#fwb reader

Steve turned to you, eyes glossed over in disbelief. “Bucky.” He shook his head, “It was Bucky.” He kept repeating it to himself, attempting to convince his own mind that it was true. “It was him. It was Bucky. He was here.” 

“I don’t understand,” you grasped his shoulder. “I thought he was gone—you saw.” You gulped, searching his face for any hesitance. “You said he fell, that he-“

“It was him.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, “Okay, I believe you. He was here.” 

It was true. The man you’d heard so many stories about had returned. He wasn’t like the anecdotes Steve recalled; this Bucky was darker, more quiet, resigned. 

He was an observer. You often caught him staring at you, eyes lingering between your figure and Steve’s. Bucky would always stand, tucked into a corner. He didn’t feel deserving of the warmth Steve offered—the humanity that remained present in you. There were times, then, that you would offer a welcoming hand. A slight wave of motion offered him a seat, acknowledging that he did deserve to be there. He felt human with you. 

That’s what initially drew Bucky to you and inevitably why you became friends, too. There was a way that you loved everyone, insisted on not leaving them out and nourished their insides. 

The hurt came when he realized it would never be that way for him.

You could never love him, not a monster. Not when the shining emblem of a perfect man sat beside you every day. Steve had so much time with you—he was your best friend. Bucky couldn’t replace him, not if he tried. So he always kept you at arms length, hoping to be more than friends but settling for something less. 

The first time it happened, when Bucky had been so lucky to have a moment with you—he swore that he was dreaming. He never gave you a reason to like him, in fact, it was the opposite. He’d gone out of his way every day to push you further from him, make it known that he’d never be as good as Steve. 

He could tell you saw something different; he hated it. 

The three of you had tried small talk often, Steve facilitating some sort of discussion to break the ice. It almost always ended with you and Bucky exactly where you started, friends who were forced to be so because of a mutual one.

“Well, I’m headed out—you two should talk.”

“Steve, no-“ 

“Buck, you two are my favorite people in the world. I would love it if you gave this a chance.” Steve patted his friend’s shoulder, “For me. Please.” 

Bucky turned to look at Steve, a solid expression on his face. He didn’t speak, just gave him a small nod and let Steve step around him and out of your place. 

It was common that Steve would find solace in your home. It was far from the city, neatly tucked away in a residential area. There was a sense of normalcy and he was proud to introduce that to Bucky—he needed that, deserved it after everything. 

The room was silent, violently so. You sat across from Bucky—him lingering in your peripheral, and you nestled softly into your couch. He didn’t move, standing still near a wall that offered him the sight of every possible window and exit. 

“Do you wanna sit?” 

You watched his body for any reaction, dissatisfied when there was none. It was awkward, him avoiding eye contact and you not sure of what else to say. 

You sighed. “I’ll be back.” You announced your departure, not that it mattered to him. 

You beeline to the bathroom, desperately needing to escape him. He was always like this, closed off and so obviously annoyed by your presence. Splashing your face with water did little to temper you, and your body seemed to overheat at the thought of having to see him again. 

You didn’t let yourself think—couldn’t. You stepped out and kept your head down before looking toward Bucky’s signature spot on the wall. He wasn’t there. 

You tilted your head down, seeing Bucky now sitting on the couch, two cushions away from where you’d been prior. He watched you smile softly, moving to sit in your spot.

Bucky made a habit of keeping his hands in his lap. He would sit stoically at all times. It was the same now. 

He avoided eye contact but muttered, “Hi.” 

Your breath hitched, surprised he’d started a conversation. Keeping your tone even so as not to overwhelm him, you replied, “Hi, Bucky.” 

The both of you nodded, letting the weight of your forced proximity surround you. As much as he tried, he couldn’t ignore you. The faint smell of your hair products, the way you tapped your own leg rhythmically, how nervous you were—he noticed it all. 

“Do you, um,” you swallowed. “Do you want something to drink, maybe?” 

It’d been over a year since Bucky had shown up. You, of course, shared small talk with him in that time. He’d grown to know the story of you and Steve—how you met. It would suffice to say that Bucky grew to be an acquaintance of yours—a long lost friend of a friend…one that would never truly like you. Accepting that was hard; you wanted Bucky to be comfortable at the very least. If not like you, he would at bare minimum be able to sit down for once. 

So today was a win. 

Bucky didn’t reply to your question but instead asked his own, “How was Steve? Without me, I mean?” 

His voice was gruff, and you hadn’t expected that question, let alone more than a single syllable from him. 

“Well,” you readjusted to face Bucky, “He’s always the most positive guy in the room—which I’m sure you know.”

Bucky let a smirk slip, recounting the optimism his friend had at all times. 

“He’s better than me that way, than a lot of us.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. He’s just Steve, you know that.” 

He didn’t know that. Bucky was living in his body but observing from outside his own mind. He was witnessing his friend after so much time had escaped him. Everything he thought was true wasn’t anymore. 

He wanted to get to know you, offer you the same grace that was given to him. But he couldn’t. Before it even begun, Bucky was overwhelmed. He pushed himself to be kinder, to do this for Steve. It was simply futile. 

He stood suddenly and looked down at you. “I should go.” 

“Okay,” you stood, nodding. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.” 

He hummed, rolling his shoulders back and tightening his posture again. He didn’t respond. 

“I’ll tell Steve you tried today,” you whispered to him. “I know he’ll appreciate it. I do.” 

The tension was palpable. Your eyes stayed locked on each other until you heard a sound and looked down. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm was clear, only slightly suppressed by the gloves he always wore. He watched you noticing his hand twitch as if he wanted to move it. There was a restraint there, like he was pushing down something that was second nature. As if he meant to do something that he’d always done. 

You swallowed hard enough to hear it in your ears. Looking at Bucky, you arched your brow in a subtle defiance—daring him to do what he intended. You wanted to know him and his habits, to understand even a modicum of what was in his brain. 

Without thinking a second more, he let his left arm lift a bit. He reached toward your face but paused at you flinching, leaning away from him. 

Just barely audible, you spoke, “Sorry.” 

Bucky blinked and furrowed his brows, unable to stop himself. He let his fingers wrap around your face, a single hand pressing just under your chin and at the top of your throat. Slightly wide eyed, you watched him watching you. Most of his hand rested on your cheek, his thumb pressing into the other side of your face. 

