#g.fluff

In public, even handholding for no reason doesn't ever occur. In private, he's overly gentle, like he's afraid he might accidentally break you.

Although it's been a couple of months since you've been dating, you can say nothing physically has quite changed between the two of you.

But...those things don't bother you.

Because in private, Bucky can't keep his hands off you. At first, he was cautious, making sure to only touch you with his regular arm. He tried to say that he liked touching you with his regular arm because he could feel you on the pads of his finger.

You didn't care much for that, though. You always made sure to give his metal arm equal amounts of attention. Just as Bucky liked stroking your arms, playing with strands of your hair, and kissing your neck—you'd be holding his regular hand while your other hand trails up his metal one.

Telling him you liked it when his metal arm held you at night because it kept you cool helped.

Bucky just thinks you're so...strange but so lovely. How could you look at him with such adoration in your eyes? He hopes you can see the same look in his eyes when he stares at you.

It was slow at first, but Bucky's whole body is starting to itch for the need to touch you in any kind of way in public too. It started one day when he watched Steve so openly hug you and pinched your cheeks, and you swatting his hands away with a frown before grinning.

And Bucky realized that he was jealous. Not of the prospect or suspicion of Steve—no, Bucky knows the two of you would never do that to him. But he was jealous of Steve in the way the other man could so easily be affectionate with you.

Bucky spent the rest of his day wondering why he was so...afraid of touching you in public. After that, it started small. Just the caress upon your hand with his picky, metal one or not. You had brushed it off as the two of you standing too close.

Then, it was interlacing his pinky with yours, hiding it behind his back as he sandwiched himself against you. You looked at him curiously, a low heat in your cheeks, but you smiled, and Bucky felt like he was doing something amazing—something right for once.

There had always been a certain kind of distance in public, but it seemed Bucky was intent on closing it.

"Hi, doll," Bucky greets you with a chaste kiss to your cheek.

"Hi," you replied shyly with a bright smile.

"Alright, get a room you two!" Clint jokingly moans while rolling his eyes.

Natasha gasps scandalously while she was holding Nathaniel. Steve lifted his hand to cover Nathaniel's eyes.

"Bucky!" Steve mock scolds. "So inappropriate, think of the children!"

Bucky rolls his eyes while he slings his arm around you, pulling you close to slot his lips against yours in rebellion.

"Oh, god, he's out of control," Natasha smirks. "Steve, do something!"

"Sweetheart, think about your propriety!" Steve looks at you, and you burst out laughing.

Bucky throws a crumpled piece of paper at Steve. "Stop calling my girlfriend sweetheart," he drawls.

Steve sighs. "You've turned into a possessive sap. Long gone are the days of Mr. Heartbreaker and now you're doll dizzy."

Bucky tuts while he waggles his fingers. "Incorrect. I am doll dizzy about one girl."

Your face is set aflame as you listened to Bucky speak about you. Ignoring the teasing, you rest your head against Bucky's shoulder, warming because he holds you a little tighter.

When the day is over, and you lie next to Bucky, his metal arm over you, keeping you cool, you turn to face him. He's still awake, sleepily, but awake.

"Hi," he husks.

"Hi," you smile.

"What's on your mind, doll?" Bucky's eyes are closed, but his metal arm is stroking light lines on your bare back, drifting to your spine.

You shiver as you shift closer to him.

"Just thinking how...different you are," you tell him.

Bucky's eyes flutter open as he zeroes in on you. "Different?" He asks.

Your hand moves across the small distance between you two as it lands on his neck. You can feel his pulse in his neck, and you like how steady it is. For all Bucky's insecurities and sadness, his pulse is always steady.

"Well," you start to say, throat raspy as you're suddenly overcome with how in love you are with Bucky. "Just—I never thought you'd be the type of person to do PDA. Not that I mind either way," you say quickly. "I never want to make you uncomfortable."

Bucky just smiles as he rests his hand on the small of your back and pulls you closer to him—until he can feel your body line up perfectly against his. He begins to entangle your legs together with his, and there's no escape for you.

You bite your tongue because Bucky smiling. Him grinning so genuinely makes your heart thud painfully in your chest. He deserves so much more of those smiles.

"I admit it wasn't something I was...comfortable with at first," Bucky concedes while you look up at him. "I just...this arm," Bucky emphasizes by moving his metal hand against your back. "It's just a visual reminder of what I'd done—what I'd become. I'm not a regular soldier from the 40s anymore where my only concerns were my job and making sure Steve didn't get into any scraps he couldn't handle."

You listen quietly because Bucky seems to be just talking, not really looking for you to reassure him that you love him and his metal arm doesn't define him.

"And in public, it feels like everyone is watching me. Tony is still glaring at me, glaring at my arm and I don't blame him. Steve sometimes stares because he feels guilty, and Natasha pointedly looks at my face—which is nice of her," Bucky licked his lips. His eyes were open, staring pointedly over your head as he held you. Then, he looked down, eyes half-lidden as he gazed at you.

"So, I...felt bad if I touched you in public, where everyone could see. It was like a giant neon board would appear that said, 'Look! The Winter Soldier is touching and kissing someone! Will he crush her?'" Bucky grimaced, and you frowned, moving your fingers to touch the corner of his lips. Bucky smiles as he moves his head to kiss your fingers.

"Bucky..." you say softly, tightening your legs around his.

Bucky just kisses your forehead to soothe you before he continued on.

"But then I just kept seeing everyone with you. Everyone is so open with you. I'm pretty sure many people actually think Natasha is your lesbian lover," Bucky's smile causes you to laugh. "I mean I wanted to touch you, be near you in any way always, but then after, I couldn't stop thinking about how I wanted to be the one who holds your hand, touches you, and kisses your cheek in public. If only I wasn't so hesitant. I know it probably took a long time to get where we are, but I love you for being so patient."

You wonder if it's possible to burst from happiness. You wonder how it's possible for the colony of butterflies to have lived in your stomach this long.

Bucky lifts his metal hand, opening and closing it, almost marvelling at how he can look at it so easily now.

You grab his hand, feeling the cool metal against your fingertips.

"These hands are meant to hold, Bucky," you smile as you lace your fingers together.

Bucky quirks his brow with a smirk before he rolls over you, nose to nose.

You're standing in front of the mirror, staring at your body with a frown. You've gained weight since dating Natasha, but relationship weight gain was normal, wasn't it?

But you remember how Natasha was just as fit as she was before she met you. Sure, she was a superhero, and you were a regular civilian; there was no reason for you to train long hours as Natasha did.

Still...

You turn to the side and peer at yourself in the mirror again.

You can't help but wonder...were you becoming less attractive to her?

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It had been the beginning of fall when you met Natasha. You loved the season of change and when things turned into warm colors before withering away for winter to come.

Natasha had come like a blessing, and in the winter, she was just warm as the colors of fall. Instead of withering away, she bloomed and invested that warmth in your relationship with her.

Despite always being an early riser to work out, weekends were the days she stayed in bed with you just a little longer. There had been so many breakfasts, lunch, and dinner dates. You found yourself moving things around or neglecting to work around her busy schedule.

Perhaps that was when things began to change. Eating out so often and forgoing working out to spend time with Natasha was what led to this.

Spring has arrived, and things are coming back to life. Yet somehow, your relationship with Natasha was withering away.

"Hey," you greet her as you come home, shopping bags in hand. You bought some more clothes when things felt like they didn't fit comfortably anymore. The experience had been upsetting for you, and you didn't end up buying too much, telling yourself you didn't want to spend too much when you were going to lose the weight.

Natasha was working in her office, peering down over reports, and barely acknowledged you other than with a hum.

"Long day?" You ask her as you put your things away and walk over to her.

"Yeah," Natasha sighed. "Trying to get these reports done since Maria needs them tomorrow."

That had been Natasha's excuse for spending long hours in her office every night for the last two weeks.

You place your hand on Natasha's shoulder with a reassuring squeeze, but she leans to the side as if to readjust herself, but still away from your touch.

The sting immediately comes, but you try to push it down, so it doesn't hurt as bad.

"Right," you say hoarsely, but Natasha stares on at the reports. "I'm just going to get ready for bed. It's been a long day and all. Let me know if you need anything."

Natasha gives you a nod as you leave the room. You feel awkward as you lie in the bed you share with her. You wonder if you're taking up too much space.

There's a pang of something as you try to curl yourself to be smaller and only distantly realizing you've skipped dinner before you fall asleep.

