling him closer, feeling the broad head of him slide through your folds, slicking himself in your wetness with a drag that had you both shuddering.

He did it again, just rubbing up and down, the thick length of him catching on your clit with every pass until you were whining into his mouth, hips canting up to chase the friction.

With a low growl, he tapped the head right against that bundle of nerves, the wet smack of it obscene and filthy, sending jolts of pleasure sharp enough to make your toes curl.

"Fuck.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving half-moon marks that he'd probably find later, and trace with a quiet sort of pride.

He looked wrecked above you, hair falling into his eyes, lips parted on ragged breaths, that flush still burning across his skin like he was running a fever just from touching you.

But then his expression shifted, something like realization cutting through the haze, and he stilled, cock still pressed hot against your clit, hips grinding shallow little circles that kept the pressure there but didn't give you what you both wanted.

"Shit… don't have a fuckin’ condom." The curse was a groan as he dropped his forehead to yours, breath coming in short, frustrated bursts.

He didn't pull away though, couldn't seem to, his hips keeping up that lazy humping rhythm, sliding through your folds in slick, teasing drags that had you biting your lip to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out.

The head caught your entrance on one pass, nudging just inside before slipping free again, and you both moaned at the almost-there of it, his grip on your hip tightening like he was using every ounce of willpower not to thrust home.

"I'm clean." The words tumbled out before you could second guess them, your hand sliding down to wrap around him, guiding him back to your entrance with a slow stroke that made him tremble above you. "On the pill too... it's okay."

He lifted his head, eyes searching yours in the dim light, that careful, hesitant part of him flaring up even now, like he needed to be sure, needed to know you meant it. "Baby, I— haven't had sex in... decades. Like, actual decades. Hydra perks. Get tested anyway, I’m clean too, but... you sure? Don't wanna—"

A laugh bubbled up from you, cutting through the tension, because of course he'd say something like that, turn a moment this charged into something so achingly him. He’d be worried and sweet even when his cock was leaking against your folds.

It eased the last knot in your chest, made everything feel lighter, realer, and you pulled him down by the back of his neck, sealing your mouth over his in a kiss that was all reassurance, all yes, tongue sweeping in to tangle with his, swallowing the little relieved noise he made.

He kissed you back like he was drowning in it, one hand cradling the side of your face while the other guided himself lower, rubbing the broad head through your folds again, coating himself in you until you were both slick.

His thumb found your clit on the next pass, circling, the pressure building that coil again, had you breaking the kiss to gasp against his lips. "James— please, now—"

With a final, teasing rub that had you keening, he notched himself at your entrance and pushed in, slow at first, stretching you open inch by thick inch until you felt impossibly full, the burn of it perfect and overwhelming, your walls fluttering around him like they were made for this, for him.

"So — fuck, so tight," his voice was muffled against your shoulder as he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, holding there for a beat while you both adjusted, breaths mingling in short, shared pants.

You could feel every twitch of him inside you, the way he throbbed, filling you in a way that pressed against every sensitive spot.

"Move," you whispered, nails scraping down his back in encouragement, and he obeyed, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the drag of him pulling a moan from you that he caught with his mouth, kissing you through it like he needed to taste every sound.

The rhythm built gradually, his hips rolling in steady, unhurried snaps that hit just right, grinding against your clit with every forward motion, your legs tightening around his waist to pull him impossibly closer.

You kissed him messy, tongues sliding together in time with his thrusts, breaking only for air, for half formed words— "Harder," and he obliged, pace quickening just enough to make the headboard tap faintly against the wall, the wet slide of him in and out filling the room with that intimate rhythm.

He was so big, stretching you to the point of ache and bliss in equal measure, every vein and ridge dragging against your walls in a way that had you clenching around him.

God he felt perfect like this, solid, warm and yours, the way his body moved over you, like he was controlled but fraying, sweat beading at his temples, dripping down to mingle with yours.

Everywhere, you felt him, the press of his chest against your breasts, the flex of his ass under your heels where you'd hooked your ankles, the way he whispered your name between kisses, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, your mouth again and again. And again.

The coil wound tighter with every thrust, every grind, until you were right there, teetering on that edge, his hand slipping between you to circle your clit in quick, desperate strokes. "Cum for me," he rasped, hips snapping harder now, as your walls started to flutter around him. "Wanna feel you— fuck, baby, cum on my cock."

It tipped you over, pleasure exploding, ripping a cry from your throat as you clenched down hard, milking him through it, your whole body seizing in waves that left you shaking, tears slipping down your temples.

He followed right after, burying himself deep with a guttural moan that muffled against your neck, spilling inside you, pulse after pulse that you could feel flooding you full.

His rhythm stuttered, hips grinding erratic as he rode it out, breath uneven against your skin, until he finally stilled, collapsing half onto you, close enough that you could feel every ragged inhale, the damp press of his forehead to your shoulder.

You could feel the warmth of him leaking out of you, sticky where it trickled down your thigh, and without thinking, your hand drifted lower, fingers dipping into the mess, coming away glistening with the mix of your release.

He lifted his head just enough to watch, eyes going hooded again as you brought them to your mouth, tongue darting out to taste the salt and tang of him mingled with your own sweetness, a soft, satisfied hum escaping as you licked them clean.

A curse slipped from him as he dropped his forehead back to your shoulder, body shuddering once like the aftershock of it hit him all over again.

His weight settled heavier against, like he needed the press of your body to steady him, his cock twitching inside where he was buried deep.

You could feel every bit of it. The slick fullness of him that stretched you still, the way your walls fluttered lazily around him, holding him close like your body wasn't quite ready to let go.

It was intimate in a way that went beyond the rawness of what you'd just done, this quiet aftermath where breaths mingled and skin stuck damp to skin, and part of you marveled at how right it felt, how his presence filled not just the space between your thighs but something hollower in your chest that had been aching since the moment everything shattered.

One of his hands drifted up from your hip, fingers tracing the curve of your side before finding the soft swell of your breast, cupping it gently at first, thumb brushing over your nipple in a lazy circle that made you hum, oversensitive but craving more all the same.

He pinched light enough to tease but firm enough to pull a gasp from you, rolling the peak between his fingers before releasing it, watching the way it pebbled tighter under his touch, begging for attention.

"These," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the valley between them, his breath warm against the damp skin there. "God, in real life... they're even better. So soft, so perfect. Streams never showed 'em like this — couldn't capture how they feel under my hands."

The words washed over you, warmth spreading to your neck that had nothing to do with the heat still simmering low in your belly.

You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze where he hovered above you, that post-orgasm haze making him look almost vulnerable.

It stirred something in you, a flicker of that old doubt creeping back in despite the way your body still sang from him, the way he'd just poured himself into you like it was the only place he wanted to be.

What if this was it, the peak, the moment he got what he'd been chasing through all those late-night calls and stolen glances? What if now that the fantasy had flesh and sex, he'd pull away, leaving you to wake up tomorrow with nothing but the ache of remembering?

"James." You lifted your hand to to trace the line of his jaw, feeling the faint prickle of stubble under your fingertips. "Now that you've... got a taste, you gonna just... go? Disappear again, now that it's real?"

He stilled above you, fingers pausing their lazy play at your breast, thumb hovering just over your nipple like he'd been caught mid-thought.

His expression shifted, something raw flickered behind his eyes, gone so quick you might've imagined it if not for the way his grip tightened fractionally on your hip.

Instead of words, though, he ducked his head, lips finding the curve of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses there that started soft, almost apologetic, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt on your skin.

You felt the scrape of his teeth next, sucking in a slow pull that had your breath catching, a quiet moan slipping free.

"James," you tried again, half laughing through the whine building in your throat, your fingers threading into his hair to tug lightly, to remind him you were waiting, needing the answer more than the distraction. "Answer me... please. Don't just... hide like that."

His mouth paused, hovering warm against the fresh mark he'd left, the skin there tingling where his breath ghosted over it, already darkening under the faint throb of blood rushing to the surface.

Lifting his head slowly, his eyes met yours with that steady intensity, like he was seeing straight through to the scared little knot you'd tried to bury under the teasing.

Then his hand moved again, fingers returning to your breast, pinching your nipple a touch harder this time, rolling it with a twist that pulled a sharper gasp from you, sparks shot straight down to where he was still nestled deep inside, softening.

"I'm right here, talking about how goddamn beautiful you look right now.” His thumb soothed the sting with soft circles even as his eyes traced the way your breasts rose and fell with each quick breath.

"All marked and wrecked from me, and you're asking if one taste is enough? Like I'd walk away after this?" The pinch came again, harder now, drawing another whine from you, your hips shifting restlessly under him, feeling the slick mess of him leaking out where you were joined.

He knew exactly how to play you like this, turning your doubt into something molten and distracting, but the ache in your chest wouldn't quite let go, that nagging whisper wondering if he'd still be here come morning, if the tenderness in his touch was as real as it felt or just the afterglow talking.

You rocked up against him once, feeling him twitch inside you, still half hard and sensitive. The way his breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut for a beat, made you bold enough to push. "Feels like you're avoiding the question," your voice was breathy but laced with that teasing edge you'd always fallen back on when things got too heavy.

Sliding his hand between your legs, his palm came down on your clit again and again in quick, greedy bursts, the sharp little shocks making your thighs tremble while he kept you pinned on his cock.

"If I could stay buried inside you all day— fuck, I would. Wouldn't move an inch, just... feel you like this, warm , fuckin’ tight and mine." You could see the way his throat worked, like he was handing you a piece of himself he wasn't sure you'd keep, but it was harder to focus on his words when he’d just smacked the most intimate part of you, making you want to climb the crest once again.

As the heat of it pooled low again, the part of you that hates feeling adrift, that needs the solid ground of answers to keep from spiraling, surfaced yet again, impulsive and final.