Despite no longer being the Winter Soldier, his habits lingered. When in that state he remembered being like this so vividly—a hand around someone’s throat and crushing the life out of them. He hissed at the thought, not at all intending for that with you. He craned your head, though, observing the quizzical look on your face. 

It didn’t make sense to him, the need to maintain this routine. But he did. Beyond the haze of what was once his signature way of taking life—he saw a new one. Bucky could envision his future so clearly, yet he couldn’t let himself have it. 

He went to drop his hand but stopped at the feeling of yours on his wrist. It was inexplicable. Glove or not, you craved the contact from him. 

The room stayed silent except for the slight creak of the floorboards beneath you. While Bucky stayed steady, you teetered on the balls of your feet—this moment feeling fleeting. 

He inched forward, watching your eyes fall closed. 

Your lips were right there, the ones he’d openly been ogling at for months. It was torture, but all he knew. He couldn't allow himself the satisfaction of the feeling. He wasn’t deserving. 

Instead, he latched onto your neck. Bucky kissed and nibbled there with an urgency you hadn’t expected—hell, you didn’t even think today would’ve progressed to this at all. 

The feeling of him on you was intoxicating, and it was so minuscule. His hands were all over you, and yours on him. Your breath came out ragged, “We shouldn’t.” 

“You’re right.” He paused on your neck briefly, directly in your ear now. “We shouldn’t.” 

“We’re friends.” You nodded, letting your hands trail up his back and into his hair. 

“Are we?”

You weren’t sure. It was complicated. You couldn’t let yourself think about that now and neither could he. 

He pushed you down onto the couch and stood above you, allowing you to finally look him over. He was casually in jeans and a t-shirt, the rest of his body entirely covered. The only skin that showed besides his face was just below at his neck. Around it lay his dog tags, which he was so adamant about wearing. The glint of them always caught your eye and alerted you of his presence. Even when he showed up silent, you’d see him and those damn tags. Just always out of your eyeline but in the room—that was who Bucky had always been. In his stoicism, he was still consistently there.

Watching Bucky undo his pants already had you eager for him, too. There was always something there for you, an intrigue simply at the way he carried himself. You stayed seated, leaning back a bit in an attempt to slide down your sweatpants. Both of you watched the other discarding the bottom half of their clothes with little thought, tossing them aside. 

He leaned, then, ruffling into his dark jacket’s interior. 

“I got it,” he mumbled, ripping into the condom wrapper with his teeth. He slid the latex over himself just before pushing the jacket off his back. 

He kneeled into the couch, the angle awkward but enough that he was able to slide into you like he wanted. It was tight—rough. You expected the burn but still sucked in a breath at it, the lack of prep. Bucky didn’t mean to make it this way but just wanted it to be over—the insatiable need to pump in and out of you. Only you.

Slowly and deliberately, he continued to kiss around your neck, collarbone, and ears. He snapped into you, purposely moving at a speed that allowed him to chase a high rather than savor the moment with you. He wanted to, truly…to acknowledge the way you looked up at him. It was his dream to let the sounds of you falling apart actually hit his ears and mean something, but he couldn’t. 

The couch creaked and rocked. You were now slightly bent into the back of the cushions, your chest moving up and down alongside Bucky’s. He pulled back, stabilizing himself behind you. The new angle allowed you to see his dog tags again, them hitting you with every movement into you. Without thinking, you grabbed them, hooking them under one of your fingers. 

He finally allowed himself some relief, his voice dragging out the moans he’d himself been holding in. “Fuck...” 

You watched him intently, pulling him closer by the chain on his neck. He shifted his angle a bit at that and watched your jaw drop open. Your brows furrowed, whines choking out of you at the new sensation. It made you let go of his tags, grasping at the fabric of his shirt. This made him pound into you faster—realizing a tether of intimacy was gone. 

He was subconsciously glad for that, happy that he could pinpoint and force that sweet look in your eyes away. There was no longer an adoration in your gaze but simply one of pleasure. This was for the best. He could appreciate you from a distance despite the line of friendship being crossed so carelessly now. 

“Shit,” you groaned out suddenly. “Buck-“ 

He hushed you softly, quelling the harsh sound in your throat. It only spurred him on, though, truly ruthless about this. He only slowed at the feeling of your fingers gliding over his face, pushing the stray piece of hair out of view. His pace stuttered, faltering as he really looked at you. 

A second later, he started in on you again. A clothed hand found its way into your shirt and pinched at your nipples. His grip was rough, kneading your chest. You were already so close; every additional sensation only pushed you further.

You met him suddenly, writhing into him and filling the living room with lewd slapping sounds. 

Bucky huffed breaths out at every push into you. You fought a squeak, pressing your own hand over your mouth. You gnawed at it as it allowed some relief from the burning inside of you. He was hitting that same spongey spot over and over. He was so good at picking up on the subtle changes in your face and body. 

Without warning he slipped out and nudged you, “Turn.” 

You did without questioning, a firm covered hand rubbing at the skin of your hips. Regardless of his gloves, you felt the difference in his hands—the slight shift of metal in one versus the pulse in the other. There was a contrast you enjoyed, a chill about his metal arm that grounded you. 

A knee pushed your legs open as he slid into you again, this time using you as leverage. Bucky pushed you down slowly, the side of your head finding the cushion. This angle was new, deeper. It wouldn’t be much longer at this point and he could tell. One hand slipped underneath you and up to your neck again, squeezing just enough for you to appreciate the loss of breath. In between gasps you nudged further into the couch, the sensation becoming too much for you. 

He couldn’t stop when you came, relishing the way your insides continued to pulse. It was as if he was meant to stay; his one true purpose was to be completely enveloped by you. When he finished a strained sound choked in his throat, one that you hadn’t expected. 

You were throbbing still, a cold feeling finally making you realize he pulled away. The feeling of him on you had gone away so quick. The sound of a different metal clanked—his belt buckle bouncing around as he slid his pants back on. 

“Should we…should I tell Steve about this?” 