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You fall back onto the mat, chest heaving and your lungs burning.

It's been a while since you've worked out, and now you're definitely paying for it with how unfit you are.

The gym is moderately empty with the hour it is. You hate going to a public gym because it always feels like someone is staring, but it's better for strangers to stare than working out at the Compound for people you know to stare at you.

The rational part of you knows that you should just talk to Natasha, but the emotional side of you whispers that you won't like what Natasha has to say, that she might even end it before you've had a chance to change yourself.

When weeks pass, and you weigh yourself again, you almost start crying because you've only lost a couple of pounds.

It's normal, you know it is. You're losing weight at a normal rate, but it's not enough. You know fast weight loss wouldn't make sense for your body but you also feel you don't have half a year to go back to your normal weight.

You sit on the bathroom floor for hours, debating what to do when you hear a quiet knock.

"Sweetheart, are you in there?" Natasha's muffled voice comes through.

You wipe at your eyes furiously as you stand up.

"Y-Yeah," you answer back. "I'm just in the tub soaking."

There's a moment of silence through the door before Natasha answers back, "Alright. Enjoy yourself. Did you want me to order anything specific for dinner?"

"No, it's okay," you tell her. "You order anything you want. I already ate on my way home." You think about the chicken salad you've been eating for the past two weeks and almost sigh.

Natasha answered that she just came back to see if you've eaten, but she actually had to head back to the Compound. You were Natasha shuffling around before leaving through the front door, and you let out the breath you were holding.

You actually take a long, hot shower before putting on sweats and a big hoodie.

The truth was, you were hungry. The chicken salad was okay on the way home, but it had been a couple of hours since.

You knew starving yourself wasn't the answer, so you went into the kitchen to see if you could find something healthy to hold you over until you could go to bed.

But you can't find anything in the fridge except for Natasha's leftovers from whatever she ordered the day before. You can't find anything except frozen pizzas and microwavable foods.

You check the calories on the back and let out a frustrated sigh. Checking your watch, you realize it's too late in the evening to go grocery shopping because, by the time you get there, stores will have closed.

You slump down on the floor, leaning against the cabinets as you let out a pathetic whimper while your eyes became hot with tears.

You miss Natasha. You want Natasha holding you and telling you it would be okay. But you couldn't have that until you were back to what you were when you met her.

The front door suddenly opens.

"Have you seen my—sweetheart?" Natasha started to call before she noticed you sitting on the floor. "What's wrong?"

You use your sleeve to wipe at your eyes as you sit up straight.

"Nothing," you sniffle before you start to stand. "I just stubbed my toe against the edge of the kitchen island. What were you looking for? USB? You left it next to the bedside."

Natasha stares at your back, hair still wet as she takes in your attire.

"It's a little hot to be wearing a hoodie and sweats, isn't it?" Natasha asks softly. "Doesn't seem like you turned on the aircon in here."

You keep walking, but Natasha starts to follow you.

"'m cold," you say quietly so she can't hear the tremble in your voice.

"Are you feeling sick?" Natasha asks with concern as you sit down on the couch, turning on the TV. You pull the blanket over you as if to make your point.

"No," you tell her because you don't want her to worry. "Just cold after a bath."

Natasha sets her things down before she takes a seat next to you. Even in the low lighting, she can see your eyes rimmed red and dampness of them.

You're refusing to look at her as you have your knees drawn up to your chest and stare stubbornly at the TV screen.

Then she hears it.

Your stomach grumbles.

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?" Natasha asks softly again. "We can just order food and stay in tonight."

Your cheeks grow hot. "Don't you have to be at the Compound?"

You don't mean to snap at her, but you can't help but feel embarrassed.

Natasha remains quiet for a moment, quickly thinking over the last few weeks before she feels guilt trickle in.

She doesn't remember the last time she ate with you—doesn't remember the last time she saw you eat.

"Sweetheart," she calls you gently again, and you bristle at the tone. "Is there something wrong?"

The fragile dam you've built to keep the weeks of compiling emotions at bay breaks, and you're hurtling down the stream over the waterfall.

"Are you not in love with me anymore?" You choke out as you begin to cry.

You can't even register to feel horrified at your breakdown because you just need to know.

"I know...I know my body has changed since we first met and I've gained weight but I really am trying to lose it. I just—I feel like you're avoiding me. At first, I thought things at work have been really stressful for you, and I wanted to give you space but you're gone all the time. You're gone even when you're here."

Natasha can barely understand anything you've said after hearing you say the first part. Her breath hitches painfully in the back of her throat, and she legitimately feels appalled at herself.

She starts to say something, but you keep going.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to make this about me because if you're going through something then I want to support and be there for you. But I can't help but feel like you're grossed out by me. I mean—I feel grossed out when I look at myself. I feel like I'm taking up so much space—"

Natasha cuts you off abruptly, pulling off the blanket as she pulls at you until you're in her lap.

"Nat—"

"You're not gross and this is not about the weight you have or have not gained. You hear me?" Natasha says forcefully as she holds you close to her, hand over your thigh to keep you against her.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry if I've been making you feel like you're not attractive me," Natasha's eyes well up as your tears wet her shoulder. "You're literally still the most gorgeous person I've ever met and you're always going to be that to me."

Natasha's hand at your waist dips underneath your hoodie, her fingers trailing up your back as she sighs at your warmth. "I should've told you, but the springtime is just really hard for me. It's odd because it's a time for things to come back to life but some of the worst things have happened to me during the spring and things blooming makes me think about things that aren't coming back. I think it's also just a little bit of seasonal depression too. I'm just the rare percentage that gets it in the spring."

The explanation makes your body sag with relief because while you feel so horrible that there is a reason Natasha doesn't like spring, she's not falling out of love with you.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that I was hurting you," Natasha apologizes again. "I didn't mean to be so distant but I didn't want to bring your mood down as well, which is why I've been working so much to keep busy."

"It's okay," you muttered as your turn your head, forehead pressed against her neck. "I'm sorry spring is depressing for you."

Natasha merely hushes you as she kisses the side of your head.

You begin to feel awkward, thinking about how you must be heavy on her and try to move, but Natasha doesn't let you.

"Sweetheart, I don't know how to convince you that you're perfect to me," Natasha says so seriously as she forces you to look at her. "If you want to lose weight because that is what you want, then I support you. But I need you to understand that I love you no matter what. I don't care either way because you're so fucking lovely to me always. Do you understand?"

Timidly, you reply, "Okay. Thank you."

Natasha presses her lips against yours in a long kiss before she pulls back.

"Now, I'm going to ask again. Are you hungry? We can order in and watch that new show on Netflix I heard was pretty good from Wanda."

You feel lighter. You think you might still want to work out because that would make you happy, but you don't feel the rush like you did just a couple of hours ago.

"Yeah," you say shyly. "But maybe something not so heavy?"

Natasha nods as she presses another kiss into your cheek as she helps you settle onto the couch right beside her to grab her phone.

The idea that your world could suddenly change when you meet your soulmate...that's terrifying. At the same time, you couldn't help but want to know what colours were like.

Your best friend had found her soulmate way back in high school. She talked about her love. The green of her eyes, the red of her hair, and the multitude of colours she wore.

You don't understand. And there was nothing your best friend could say that would make you understand colours either.

You were a little reluctant about the idea of a soulmate, the idea that someone is made for you and that you're made for someone. Mostly because you can't imagine someone loving you...like really loving you.

Nevertheless, you make a silent vow to the universe that if you ever do meet your soulmate...you'd love them with everything you had.

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There is something amazing to be said about the phenomenon of finding your soulmate. The way colour bleeds into your vision, taking over the monochrome of everything, and it feels like life has been breathed into you.

Bucky has had the pleasure of experiencing it.

But there's also something that may not be as commonly known or spoken about.

And it's the fact that if colour can be added to your life...it can also be taken away.

Bucky has had the misfortune of experiencing it.

The hard part is that Bucky doesn't even really remember it happening. Probably because he was brainwashed while it occurred.

There had been a girl in the back in the 40s. His girl. James Buchanan Barnes had met his soulmate, and he loved her the way all romantic movies were back then.

And at some point, while he was the Winter Soldier...the colour faded from his view. She was gone, and Bucky hadn't even known until he was clear-headed again and noticed the monochrome of everything.

It was strange. Bucky felt the loss, felt it deeply and immensely in his soul, but he couldn't shed a single tear.