You twisted your hips suddenly, pulling off him with a wet slide that left you both gasping, the sudden emptiness making you whine as his cum oozed out, trickling down your folds to pool sticky against your ass.

"Okay, now that you're not buried inside me, tell me. For real this time. You gonna stick around, or was this... enough?" You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching the way his eyes followed the mess, darkening with something hungry and conflicted.

He just stared at you for a beat, cock lying heavy and spent against his thigh, still glistening with you both. Then, with a grown, he shifted forward, hands finding your breasts again, thumbs circling your nipples in slow drags that had you arching despite yourself, a moan catching in your throat before you could bite it back.

"Enough?" he echoed, leaning down to kiss the swell of one breast, lips parting to let his tongue flick over the peak, sucking gently until you were trembling, hips lifting off the bed like your body had a mind of its own. "Baby, look at you — swollen, marked and so fucking responsive. How could this ever be enough?"

You tried to hold onto the need for clarity, but it frayed under his mouth, the way he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with wet, open-mouthed kisses that trailed lower, across the soft give of your stomach, nipping at the faint curve of your hip.

Moans spilled from you unbidden, your hands fisting in the sheets as heat built, chasing away your question.

"James— stop, I— answer me," you managed, voice wavering as his lips brushed the crease of your thigh, breath hot against the slick mess he'd left behind.

But he didn't stop, he couldn't seem to. His hands slid down to hook under your knees, spreading you wider with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his eyes as he settled lower, face level with your core.

The position left you exposed, vulnerable in a way that had your thighs tensing, trying to close against the sudden rush of self-consciousness.

His cum still leaked from you, mixing with your own arousal to glisten in the low light, folds puffy and flushed from everything you'd done.

You shifted, legs pressing together, a flush burning hot across your chest because, what if he saw it all now and regretted it, the reality not matching whatever perfect picture he'd built in his head from streams and fantasies?

His hand landed firmly on the inside of your thigh, palm warm and steady as he smacked, the pressure enough to still you, to remind you he wasn't going anywhere.

"Hey," he coaxed you, eyes met yours with that patient intensity that made your defenses waver. "Look at her— look how pretty she is."

You realised he was not talking about you, but your pussy, intimate and filthy all at once.

It pulled a shaky breath from you, heat flooding your face even as your legs parted under his touch, opening for him because how could you not, when he looked at you like that?

He reached up to cup the back of your neck with a tenderness that contrasted the rawness of everything else, guiding your head down gently so you could see for yourself.

The way your pussy looked, swollen and slick, his release still seeping out in lazy rivulets that caught the light, making everything gleam wet and inviting.

"See?" he whispered, thumb stroking the nape of your neck in slow circles, his other hand tracing feather light strokes along your inner thigh, like he wanted you to take in the sight, to own it with him. "So beautiful, all messy from me... fuck, she's perfect."

He spoke about your pussy like it was a privilege, fingers parting your folds gently, spreading you open to let the cool air kiss the sensitive skin there, dipping just the tip of one inside to swirl through the cum leaking from you.

A whine escaped your throat that turned into a full, broken moan when he slapped your pussy once, the sting blooming hot, making your hips buck up off the bed.

"James—" It came out wrecked, your hand flying to his wrist, needing the anchor as fresh arousal slicked your thighs.

He watched you with that dark, intent gaze, bringing his coated fingers to your mouth, pressing them past your lips as you sucked without being told to.

The flavor pulled another soft sound from you, he thrust his fingers shallow, mimicking what he'd done with his cock earlier.

"That's it…. taste us... fuck, you look so good like this, babydoll."

You hollowed your cheeks around him, sucking harder, eyes locked on his as heat built fresh between your legs, the slap still tingling where he'd struck.

Withdrawing his fingers slowly, trailing saliva and slick down your chin before he leaned in to kiss your pussy once, lips sealing around your clit for a beat before his tongue flicked out, lapping through the mess.

"Streams never got this right," he murmured against you, your hips lifting toward his mouth without meaning to. "Couldn't show how she flushes like this, all slick and swollen, leaking for me... god, she's gorgeous."

His fingers came back, one sliding in easy alongside the wetness he'd left, curling just right to hook against that spot inside that made your vision blur, thumb circling your clit in tandem with his mouth sucking gently at your folds, opening you wider with his free hand to taste deeper, to explore every crease and dip like he was committing it to memory.

The pressure built fast, overwhelming after everything else, your thighs trembling around his shoulders as you chased it, moans spilling free and unfiltered, "James, oh god— don't stop, please—“ until it crested, crashing through you in waves that left you crying out, walls clenchingg around his finger as you came again, harder this time, tears slipping hot down your temples, body shaking like you'd been wrung out.

He worked you through, mouth never leaving you until you were gasping, finally pulling back with a final, soft kiss to your thigh, eyes lifting to meet yours, dark but tender too.

"I can never be away from her again," he whispered, crawling back up your body to capture your mouth in a kiss that tasted of you both, tongue sweeping in to share the flavor as his hand cupped your face, thumb brushing away one of those stray tears with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

You kissed him back, pouring everything into it, the gratitude, the lingering want, the quiet certainty that this was real, messy and imperfect but yours.

When he finally broke it, he gathered you close until your face was against the warm plane of his chest, his heart beating steady under your cheek.

"Baby," his voice carried a weight, like he'd been turning the words over in his head while you caught your breath, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine, dipping low to rest at the curve of your lower back.

"It's not just sex for me… I've fallen in love with you. Been falling, probably since that first stupid hospital visit when you smiled at me. It's been... god, decades since I felt anything close to this, and I want to be yours, all in, if you'll have me. So no, I'm not going anywhere now that I've got a taste— I only want more. And I need you all for myself, if that's okay... if you want that too."

The confession was soft but heavy, pulling a quiet hitch into your breath because you'd felt it building too, that pull toward him that went beyond late-night whispers and online undressing, but hearing it out loud made it real.

You eyes met his, seeing the raw hope there, the faint lines of worry etching his forehead, easing something in you, made the world feel steady for the first time in days.

"Yeah," you whispered back, your hand lifting to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the edge of his stubble in a mirror of how he'd touched you earlier. "I want that... all of it. I want you, James."

His relief was immediate, a soft exhale that fanned warm across your forehead as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple that lingered, like he was sealing it, making it promise.

His heartbeat lulled you toward sleep as his fingers resumed their lazy path along your back.

series masterlist || main masterlist

extras. i am so relieved no matter how this actually turned out, bc this is the first time ever i’ve completed smth, let alone a series. as someone who never ever finishes anything, this is totally a huge deal. it was really a great experience writing and sharing this, made my heart burst with all the support, truly, that kept me going. thank you for all of that. i am in love with these two idiots, so if you want drabbles, or just to talk about them, my asks and dms are always open. even if my requests are closed, i’m always open to taking requests for these two! GOOD NIGHT WORLD.

permanent taglist. @devililithh @buckyfmd @sheriff-bodecker @honeysucklewatr @demiebarnes @solivagant-reverie @kqtholins @amoremarveloustime @colettebarnes @barnes-babydoll @miraclediviner @of-sanguine-eyes @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @manly-man-whore @indigo123789 @wasa-bby @biggestfangirl @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckysbunnny @highhopes1008 @castielscaplan @ornateglass @grumpysunnybarnes @luvyoupxmimi @slutdier @yes-ilovetowrite @cautiouscas17 @astridphantom @delusionalwomsn @cinnamon-girl-writes @wherewinterblooms @stifflyspeedyquirk @sassandscribbles @marvelouslyme96 @stesha02 @floatingvalhallasea @goobers-mcgee @t1redphoenix @vickynguyennn @bluellamacheesecake-blog @serenityrjd @pitabread79 @galaxygoddess30 @biggestfangirl @chenoadouble-o7 @phoenix-in-writing @ceoofdisappointment @ladymiseryy @wherewinterblooms @avgdestitute + get added to my taglist!

Bucky had left towards the cockpit, allowing you to relax for a few moments.

You'd let yourself rest against the seat, eyes fluttering closed as the ship settled smoothly in the air.

It'd only been about 15 minutes before you could hear Bucky's heavy boots against the floor as he made his way back towards you.

Feeling his eyes on you, you'd opened yours to meet his furrowed brows.

"Where were you?" Your voice came out rough and broken.

"Was checkin' on the guys upfront. Just makin' sure everyone's okay." He said, hand on his hip as he looked you over.

You nodded tiredly with a hoarse hum, eyes almost falling shut again before you felt a hand cup your jaw softly.

Bucky's thumb stroked the skin of your chin softly as you met his eyes with a tired pout.

"And how 'bout you, sweetheart. You doin' okay?"

You could've cried right there.

And of course, there was the time he butted in on your designated me time while you were watching TV at the tower.

You could hear him as he walked into the communal kitchen and rummaged around in the fridge before making his way into the spacious den and sitting down right beside you with a cheese stick and a handful of carrots in one hand.

"Whatcha watchin'?"

"Succession," you said rather buntly.

You werent exactly pleased with someone invading your space during the small amount of free time you got to yourself, especially when that someone had been making your every waking moment an anxious pit of hell for the past month or so.

Bucky chuckled from beside you, taking a bit of his cheese stick.

"Someone's grumpy," He sneers at you mockingly before leaning back against the cushions and throwing his arm back to rest behind you atop the couch.

You give a small huff, ignoring that comment for the most part as you focused your attention back to the screen.

A few moments of quiet passed before you found yourself getting mildly uncomfortable in your position on the couch. Your legs had been tucked under you for too long, and they were beginning to grow numb.

That, and you were much too tense all thanks to Bucky's presence.

"Can hear you thinking from here," Buckt comments, biting into a baby carrot.

You fight the urge to drop your head back against the couch, reminding yourself that his arm was very much still there, and the last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself by being clumsy.

You were way too on edge.

Bucky was becoming a serious fucking problem.

"M'not comfortable." is all you say as you cautiously move your legs out from under you to stretch.