Your question was sudden but was filled with a weight that scared him. You didn’t want to be too forward—but it was only right. Steve was now caught in the middle of something complicated. Even if this was the first and only time…you weren’t sure you could keep this from him. 

Bucky thought differently. 

“Why would you wanna tell Steve?” 

“Because it’s-“ 

“Leave him out of this.”  

Bucky readjusted his clothes, smoothing them over as they’d been before. You watched him inch his way to the door—his back toward you. 

You ignored the pang in your chest, the confusion that now resonated in you. Pushing it away, you settled on changing the subject. “Steve wanted to do something tomorrow, you coming?” 

He didn’t turn as he grabbed the doorknob, merely craned his head to the side. You watched his profile for any sense of something, but again, he was so unreadable for you. 

“I’ll be there.” 

Then he left. 

part two

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In his free time since being off ice, Steve found solace in drawing the world around him. Between each image would linger small lists of to-dos, figures of speech he had to know, and bucket list items he hoped to complete one day. He was almost finished with this one, keeping it on him to use at his leisure. He wanted to offer the experience to you both as well, his best friends. 

“I got you these,” Steve passed you and Bucky each a book. “I also have some of my favorite pencils here.” He grabbed a handful and let them fall in front of you. “Whenever I’m feeling...overwhelmed or anxious, I just,” he exhaled a deep breath, “I just put something in here. It helps.” 

You and Bucky watched him intently, nodding at his explanation. 

He continued, “We don’t have to talk—you guys don’t have to…but maybe we could just do this together?” 

“I’d like that.” You spoke first, grabbing a few of the pencils and an eraser. 

“Me too.” 

Bucky spoke. It was low and filled with apprehension, like he was testing the waters of what it was like to use his own voice. You whipped your head to him at the sound, arching your brow as his covered hands reached for a book and pencil. He sat for a while, though, just looking between you and Steve without putting anything down. 

As time passed, you chuckled at your paper a bit, drawing a rough picture of Steve’s concentrated face. He was quite fond of birds, you realized, and he would often draw them. Their presence was fleeting, and he loved that challenge, the idea that one moment they could be here and the next gone. It was similar to life in that way, how the people he loved most would be with him and then not. 

The greatest joys of his life were when a bird would return, perched on the ground in front of him. He found that his life, in particular, was like that. Just when he thought Bucky was really gone, he came back. He was able to finish his drawing now, and you were an amazing addition to the artwork. 

“So,” Steve clasped his hands together, “Who wants to show theirs off?” 

You perked up and excitedly flipped yours with a laugh, pointing to Steve’s upturned face in the sketch. 

He immediately laughed and snatched your book, eyeing the scratch before looking up at you. “No way we sat here for an hour and you drew me in your book.” 

“Believe it,” you shrugged, “I’m an artist.” 

Steve scoffed playfully before tossing the book back to you with a light underhand throw. “What about you, Buck?” 

He’d been into it by then. You weren’t sure when he started to actually draw, but he wouldn’t look away. His brows were pinched, and he pulled at the inner skin of his cheek in concentration. You and Steve exchanged a look when he didn’t reply. 

Steve outstretched a hand toward the book, “Bucky-“ The harsh movement of Bucky pulling his work back toward his chest cut Steve off—he held his hands up in a surrender. “Sorry, buddy. You okay?” 

“I’m good just…got kind of invested.” 

You nodded, observing the way Bucky still clutched the book. “It’s really relaxing Steve. This was a great idea. Right, Bucky?” 

“Right.” He looked between you and Steve before closing the small book and tucking it into his jacket’s inner pocket. He moved to stand suddenly backing toward the road, “I’ll be in the car when you guys are done.” 

He was always like this, pushed people away.

Steve looked to you when Bucky was out of earshot. “Did I say something?” The look on his face was one of pure confusion and concern. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t push it. At least he actually put pencil to paper, you know?”

“You’re right—this is sort of a milestone if you think about it.” 

“I agree, big step for him.” 

On the way back to the tower you let your mind be on Bucky again—the way he so quickly let the good moments be pushed away by whatever small thing bothered him. 

There wasn’t much talking as the group of you got into the elevator, save for Steve making a last-ditch effort to get you and Bucky to talk again. 

“I have a few things to do, but feel free to wait around, and we can hang out again later.” He stood facing the elevator's closed doors with the stoicism he always had. 

Neither you nor Bucky spoke as Steve stepped out of the elevator—his words seeming like an order rather than a random comment. He had that authoritative way about him.

A few seconds after, the doors shut and allowed the cart to spring into action. It made you wobble a bit, the startling movement making you both off-balance briefly. 

When he regained his composure, Bucky finally spoke, glancing over at you. “Today was a good day.” His voice was filled with unease, not having had a moment alone with you since the day prior. 

You nodded. “It was. I had fun.” It was fine, entertaining the small talk. “You have fun?” 

He looked over to you as the tension he’d been holding slowly dissipated—you had that effect on him. Bucky was instead filled with nerves as your eyes rested on him. His lips parted to speak in response, but he couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him so fondly, actually interested in whether or not he enjoyed himself. 

All he could muster was a tight nod, assuring you that he had enjoyed himself, before looking ahead to the elevator doors. Then they jolted again, this time stopping abruptly at the pull of the emergency stop button. 

He looked over at you again but this time in confusion, concern even. “What are you doing?” 

“Why are you being weird?” You tucked yourself into the corner, covering the button so he couldn’t try to leave. You knew, of course, that had he tried he'd be out of here faster than you could even process. But the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch said enough to you. 

“I’m not. I’m being normal-“ 

“Normal for you isn’t…whatever this is.” You looked him up and down, “You’re more—more reserved, methodical. You’re not a jittery person, Bucky.” 

He let out an amused scoff. “I’m only jittery because we’re stuck in an elevator. I'm claustrophobic.” 

“You could get out and you know that.” You crossed your arms, “You just don’t want to.” 

“That’s not it-“ 

“Bucky?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Move me.” You stepped off the wall and inched closer to him. “Move me out the way and press the button.” 

He swallowed but didn’t move—like you expected. Suddenly, you broke the eye contact. He watched you turn and push the red knob back into place. 

As the metal box started to move again you scoffed at him, purposely avoiding eye contact. His breathing sped up, suddenly enticed to prove you so extremely right. 