No one really knows anything about soulmates.

All Bucky can think is that was it. He had his one happiness, and now she's gone.

For the rest of his life, his world will always be black and white because falling in love again would be simply too greedy.

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Bucky's making his way to the kitchen when he sees you staring blankly into the fridge. He leans against the door, arms crossed with a quirked eyebrow.

"You lose something in there, doll? Or..." Bucky finally says when you stand there with the fridge open too long.

You look up, surprised, and feel the heat creep up in your cheeks when you realize you've been caught.

"Oh, hey, Bucky," you smile sheepishly. "I'm pretty sure I left some ice cream in here but I can't seem to find it."

"What kind?"

"Drumsticks."

Bucky snorts. "Sorry, doll, but Steve is a menace and if you leave that lying around...well."

You sigh dramatically. "He lives to ruin my life."

Bucky lets out a laugh as he walks to the fridge to see what was in it. "Have you even eaten yet?" He asks.

"Um, ice cream for lunch," you tell him, and Bucky rolls his eyes with a smile.

"Not good enough," Bucky scolds you playfully as he begins to take things out. "I'll make some pasta for lunch that we can eat and then we can go on a walk to get some ice cream. Sound like a plan?"

You smile at him widely and nod. "You're a good person, Buck. I'll be sure to rub it into Steve's face the next time I see him."

Bucky merely laughs quietly as he begins prepping ingredients. You sit across from him on the kitchen island, watching him diligently.

You're a phenomenon to Bucky. You've come into his life like a whirlwind and somehow able to make the grey seem chaotic. It's hard not to like you. He thinks you're pretty, and Bucky is incredibly weak for pretty dames.

It's easier to pretend like he's never known colour before since you don't know what it's like either. He's tried to forget the fact how once upon a time, there was a person in his life that described the beauty of colours to him. That once, he was told that he has the most stunning cobalt eyes and dark, inky hair—not quite black but warm nonetheless.

At times when Bucky catches himself staring at you, he can't help but wonder what colour your eyes are, what colour is your hair?

You were so pretty, monochrome and all, and Bucky feels guilty that he wishes he could still see colour to see what you'd really look like.

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The first time it happens is when everyone has decided to take the day off and have a picnic in the park. People come and go to greet them but for the most part, leave the heroes alone to relax.

Technically, you're not a hero, but the number of times patched up the team makes you an honorary member. It's good because Bucky likes sitting next to you while you talk animatedly with Natasha about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. He also enjoys watching you antagonize Steve for stealing your ice cream weeks ago.

Bucky can't quite explain it, but the sky seems a little bluer today.

"Bucky?"

He hums as he looks over to you, finally done with your conversation with Natasha as you lie back on the blanket, staring up at the sky.

Bucky wonders if you yearned to see colour.

You turn your head to the side, peering up at him seriously, and he starts to feel a little sweaty and nervous.

"Do you think pineapple belongs on pizza?"

Bucky clicks his tongue at you, scowling slightly as you grin at him.

"Don't even try to start that with me."

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The second time it happens, it's when Bucky is spilling the broken parts of him out to you.

"Her name was Dorothy," Bucky says, unsure if he wants to smile or cry at the sound of her name from his own mouth. "Used to call her Dotty."

Suddenly, Bucky thinks this was a terrible idea. What was he doing, reaching into his own chest, breaking his ribs open and exposing his battered heart to you?

Somehow, recounting how he probably broke her heart when he disappeared and how his own heart would break over and over every time he was conscious enough to realize he stopped seeing colours.

"Soulmates are a funny thing, aren't they?" Bucky said as he leaned back further into the couch, eating the popcorn he made for the movie night with you. "Having someone meant for you doesn't guarantee any sort of happy ending."

You nod as you squeeze his arm comfortingly once, but not overbearingly before you let go and look at the TV.

"Think you'll meet your soulmate anytime soon?" Bucky asks after a while as the movie starts to near its end.

You shrug. "Truthfully, I'm not sold on the whole soulmates thing."

"Really?"

You nod. "There's not that much information about it, but personally I don't think soulmates mean something so grand as one person being meant for you."

Bucky stares at you curiously, not saying anything but looking at you intently to continue on, and you sigh.

"I think soulmates exist in many forms. Platonically, romantically, the pure love between a child and a parent—things like that. I don't think there's just one soulmate for you out there. You could have more than one. My mom did after my dad passed away," you turn to him with a soft smile on your face.

"Do you think it's greedy to love someone again? To see colour again when you've already had it and lost it?" Bucky asks quietly.

"No," you answer immediately. "I don't think being capable of love, especially after a loss, is greedy. It's brave, isn't it? To know the pain and tragedy of loss, and still be able to love again."

You look away then, staring at the TV as if you're trying to catch the ending.

Bucky watches as you swallow, looking relaxed.

"Besides, just because someone is your soulmate, doesn't mean you are theirs."

There's something so solemn the way you say it, and when he continues to stare at you, he thinks he sees it. Something intense in the corner of your eyes that isn't monochrome.

Bucky thinks about your words at night. Colours are such a weird concept, and he wonders if the fact that he's seen them before gives him the ability to start dreaming about pastel blues, pretty pinks, and bright yellows.

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It's harder for Bucky to deny his own greediness and selfishness, despite your words that he isn't.

He sees colour at the oddest times and more frequently.

He knows the colour of your eyes, and he swears there's nothing like it. He knows the colour of your hair and the hues of your skin, and you remind him of Autumn.

And just like everything else in Bucky's life since being in the modern world, he doesn't know what to do.

It's obvious that you don't see colours. It's in the way you ask him one afternoon when he's in your bay getting patched up.

"What was it like for you to see colours?"

Bucky feels something clench in his chest as he peers up at you and swallows at how delicately you treat him.

"Amazing," Bucky finally says, unable to really say anything else. "I don't really know how to describe it. One moment, everything suddenly became brighter and darker all at once. I think I was a little overwhelmed, if I'm being honest, it was kind of a sensory overload."

You smile as you continue to dress his wound.

"Honestly, I don't know if I'm describing it well," Bucky shrugs. "I think it's just one of those things you only understand when you experience it."

You're silent, but Bucky continues to stare at you, feeling a dull ache in his chest.

You're wearing a purple shirt today and green pants, and it totally doesn't match, but Bucky finds it all the more adorable, even if painful.

"What do you think it'll be like for you when you see colour?" Bucky can't help but ask.

You finish dressing his wound, patting his arm gently as you ponder the question and give him a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"I think I'll be a little lonely but I'll be very in love as well."

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"Bucky."

Bucky snaps his eyes open, feeling his heart race and sweat on his forehead, chest, and back.

He turns over to see you, hovering at the edge of his bed unsurely.

"What's the matter, doll?" Bucky rasps as he sits up and rubs his eyes. He takes a deep breath to calm his rapidly beating heart.

"You tell me," you mumble as you pull at your cardigan sleeve and begin to dab at his forehead, clearing away the sweat. "You were screaming and I heard you next door."

Bucky feels bad because he usually has FRIDAY soundproof his room. He must've fallen asleep before he could remember to do it.

"'m sorry," Bucky mutters. "Woke you up."

You shrug. "I was already awake, couldn't sleep so I was reading."

Bucky nods, still feeling guilty because he disturbed you nonetheless. He feels even worse that he feels better with you here.

"Are you sleepy?" You ask abruptly, and Bucky shrugs. "Want to watch a couple of episodes of our show?"

You're throwing a lifeline and being very subtle about it, and Bucky's thankful. He nods, and he's about to get up to go with you out into the common room when you climb over him and settle underneath the blanket beside him.

"Remote?" You ask, and Bucky dumbly turns to his nightstand, pulling out the drawer and passing the remote to you.

You multitask, taking off your cardigan as you pull the blanket up and turn on the TV.

"FRIDAY, soundproof the room," you ask, and the AI does so with confirmation.

Bucky's facing forward at the TV, but he's staring at you from the corner of his eyes.

You look really good, wrapped up in his navy blue blanket.

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"Which tie should I wear tonight?"

You turn over and look at Bucky with a tilt of your head. "Does it matter what I pick?"

Bucky smiles. "C'mon, doll, pick. It doesn't matter if you pick or if you don't pick, so might as well pick."

You snort as you shake your head. You exaggeratingly stare at the choices before you, which makes him laugh before you pick one.

A green tie.

It clashes horribly against his maroon suit, but Bucky smiles as he ties it around his neck.