You're still trying to stretch out the pins and needles as you debate on where you'll rest your legs for the majority of the episode until you're able to leave the room without it being too awkward.

Testing different places in the small area of your spot on the couch to get comfortable, Bucky makes the decision for you and pulls your legs up into his lap.

"I've gotcha, girly."

And it registers to you then. While your legs are thrown over his thick thighs and the cool tips of his metal fingers trace up and down the lengths of your calves, big blue eyes focused on the screen on front of the two of you, that Bucky might like you back too.

And Bucky -Bucky was fucking tired.

Tired of the whole nonchalant bullshit front that he knew you were putting on.

he was seriously fucking tired of it.

You hadn't realized you were staring at him until he turned away from the TV. Pouty baby blue eyes focused on you in a smug look.

"Everything alright over there?"

Having half a mind to pick your jaw up off the floor, you nod through a quiet and shaky breath.

"Yeah?" Bucky brings his hand up from your leg to cup your chin with his thumb and forefinger, "That pretty head go a little quiet just now?"

It's completely audacious and all the more exhilirating when he merely dropped his hand from your jaw and gestured towards the TV screen.

"Finish your show."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The days that followed were no better.

One of the days when you were out in the field, Bucky hadn't said so much as a word to you during prep for the mission.

You just shrugged it off as him being preoccupied or not wanting to stress you out before heading out.

But while waiting in the quinjet as you made your way to the drop point, Bucky had passed by you on the way to the cockpit and mumbled softly:

"Hey, kid."

He didn't say a word to you the rest of the day.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

So it only makes sense that you're upset with him.

That he's playing hot and cold with you.

And so you decide two can play at that game.

So you start dishing it back. With soft and gentle hello's to short and reserved replies.

It doesn't last long, however, which you should've guessed so.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

"Have I been neglecting you?"

Bucky's voice is deep and soft from behind you on the couch. A hand comes down to hold the curve of your jaw.

You're rendered immobile.

Your legs, pulled to your chest, begin to tremble.

"That's what this whole thing has been about, right? The whole reason you've been givin' me attitude."

You can hear the fucking smirk in his voice and a simmering heat rises in your belly. In irritation at him and yourself, that he's reduced you to his mercy so easily.

You move to push him off, and he shushes you, placing his hand back onto the curve of your jaw.

You rest your hand on his forearm. His veins pulse beneath his hot skin.

"Don't push me away." Bucky places a metal palm to your forehead, guiding you to tilt your head back against the tops of the cushions, wide pupils meeting his baby blues.

"Hey there, pretty."

You flush instantly, eyes widening as he strokes the pad of his thumb over the soft skin of your jaw and chin.

"I–"

You can't find the words. Your train of thought is gone as soon as you open your mouth to recount his teasing.

You mentally plead with yourself to do something, anything, to stop the involuntary heat rising to your cheeks and the inescapable shiver in your voice.

"Not so tough, huh." Bucky preens, "just need someone to make that pretty head of yours so quiet for a bit."

In a last-ditch effort, you're pushing yourself up from the couch and heading to your room without so much as a look back.

You don't see Bucky for about a week after that.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

8:00 pm on Sunday nights are for resets of the week and are solely dedicated to respectable hours of designated selfcare.

Which is why you were tucked away in your candle-lit bedroom, playing songs from your favorite playlist and rubbing vanilla lotion into your skin.

The day had been almost perfect. You'd completed all reports that required finalizing and even got ahead of some papers that needed drafting and filing for the upcoming week.

And then, you were able to get to the gym, try a new dish you'd circled in your cookbook, and finished the day with a much needed and refreshing yoga and shower sesh.

So it only made sense that because all your metaphorical stars were aligned that some asshole was going to ruin that.

That asshole was Bucky.

You could hear his heavy boots from all the way down the damn hallway as he spoke with Sam.

Rolling your eyes, you increased the volume on your TV just enough to drown out the noise without drawing too much attention.

You hunkered down and prayed he'd just keep walking past your door.

But this day had been too damn good to you, and things had gone on in your favor for far too long for you to finish the night off without any interference.

So fucking of course Bucky knocked on your door before walking right in without even waiting for a response.

Shutting the door behind him, he leaned back against the wood.

"What if I was jacking off."

Bucky raised his brows and hands mockingly, "Oh no, not that."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your necklace, "The hell do you want?"

Bucky made his way across your bedroom, taking a seat on your comforter beside you.

"Just wanted to see what's up with you," he picked at a callouse on the palm of his hand, "haven't seen ya' around, kid."

You did little to hold back your rather blase reaction, dropping your brows boredly to return back to massaging lotion into the soft of your thighs.

"You're not exactly pleasant to be around." You say beneath your breath. You know he heard you.

"D'awhhh," Bucky sneers. "How come you always clam up whenever I talk about fucking?"

Bucky seems to notice your rather delayed reaction as he places a large hand onto the small of your thigh, massaging the pad of his thumb against your soft skin.

"Y'with me?" He coos, ducking his head some to meet your eyes.

Your mind seems to turn back on and tune back in, and you offer him a reassuring nod.

"That pretty head of yours still loading?"

You give a rather tight-lipped smile, "Well, I think I better start getting ready for be–"

"Has daddy been bein' mean to you?" He practially purrs the epithet, and suddenly that feeling is back.

And it simmers in a shivered heat in your cunt and your mouth feels dry and your eyes water and your brain turns to mush because you most definitely weren't expecting that.

with wide eyes, you meet his blown baby blues. His thick brows rise in amusement.

"Oh -" Bucky's voice deepens, and his eyes narrow, "You liked that, didn't you." He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, moving closer to your spot on the bed.

You're completely frozen.

Bucky looks like a wolf, dark hair and brows shadowing his light eyes. You feel as though he's literally hunting you.

You're too lost in your mind to realize he's begun to run a hand up the inside of your thigh.

blinkling blankly, you cower in on yourself, making yourself appear smaller.

wounded creature seeking comfort in its devourer.

"S'okay, baby," Bucky's thumb strokes the soft of your chin, holding your gaze on him, "Y'can tell me." Bucky's voice tapers into a soft whisper as his lips meet yours in a swift and soft kiss.

"Buck -" you try, threading your fingers through his hair, seeking purchase in anything, for something, seeking control over what's happening.

"Shh," Bucky meets your lips in another kiss, running his tongue over your plush lips.

you moan into his mouth, and he whimpers back, pulling you by your hips into his lap as he sits on the edge of your bed.

Your hips rock into one another, and you're woven undone in his hold, rupturing at his touch and whispering his name against your lips like a poiosned prayer.

There's something unrbideled and untammed simmering beneath the heated surface of your skin. It follows his touch along your body as if he owns some piece of you.

As if he's returning to a part of you.

you're shaking, trembling and grasping onto him.

He wills you still, tucking you beneath his chin and stroking his hand down the trembling soft of your spine.

"Why're you shakin', sweetheart?" He asks, pulling back to meet your eyes, "S'just me, s'just Bucky."

It's so hard to relinquish control – to submit fully and trust in his hand.

He soothes his hand over your back again, drawing lines from the dip of your spine to the nape of your neck.

You inhale shakily.

"Okay," his voice is light and airy, soothing, "so we're not ready to talk yet. That's okay."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Bucky's tongue laps against the soft of your cunt, your lips spread open by his pointer and index. His plush lips press deliciously against your pussy.

You give a choked sob, keeping your hands at the backs of your thighs, holding yourself open for him.

Bucky, without missing a beat, pulls your hands from your thighs and drags one to the top of his hair, letting you weave your fingers into his dark locks while he takes hold of your other.

"Buck–" you press him further against your sopping cunt.

"I know, I gotcha."" He mumbles into your heat.

His beard tickles the insides of your thighs and adds a devilishly taunting intensity to your already heightened pleasure.

You imagine his cock as Bucky slips a finger past your folds, curling it to stroke the spongey patch of your cunt.

The stretch of him, thick weight of his girth stretching your sensitive gummy walls, the heat and taste of him.

"Y'with me, pretty girl?"

Bucky's voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you drop your eyes to meet his own.

He's smirking at you from between your thighs, pumping a finger into your heat.

You nod through a whimper. Eyes threatening to close at the humilation of it.

At the thought and all-consuming realization that he's watching you.

After this, the two of you will never be the same.

Bucky pulls himself up to his knees and leans over you, planting a hand beside your head on your pillow. His finger still pumping against your walls as he adds a second.

You're flushed beneath him. Heat rises to your cheeks at the proximity.

"Hi," you whisper, wrapping your hand around the wrist beside your head.

"Hi, baby," Bucky coos with a soft smile before meeting you in a kiss.

It's short and sweet and somehow everything you need as your cunt begins to pulse around his digits.

"Yr'gettin' close, huh." Bucky pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, "can feel ya tightenin' up on me," he chuckles, earning a soft giggle from you.

When you cum, your jaw falls open in an 'o' and the metal plates of Bucky's wrist shift beneath your squeezing palm.

"Thereee she is," Bucky soothes you over, "Deep breath. That was a big one, huh."

Your mind bursts with pleasure, and your body shivers in his hold.

You no longer know where you begin.

The room blurs.

You suppose you're waiting for him somewhere.

x

You’re lying on your bed, doom-scrolling through social media while your friends raid your closet for an outfit for tonight. If it were up to you, you’d stay in and binge-watch your favorite show until you fell asleep in the middle of an episode. Instead, you’re being forced to go to a concert regardless of whether you want to go or not.

“Are you feeling shorts or jeans?” Sadie asks.

“I’m feeling pajama pants.”

“You can wear that if you want, but you’re still coming,” Lexie smirks.

“Fuck you, bitch.”

“Go get ready, or we’re going to be late.”

You groan as you slide off your bed. “Because that would be a tragedy.”