“Fuck it,” he grabbed your hip with a single had a let his lips fall onto yours. He’d simultaneously pulled the button with a free hand, distracting you by how eagerly he’d started kissing you. 

The startling jolt of the elevator and Bucky combined sent you back into the side wall, colliding with the long bar with a hiss. Bucky didn’t stop, swallowing the sound with his own mouth on yours. He was needy, pressing his tongue into and through your lips. He’d waited so long for this, and it was absolutely worth it. 

You were completely insatiable. You let Bucky use you, a fondness for the feeling now. The both of you moaned into each other, carelessly wrapping yourselves in one another. You snaked your hands up to his face, pulling him in impossibly closer. You could feel his stubble on your face, suddenly smiling at the burn you’d have between your thighs with him settled there. He felt your smirk and pulled away to look at you. 

Buck smirked, too. You were in a daze, swaying on your feet as your eyes pulled back into focus. 

He watched you leaned into the wall, lowering his head. The layered top of his hair fell over, covering your view of his beautiful face. He stayed looking down but spoke in a low tone, “Take off your pants.” 

“Make. Me.” You smiled, repeating yourself slowly. 

He made a show of lifting his head and letting his hair settle back into place. He was in that damn jacket again, always was. You stayed watching him, tilting your head in amusement as he shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. Even slower, he took off his gloves. You’d never even actually seen both his hands, only hearing of the metal arm that rested beneath his clothing. 

He let his hand flex in front of you, gulping at how quickly he’d decided to show you this part of himself. Bucky didn’t think twice, actually, completely motivated by the opportunity to be close to you. He kept eye contact, hands on his hips and moving forward until your chests met. 

“I have no problem taking matters into my own hands.” With that he simply moved a hand to your pants button. You could tell he was proud, bobbing his head lightly at the way he could so easily strip you without even looking away from your face. You cracked a smile at the way he slid your clothes off, leaving you bare on the bottom. He let you slip your shoes off too, still chest to chest. 

He kept looking at you, spreading your legs with his thigh. He ignored the way you were dripping, sliding one of your legs up onto his waist. He kept his grip there, firmly holding you. 

“Don’t move, I got you.” 

He slipped two fingers into you slowly, pumping in and out at a torturous pace that immediately had your jaw dropping. The sight of you unraveling was amazing and he kept his eyes locked with yours until they fluttered shut. 

You felt helpless, completely entranced by his fingers rubbing your walls. Your breaths came out ragged, “We just—we don’t tell him okay?” You shook your head, eyes opening slightly at Bucky. 

“Mhm, yeah…no Steve.” Bucky looked at you, eyebrows pinched and whimpering. “It’s nothing-“

“Right.” You moaned between each word now, bouncing with his harsh movement. “Nothing.” 

He kept going, speeding up at the squelching sounds that were now like music to his ears. He could tell you were struggling, teetering on the edge every few seconds but not quite exploding. The continuous heat made it feel like you could pop at any moment. It was too good. He was too good. It felt cliche to let this overtake what was blossoming for you both—the transition from acquaintance to friend. 

But you couldn’t help it. 

You’d been holding onto the bar on the wall, but the position was a lot. As he pressed into you over and over, you started to lose balance, hardly standing on the toes of one foot. He kept going even as you shook. He felt your body sliding, hardly keeping yourself up anymore. Your hand fell to the side and accidentally highlighted over a cluster of the floor buttons, illuminating them in an irregular pattern. 

Bucky chuckled but quickly readjusted without missing a beat. He nudged your body into his arm more, completely holding you up with ease now. You felt like a ragdoll, and it reminded you so quickly of the sheer strength of the man that was in you now. You could tell with his hand jacking into you regardless, the flesh of him flexing into you so tastefully. 

He suddenly stopped, slipping out of you as you gripped his neck for more leverage. He again moved you with ease, putting you into his right arm now. His head tilted, ready to see your reaction to his metal hand filling you. 

You gasped at the cooled tips of his fingers teasing your hole, just barely entering before he pulled back out. He could tell you were sensitive now and savored it, only letting you feel him when you calmed down from his slow pumps before. 

He let you whine like this for a bit longer before adding a finger, surprising you with three fingers ramming into you. He was completely soulless about it now, mouth agape at the way your body reacted. He knew you were close and urged you on. 

“Doing so good.” He nodded. “You gonna come soon?” His tone was almost mocking, your condition evident. Suddenly, you snapped, head falling into his neck. 

“Yes, yes, yes…” You couldn’t help but repeat to yourself, whispering through the writhes into his palm. 

Your hips rolled, and he met you with a soft kiss into your temple. You slowed, then, coming down from the intensity of the ordeal.

You breathed into him without a word, smirking at the man in from of you. Bucky let you down, grabbing your pants for you and sliding them onto your now wobbling legs. He nudged your shoes with his feet before kneeling down and sliding them on, patting your leg when he was done. You were in another world, only slipping back to him at the sound of the elevator returning to motion.

You let out a laugh at the elevator slowly stopping on a random assortment of floors. At a higher one, Bucky finally stepped off, turning back to look at you for a second. You hadn’t expected anything more; he was often wordless, and he proved you right the night before…when he left so carelessly. 

“You coming?” 

With a ding, the elevator doors slowly moved to close. Through them, you watched Bucky, standing and looking at you expectedly. “Just did, actually.” 

He choked at that but jerked forward, putting a hand between to doors to stop them. “So, is that a yes?” He tilted his head back, “Maybe watch a movie or something?” 

You intended to head home at first, not expecting him to extend this hand. This wasn’t like him—his usual closed-off self. Admittedly, you enjoyed this better. He now had a willingness that never was there before. It was jarring—the way he seemed to do a 180 from last night. 

You reasoned that maybe you could enjoy yourself and finally be the friend Steve needed you to be—to love his friend the way he did so many years ago. For Bucky, it was grasping at straws; he wanted to keep you around in any way he could. He would never be Steve—could never be the image of a perfect man that you deserved. 

We’re better as friends. 

He repeated the mantra in his mind, affirming himself despite part of him saying otherwise. He could stand to be this with you, friends with something more every once in a while. Hell, every day if you let him. He settled so you wouldn’t have to. You didn’t deserve someone like him, an undeniable shroud of darkness that clouded over your blinding light. 