When the two of you arrive at the gala, everyone else is already there. It's easy to tell who can see colour when they see Bucky's clashing tie and suit and he gets pitying looks.

But Bucky doesn't care because you picked the tie. He would've worn neon pink if you picked it.

Bucky wishes he could tell you that you look so fuckin' pretty in your viridian dress tonight, but he merely settles for a vague compliment instead.

"Ready for some ass kissing tonight?" You ask as you smile at some of the men who walk by the two of you.

"You know it," Bucky refrains from licking his lips. "Even wore some chapstick tonight."

You let a laugh behind your hand as you shake your head at him. You give him a warning look to behave tonight as you walk off and do some mingling.

Bucky meets up with Sam and Steve, who looks equally reluctant to be here tonight.

The night drags on, but Bucky finds himself having more fun than he thought. He gets to dance a couple of times with you and share some drinks.

The best part is when you steal a whole bottle of wine—the expensive shit—before you grab Bucky and drag him out to the farside balcony where it's just the two of you.

"I am so tired of old white men," you mutter as you sit down on the floor and pull Bucky down with you.

Bucky chuckles. "I know I may not look like it, but I am also an old white man."

You give him a mischievous grin. "Should I kiss your ass too?"

Bucky lets out a laugh as he bumps his shoulder gently against yours. "I think we've both had enough ass-kissing tonight. Maybe tomorrow," he adds playfully.

"If you make waffles tomorrow, I may be inclined."

The two of you take turns drinking out of the bottle of wine like uncultured swines, and Bucky pulls out pretzels he stuffed in his jacket pocket earlier.

"You animal," you giggle but still take some from his hand.

Bucky just grins because you're drunk. He can't get drunk anymore, but he drinks with you out of solidarity.

There's more light banter before the wine bottle is finished, and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. You've got your knees pulled up to your chest as you rest your cheek on it, facing him.

You look so soft with your heavy lidded eyes.

"I told you, you look beautiful tonight, right?" Bucky says suddenly.

You laugh and nod. "You did. You look really dashing tonight too."

"Dashing?" Bucky teasingly repeats after you, and you roll your eyes.

"Well, as much as you can be. I did you a little dirty picking the green tie but it was the only shade you had and I wanted you to match with me just a little," you say as you close your eyes. "I think you rock it, though. Did you see what that guy from IT was wearing? Yikes."

Bucky feels a jolt in his chest, and he hardly hears you.

"What did you just say?" Bucky asks faintly.

You hum in response initially before the realization of what you just said catches up with you, and you open your eyes, sobering up.

"I—I think we should head back in," you say abruptly and stand up, wobbling slightly.

Bucky stands up too and catches your wrist.

"Don't you dare run," Bucky frowns. "You said you wanted to match. You...You can see."

You swallow and shrug. "It doesn't mean anything—"

"It means everything!" Bucky nearly explodes, refusing to let you go even as you tug gently away from him. "Why didn't you say anything? Is it...is it not me?"

That makes Bucky feel like he's drowning and his feet like lead. The possibility you can see colours, and he's not the reason. But why wouldn’t you say anything?

You don't say anything, and that makes Bucky upset—angry, even.

"So, what? You've just been lying to me this whole time? Even if it's not me, I thought we were friends."

"We are," you glare at him as you tug your wrist away hard enough to make him let go. "But whether or not I can see colour is none of your business, Bucky. I don't owe you anything."

Bucky wants to step back as if he's been slapped. You're right, you don't owe him anything like that, but it doesn't stop how hurt he feels. He tries to shove it down because he just—he needs to know.

"What's this punk's name?" Bucky asks, trying to sound as light as possible. "He treating you bad? If he is, just tell me and I'll right him up real good."

"Just drop it, Bucky," you mutter, but Bucky just can't.

"No, just tell me who it is. Is it Steve?" Bucky asks because Steve would be the next person you spend the most time with. "Bruce? Thor? Some guy in the HR department?"

"Bucky—"

"Why are you so reluctant to tell me?" Bucky pushes, and you just explode.

"Because it is you!" You frustratingly say to him, lips pressed into a thin line and tears rimming your eyes.

Bucky is silent, eyes wide and mouth open just a little in shock.

You sniffle and try your damn hardest not to let the tears fall.

Your throat feels raw suddenly. "I—saw colours. All along. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I could see it. You were just passing by me in the hall and suddenly it felt like I was both shattering and being completed."

Bucky swallows painfully.

"Why didn't you..." Bucky starts to say, but you shake your head.

"Because it was obvious when I met you that you didn't see colour for me," you say, not looking at him as you turn your face away. "I told you, Bucky. Just because someone is your soulmate doesn't mean you are theirs."

And Bucky can't help but see your sad smile the last time he asked you what you'd think it'd be like if you could see colours.

"I think I'll be a little lonely but I'll be very in love as well."

You were in love with him.

All along, you were falling in love with him, and you were getting lonelier the more you fell in love with him.

God, Bucky feels like his tie is around his neck too tight, and he just—you make his heart splinter in every single way.

He suddenly cups your face, revelling in the way your cheeks are so soft and warm—probably from the alcohol.

You look up at him so pitifully that Bucky just wants to pull you close and hold you tightly.

"I love the colour of your eyes," Bucky says softly. "They make me feel warm and remind me of the beginning and ending of fall."

Your breath hitches, and Bucky smiles.

"I love your green dress. It's like silk on your skin. I'm glad you picked that hideous green tie if we get to match a little. I promise to buy more ties to match the shades of your dresses," Bucky declares.

You feel the tears well over because it just feels like your heart is expanding into your ribcage in the best ways.

"I didn't always see colours again," he admits as he wipes your tears with his thumb. "But I did. Slowly. Because you loved me enough to let me fall slowly for you."

Bucky's leaning closer to your face, and you try to not hiccup from crying.

"Thank you," Bucky nuzzles your nose before he asks with just a hint of desperation. "Can I kiss you?"

You nod in his hands and by God.

This is what colour is about, Bucky thinks as there's an explosion behind his eyes and Christ, you taste like the wine and pretzels, and Bucky is so—in love and happy. He slants his lips against yours over and over.

You see colour because of him.

"What a wonderful phenomenon," Bucky mutters against your lips.

Because there is something wonderful to be said about having a soulmate.

The door chimes open, and Bucky instinctively looks towards the door.

You were...gloomy.

You walked in, drenched from the rain, with the only thing to keep you completely soaked was your leather peacoat.

"Hey, Sam," you spoke softly.

The lone barista turned to look over to you with a frown.

"Would it kill you to carry an umbrella? It's rainy season," Sam said with his hands on his hip.

"I did have an umbrella," you tell him.

"And what happened to it?"

You shrugged.

Sam sighed.

"I'll go get you a towel, hold on. Do you want anything else?"

"A latte," you ask. "Could you make it with the pretty art?"

Sam presses his lips together as if to prevent himself from laughing. From Bucky's view, he could see the challenging look in your eyes.

"Coming up, just hold on," Sam tells you before he walks off.

Bucky checks his watch again and decides it's getting much too late, and he's sat here long enough. He gets up with his coffee and starts to leave, but as he passes you, you suddenly turn and bump right into him.

His coffee splashes through the hole in the lid over you, and he's glad that his drink had become lukewarm borderline cold with how long he sat at the cafe.

"Oh, shit," Bucky frowns as he reaches over you to grab a bunch of napkins from the dispenser. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Your face contorts into mild annoyance, and Bucky is sure you're going to cuss him out. But then, you lick your lips, and with a deep breath, you sigh.

"It's okay," you tell him quietly. "It's my fault for turning suddenly. I was trying to go hang my jacket."

Bucky passes you the napkins, but he grins at you. "Not sure if it'll help much since you're drenched. I really am sorry about your jacket, though. I can pay for dry cleaning?"

You actually crack a smile because you're soaked from head to toe and just holding the napkins alone have already used them up. You look at the man before you. His hair is trimmed neatly, but he's a little scruffy with a 5 o'clock shadow on his face. He's got steely grey eyes, but there's a little twinkle of warmth in them.

He's handsome, rough around the edges, but kind.

After all, he was offering to pay for your dry cleaning.

"It's a really expensive jacket," you tell him with a tilt of your head, a small smirk on your lips. "Dry cleaning won't fix it."

Bucky licks his bottom lip before biting it as he eyes you. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

You smile.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You like when things are simple and straightforward.