They always complain that you don’t go out with them, and while that's true, it’s only because you’re very introverted. You love staying in and being by yourself. Being social takes way too much energy from you. You hate crowds, you’re very shy, and you don’t do well around large groups of people.

You’re going now because you feel bad for rejecting their offers to hang out. If you keep denying them, you know you’ll lose them as friends, and you love them too much to let that happen. For one night, you can let loose.

Sadie, Lexie, and Beverly pick out a skimpy outfit for you to wear. Tonight, their favorite band is playing in some rundown bar, and they made sure to get tickets. The bar normally doesn’t do very well on its own, but with the money coming in from ticket sales, it’s boosting its sales a lot more than they thought it would.

This band usually picks rundown bars to play in to help their sales, and the bar becomes a popular spot for months afterward.

The bar is packed when you arrive, but Lexie’s tickets grant you entry in front of everyone else. There is a long line of people waiting to buy tickets. The bar can hold only so many people, so once people start leaving, the bouncer is allowed to let some people in. They might be let in during the beginning of their set or by the end, but they’ll be loud enough for everyone to hear outside, you’re sure of it.

The instruments are all set up, but the band is backstage getting ready for their set. Lexie pushes past the sea of people to get to the bar and orders several drinks for everyone. Lexie, Sadie, and Bev are social butterflies, so they flirt with the bartender while laughing with each other.

Meanwhile, you’re standing awkwardly behind them, wishing you were anywhere but here. There are too many people here. It’s too hot. A lot of noise and bodies. You take deep breaths to keep yourself from panicking.

“Here, drink this.” Sadie shoves a drink into your hands. “This will help loosen you up.”

You finish the drink in three big gulps and cough from the bitter taste. The alcohol burns on its way down, but it does leave a warmth behind that relaxes your body slightly.

“Alright, Y/N!” Lexie laughs. “Here, have another one.”

The second glass eases your anxiety some more. By the third drink, you’re not even thinking about how many people are here.

The band comes out, and your mouth drops when you get a look at the drummer. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Light blue eyes, dark hair, and muscles for days. He’s shirtless to keep himself from overheating, and nearly all of the girls scream for him. They scream for all of them. They’re all gorgeous men.

Rock music has never been your thing, but they’re pretty good. Lexie nudges Bev and Sadie, and she flicks her chin in your direction. They snicker at the love-struck gaze in your eyes toward the drummer. You don’t believe in love at first sight, but you wouldn’t mind getting to know him.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor before it gets dirty,” Bev smirks as she nudges you.

“What? I wasn’t staring.”

“Girl, drool is coming out of your mouth. I know he’s hot, but rein it in, girl.”

“Shut up,” you mutter and turn back to the band.

The band finishes three songs before stopping their set suddenly.

“How is everyone doing?” the lead singer asks. Everyone shouts and cheers for him, and he scans the room with a cocky grin. “Alright, for this next song, we need some help.” Cheers erupt before the singer has time to finish speaking. “Who wants to come on stage and help Bucky play our next song?”

Almost every hand shoots to the sky as they scream and beg for the singer to pick them.

“What’s going on?” you ask your friends.

“They always do this bit where they bring one person on stage to help the drummer play the song, if you know what I mean,” Lexie finishes with a smirk.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“She should totally go up there,” Sadie gasps.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah! She has the hots for the drummer!” Bev grins.

“No, guys, seriously, no.”

“Over here!” Sadie screams. “We have a volunteer!”

“Sadie!” Lexie and Bev start pushing you toward the stage. “Beverly! Lex!”

Your protests fall on deaf ears as they push you toward the front of the stage. The singer looks at Sadie and chuckles when he sees how eager she is to give up her friend for this bit.

“I see we have an eager volunteer!” The spotlight shines on you, and you freeze. “Come up here, darling.”

Bucky, the drummer, locks eyes with you, and he can see the anxiety swirling in them. He understands the panicking feeling when someone is forced to face their fears. Your friends push you closer so that you’re forced to grab the singer’s hand. He pulls you up onto the stage, and you look around nervously.

“Hey, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Bucky says away from the microphone clipped to his drumset.

Everyone is cheering for you to do this, including your friends. You want to be the kind of girl who is excited about stuff like this. You hate being so introverted and shy. It’s time you step out of your shell and be this new version of yourself.

“Fuck it,” you say. You reach down and snatch Sadie’s drink from her before throwing it back. “Let’s do this!”

“Fuck, yeah!” Lexie screams.

You’re not sure how you’re going to help Bucky play the drums, but you don’t care. With a burst of confidence, you storm over to Bucky and put your hands on his shoulders. You swing your leg over his lap and settle yourself right on top of his lap, facing him.

“See if you can play with me like this.”

Bucky smirks and nods to the lead singer. That’s his cue to start playing the song, and you cling to Bucky’s body as he starts playing the drums. The force of his hits on the drums and the movement of his foot pushing the pedal down is enough to bounce you on his lap.

You’re actually having a lot of fun like this. The alcohol definitely helps. You squeal in laughter when you bounce, and you look at your friends over your shoulder. Your smile falters when you see all three of their phones’ cameras pointing right at you. People in the crowd have their phones on you and the band. This is going to be on the internet for millions, even billions of people to see.

Bucky sees the change in your behavior when you tense up. He looks at your face and then to where you’re looking. He’s gotten used to cameras being pointed at him, but for some people, it’s the end of the world.

“Look at me,” he says. When you don’t answer, he leans in and breathes on your skin. “Darling, look at me.” You snap your eyes over to him when you feel his hot breath. “Just focus on me.”

Bucky’s eyes are so much bluer up close. They’re light with a dark ring of blue around the edges. He continues to play as you continue to bounce lightly on his lap, but the energy crackling between you two is because of the eye contact. Your panic slowly ebbs away, but you’re very much aware of the cameras on you.

“Tell me something.” His voice is soft, but because you’re so close to him, you can hear every word.

“Like what?”

“Anything.”

“I’m not this kind of girl.”

Bucky smiles and says, “I’m not this kind of man.”

The song ends a couple of seconds later, and you grip his shoulders as you climb off him. “Thanks…” Bucky’s eyes bore holes into your back as you walk away from him, but you don’t dare to look back.

“Girl, you crushed that shit!” Sadie squeals.

“That was hot as fuck,” Lexie says.

“How did it feel?” Bev asks.

“Overwhelming,” you say truthfully. You don’t know exactly how you feel, but overwhelming is the biggest truth. At least you did it. You’ve got that going for you.

You spend the rest of their set by the bathrooms since it’s the place with the least amount of people. Even shrouded in the shadows, Bucky still finds you. His gaze is full of fire, and you can feel the warmth from where you are.

The band eventually finishes their set, and most of the people leave the bar. The band is the main reason why people have come out tonight. The rest of the people turn to their own companies and enjoy the rest of their evening.

“Hey, can we go home?” you ask. “I’ve had enough time here.”

“Sure,” Sadie says. “Let me just pay the tab.”

Sadie walks away just as Bucky approaches the group. Lexie and Bev’s eyes widen at seeing the drummer here, but they move away to give you two some time alone.

“Hi,” you say softly.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“I’m Bucky.” Like you don’t already know his name. “I don’t think you would have gotten on my lap if you did, but I’m gonna ask anyway. Do you have a boyfriend?”

Your cheeks heat from his question. “Um, no.”

“She never leaves her house enough to have one,” Lexie cuts in from several feet away.

“Shut up,” you grumble at her.

Bucky smirks and chuckles. “Well, I don’t know about you, but this is my first time in this city. Care to be my guide and show me some cool places? We’ll be in town for a while.”

You look at Bucky, then at his bandmates, then back at Bucky. “What about your bandmates?”

“Let me think about that.” Bucky leans against the wall. “Sweaty dudes or a date with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. You do the math.”

Your cheeks heat even more than the first time. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Ask me that again at the end of the night. What do you say?”

One of your friends nudges you closer to Bucky because, of course, they’re listening. “Yes.”

A piece of hair falls over your face, and Bucky reaches out to tuck it behind your ear. The motion has you leaning in closer to him. You glance down at his lips, and he purposefully runs the tip of his tongue over his full bottom lip.

“I’m not gonna kiss you.”

You pull back, suddenly embarrassed that you were caught staring. “Oh.”

Before you can be too disappointed, Bucky adds, “I’m not gonna kiss you because you’ll be begging me to by the end of the night, and I kind of want to hear what that sounds like.”

The fucking nerve of this guy. His words inspire confidence to bubble up to the surface. “I think it’ll be you begging me.”

“You’re probably right.” He holds his hand out. “Shall we?”

You take his hand with a grin, and you look at you friends who have big smiles on their faces. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow.”

“Have fun,” Bev sings.

“Wrap it before you tap it!” Lexie teases.

“Make him work for it!” Sadie giggles.

You can’t help but laugh as Bucky leads you out of the bar through the back door. Bucky, temporary or not, might be the thing missing from your life.

x

You yanked that same t-shirt over your head and went to brush your teeth. Yelena had big plans which involved knife shopping of all things.

The toothpaste was looking a little low, but surely there would be enough to just squeeze out for you to use.

After squishing and smushing the tube, it became clear that was not going to happen.

You left your door wide open, skipped Bob's room - he always pinched everyone else's and was likely the reason you had no toothpaste in the first place - and went to Bucky's room.

You knocked firmly - loudly - and gave the door a little push.

“Hey, you in? Can I borrow -”

You stopped.

His door swung shut behind you.

He was in the doorway to the bathroom - towel in hand, drying his hair.

The only towel.

Your eyes landed exactly where they shouldn't and widened like saucers.

“Holy shit.”

The ceiling.

You looked up, your chin decidedly pointing up enough to make it clear that you definitely weren't looking at Bucky.

Naked Bucky.

“Something you need?” He asked, the amusement very clear in his voice.

That smug bastard.

“No! Nope, I will go to Lena instead. I didn't see anything.”

“You absolutely did.” He echoed you, but sounded far happier about it.