“You know what, why the hell not?” You stepped off the elevator cart and brushed by the man. “I get to pick the movie though.” 

“‘Course, doll.” 

part three

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He glanced at his watch and shrugged off the time. He and Steve were supposed to meet you today, and he would be early. He couldn’t care, slightly relived at the fact that Steve wouldn’t be there—an accidental hindrance to him being alone with you. 

The ride out of the city was one he was fond of; the associated noise was always too much for him. He liked your place, though. It was quiet, desolate. His mind was calm there. If he could envision himself anywhere besides by Steve’s side, it would be with you. 

No. 

He shook his head to himself only, the trees of your neighborhood coming into view. Bucky could live in an area like this…not be with you. 

Bucky swallowed and tightened his grip slightly, pushing his bike toward your place just that much quicker. When he finally got there, he released a breath he’d been holding. He didn’t waste time, sliding his bike beside your house. It was both out of view and saved space in the driveway for Steve when he did finally get here. 

He sped up, almost running up to your porch now. He didn’t let a second pass before knocking on your door, searching just beyond the curtains of your window for any movement. There was light shuffling and the faint sound of your voice. His chest tightened at that. 

To his surprise, when the door swung open, you stood out of breath—in a haphazardly thrown-on robe. 

“Bucky? You’re like an hour early.” 

He glanced at his watch, then back at you. “Forty-five minutes, actually.” 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Just had to get out.” 

You nodded in understanding, assuming it was another one of those hard days for him. 

“Well, make yourself at home. I should probably get dressed—Steve will be here in an hour, too.” 

“Forty-five minutes.” 

You smirked. “Right.” 

You pivoted on your heels, moving up the stairs to change into actual clothes. Bucky looked around your space while he waited. Everything was familiar to him; he’d spent most of his time observing the details of your home when he was tucked into the corner. You and Steve would talk, attempting to get him to join in, but he was in another world. 

He noticed the photos—more importantly, the lack thereof. You had many trinkets, keepsakes of adventures he could only assume you went on alone. In the few images around your home, he examined you alone or objects you’d captured through a lens. There were very few with family, and they definitely weren’t recent. 

So when Steve would call out to Bucky, an expectant look on his face, he had nothing to add. He couldn’t say anything. Had he opened his mouth to speak, he would let his concern tumble out—a question of who would be so stupid as to let you lead this life alone. If given the privilege to be near you, who were the fools that relinquished that? 

So he didn’t speak. He let his mouth stay closed, body still, as you looked at him in disappointment. He hated being the source of your pain in any way, but it seemed a cycle of disappointment was all he could ever offer you. Somehow, in his hatred for those who harmed you, he only added to the feeling. That confused him even more. 

The sound of you pattering down the stairs resounded in his ears, the sight of you making his throat dry. 

“Do you have some water?” 

You paused in your tracks. “In the kitchen, yeah.” 

His voice always shocked you, how casual he could be after hardly speaking sometimes. You motioned for him to follow, not speaking further but allowing him to fall into step behind you. 

He knew you had water. You had both bottles and a filter in your refrigerator. He knew where the cups were and how you liked to arrange them. He side-eyed the coasters, doing so discreetly. Bucky was painfully aware of everything...because he had to be.

“Here.” You sipped your water as you passed Bucky his. His forced stillness was evident, one that perplexed you. You paused for a moment. “You okay?” 

He watched you, forgetting to even take a drink. Your eyes watched him just over the rim of the glass, not breaking what was clearly an unspoken exchange. For you, it was testing the waters—questioning why he really came over. For Bucky, it was whether or not you’d let him do what he intended, what he’d thought about every day since the first time in this very house. 

You finally sat down your cup, taking one last dramatic gulp before leaning into your kitchen counter. Letting your arms and legs cross was a movement of defiance and one Bucky seemed to love. After being in such a confined space with him, you could tell—he liked when you frustrated him. 

You avoided eye contact, looking everywhere but at him. You went so far as to not acknowledge his measured steps toward you, the way he itched closer. He cleared his throat just as his hands fell beside you. He’d trapped you now, making sure you had nowhere to look but at him. 

“Did you need something?” 

He thought better of it; he really had. To reply so bluntly—so truthfully. He was finally able to stand being in a room with you. Both you and Steve could enjoy his presence without him only grunting in response—a muffled reply that didn’t really answer anything. He didn’t want to ruin something so innocent…platonic. 

Did you need something?

“No—just you.” 

Your breath noticeably hitched at that, a release that had you losing focus. It was enough that Bucky was able to nudge your legs apart. He grasped at the fabric of your shorts, rubbing the hem between his fingers. You were only in these loose shorts and a t-shirt. It was simple, almost too much. Bucky couldn’t restrain himself, the thought of a domestic life with you. One where you would wear something like this every day, basking in the comfort of his presence.

His hands were still gloved, reaching between you two to graze over just between your legs. A gasp escaped you, your hands reaching up to balance yourself with his shoulders. He was teasing you, hardly applying pressure to where you craved it most. Your hips moved up slightly, chasing the feeling of his hands on you. He allowed it, smirking at the way your jaw went slack with his slow rubs over you. 

He used the heel of his hand to press into you, while his fingertips hit where you were most sensitive. Your head fell into his chest, breaths coming out ragged. The sound of his name falling from your mouth only spurred him on, stopping to slip his hands into your pants but on top of your underwear. He continued as he was, drawing lewd sounds from you but not quite satisfying what you really needed. It made it that much harder to deny him—the fleeting feeling of release coming and going in waves that only he could control. 

You spoke into his chest. “I need more—please.” 

“We don’t have time. Trust me,” he sped his hand up, “If we did, I’d take you over this counter.” 

You cursed at him under your breath, the feeling so good and the thought of him in you overwhelming your senses. You imagined it, the rough way he’d slid into you…how he pushed you down and took what he needed while simultaneously making sure you were satisfied. 

Without missing a beat, you let a single hand trail down beside Bucky’s. His brows pinched immediately, not at all expecting you to grip him over his jeans. He was hard, restrained. Even still, he’d ignored the feeling just to have the chance to touch you. 