There are many things in your life that are complicated, so you appreciate things that are not.

Bucky is simple and straightforward in the best ways. He's charming, funny, and just the right amount of depth. But he's also honest, and you like that about him. He's not afraid to say what he's feeling or what he's thinking about.

Bucky's so...unlike you.

You're always overthinking everything, debating what is safe to reveal and what isn't. You guard your feelings close to your chest, and you make it seem like you're a simple person too.

And you lie.

"How was work today?" Bucky asks as you step into his apartment.

You take your jacket off, hanging it in his closet before Bucky pulls you into a warm hug and a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. You drag your teeth over your lips as you place your hands on Bucky's stomach before running your hands up to his broad chest.

Another thing you like about Bucky. You think he's so fit.

"Not bad. Sold some paintings," you answer as you lean in closer, letting your lips brush against his.

A freelance art dealer.

That's what you told him you do for work.

It's only a partial lie.

But it worked for you because it could explain why you'd have to leave at times or if you had plenty of time off.

"How was work for you?" You ask softly.

Bucky is a man of many talents. He does a little bit of everything because he excels in whatever he does. But right now, he works at a bookstore.

"Good," is all he offers before he swoops in and kisses your lips.

You let out a soft hum of pleasure, letting Bucky sweep you away from reality for a moment. How can kissing someone feel so good?

It had started out easy enough since that moment in Sam's coffee shop. Bucky had been on his way out, but you managed to convince him to stay just another drink to make up for spilling his drink on you.

Before you knew it, two hours had passed, and you finally gave the man reprieve and let him leave to go to bed for the day. Not that he was eager to go.

Bucky asked for your number and didn't do that thing where men wait a couple of days to call you. He rang you the very next day to see what your schedule was like.

It was endearing.

One coffee date turned into two, then turned into three.

Coffee dates turned into walks in the park, grabbing lunch, and then grabbing dinner.

Once or twice a week turned into four or five times.

Leaving at two in the morning turned into staying the night.

What had started as casual was beginning to get serious—because you were falling for someone who was meant to just be a distraction.

Bucky moans slightly against your lips as his hands drift further down your back and onto your ass before he pulls you flush against him.

"Mm, you always taste and feel so good, doll," Bucky pulls back with a grin on his lips.

You want to fuck Bucky so badly. Fucking Bucky always felt amazing because he was a generous lover. You'd done it with him so many times in the beginning, when you could look him in the eye and lie.

But nowadays, something unpleasant was settling in your stomach. It made sex much harder.

"What do you want to eat?" Bucky asks while he caresses your backside. "Wanna go on a walk today?"

You hum as you rest your cheek on his shoulder. Bucky also smells good—he smelled like clean laundry and pinewood. And clean laundry and pinewood were starting to smell like home.

"Mm, I know you asked me what I want to eat but I can already smell pasta," you look up at him, smirking.

Bucky laughs as he presses another kiss to your forehead. "I remember you said you were craving this pasta the other day but in the case you don't crave it anymore, I can just throw the whole thing away and we can get takeout."

You let out a burst of laughter as you slap Bucky playfully against his chest while he grins mischievously at you.

"You're so ridiculous," you roll your eyes but can't stop smiling.

Bucky just chuckles as he pulls back to grab your hand to lead you further into his home.

"Let's eat first and then we can think about a walk after. I've been hearing there's been more gang activity lately, so maybe we shouldn't. It wouldn't be good to run into one of those scumbags."

You look at Bucky's eyes, the rare time they're cold.

"Right," you swallow.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

"Where've you been?"

"Nowhere," you mutter as you run your fingers through your hair. You look around and inwardly frown. This used to be home. There were so many nice things here. The chandelier above you was worth more than some people's home.

Yet, it couldn't compare to the quaint and warm feeling Bucky's house was.

"You can't just keep disappearing for days or even hours on end anymore. Your father's gone and that means—"

"I know what it means!" You snap, turning to look at Natasha coldly.

"Sorry," Natasha mutters first before you sigh and rub your forehead.

"No, I'm sorry," you tell her with a sigh and pinch to the bridge of your nose. "You're right, I can't keep going off on my own but this is a lot for me. I never expected to inherit this Syndicate so soon."

"I know," Natasha says sympathetically. "At least it was a natural cause. I always told him to take it easy on the sodium. But you're doing great. You've been around the business long enough."

You chuckle. "Yes, but the news about my father's death has spread and people have been targeting us, haven't they?"

Natasha huffs with a nod. "Fucking Stark has been snooping around our area. I think he's trying to edge in on our business and take our clients."

"Any fights?"

"No more than the usual. There was nearly a shootout a couple of days ago at one of our warehouses."

You sigh.

The terrible thing is that while both you and Stark are old money, old syndicates, you've both inherited the business and just recently. Now you're both new kids on the block trying to establish your names.

"Right," you say, feeling hollow as you stand. "Let's gather everyone for a meeting. I want updates on all our books."

You and Natasha leave the room, walking out into the long hallways. Members straighten up when they see you, and the guards look more serious.

"Boss."

"Boss."

Your people greet you left and right, and you hardly acknowledge them. Every time you hear them, it's just an uncomfortable reminder.

You're the daughter of a mob boss, the new owner of his Syndicate.

You're the kind of person Bucky Barnes despises the most.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Bucky hasn't ever disclosed why he hates gangsters and mobsters—but you pick up on this quickly when you're out and about together, and there's evidence of criminal activity out on the street.

It was the smart thing to do—lie.

Being who you are, what you've done, and what you own, it's a general rule to never disclose who you are and what you do. Even in relationships, unless they're about to enter the family or the business.

But you know Bucky would never join the family or the business, and he would never love you if he knew the truth.

You had the luxury that you've never been the face of the business, that you've been kept behind the scenes. Natasha's more the face of the Syndicate than you are. You've used that to your advantage because it's good that Bucky will never recognize you.

You're not sure what you could do to keep him if he found out.

"Oh, you taste really good," Bucky mutters as he pulls back from your lips just ever so slightly. You can still feel his warm breath on your lips.

You're in his lap, straddling his body with your thighs over his. Your panties have long gone missing, and your neediness had you pulling out Bucky's hard cock long ago. Pressed against his body, you feel his warmth and hardness. You feel your body melt into his, and you both love and hate it.

You wish it didn't feel as good as it did. You wished it felt like any other body you've used.

But he doesn't, and you're trying to wrap your head around why that is.

"What is that? Cherry?" Bucky asks as he captures your lips again, dipping his tongue into your mouth to taste you again. His tongue slides over yours, and you feel yourself grinding against him.

Bucky moans into your mouth, and you're addicted to the feel and the sound of him wanting you.

'Please always want me,' you think.

"I did have ice cream earlier today," you mumble breathily against his lips. "Black cherry."

Bucky hums, more so in pleasure at your gyrating hips than the lingering flavour of your dessert. His hands are under your dress, warm against your ass as he guides you into grinding more slowly before he adjusts and slips into you with one slick thrust.

You can't help your eyes fluttering close and the low groan in the back of your throat. Bucky makes you feel so full, so—open.

"Come on, doll," Bucky presses a sweet kiss against your jaw. "Open your eyes. I wanna see you look at me—wanna see your pretty eyes."

Your eyes open back as the thrusting becomes more urgent and you stay locked into Bucky's steely grey eyes.

That's probably why he's different.

Because Bucky sees you differently.

He looks at you like you're the sweetest thing in the world—like you're the most precious thing he has. He sees you for your dreams, your hopes, and your fears. He looks at you and expects nothing from you except your love and your happiness.

You can see it all in his hot gaze, and it makes you whimper.

"There we go, doll, you're close, aren't you?" Bucky's helping you along as he thrusts upwards rhythmically at a steady pace.

It's so good, so fucking good. Better than with anyone else you've ever done it with before. Your hands grip at Bucky's shirt at his shoulders, nails lightly digging through.

"Bucky—" you whimper. It's so lewd, the way you can hear the sounds of your skin slapping together, the slickness gathering between your thighs. It brings you higher and higher and higher.

Bucky moans in your ear as your head drops against your hand on his shoulder. "Fuck, you feel really tight. So good, always mine. Come on, doll. Let go. Let go and cum all over me."

And when your clit drags over Bucky's skin, and he hits you deeply just the right way, you fall over the edge, right over him. You come with a strangled cry and clenching of your thighs. You hear Bucky's breath hitch, a soft swear at your walls fluttering around him as he thrusts upwards eagerly, chasing his own release.