Oh. Is that how it's gonna be? You bit the bullet, determined not to let him have the upper hand.

You looked down from the ceiling and held his eye.

Then you let your gaze drop - slowly, deliberately, taking your fill from head to toe before meeting his eyes again with a steady look.

“Ok, I guess I did. So now we're even.”

“Even, huh?” He leaned against the doorframe, towel loose in his hand, clearly not worried about modesty.

You stayed fixed on his face, not that that was really much help.

His hair was damp, curling at his temple, a bead of water sliding down his chest.

“Yep.” You crossed your arms, tilting your head like you were the one in control. “Besides, I didn’t see anything worth remembering.”

That earned you a sharp bark of laughter. He shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Am I though?” You mused with a shrug.

“Uh-huh.” He dragged the towel slowly over his shoulder, his smirk widening as your throat went dry. “But, y'know, if it helps you sleep at night, doll?”

You turned, aiming for the door. “There's nothing keeping me up at night, Barnes. Don't you worry about that.”

Behind you came his laugh again - low, husky, and totally unbothered.

“Funny,” he murmured, not even pretending to hide his grin, “’cause I’ve been up every night thinkin’ about you.”

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on you as you escaped, but you felt it anyway, seared between your shoulder blades.

Shit.

You’d thrown it in the laundry that morning on your way to meet the others.

You hadn’t been to the linen cupboard for a replacement.

Shivering from the contrast of coming out of the hot shower and into the cool bathroom you looked for an alternative.

Nothing.

There had to be one in your room.

With a sigh, you pulled open the bathroom door with more force than strictly necessary and marched out into your room.

“Oh holy shit!”

For the longest of seconds, you didn’t marry up the sound of his voice as being in your room.

Horror. Pure horror crept across your face.

You, totally naked and dripping water all over your bedroom floor.

Bucky, in your room fully clothed and staring.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?!” Your brain finally decided to engage, you flung an arm across your chest and your other hand further down to try and hide your body.

“I - uhh - I…”

“Bucky! What the fuck?!” You backed out of the room, walked yourself all the way backwards and into the bathroom where you slammed the door.

You hovered with your palm against the wood, listening for his retreating footsteps. Which you didn’t hear, because that was the whole point. Instead, you heard the soft clearing of his throat and your door deliberately click louder than normal.

A very clear message from him to you that you were safe.

Finally you moved, into your room, finding the spare towel, pulling on some clothes.

When you ventured out into the living area, you could still feel the heat in your cheeks.

He was on the couch like nothing had happened. His eyes met yours the second you appeared.

“I didn’t see anything,” he said - too quickly.

You froze. “You absolutely did.”

“Ava’s stolen mine. Again,” he held up his phone as proof, plugged in with your charger, “I did knock.”

“Uhuh.”

“Didn’t think I’d get that kinda view though,” a slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth that he didn’t seem to be doing anything to hide.

“Please stop talking,” you groaned, dragging your hand over your face.

He laughed, low and warm. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Been through a lot of missions, seen a lot of things… that’s definitely gonna haunt me in the best way.”

You peeked through your fingers, trying to see if he was being genuine or not. “You’re the worst.”

“Nah,” he said, a little softer this time, trying to hold your eye through your discomfort. “Just very lucky.”

Heat crept up your neck again, if it had ever really gone away. “Drop it,” you warned.

He let free the smirk he’d barely been holding back.

“Sure thing, doll.” He shrugged.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding - of relief, of frustration, of disappointment… you weren’t entirely sure which.

Then you heard him mutter as he reached past you for the remote.

“Til next time.”

Tagging: @knowledgeableknitter , @ficmeiguess , @ozwriterchick , @thenameswinter99 , @themareverine , @boomyoulookingforthis , @florie1 , @crdgn , @winchestert101 , @stevetonycupcakes , @lolobeey , @bts43a , @gumballofshame , @tessastarfire , @buckytakethewheel , @multifandomneeerd , @furiousprincesskingdom , @s-sh-ne , @buckyslefttooth , @imslimshadey , @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes , @darylandbethfanforever9 , @kae1anplanned , @castielscaplan , @sinistersnakey

“James.” You said stiffly. “Hi.”

"Hi." he repeated quietly, finally averting his eyes from you and turning to your mom.

Your head felt like a jumble, flashing again to your childhood, his wide smile & round faced. the best friend you grew up with. Now, he was... this.

This tall, broad, (unhelpful & unfair to be honest), ridiculously attractive man who made your heart go haywire.

You blinked then shook your head, suddenly remembering how harshly he had spoken to you after fixing your car. You pursed your lips, and turned towards the shelves, trying to find the coffee.

Your mom and James were talking lowly behind you, their conversation becoming just a murmur in the background.

You fought the growing tension in your body, trying desperately to ignore the way the soft grey cotton of his shirt stretched across his biceps. You didn't have time for a crush right now, and especially not on a man who had been acting like a dick the day before.

Focus, you told yourself.

You opened the coffee cupboard. Coffee. Coffee. That's what you needed to focus on right now.

You frowned when you couldn't find it in the first cupboard, moving to try the one below the coffee maker.

A strong arm stretched past you, making you jump out of your skin from shock.

James grabbed a jar from the cupboard in front of you, and you stared up at him, barely a foot away.

He was even taller up close. Your nose nearly grazed the hollow of his neck, and it made your head spin with how familiar it should have been, and how painfully new the sensation of standing in front of him was.

He seemed to be breathing hard, his chest rising and falling just a few inches away from yours. His eyes were dark, unreadable as they ran over your face.

In that moment, you wanted to reach out and trace the smooth edge of his jaw. You wanted to feel the stubble under one hand, to run the other along his flexed biceps. You wanted to feel those broad hands on your bare legs, on your hips, holding you up against the nearest wall...

You clenched your jaw and took a shuddering breath. You squeezed your legs together subconsciously. Damn him.

You swallowed your dirty thoughts and grabbed the coffee can from his fingers, turning towards the coffee maker. You start the machine, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck slowly. Your back was to him now, and he took a moment to drink in the sight of you.

Your legs were just as incredible as he remembered, and your shorts barely covered your ass. He couldn't help lingering on it as you stretched to reach something.

His shorts were suddenly way too tight, and he scolded himself as he looked away. He was suddenly (painfully) remembering how you used to look in the tiny shorts you liked to wear as teenagers.

How innocent that version of himself had been then, he thought, his jaw clenching as he watched the coffee drip out of the coffee maker.

You couldn't hear your mom's words anymore, your focus narrowing in on the task in front of you.

Coffee. Focus. Coffee.

You poured the dark liquid into your mug, taking a shaky breath.

Behind you, James moved away, his feet shifting on the linoleum as he continued pulling out groceries from the bag.

You turned with your full attention and leaned back against the counter, cradling your steaming mug in your hands. Unbidden, the memory of yesterday resurfaced. His sweat-soaked chest, abs flexing as he pushed around the machine...

Not the time, you horny weirdo, you told your brain.

James was glancing at you every few seconds, so you decided to give him a look. “Since when do you do my mother’s chores?” I questioned.

“Since I’ve asked him to. He’s such a sweet boy, doesn’t let me carry a thing.” my mom interrupted, practically cooing.

You narrowed your eyes at her, before flicking back to him.

"Really?" You said dryly.

You watched as James shifted on his feet awkwardly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

"Yeah." He said gruffly, finally meeting your eye. "Been doin' their yard work, fixing the porch. An' other stuff." His blue eyes were unreadable, but your mind was already working. 

It was hard to imagine the man in front of you mowing lawns, picking up leaves, running errands. The very idea that the James in front of you, all muscles and sharp jaw could possibly be the same dumb kid from your childhood who used to do anything he was told was laughable.

Your mom noticed the awkwardness and tried to fix it by clearing her throat. "James has been great. Really helped us out."

"Do you really need it though?" You said, raising an eyebrow. Her mouth opened and then closed, like she was trying to word it carefully.

James answered instead. "Y'all were tight with the bills, so I said I'd lend a hand." His voice was gruff, and he shifted on his feet.

Despite your irritation just a moment ago, something flared in your chest at his words. 

“Tight with bills? What are you talking about.. Mom, what is he talking about?” you asked, turning to her. Her eyes were wide and she shot James a glance before grabbing your elbow and pulling you away from the kitchen.

“Help yourself to the biscuits, dear.” she called out to him, as she dragged you to the nearest room. Your face was somewhere between confusion & disbelief.

Finally, she closed the door behind us and sighed. “Sweetheart.. I know I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want you to worry for us. These past few months have been.. rough. The boutique, it’s.. not as popular now, and it’s putting us slowly in debt.” She said solemnly.

“Debt?” You echoed in disbelief. “Mom, you’re.. we’re seriously in debt?” Your eyes widened as she nodded once. “How can this.. your boutique was going so well.. why didn’t you tell me?” Your eyes searched hers.

“Because I knew you would come straight back.. and try to help us. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” She said, squeezing my shoulder. You sat down on a stool, trying to understand how exactly this came to be. But however long you thought, you couldn’t figure out what exactly had led to this situation. You took a few deep breaths. Your mom had thankfully left you to recuperate on your own, but just a few moments later, there was a soft knock.

“Coming, mom.” You said, rubbing your temple. “Uh.. it’s me actually.” His deep voice said quietly, sounding.. unsure. You stood up and opened the door, revealing a slightly uncomfortable James.

You sighed deeply, before letting him walk in. "You knew.” You said, voice skillfully calm, coming from years of learning how to bottle your anger in front of others. 

He took the full brunt of your gaze and didn't even flinch, which made you grind your molars.

“I did.” He spoke, hands raising in a placating gesture.

“Is that why you didn't take money from me yesterday for fixing my car? Because we're "poor"?" You asked.

He opened his mouth and closed it, trying to figure out how to word it. “It’s not that big of a deal, really. Our families have always taken care of each other.” He said.