You clawed into his neck, so turned on by the feeling of him throbbing in his own pants. He jutted into your palm, hissing at the firm way you slide up and down. He stuttered his work on you a bit, completely in tune with your every motion. 

Both of you were breathing erratically, forcing the other along as you threatened to unravel. 

Your fingers slipped into the short hairs at his neck, gripping them as a means to ground yourself. It didn't do much, the way Bucky was circling you, making your legs weak.

You repayed him, letting a finger graze over his tip specifically. You squeezed the head of him before running your entire hand up and down his length. You eventually matched his speed, both of you moving in erratic, short, and quick motions now.

You alternated between squeezing, sliding, and pressing into Bucky as he let the sound of his unwinding fuel you. He was weakend, an exterior you'd never seen on the man. He almost whimpered... almost. He fought the high-pitched sounds that sat in his throat, feeling under your control.

He clutched behind your head, his falling into your neck. He let himself nibble there, ignoring the way his own body shook as you sank a hand closer to his balls. He shivered, an overwhelming heat settling in his groin.

“Fuck, keep doing that.” 

He felt you looking up, the breath of your whimpers hitting his face. He leaned into you at that, letting his forehead fall on yours. 

“God, you’re amazing.” 

Things like that almost made it feel real—like this was the habit of two people actually together. You weren’t, though. This was something hidden, wrong. Both of you didn’t want to acknowledge it, the way this could ruin everything. You settled on replacing the sensation with a blinding one of finishing together. 

He stayed there for a while, only moving his head to kiss your temple. He was soft about it, letting his lips linger for a few seconds. If it were up to him, he'd have the luxury of doing this every day—several times a day. You deserved an everlasting affection, he'd thought.

Something in Bucky shifted, not that he wanted to pull away, but something of recognition. His held tilted as he turned toward your door. “Steve’s here.” 

“What?” You whisper shouted before looking at the clock. You pulled away from each other finally. “He’s early-“ You froze, examining the time closer now. 

“He’s Steve early.” Bucky finished for you. Steve was 15 minutes ahead of schedule.

Steve Rogers was always a man on time—never forgetting that any time after was unacceptable. Usually, it made you smile that he put in the effort to always be ahead of you. It only frightened you now that he might figure out what you and Bucky had going on. Despite it not being anything, undefined, it was something. 

Something he absolutely could not know about. 

You often questioned if hiding this from your best friend was actually the right thing. For Bucky, you would, though. He thought it was best, and in all his darkness, you couldn’t add to it. You wouldn’t be another reason for him to sink back into that shell of himself he was before. He was talking to you now—trying to express himself. You couldn’t lose that…lose him. 

Sure enough, a familiar pattern resounded, light taps only Steve would leave. You looked at Bucky expectantly, not moving. 

He smirked, “Should probably answer that, doll.” 

“Right—you’re right.” You pushed away from him and moved toward the door. “Who is it?” You grimaced at the fake tone in your voice. Nobody else was expected to show up but Steve. 

“It’s me!” 

You swung the door open and smiled as Steve stepped in. He was always so quick to do so—knowing his way around and you so graciously always having space for him here. He paused, though, puzzled by Bucky already being here…even more that he was on the couch. 

Bucky watched his friend look between his seated figure and his usual spot on the wall in amazement. Steve lifted a thumb to point behind him, gesturing toward the outside. 

“When’d you get here?” 

“Not too long ago—figured I’d take the bike.” 

Steve nodded, “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Buck. I wanted to talk to you guys about something.” 

“What about?” You interjected, now moving toward the couch. 

“Well,” Steve moved to sit in a chair across from you both. “How would you feel about a party-“ 

“No.” 

Bucky’s reply was firm. He already knew where this was going and didn’t like it. The idea of celebrating him at all felt wrong; he wasn’t deserving. 

“But it’s your first birthday back home-“ 

“My birthday was months ago, Steve.” 

“And I missed it!” His voice raised a bit, startling all of you. “I’ve already missed too many.” He inhaled, looking at the hardened expression on Bucky’s face. “Please, let me do this for you.” 

Bucky avoided eye contact. He still didn’t speak, only reacting when you cleared your throat beside him. 

“I think it could be fun, right?” Bucky looked at you. “Maybe it's a party but not an all-out thing. We compromise—something that works for both of you?"

Steve looked at you and Bucky intermittently, hoping that his friend would just accept. 

For Bucky, it was more complicated than just a party. An anxiety immediately swelled in his brain that he didn’t like. It was as if his vision was becoming hazy, the sight of what could be a good thing for him slipping away. It was no longer palpable—not until he looked at you. 

Your features were soft, the only movement a gulp in your throat. He watched you watching him, Steve disappearing far from his mind. He felt his breath slow in contemplation—considering that maybe this was the way to be normal. This was the first step to being who you needed him to be, to be someone you deserved. 

You were destined to be with someone who could go out and socialize. Your perfect person could have a party, celebrate themselves without a second thought. The right man for you would accept, show up, and smile like it was second nature. He could do that—he’d do anything. For you, he would. 

He nodded, breaking the eye contact to look at Steve. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

Bucky nodded again, tight-lipped and pensive. He stiffened at your hand on his shoulder, one you thought hard about before even placing there. He felt you rub him firmly, reassuringly. 

“This will be good for you, Buck.” 

Your tone was sweet and undeniable. He’d already agreed but was on the precipice of almost rejoicing. He contained the excitement, though, shifting into you an imperceptible amount. 

“Alright.” Bucky cleared his throat this time. “We can have a party.” 

Steve was on him quick, leaping across the room to engulf Bucky in a bear hug. That earned a giggle from you, the sight of the biggest men you knew fumbling around on a couch. Bucky feigned annoyance but secretly liked it, appreciated the warmth of another person. It was something he had lacked for years. Everything was so cold—lifeless. Not anymore.

He leaned into Steve, glancing at you for a second to see your reaction. He smiled at you, observing the look of adoration in your face. Clasping your hands together, you moved toward them slightly. 

“Okay, shoo—break this up. It's nauseating.” 

Steve pulled away first, slyly slipping you a middle finger. Your jaw dropped in both shock and pride—that he of all people would do that. “Steven Grant Rogers—I would tell your mother if she were here right now.” 