When he comes, and you feel the comforting warmth of his spend inside you, you relax against him while he's still inside.

The mix of your heavy breathing and his pants come to a still, and you languidly lift your head to place a sweet kiss on his lips.

The feeling of displacement settles over you like it always does after you finish fucking Bucky. The same feeling of disillusionment that makes you feel hollow and numb.

Because despite whatever Bucky sees in you, you know it's nothing but a part of you you'll never be able to fully be.

Still, you press your lips insistently upon his, foolishly hoping that you could be what Bucky sees. Even if it's only when he's inside you—even if it's just for a moment.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

There's a reason Bucky likes fucking you (he secretly calls it making love to you, but he hasn't told you. Also because sometimes it is fucking).

Yes, it feels incredible, and it's fantastic every time. But there's something else. Bucky feels just a little closer to you when he makes you cum. Because in that one split second, that moment where you're on the precipice of wound up too tight and falling, you're entirely open to him.

You can't help but look openly vulnerable and can't help the raw emotion that crosses your face.

And Bucky is addicted to that.

He's not sure what he was expecting when he met you at Sam's cafe. A one-night stand or the occasional 2 AM booty call, maybe. It had easily turned into friends with benefits, and now they were dating.

Bucky has let himself fall completely. It was hard not to. You were too funny, too witty, too sarcastic, too soft, too loving, too everything. How could he not fall?

But while Bucky fell for you with no preparation for how he was going to land, you had fallen for him with a parachute.

He could sense you holding back. He could sense your sadness at times like you were upset with yourself for falling for him. Bucky doesn't take it to heart because there were times you openly adored him as well (when you're on that precipice of cumming and when you're gazing at him when you think he's fast asleep).

"How come we're always at my place?" Bucky asks as he strokes your back, feeling the familiar bumps of your spine. He tries not to go too low because you've got back dimples, and if he touches them, he'll definitely rile himself up to the point of railing you from behind again. He wants to talk because you only ever talk when he's fucked you so good; you're too relaxed to be on your guard.

"I like your place," you mumble sleepily against his chest.

"I mean, you make pretty good money, you must have a place way bigger than mine," Bucky muses.

You shrug.

"Perhaps but my place isn't like yours," you tell him, your index finger stroking his skin in a small line back and forth. "I don't spend a lot of time at my place, nor have I cared to decorate it. There's just a bunch of paintings and posh, modern-esque furniture."

Bucky is happy to listen as you intertwine your legs through his.

"I like your place because it's—like you. Your kitchen always smells like pasta. Your couch is well-worn in and you have throw pillows that don't match at all. Your bed is smaller than mine but I like it because we sleep closer together. And your sheets smell like you," you smile with your eyes closed.

"Like me?" He teases. "Hope that's good."

You hum. "Pinewood and clean laundry. I know you definitely wash it every week."

"You don't?" Bucky asked, his voice (mostly) jokingly aghast.

"Mm, the cleaners probably do," you mutter.

Bucky lets out a burst of quiet laughter. "Rich brat."

"Hey, I helped you wash dishes today."

"Ah, right, how could I forget your supervision. I wouldn't have been able to achieve clean dishes without you today."

"I'm glad you understand," you say cheekily.

Bucky merely pinches your side lightly as he rolls you over for a chaste kiss.

He sighs.

Bucky's fairly sure he's going to hit the ground and break all his bones, but he supposes that's alright. Because on the off chance your parachute doesn't work, or heaven forbid, you decide you can take it off, he'll still catch you—broken bones and all.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You're listening to Natasha give you the report, but your mind is miles and miles away.

Another gang fight broke out in the lower west part of your city today. Stark really seems to be testing your limits. To be fair, you just swiped one of his biggest clients from him and one of his shipments.

It's going to rear its ugly head soon. The way things are, it's going to escalate, and you'll probably start having to kill people. There's no hiding behind your father or Natasha anymore. You'll be the one who has to give the orders. You'll be directly responsible instead of indirectly and watching from the sidelines.

You just keep falling deeper and deeper into that person Bucky unknowingly despises.

"Hey."

You blink as you look up at Natasha from your desk.

"Everything okay, boss?" She asks you, and you snort.

"Don't call me that," you roll your eyes.

"Why? You are." Natasha smirked as she stood straight.

"Not to you. Dad took you in when you were a kid. You're family," you tell her softly, and Natasha allows herself to soften for the moment as well.

"You were an annoying sibling," Natasha says, ruining the entire moment.

"You were a sombre little thing. I was sure you were actually a granny in a kid's body," you rebuke back, causing the redhead to laugh.

"Alright, enough of that. What's wrong?" She asks you, and you bite the tip of your tongue.

You eventually let out a long sigh. "I don't know. I don't know how to handle all of this. I wasn't like you, Nat. Sure, sometimes I participated in meetings and learned the mechanics and the darker side of things Dad did, but I'm—I don't know. I knew I'd probably take over one day when Dad was like 102 years old and preferred bird watching instead of chasing deals and murdering people who messed with us. I always thought that taking over would be what I'd want too, after growing older."

"You don't want to?" Natasha frowned.

"I don't know," you swallowed. "I don't know anything anymore."

"Well," Natasha licked her lips, trying to conceal her concern for you. "What I can tell you now is that you need to arrange a meeting with Stark and settle this before it all gets very ugly."

You sigh.

"I know."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Between making sure you have enough time for Bucky and all the business of the Syndicate, you're starting to feel a little haggard because you're keeping secrets on both sides.

Until one gets discovered.

"Are you crazy?" Natasha hissed at you.

She cornered you two blocks down after you left Bucky's.

"Are you fucking trailing me?" You seethed at her.

"Of course I'm fucking trailing you!" Natasha exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "You've been acting all gloomy and strange. You've been putting things off, showing up late, and missing half the time. And now I'm finding out it's because of some guy? The dick can't be that good."

"Watch your mouth," you warn Natasha, jaw clenched.

"I'll watch my mouth when you put the Syndicate before him! This was your father's legacy," Natasha emphasized, frowning at you. "This is what he left behind, what supported our lifestyle for years. We have people we have to look after and you've been AWOL for some guy none of us have met!"

You stay silent, guilt thrumming in your chest because you can't seem to do it right anywhere.

"Is it serious?" Natasha asks you finally, and when you don't answer, she has hers.

"If it's serious, then you have few options. You know what they are," Natasha clenches her jaw. "You either leave him now and return to us or you reveal who you are and bring him into the Syndicate by marriage. You know what you have to do if you reveal yourself and he doesn't agree to be a part of the business, don't you?"

Kill him, your mind answers, but you continue to remain silent.

"You can't afford to be soft," Natasha reminds you. "Don't go soft on me because I have to be the one who hardens and cleans up your messes."

It was then your eyes met hers and flashes dangerously. "I'm fucking serious, Nat. Stay the fuck away from him. I might be shit at it but I still give the orders."

Natasha's nostrils flare at you, the way they do when you've argued with her when you were younger, and she's disappointed.

"Figure out what to do because that meeting with Stark is in one month when he's back. If you think your lover can't be with you for who you are, then leave him. This is my home too, don't run it into the ground with your father."

Natasha is quick to turn and leave after, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

She was right—that you needed to figure it out.

But you don't even know how to. How do you make sure Bucky could still love you even if you told him who you really were?

How do you make sure he still looks at you the way he does when he learns you're everything he hates?

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

"Bucky."

"Hm," Bucky looks at you while you lie in bed together. It's one of those rare nights the two of you have kept your hands to yourselves. But it's been a rather long day, and neither you want to admit it's also nice to be able to not fuck—like it means more somehow.

It's the perfect time to bring it up. After all, on your stroll back to his place, the two of you passed by a group of gangsters smoking and talking much too loudly.

You don't recognize them, so you know they aren't a part of your Syndicate. Your people are much more discreet, and they would never sit out in the open like that, flashing around their tattoos for everyone to see.

Still, Bucky makes a disgruntled face and a scoff after you pass them.

"Is there a reason you hate gangs and mobs so much?" You ask quietly as you lie on your side facing him, trying to not let your heart thud too hard.

"Is there a reason I need to?" Bucky turns to you with a cock of his brow.

"No," you answer honestly. "But most people just ignore them. You seem to have a personal grudge."