Of course, this man hadn't changed one bit. Still the same boy who took everything on his own damn shoulders and act like it didn’t matter.

“Taking care and sparing money are two different situations, James. You can help my parents all you want, but do not put me in the same category as them. I am self sufficient.” you said. 

“Sure didn’t seem self sufficient yesterday.” He muttered, making a strange mixture of anger and shame swell in your chest.

Your jaw worked for a moment, before you left the room and went to yours. You yanked open your purse and pulled out the check book you had. It only had a few pages left, but it didn't matter. You wrote down an amount of one thousand dollars and signed it, ripping it before walking back downstairs.

You find James still standing there, eyebrows pinched in concern while he rubbed a hand over his face. He looked up as soon as you walked in, and his eyes went to the paper in your hand.

"You don't have to-" he began, but you ignored him, shoving the check in front of him. He stared down at the check, not moving. His jaw was clenched again, and you could see the muscle jump with tension.

"There, for your "services"." You said, before gathering your remaining annoyance and turning to leave.

You only managed to take one step, when suddenly his hand snapped out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back. The heat of his fingers on your bare skin sent goosebumps up your arms and you spun to face him, yanking your hand away and trying to ignore the way your heart slammed against your ribs. 

"You gotta be kiddin' me." he murmured through his teeth. His body was bristling with tension as he towered over you. You pulled from his grip & crossed your arms, forcing a nonchalance you didn't really feel.

"You're helping my parents, so I'm gonna help you. Our families take care of each other, right?" You repeated back his earlier words, but the tone was polar opposite.

His jaw clenched again, but his eyes refused to soften. He pushed the check back at you.

"Take it back." He said, his arm stretching out between the two of you, the muscles of his biceps shifting under the cotton. You refused to let yourself get distracted by the sheer hotness of his arms and focused back on his face.

He was staring back at you unblinkingly, his jaw clenched and his blue eyes hard. "I told you. I don't take money from friends."

"Good thing I'm not your friend anymore then." You said, glaring back.

He narrowed his eyes down at you, taking in your defiant expression.

"You never stop with the damn dramatics, d'ya?" he grumbled.

"You were the one was fucking pouting yesterday just because I left the town." You retorted, watching his eyes widen. That’s when you realize you swore without meaning to. That’s another thing he wasn’t used to seeing girls do. His mouth fell open slightly, before closing it.

"What.. did you think I won't swear my whole life." You bit out to save grace, looking away from his shocked expression.

He blinked, taking in your words. His mouth opened to respond to your words, but shut again, and he seemed at a loss for words.

Good. You thought smugly, ignoring the way your stomach did somersaults.

His mouth kept opening and shutting, like he couldn't decide what to say, and you decided to take advantage of his shock.

"Take it." you repeated quietly, forcing the check back into his hand.

His fingers accidentally brushed over yours, and it took everything in you not to shiver. Your skin tingled where he'd touched you, but you tried not to think about it. His jaw clenched again, but he didn't throw the check back.

With that, you left him to his thoughts, deciding it was enough interaction for the day. You walked into the living room, collapsing on the couch with a sigh. 

You had to be going insane. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the fact that your mom just told you they were in debt. You shook your head, trying to remember that this was a vacation. You weren’t going to ruin your only days off this year by overthinking. They’ll figure it out, they’re adults.

The door swung open, and your dad walked in. Great timing, you thought to yourself. He barely glanced at you, before asking, "James is here, right?"

"In the kitchen probably." You muttered monotonously, not at all looking forward to their cheering and fistbumping or whatever.

It was a known fact that he adored him, and James idolized the guy like crazy, both coping with their daddy issues and.. “lack of a son” issue. Or at least, it was that way before you left.

For a few seconds, you actually wondered if James was mad at him for letting you leave, like he had said yesterday. But that thought was crushed when you watched your dad's face break into a grin, the two men immediately clasped hands to shake, pulling each other in for an awkward one-armed hug.

You couldn't hear them, but they were laughing loudly within moments. You stared at James as he threw his head back and laughed at something your dad was saying, his eyes bright and a soft smile on his face. You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes when your dad suddenly ruffled his hair.

James swatted his hand away, letting out a yelp of annoyance, still smiling.

Something in your chest twisted at the sight of them together, and you looked away as your dad said something to make James roll his eyes and turn away, shaking his head exasperatedly. There was a familiarity between them too, and you weren't sure why it rubbed you wrong.

This was all his fault, why did he have to be in your house all the time? You flicked on the tv with a frown, ignoring the talking.

By now, they were chatting cheerfully, the conversation getting louder, and the sound of James' gruff laughter came to your ears again. God, that laugh was hot. You clenched your jaw, trying to focus on the show playing on the television. It was pointless. You couldn't stop listening in on their conversation. 

"Thanks for trimming our lawn yesterday, son. The place already looks much better." your dad said.

"Yeah? Well I was hoping to hang around, but I don’t think she’s happy with me here." James grunted in reply, and you tensed at the mention of your name.

Your dad guffawed out a laugh. "You know how she is. Never happy with anything."

You frowned at his words. What did that mean?

James huffed what sounded like a dry laugh.

"Oh, that's the understatement of the century."

Your eyes widened. Was he calling you picky? You shifted on the couch, crossing your legs.

"It's that attitude of hers. Always has been." your dad laughed again.

"Always." James agreed, and you bristled at his words.

You weren't that picky, were you? And what did he know about your attitude? You'd changed since he last saw you, you were an adult now, for god's sake.

"Don't know where she gets it from." your dad sighed, and you pursed your lips.

"Oh, I wonder where." James replied in a completely flat tone.

Wow. Your jaw nearly dropped at his words, and you were a breath away from marching in there and giving him a piece of your mind. He knew how sensitive you were about things like this, how you always hated this sort of conversation. Not that expected him to remember that.

But James had remembered.

He knew how much you hated it when people said you were dramatic, or picky. He knew because he'd known you before they turned on you. You clenched your hands tightly in your lap.

"And she gets it so bad. You remember in middle school, the only flavor of milk she liked was chocolate. Specifically, it had to be Hershey's chocolate milk. Nothin' else would do."

A small grin stretched over James' face, and you could clearly make out the dimple in his cheek.

"Oh, yeah. She was so difficult about it." He said, shaking his head, and your blood boiled at hearing your father and him remembering stories of you.

You were not difficult, you retorted internally. You were just particular.

Your dad chortled, clearly amused by the memory.

"Don't get me started." he groaned. "We used to tell her we didn't have money for her expensive tastes, and the next day that little brat would pull a handful of her money from her own little piggy bank to go buy it herself."

James' blue eyes widened. "No way."

"Oh yes she did." Your dad laughed. "Always refused help. Independent thing. That's why she was always so adamant about making sure she didn't need a loan to go to college. Always wanted to take care of things herself."

James paused, considering your dad's words. You couldn't see his face.

"Guess she never grew out of her pickiness." he said finally, and you rolled your eyes internally at his statement.

Your head was starting to ache, partially from their words and partially from you gritting your molars. This was so not the break you had hoped it was. Before they could launch into another story which indirectly insulted you, you grabbed a shrug-on and decided to take a walk. You just needed to escape from the feeling, desperately needed to cool down.

Only to hear your dad's words drift out of the house again, carried by the breeze.

"Not to mention she's a real brat about everything."

Your hands were shaking with anger now, and your breath was almost coming out in pants. How did- how could he-

James said something back, but his words seemed to have been swallowed by the breeze because you didn't catch it.

How could they-

Your dad's voice finally pierced you again. "I bet she's still a spoiled brat, just like when she was a kid. You know, that girl's too much trouble. Never really changed much."

Your jaw clenched again, hard, and your hands curled into fists. Your heart was ramming aqainst your ribcaqe, something annoying blurring your vision as You just walked out of the front gate, going wherever your legs took you.

Your eyes stung, and you blinked a few times, hating the fact that you were on the verge of tears.

You didn't often cry. It took a lot for you to well up with tears, but somehow hearing those words coming from your own father...

Your chest heaved and you sniffed, wiping at your eyes angrily. You were not going to cry.

You marched on, crossing the road and not even paying attention to the few cars that zoomed past you.

It wasn't even that you hadn't been expecting it. Your mom had always encouraged you to be independent- a trait for which you'd always thought your dad would secretly be proud of. So why- how had he been talking about you that way?

Your heart pounded as you walked, but you felt yourself slowing down, your pace almost slowing to a meander. You weren't even sure where you were going, at this point, until the cold gate of the kids' park was pressed against your palm.

You closed the gate behind you, taking a moment to catch your breath. Your eyes felt itchy, but you'd be damned if you let yourself start crying.

Your sneakers scuffed against the dry sand of the park. You sank down onto a bench, pulling your knees onto the seat and looking around the empty park.

You'd spent so many hours of your childhood there, running around and chasing after the neighborhood boys until your mom had to pull you out by the ear.

It still looked the same. Except no boys to chase after.  

You leaned your head against the back of the bench and let out a breath.

You needed to be alone. You needed to cool down.

You'd spent years away from home, but you'd never once felt as on edge as you were now.

It was only a matter of time before your chest tightened up again, and you felt your vision starting to blur.

You blinked again, desperately trying to push back the sudden onslaught of tears before your eyes welled up, but nothing helped.

The dam broke. Tears started streaming down your face, your body shuddering with suppressed sobs as you let yourself crumple back onto the bench.

Your hands shook as you covered your mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that were being ripped out of your throat. Every part of you was shaking, your shoulders shaking in uncontrollable waves of grief and exhaustion that seemed to take everything out of you.

You couldn't control the tears. Your heart ached and all the anger inside you suddenly melted, leaving behind a gaping hole in your soul.

God, it hurt so much more than you'd thought it would.

You'd known your father was... disappointed in you, but hearing him actually say it out loud- it was something you'd never thought you'd hear.