“She’d ground him, for sure,” Bucky spoke up, making both of you turn to look at him—surprise evident. He continued, “That little punk would cry about it, too.” 

“I would not!” 

“Head in his hands, fetal position, the works-“

It went on like that for a while, all of you laughing and falling in sync with one another. It was all Steve had hoped for. Finally, it seemed, his friends could be friends. He hoped that it could stay this way—three birds perched on a sturdy branch. 

part four

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You settled for the consistent background sound and ambience of the Avengers Tower. Here, at the very least, you could escape the confines of your own mind and the debilitating existentialism. 

Your brain was admittedly split into pieces, like a diagram of each section, clear-cut with a dedicated function. When you weren’t letting yourself fall into thoughts of your being alone in this world, you saw Bucky. Often, it was just to question his actions. Other times, a dissection of why he occupied so much of your time. 

You couldn’t help but float to him now, your mind wandering to what he was doing, how he felt. The thought only burned you more, that he couldn’t care less about how you felt. That he only cared about having his way, the image he portrayed to Steve. You knew he wasn’t like that, not really. Watching movies with you, agreeing to a party…they were so unlike him, and you noticed. You hated how much of him you were aware of—of a friend that was still somehow hardly that. 

Without thinking more of it, you stood, legs taking you around the tower. You were aimless, not particularly having a course, but walking with a soft determination nonetheless. People didn’t notice you, they never did. You weren’t exactly outgoing; everything about you showed that, and people didn’t approach you unless it was mandatory. You kind of liked it, the way you could walk around here without being bothered. 

You hoped Bucky wasn’t the same. You hoped he secretly appreciated being bothered, that he wouldn’t mind you interrupting his day. You tapped on his door lightly, one you would usually ignore on purpose. 

You didn’t hear him approach the door, his steps almost always light enough not to be heard. He shocked you when he opened the door, a flat look on his face. 

“Hey.” 

“Can I come in?” 

You skipped the pleasantries, gliding past Bucky when he stepped back. You look around now, never really getting a full look of his space, but recognizing it as Bucky’s regardless. 

The tower was massive, somehow allowing each room to be its own mini-apartment. Each had their own living spaces that doubled as bedrooms, bathrooms off to the side, and plenty of space for self-expression. Despite this, there was nothing that individualized his quarters. Everything was pristine. There wasn’t a wrinkle in sight, his bed seemingly untouched, like he hadn’t even sat there. The room didn’t have a scent that stood out to you, but rather one of cleanliness. The faint smell of cleaning products lingered, not fresh, but indicative that he kept his room clean without really trying. 

“Did you need something?” Bucky interrupted your observation, speaking behind you as he stood close to the door. 

You thought about not replying the way you wanted, you really had, but it was too easy. The thought of the tables turning, that you finally would be able to comfortably express your desire to him, had your legs buckling before you even began. 

“No,” you smirked playfully, “Just you.” 

He lowered his head at that, nodding to himself in understanding. He let out a dry chuckle, one that hurt more than you expected. “Can’t right now—I’m busy.” 

“Doing what, exactly?” 

“Things.” 

Your face twisted at that, your entire body freezing in place. The distance became glaringly obvious to you now, how he hadn’t approached like he usually would. He was so confusing, a trait that normally only added to the allure. It wasn’t working for you now, though, not when you were bored and desperate and craving the attention only he could provide. 

“So when you do it—show up and just initiate-“ your hands waved frantically. You were confused, erratic, and your ability to keep calm was escaping you. “So when you do it, it’s okay?” 

He sighed at that, looking away, “I’m just busy today, that’s all.” 

Bucky could hear the unspoken phrase that lingered between you both. 

What about me? 

It was filled with much more than a question of the hypocrisy in his actions. He was glad you decided against it; he knew he would give in immediately. For both of you, it was yet another step toward an unsuspectingly high ledge. To pose such a question, to ask him anything about you, would have Bucky following after you. No matter how high the ledge, how devastating the fall, he convinced himself that he would follow you over a cliff. 

“I don’t understand you…at all.” You sighed, “How’d we even get here?” 

Bucky shook his head, “I don’t know. It’s just...” 

You watched him trail off, once again paralyzed by the tense situation. “Maybe we should stop whatever this is, for the sake of what remains of our friendship.” Bucky’s head snapped up at you, making your words falter slightly. “I just,” you looked down to the floor, “I can’t keep hurting Steve this way, hurting myself-“ 

“Am I hurting you?” 

Across the room, you saw Bucky’s body rise and fall slightly, his breath a bit uneven and faintly escaping him. He looked at you, not speaking anymore, but wanting an answer from you. He’d never hurt you intentionally. He would never willingly play with your mind in the way you were suggesting. Yet he realized he was doing just that, not only to himself by ignoring the way he craved you, but to you by making you feel crazy for acting just as he had. 

He wanted to be near you.

The pull he had toward you this time was different, a tension in his chest that told him to make this up to you. His own mind was getting in the way again, and you were a victim of him…a consistent casualty. 

He watched your face, it was still searching for an answer to his question. The truth was that it wasn’t simple. Maybe you were hurting him. Perhaps you were hurting each other.

Bucky couldn’t care anymore. 

“Come here.” 

Your eyes snapped up at the sound of Bucky’s voice, much softer than it was usually. “What?” 

He sat on the edge of his bed. “Sit with me, please?” 

You were reluctant, and it was apparent in your walk. It was hard for Bucky not to feel jittery watching you, like he had once again started something that only ended one way. 

The silence lingered between the two of you as you sat, keeping a respectable distance away from Bucky. He noticed that, but didn’t blame you. In fact, that’s exactly his worry…it's always been that. 

“No one’s gonna show up.” 

“What?” 

Bucky had spoken randomly, an admission you hadn’t expected, so quick that you didn’t even realize what he was talking about. 

“Nobody’s gonna celebrate me or what I’ve done,” he turned to look at you, “and I think I deserve that.” 

You inhaled slowly, “The party?” 

“The party.” 

Bucky could only nod, letting his eyes leave you and stare ahead. You followed his eyeline and found a blank wall in front of him. Quickly, you realized most of the walls were like this…a sort of torture to the man you knew was anything less than the basic color. 