Bucky is silent for a moment as he stares at the dark ceiling. You're kind of glad it's a little too hard to see anything because you don't want to know his expression. Probably thinly veiled contempt for people like you—not that you could blame him.

Then Bucky sighs, pulling one of his arms from under his head to wrap around your body and pull you closer.

"I actually used to live here with someone else. The things you talked about loving are all the things he bought for me or taught me how to do," Bucky confesses quietly.

You listen quietly, unassuming and uninterrupting. Something tells you that this was the wrong thing to do.

You thought you could make Bucky continue to look at you the same if you just understood why he hated people like you. But maybe you were wrong.

"His name was Steven Grant Rogers, and he was—everything. My best friend, my brother, my confidant. We've been attached to the hip since pre-k. We scrapped, slummed, and lived good together," Bucky smiled in the dark as if he was fondly reliving memories. "Steve was a good guy, you know? He was always a little scrawny little thing, though. Oh, and terrible health problems. Asthmatic as hell. Little guy, big heart. He just—always wanted to be more."

"And?"

You expected something like how Steve had been in the wrong place, wrong time. Some mobsters killed poor Steven Grant Rogers.

It's how it always was.

But—

"Then Steve somehow got in with the wrong crowd. They were filling his head with ideas that he could be different—strong. They had him partying and easing him into drugs. It was weed at first, helped Steve a little with his sleeping problems. And then it just kept escalating. I tried to get him to stop, but it was just driving a rift between us. Steve always felt I never understood that part of his life—the desire to be something he wasn't," Bucky sighed.

"I thought Steve was already great—there just wasn't anything we could do about his physical health. We couldn't make him suddenly have a healthy body that could run 20 miles and make him shoot up a whole foot taller," Bucky was absently stroking your arm.

"I never knew which gang he was hanging out with, I think Steve hid it for my safety. But all I know is one night, I found a bunch of drugs he was supposed to drive over the border into Mexico. I told him he was fucking crazy and that shit would get him killed. There was no way he could smuggle it over. The dogs alone at the border would sniff it out," Bucky's voice was hard. "He had some plan but I couldn't even listen. Told Steve that if he wanted to get involved in this shit—shit he knew was wrong, then to get out and leave me out of it."

You feel something painful tugging at your chest. Maybe it was the way Bucky sounded so heartbroken.

Maybe because this was sounding familiar.

"Next thing I know, I'm getting a call from the hospital at 4 AM and I'm rushing to the ER but I'm too late. Dead before I could even leave the house," Bucky rasps.

You want to tell Bucky to stop—he doesn't have to bring this up. You're sorry for asking. You're so sorry.

But you remain still, hand tensely on his stomach. "Cops are all over me with questions before I can even process the fact Steve's gone. They're telling me they found him on the side of the road, bullets through his windshield and chest and his car had traces of coke. The bundles were gone, just sprinkles of it everywhere."

It's silent for a moment, with Bucky no longer talking. You feel his arm tight around you, chest taking heavy breaths.

You stroke his stomach, even though you also feel nauseous, but the gesture seems to soothe him enough to talk again.

"I think Steve realized that everything he was doing was wrong—that he'd gotten involved with something he never should've. I think he tried to turn around since his car was driving away from the border when they found it. And I think he tried to let them know he was bringing the goods back or bringing it to the cops to turn himself in alone. I'll never know what the guy was trying to do. Either way, it wasn't what the gangsters liked and they went out to find him. They went out to put a hole in his chest and take back their goods. They went out to kill him and leave him like it wasn't anything."

Bucky then turns to you. There's enough light from outside through the peek of the curtains. You see that Bucky's eyes are rimmed red.

Your chest aches because you know that Bucky misses Steve so much every day without a shadow of a doubt. He misses his friend so much; there's a part of him that's gone now too. It's a part no one, not even you, could fill.

"So, when you ask me why I hate people like them, that's why. Because they can go about their life doing shit like this to people like Steve and it's all just another body to them. Another faceless no one they don't even remember. And people like me can't do anything about it," Bucky's face is so close, you can feel his minty breath on your face.

Your eyes sting for a lot of different reasons.

You wrap your arm further around Bucky, pulling him in close to comfort him. Even though you're the last person who should.

Because your father is the reason why Steven Grant Rogers is dead.

No one knew him by that name, though.

They joked around with the scrawny man, calling him "Captain."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Steven Grant Rogers was a strange person your father used to tell you.

You had no interest in another asthmatic kid who wanted to join your father's Syndicate. He was just one of the other hundreds of similar guys who wanted to.

Everyone thinks being in a mob is glamourous, and parts of it are. But it's also gruelling work when you're at the bottom of the chain and when you get higher, the shit you have to do just gets more gruesome.

But your father always liked people with upstanding morals.

And apparently, Steve had enough to earn him the nickname Captain—or Cap.

You might've seen him once in passing. It was the time of your life where you were less present in the business. You simply preferred travelling and blowing massive amounts of daddy's money.

So, when you came home one day after Nat called you to say your father was upset and needed family, you were surprised to hear that Steve was dead.

Betrayed, your dad told you. Betrayed by Cap. A man who your dad took under his wing like his own. It was just an initiation job Steve was to do on his own.

And when Steve called your dad to say he couldn't do it, couldn't live like this anymore—wanted out. Your dad told him the same rules he's told everyone—even you.

There is no out. Blood in, blood out—that's the only way.

You look at Bucky's peacefully sleeping face. It was clear he felt lighter after confessing to you, opening up to you.

You felt the opposite.

You felt like the anchor to your ankle tightened, and you were sinking even faster than before.

Understanding Bucky only led to one thing—cementing his hatred for you once he found out.

You couldn't keep Bucky, nor could he keep you.

The choice was clear.

You had to leave him.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Bucky's not sure what he's done wrong.

You've stopped answering his calls and texts.

You've stopped showing up at his place. Everything that was you in his apartment is gone.

Not even a single sock left.

Well, that's not true.

You did leave something.

A post-it note that says, "It's over. I don't want to see you ever again. Don't reach out."

Cold.

Heartless.

The way you were when he first met you. It had lingered under the surface and never showed itself to him, but now it was directed at him.

It's possible you've blocked his number or changed it.

Bucky's sure he's hit the ground now, and his heart is the very first thing to break while his bones feel sore.

There's no closure, and Bucky doesn't think you'll ever give him one. He should just suck it up, take the loss, and move on. He should let time do its thing and forget about you.

But he can't.

Bucky was in too deep. He already knows. He's devastatingly in love with you.

That's why he has shown up at your place. It's much richer and posher than he ever expected. He knew the community you lived in—he's still surprised that he's stuck outside your gates.

Bucky showed up at 8 PM, and you weren't home. Now it was nearing 1 AM.

He looks up when he sees a black car pull up. It stops just a little ways away from him. The driver window rolls down for a brief moment before it rolls back up.

Then in the back, the door opens, and you step out.

You look...different. A little sharper than when you're with him.

You tap the driver's window.

"Are you sure?" Bucky hears faintly.

"Leave, and don't say a word to Nat," you warn.

Bucky blinks because he's never heard you sound so cold.

You wait until the car leaves until you can't see it anymore and turn to him, eyes dispassionate.

"Why are you here, Bucky? Didn't you get my letter?" You ask him plainly.

Bucky gets up with a grunt, frowning at you.

"Can you even call that a letter? You wrote it on a sticky note," Bucky quirks his brow at you.

"All I had at the time," you shrug as you walk past him, entering the code to your gates, and it opens. "The message remains the same. It's over and I don't want to see you."

But Bucky grabs your hand as he trailed after you.

"Why? Why is it over? Did I do something?" Bucky asks you, trying to not sound desperate, but his eyes give that away.

You keep walking, pulling your hand out of Bucky's.

"No, you didn't." You said briskly as you reached your front steps. You turn to him. "Go home, Bucky. It's over because it just is. Are you going to stand there and try to make me stay with you? Is that the kind of man you are?" You taunt him.

Bucky bristles at your words, trying to push them aside because you're only saying them to get a rise out of Bucky—to make him quit.

But he won't.

"No, but until you tell me why it's over and until it's a reason I can accept, I'm not going home," Bucky insists. "You don't get to say you woke up one moment because you suddenly fell out of love—and don't play stupid and act like you don't love me. I know you do, I've already known for months."

You swallow harshly as Bucky pushes past you into your home.

It's as lonely as you described.

Meaningless art with posh furniture.