It felt childish to cry this way at your age, but you couldn't help it. You let yourself cry against your hands, hoping that no one would see you in the empty park.

The park seemed to swallow your sobs, wrapping you in silence and isolation and letting you succumb to your sadness.

The sobs gradually seemed to subside, but your body was still shaking with the effort of the tears, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

You sniffed again, wiping at your cheeks and trying to regain control of your emotions.

You let yourself sag back against the bench, tilting your head up to look at the afternoon sky. The sun was inching towards setting, and the sky was turning a mix of deep yellow & pink.

The tears were still staining your cheeks, but the sobs seemed to have vanished. Your body was finally stilling again, and you inhaled a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs.

The sound of crickets rang through the air, and you focused on their chirps, trying to focus on anything other than how much your heart hurt.

You couldn't tell why. Maybe it was the silence of the park, or the memories floating around your head, but your chest felt less heavy and you were less lost than you'd been moments ago.

You barely heard the crunch of gravel over the sound of blood still pumping against your eardrums. You felt exhaustion settling in your bones, and you shut your eyes, leaning your head back against the bench's back.

You felt something in front of you, and your breath hitched in your throat.

No.

You kept your eyes shut, but you could almost feel his presence through his body heat. Your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, the sudden presence of him making your skin feel feverish.

You heard him crouch down in front of you, his knees audibly cracking. You felt more than heard him sit on the ground, his face level with your knees.

The silence stretched on, and it took everything in you not to crack open your eyes, not to peer through your lashes and try to find his gaze.

Finally, James spoke up, and the sound of his deep, now rougher voice sent a shiver through your body.

His gravelly voice was surprisingly soft as he said your childhood nickname, and you swallowed.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak, too focused on keeping your eyes shut. You didn't want him to see your tear-stained face.

There was a shift of movement, then strong hands gripped your knees.

James' hands on you were as big as they'd always been, your kneecaps circled in his hands. You drew in a breath, your brain scrambling at the suddenness. His hands were big and calloused, and the roughness of his hands against your sensitive skin sent goosebumps up your legs.

You could feel your heartbeat throbbing all over your skin now, especially where he was touching you.

His hands stayed firmly planted on your knees, and your breath stuttered.

He was so close. You could almost feel his breath on your legs, and the thought of that proximity sent heat spreading through your body.

His hands were gentle, careful even, and it caught you by surprise.

"What do you want?" You finally whispered.

His hands flexed around your knees, his fingers tightening just a little.

He swallowed audibly. "You been cryin'."

Part 3 is out!

Note: I would love to hear suggestions about this, whether it's too angsty or talky or is the reader too emotional, all are welcome <3

You’re a member of that rare club. It’s taken years of small kindness’ and lingering in Steve’s shadow to get there.

Even if you wanted to, you’d never risk ruining that just because of some schoolgirl crush. Not when Bucky might make your heart stumble and your face heat, but he hasn’t taken away your wits.

The same wits that tell you, it’s not worth the risk.

It will never be worth the risk. You worked too hard to get where you are. It’s too good a job, to burn up because you have a few fantasies. Steve Rogers famously went through assistant after assistant, before you. When you’d asked Natasha why—Steve’s a perfect boss, he lets you take hour long lunches and use sick time as PTO, as long as you don’t tell HR—she’d just shrugged.

“It’s not Steve that’s making them quit.” She’d hummed, like you were supposed to know exactly what that meant.

You hadn’t. You still don’t. Best guess, he thinks that everyone can keep up with him and forgets to slow down and match pace. But you can keep up with him just fine. Without breaking a sweat. Sometimes you out-pace him, and that earns you a loud, approving laugh and small smirk from Bucky.

Bucky.

James. You’re trying to call him James, in your head. It’s more formal. Creates a larger gap, between private fantasy and reality.

In fantasy, Bucky is a hazy voice that creeps into your dreams and rough stubble that brushes over your cheek. You tangle the sheets and blankets between your legs in bed, and pretend he’s there, holding you tight. Dreams and scenarios play out before you go to sleep, where he backs you against a wall and declares that he’s loved you since he first saw you. Or he shows up at your door in the middle of the night, pleading because he can’t take being away from you anymore. Maybe all his stares at conferences and meetings finally amount to something, and he grabs your jaw and kisses you so brutally you both just fall onto that soft couch in his office.

But Bucky doesn’t just stare at you. It’s one of his weird little quirks that Steve calls just Bucky, and Sam calls creepy and weird, he’s lucky we love him.

You do love him.

Bucky’s perfect. When you’d met him, he’d seemed as if he’d fallen out of a silver screen or leather-bound book. You’d never understood fantasies about powerful men, until one with the brilliance of fifty suns had been adjusting his cuffs in front of you. You’d barely been able to breathe, and it’s only gotten harder since you’ve known him.

At first look, Bucky’s a sharp jawline, dark hair, and eyes that follow you into your sleep. He’s cold and standoffish in that annoying way that makes the fool in your heart babble about how you could melt him. He snaps and orders and doesn’t waste time on things that don’t matter, and you’d like to hear how his voice could go soft, if you could make it.

That fool in your heart is loud. It tends to get the better of you, until the object of it’s fleeting obsession shatters the illusion by itself. Most of your crushes take a sledgehammer and destroy the heroic visage you’ve made of them in a second. You just have to wait for it, and they save you from themselves.

But Bucky likes to ruin your life.

It’s been a year, since Steve hired you. Fresh out of college, nervous, and with what Natasha called doe-eyes.

You love Bucky more than you did at the start, and it’s incredibly rude that he won’t just cut it out so you can focus.

“How’s your mother?” You ask one night, when it’s just you and Bucky.

James. When you’re alone in a room with him, and the white sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to show off obnoxious muscles, it’s important to remember you should be calling him James.

“My… Mother.”

He’s staring at you like you’re crazy. Heat floods your cheeks, but you just nod. He doesn’t get to win.

“You said she was moving.” You shrug, and Bucky’s tongue flicks over his lips.

“I did say that.”

“Yeah. I know.” You pretend to turn over a paper. “I was there.”

Bucky snorts, and it’s enough to yank your attention up. He’s shaking his head with that tiny curve of a smile, and it makes your heart do something that might resemble overdrive.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”  

“What-“

“My mother’s doin’ just fine.” Bucky says, staring at you across the room. “She loved those muffins you made her. Got me and my sisters in a lotta trouble, for not bothering to make her a housewarming gift.”

You swallow. “Oh, I- I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Bucky—James, but it’s impossible to remember when he looks at you like that—smirks. “I’d want you over me every time, too.”

There’s no possible response you can think of, to that. Not one that makes sense, and isn’t humiliating. You look back to your papers, mumble a thank you, and try not to let Bucky’s low chuckle pool heat between your thighs.

You don’t succeed.

But that’s a problem for your vibrator to worry about, when you get home.

Because that’s where the fantasy. And the reality is always starker. Harder to escape.

Bucky is a mountain of a man, but you’ve never climbed anything at all. Not a tiny hill, not a slope, not even a bump in the road. The most basic things, that most people get out of the way in middle school, you’ve never even brushed against. Not on purpose. It’s just… Never happened. And you’re certainly not going to start doing anything now. With your older pseudo-boss and sort of friend. You don’t have a death wish, and you’re certain that rejection will kill you with the humiliation alone.

So in reality, you’re never going to risk anything. You’ve never had health insurance this good before. Steve buys you lunch every day—technically he buys himself lunch, but you’re allowed to get whatever you want—and you got to move out of your rundown apartment with the landlady who kept getting mad you dared to have trash, but refused to fix your broken heater. In New York.

You haven’t had freezing fingers in a year. Because now, you could afford gloves. And in the harsh cold of reality, no dick is worth more than a nice pair of gloves.

Bucky’s might be. Bucky and his smile and low laugh and nobleness and silent kindness and-

No.

Nothing’s worth it. Not when Bucky wouldn’t even want you anyway.

You’d rather have the gloves.

“You get a plus one to this event, you know?”

You look at Steve over the desk, frowning slightly. “Huh?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “You get a plus one.”

“Okay?”

“Wasn’t sure you knew.” He shrugs. Your frown deepens.

“Of course I knew. I send out all the invitations.”

“Hm.”

“What’s hm? What does hm mean?”

“Just hm. Do you have the numbers, about-“

“They’re in front of you, Steven.” You narrow your eyes. “What’s hm mean.”

“Told you, nothing-“

“What.”

Sam says that there are only three people Steve is afraid of. Natasha, Bucky’s mother, and you. At the time, you’d laughed it off and rolled your eyes.

With how his throat bobs and he avoids your gaze, you’re starting to think that last part might be true.

“You’ve just always had that plus one offered.” Steve mutters, looking at the reports like they’ve suddenly turned into something interesting. “Noticed you never used it. Wanted to, uh- Make sure you knew.”

“I knew.” You snap, and Steve sighs.

“Yeah, I thought you did.”

“Then why’d you ask-“

“You wanna get lunch?” Steve’s voice raises, and the conversation is clearly over. “I think I could go for some sushi, or- Mexican. Maybe acai?”

Those are three very different things, and it is your job to figure out which one he really wants. But you can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

You have never used your plus one. You’ve never needed to.

There’s never been anyone worth using it on, except for one, dumb, handsome man who already has his own invitation to every event, and never has a problem finding his own date. You’ve spent dozens of nights lingering at Steve’s side—because he can tell you all he wants to enjoy yourself, you’ll slack when you’re dead—and glaring daggers at the model hanging off of Bucky’s arm. Giggling at everything he says and trying to drift closer than the polite, respectable distance he keeps them at.

He lets you sit closer to him than he lets them. And they are all a little younger, so maybe he wouldn’t mind that you’re not experienced and-

You stamp those thoughts under your heel. Not worth it.