You huffed at that, the way he thought so little of himself. Even more so at the way it physically showed in his private space. You didn’t think before a hand slid into his, thumb gliding over his skin. You hadn’t expected that, for him not to be wearing his gloves for once. It was weirdly intimate—the barrier that was usually present between you no longer there. 

“Mistakes don’t make us any less worthy of life.” 

It was abrupt, reminiscent of the gruff tone Bucky usually had. It was uncharacteristic of you. So much so that you could feel him looking at you now, concerned. 

You continued, not looking at Bucky but still grasping his hand. “Accidents,” a breath caught in your throat. “Accidents happen, yeah. But what happened to you…wasn’t you. You have to understand that.” You finally turned to him, finding his eyes already on you. “It could be so much worse.” 

A flicker in his eye let you know that he saw something there…that these weren’t just empty platitudes about how life sucks. You had personal experience. 

You avoided eye contact because of it, a sadness on your face he hated seeing. Without thinking, he let himself grasp your face and pull you toward him. Your lips collided with his before you could even conceptualize what was happening. 

Your hands went up to his wrists, finding any source of contact with him you could. The kiss was sweet, the weight of emotions becoming apparent. Bucky let himself be present with you in a way he hadn’t so far. 

You couldn’t let yourself think before starting to strip yourself of any barrier between the pair of you. He followed suit, keeping his lips on you as best he could while simultaneo usly removing his clothes. 

Eventually, he broke contact, allowing himself the sight of crawling back on his bed before he pressed you down. 

He decided against any foreplay, wanting to be with you immediately. Bucky slid into you the same as he had before, inhaling at the tightness but not letting himself be hindered by it. You loved it, and he could tell—the specific feeling of him inside you with no extra slick to ease him in. It was painful in the best way. You nodded then, a silent affirmation to him to keep going, that you could take it. He obliged without thinking, a sickeningly slow pace sliding in and out of you now. 

Your whines filled the room, an indication to Bucky that you were enjoying yourself. The sharpness was still there, though, a slight twitch in your muscles telling him so. Without thinking, he rubbed into your thighs. He attempted to quell that part of you that was slightly raw, despite your enjoyment. He was obsessed with the way you took him, how you’d simply let his name fall from your lips as he sank further and deeper. He watched you, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Am I hurting you?” 

It was different this time, Bucky’s voice dripping with the sound of that smirk he always had. The one you’d observed when he tried to seem closed off…the coy look on his face when he tried to be deceptive. 

He was hurting you, yes, but in the best way imaginable. 

The thought had you reeling, only brought back by the feeling of coldness slapping against your chin. Your eyes opened reluctantly. At first, you immediately honed in on the sight of Bucky inside you. Watching his length disappear in and out of you had your body on fire…a vision of pure bliss. But that slapping. 

Bucky’s dog tags hung around his neck, skin glistening from his work on you. He didn’t stop as he watched your face twist, still kneading into your skin as he kept fucking into you. 

You let a hand reach up, an attempt to move the chain that was bothering you. To your surprise, Bucky clasped your hand and pulled it toward his mouth. He kissed over your skin there, soft pecks lingering over your palm and wrist before intertwining his metal fingers with yours. 

“I got it,” Bucky grunted between strokes. 

With his free hand, he reached up to remove the clasp at the back of his neck. You watched him, an incredulous look on your face as he somehow kept driving into you. He let the chain fall, skillfully wrapping it around your neck below him. He adjusted it, pulling the tags down on your chest. 

He kept going, ogling the sight of you wearing his tags, even more so at the swell of your nipples. He made sure to rub them, rolling them underneath his palm in a movement that had you weakened…even more so.

“Gosh- oh-“ 

Bucky had leaned down then, embracing you in a tight hug with one arm as the other still clasped onto your hand. He kept your intertwined hands beside your head, allowing the other to roam free…and it did. You found his back now, smoothing over the warmed skin and up to his neck. 

You whispered in his ear, “Keep going…” 

He simply nodded, committed to fucking away any memory you had of his wrongdoing. He wanted that for himself, too. Bucky wanted to start anew somehow, despite it being impossible. So he settled for this, pulling in and out of you, drawing pure audible filth from your throat. 

He was quite happy with himself, smiling into your neck as he nibbled there. He made sure to keep you close…impossibly so, appreciating the feel of his tags between the two of you. He imagined the meal engraving into your skin, a mark that he’d had no right to yearn for but wanted nonetheless…for you to be his entirely. 

His voice came out shakier than he thought it would, “I’m close.” 

He felt you nod, a fervent shake against the pillows. He slipped a hand between you at that, rubbing you in a way only he could. It was quick, clearly pushing you toward the edge. 

Your body jerked against him, walls spasming as he sped up his pace. Bucky kept with his torturous hand motions, too, observing every reaction he drew from you. He couldn’t help but leave kisses over your skin as he came…anchoring himself to you. 

He loved moments like this, breaths ragged as you calmed down together. You watched as his back rose and fell, the arch of his muscles in your view. 

You let him stay there as you embraced each other, fingertips gliding over the back of his hardened hand. 

Suddenly, Bucky felt your breath press into his ear. “Even if it’s just me, you, and Steve,” you reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “Even if it’s just us…it’ll be worthwhile, I promise.” 

A slow, deep breath and a simple reply resounded from the man. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

Bucky nestled into you further, voice muffled. “Yeah…okay.”  

part five

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You thought about not replying the way you wanted, you really had, but it was too easy. The thought of the tables turning, that you finally would be able to comfortably express your desire to him, had your legs buckling before you even began.

“No,” you smirked playfully, “Just you.”

He lowered his head at that, nodding to himself in understanding. He let out a dry chuckle, one that hurt more than you expected. “Can’t right now—I’m busy.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Things.”

Your face twisted at that, your entire body freezing in place.

“So when you do it—show up and just initiate-“ your hands waved frantically. You were confused, erratic, and your ability to keep calm was escaping you. “So when you do it, it’s okay?”

He sighed at that, looking away, “I’m just busy today, that’s all.”

Bucky could hear the unspoken phrase that lingered at the end of your sentence.

What about me?