But is Steve’s noticed how you never bring anyone, maybe he’s noticed how you stare at Bucky as well. And if he’s noticed that, he might start looking closer. And if he looks closer, he’s going to realize that you’re in love with his best friend, and he’s going to tell Bucky, and you’re going to get fired, and lose your cool apartment and fuck, you aren’t emotionally prepared to be a prostitute-

You need a date.

It’s the safest, most logical conclusion. You study Steve across the room, and quickly decide against asking to be set up. That might get back to Bucky, and you don’t want him to know for reason that defy common sense. You can’t ask anyone at work, but all your friends are your co-workers. You could go out to a bar, but that sounds dangerous and exhausting, and you’re not even sure where you’d find the time.

Which leaves one option.

Dating apps.

There are millions of them. You know from college friends and social media that there are about five worth having. You download all of them, and spend the rest of your lunch setting up your profile. You’re by no means ugly, and you’ve got plenty of pictures in exciting locations thanks to Steve being unable to get through any work event without you there. You put down that you’re not sure what you’re looking for, because you’re really not. You lie about your job, because when you tell people you’re Steve Roger’s personal assistant, they usually get weird. You settle just secretary, even though Steve and Natasha would shout at you if they saw.

They won’t see. None of them will see.

And you’ll get a nice, boring date to the next event, and everything is going to be fine.

“You never tell me about your family.”

Bucky’s words are so low you almost don’t hear them. You look up at him in surprise, and hope the dim lighting hides your flush.

“You never ask.”

His lips twitch down. “I’ve told you about my family.”

“So?”

“Usually.” He mutters, glaring at his papers like the did something to personally offend him. “When you tell someone about yourself, it’s an… Exchange of information.”

“An exchange of information?” You snort. “Is that a CIA thing?”

“Not everything I do is a CIA thing.”

“Everything Natasha does is a CIA thing. And you were in the CIA together.”

“Nat was better at it than I was.” He grumbles. His brow does a tight-knit wrinkle thing, when he’s frustrated. For a grown man, it’s always rather adorable. “I’d like to know about your family.”

“I…” You blink at him, your brain turning fuzzy and useless.

He’s staring at you. Saying those words like they matter, and you can barely understand them at all.

“Why?”

“Because. We’ve worked together a while. I know… A lot about you.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, giving you a strange look. “You know about me.”

“Uh huh. That’s usually how being friends works.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, well. You’ve met my mother. She adores you.”

“She doesn’t adore me-“

“She adores you.”

He says it like it’s really not up for debate. You flush. “Oh- Okay.”

“Everyone you meet adores you.” Bucky grumbles, like that complete lie of a statement infuriates him. “And I tell you everything about me.”

You don’t think that’s true either. You know a lot about Bucky, but not everything. Steve says Bucky’s just like that—not big on sharing—so you hoard every bit of information he offers you like a dragon with gold, but it’s far from everything. “Bu- James-“

“Bucky.” He corrects, and you sigh.

He’s not making that part easy, either.

“Bucky.” You say, smooth and careful. “You know everything about me that Steve knows. I- I can tell you more. But I’m not all that interesting.”

“I disagree.” He mutters. “You’re impossibly interesting.”

You can only hum, pressing your thighs together as he just keeps staring at you. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that. It makes your brain slow down and all your thoughts turn honeyed and gooey. His hands are right in your eyeline, and he’s got those big, deft fingers that you’ve imagined tracing over your hips and lips, and he’s giving you compliments. Compliments like they’re just breathing, like he doesn’t even have to think about them because you could be all he sees.

“What do you want to know?” You mumble, desperate to move the conversation away from this. If you offer yourself too much of his attention, it’s going to drag you under like quicksand.

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?”

“My favorite flower-“

Bucky grunts, nodding tightly. You take a deep, slow breath, careful not to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

Bucky grunts. “Well, what kinda flowers have people gotten you before.”

“I- I’ve never been given flowers.”

“You’ve never-“ Bucky cuts himself off, and you risk a glance up to see him scowling. “Ever?”

You can hear the what about that he won’t say. What about a boyfriend.

If he’s not brave enough to ask it—although you don’t understand why he’d care—you don’t have to be brave enough to answer it.

“No. Never ever.” You mumble, and you might dissolve into a mist of humid humiliation and confusing arousal.

You have Bucky’s attention, and you both wish he’d take it back and never want him to stop pushing. You’ve never had someone poke at you this much. It makes your core ache, and you’d rally rather not explore what that means right now.

“You need to sign these.” You shove some papers across the desk, staring at Bucky’s hands again.

They’re curled in fists. You’d like them inside you-

You mentally slap yourself, and force a smile onto your face, nodding to the papers. “Steve told me not to let you go home, until you did.”

Bucky chuckles at that, though there’s still a strange look in his eyes. “Not let me go home, huh.”

“Yes, sir.” You drawl.

Bucky’s knuckles go white. You could swear his voice gets lower.

“And how would you stop me from gettin’ home, kid?”

“With lots of talent.” You shrug, giving him a tiny smile. “And my body.”

Bucky coughs, and the desk jerks suddenly. His knee must’ve slammed against it. You shoot to your feet, ready to check on him, but he waves you quickly back down.

“Fine. I’m fine.” He scowls, scooting forward in his chair. “Papers.”

He makes a beckoning gesture, and you just stare at him.

“James, are you-“

“Bucky.” He grunts. “Papers, sweetheart.”

You nod stupidly, shoving the papers into his hands. You’re not sure what’s happening. Your thoughts are all still made of candy-clouds and goo, so you don’t want to overthink it.

It’s only when you get home, that you realize what he called you. I

Sweetheart.

You can’t blame him. He can’t know what that does to you.

You really need to find that date.

It happens in the middle of work. The worst possible place for it to happen.

Steve’s on a conference call, and you’re lying on his couch, swiping through dating apps. You’re only there in case he forgets something, and you don’t have to pay much attention for that. The voices of old, annoying men drone on and on and on in the background, and you have everything memorized so well that when Steve calls your name, you answer without even realty paying attention to what you’re saying.

The call is three hours for no good reason at all. You get bored.

Hence, the dating apps.

It’s almost as mindless as the call itself. All in all, the experience is turning out to be more of a fun game than an actual method to find a date. The next gala is creeping up, though. You refuse to give up.

But you’re also picky. And you keep comparing every profile you see to Bucky, which is deeply counterproductive.

Michael is handsome, and the exact same height as Bucky, but he’s built with corded muscle instead of the softer, thicker strength you’ve seen straining through Bucky’s suit. Henry has a picture of himself with kids—his sister’s, according to the caption—but you look at it and just think of when Bucky and Steve went to the children’s hospital, and Bucky had become such a soft and approachable person you’d been worried you’d get pregnant watching him.

Leon has nice eyes, but they’re not as pretty as Bucky’s. Cal is in the military, but he’s beaming about it in a way that makes you think he joined so he could run around with a big gun, while Bucky joined because his family needed the healthcare. Jake has a sweet smile, but it doesn’t make you feel bubbly like Bucky’s. Asher and Kyle both have high paying jobs—all their photos showing them driving Maserati’s and drinking expensive whiskey—but one of the things you’ve always loved about Bucky is how he doesn’t brag. His suits are less expensive and more well-tailored. His watch costs $150—he always grumbles that he just needs it to tell time—and he drives a motorcycle that Sam says he built from scratch.

You squint at Damien’s profile, and he’s got a motorcycle too. His caption says that he built it himself, and you don’t know anything about motorcycles, but you doubt he built it as well as Bucky did.

You swipe left with a sigh, and go onto the next profile.

James. 41. Business Manager. You give the picture a quick glance—beefy, shirtless chest that makes you drool a little, only the sharp, bearded jawline of the owner visible in the photo—and squint at the bio. Wealthy bachelor looking for his Queen.

You snort, and scroll lazily down. James’ Interests include music, cars, technology, dancing, family. No kids, but wants them. Looking for casual fun—you can’t be causal, or have fun, but it’s always nice to pretend—located thirty feet away, pet cat, smokes and drinks socially-

Located thirty feet away.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You sit up suddenly, rapidly scrolling back up to the photos and main bio. James, 41, Business Manager.   

Fucking- Fuck-

You click frantically through the photos, somehow burning alive and freezing to your bones all at once. James’ next photo doesn’t show his face either, instead displaying a fluffy white cat on his bare chest. You know that cat. You’ve fed and pet her, paying her more attention than Bucky himself whenever he brings her to the office. Alpine adores you. You have more photos of her on your phone than you do of yourself.

Next photo.

Bucky drinking at that Italian place he, Steve, and Sam always go to for celebrations. In the background, you can see Natasha flirting with the bartender. You remember that night. She’d taken him home, and you’d heard far too many details about how hot and submissive he was in the morning. You’d been happy for her, and sick with jealousy. You’d spent all of that night standing next to her, trying not to stare at Bucky while he and Steve drank.

Which means-

You pinch in on the photo, feeling a little sick when you find it. Shrouded enough in the background that you can only see it if you look, but you can definitely fucking see it.

Your lovelorn, sad expression as you stare at Bucky like he’s made of stars.

He’s seen this photo. Everyone who’s been on his dating profile has seen this photo.

You feel sick. You unpinch the photo, ready to maybe just fall back into the couch cushions and have them swallow you whole, and then it fucking happens.

Your thumb drifts a little to the right.

You swipe yes on Bucky’s profile.

And a little heart graphic overtakes your screen, the bolded words It’s a Match! Shoved into your face.

You scream, and throw your phone across the room.

Steve looks at you like you’re insane. You feel insane.

“Are you-“

“I need to go to the bathroom!” You shout, and Steve opens his mouth, but you’re already running.

You have to pass Bucky’s office—right next to Steve’s—to get to the bathroom. You pause to stare at him, unable to form any coherent thoughts but fuck and Bucky.

He’s on his phone. Reading something with a knit brow. You might actually be about to throw up.

Like he can sense you, he looks up.

Your eyes meet.