"I have nothing to say to you, Bucky. Leave before I get mean with you," you warn him, threaten him.

Bucky snorts. "Mean with me, doll? You don't think you're already being mean? You left a sticky note saying it was over and not to seek you out. I think you're already past mean. You're fucking hostile."

You purse your lips because you're frustrated.

Why couldn't Bucky just be the man who cursed you, wished you ill, and forgot about you?

Why did he have to come here and be so annoyingly persistent?

"I'm just over you, Bucky," you say dispassionately. "What we had was good but I'm done with it now. Don't tell me just because I fucked you on the daily—because we ate together that you thought I wanted that forever. I'm doing that with three different guys right now."

That causes a look of anger in Bucky's eyes, and you hope that he'll just call you names and then leave.

"No," Bucky grinds out. "I thought you wanted that forever because after you fucked me, you stayed in my bed—in my arms as you fell asleep. Because before and after we ate, we did everything and nothing and all that's in between. You're pretty stellar, doll, but even you don't have enough time or energy to do that with three different guys."

"Just get out and leave, Bucky. How many times does a girl have to tell you that she's fucking over you for you to leave? Are you always this pathetic?" You tilt your head with a smirk. "What? Do you want to have breakup sex before it's over? Or do you think your dick is so good it might be able to convince me to stay?"

Bucky just stares at you.

This isn't you.

And no matter how many terrible things you say to him, he's never going to believe that's how you truly feel.

Because the only way for Bucky to confirm that is to get you on that precipice.

Bucky surges forward, catching you in a surprising kiss as he backs you into your too expensive couch.

You moan instantly in his mouth.

"Moaning just from that, doll?" Bucky taunts you. "Maybe my dick might be good enough to convince you at the very least you're wrong."

Bucky's kissing you again, pulling you close to him as he strokes down your side, pulling one thigh open for him to fall between your legs.

When his erection hits your clothed pussy, you arch your back, whimpering in his mouth as your hips rise.

"I really hope you're not seeing three guys because you're so fucking needy for me right now. That would just be sad if none of them are taking care of you properly," Bucky's just being mean now, and you deserve it for breaking his heart and trying to rub salt in his very open wounds.

But Bucky's much kinder than you and goes back to silently making his point instead of dishing back what you gave.

He makes work of kissing your neck, sucking and licking as his fingers unbutton your shirt. He presses his hand against your back, lifting you to take your shirt off before unhooking your bra and throwing that away too.

"Always so pretty," he mutters before he takes a nipple into his mouth, licking and nipping until the nub becomes a hard pebble.

His fingers have already dipped into your pants, past your underwear, as his calloused pads of his fingers slip through your folds. Bucky rubs you lewdly, firmly, without holding back as he circles your clit and teasingly presses against your entrance.

You get slick for him easily and quickly, your mouth letting out pants and moans for him as you try to make work of undoing his belt and pulling down his zipper.

You don't want the foreplay, and it's clear Bucky is getting you soaked to take his cock tonight.

When Bucky pulls his hand out, grabbing onto the edge of your pants and panties as he rips it down, you're too eager to help him help you out of them. He makes quick work of his own pants and shirt before he spreads you as wide as he can.

With one sharp thrust, he sinks into you fully, stretching you so wide and filling you up.

You let out a hot moan when he settles all the way in. Fuck, he was perfect. He filled you so good, so perfectly. You missed it.

Bucky presses his entire front against you, pressing you firmly into the couch as he kisses you deeply for a moment. He pulls back just enough that his lips are ghosting over yours.

And then he fucks you.

His thrusts are deep and punishing. He changes his angle and continuously swipes over that spongy, bumpy spot in you. Over and over until you're legs are wrapped around his hips so tightly like you want to keep him in you.

Your hands are gripping the back of his hair as you whimper and cry, choking on your moans as Bucky whispers in your ear, trying to push you to that edge.

"You know you're mine, doll. Why are you pretending you aren't? I'm out here giving all of myself to you and you're trying to pretend you don't want me? It's hard to pretend right now, though, isn't it? When you're wrapped so tightly around my cock, thrusting against me so desperately because you want me to make you cum," Bucky nibbles your ear, causing a high-pitched yelp from you. "Fuck, you're always so tight for me. How are you always so fucking tight? You love me, admit you love me."

You shake your head, trying to breathe through the quickly rising wave that wants to crash. You try to stave off your impending orgasm, the one that would be admitting how much you want Bucky, but he isn't having any of that.

"Oh, no," Bucky tuts. "Don't go doing that now, doll. Open your eyes for me. Open them right now because you know I like seeing your pretty eyes when you cum for me."

You try to refuse, but when Bucky's gripping the back of your hair, a hot wave of arousal pulses through you as your eyes snap open and you stare into his eyes.

Even when he's mad at you, even when he's heartbroken. He still looks at you so openly.

That too tight coil in you snaps when Bucky's hand slides down to thrum at your clit.

You cum with a choked whimper, thrusting upwards into him as he curses and smashes his lips against yours. His hips move jaggedly until you feel his hot spend coat your walls, filling you and dripping out.

He falls on top of you; though heavy, his weight is comforting. It's just the sounds of heavy breathing from the two of you that fill the room.

When it finally calms down, Bucky lifts himself to hover over you. He's got that look of triumph on his face. He's got that look because he got you on that precipice, and just before you came, he got the truth he wanted.

You want him. You love him. And for some reason, you won't let yourself.

You stare at him, feeling—numb.

"Still want to tell me you're over me?" Bucky asks softly.

You fight tooth and nail in your own body to not let the tears well up.

You swallow. You need to shove down those feelings, even though they were right on the surface for Bucky to see.

Because if lying to him won't work anymore, then you'll tell the truth. And you'll do it the way that forces you to face your worst fear.

Seeing how that look of love will really turn to hate for all the right reasons instead of the lie you tried to build.

"Fine," you say, no longer dispassionate and instead with nothing but emotion. "I'm not over you. I'm never going to be over you. But we're never going to work, Bucky. And you know why?"

You use your strength and his lack of awareness to flip the two of you over. He's still in you when you're on top of him.

You stare down at him, and you can't help the burn in the back of your eyes. Why does he have to look so—Bucky.

You lean down, so you're closer to his face.

"My father is the man who killed Steve Rogers. Congratulations, Bucky. You've gone and fell in love with the daughter of the Syndicate that got your friend killed. And you know what else? You're also fucking the boss of that Syndicate now." You watch as Bucky's eyes go wide, shock registering in his system. It's all you can take. You don't want to watch the shock go away and morph into something else.

You slide off of him, resisting the urge to moan as he slides out of you.

You get up, collecting his clothes and dumping them on him. You stare down at him, and you know your eyes are rimmed red as he sits up and stares back at you.

"So, if you're done trying to make me stay and realize you should've gone—go home. And don't come back. We could never work, and this is where you realize you don't want it to."

You grab your shirt, if only to put it on to cover your physical nakedness. It doesn't help you stop feeling vulnerable.

You turn to leave, ready to go upstairs and leave Bucky to go alone. He could break your shit for all you care—could burn the house right down with you in it, and it would've been fine.

But somehow, somehow, Bucky's grabbing your hand again.

You turn to him, exasperated and tears in your eyes.

"Bucky—"

"Will you just stop trying to leave for one damn minute!?" He shouts at you, and you're stung into surprise.

"Let me just fucking process everything for a second," Bucky frustratingly says as he pulls you back to the couch and forces you to sit down.

"What's there to process?" You bite out. "I'm a crime boss of a Syndicate and my family is the one who got Steve killed. Stop trying to make excuses for me and just—leave. You hate these kinds of people, Bucky. And I'm at the top of those kinds of people. It's time to wake up and realize you hate me."

"Don't tell me what to feel, doll," Bucky says warningly at you. "I have questions and you're going to answer them."

You're silent, ready for the questions and also not ready.

"Your dad is dead?"

"Yes."

"How."

"Heart attack."

"Why did he kill Steve?"

"He said he took Steve in like one of his own and Steve betrayed him. I'm assuming that meant Steve was going to try to turn himself in or the drugs. It would've led back to the Syndicate."

"Did you have anything to do with it?"

"No, I wasn't interested in the business during this time. I don't remember ever meeting Steve."

"Have you done anything like this since taking over?"

"No. I can't say I'm a good crime boss. I know how the business works and I can do parts of it, but everything was rather—sudden." You look away. It's not fair to be sad about your dad's death with Bucky right there. You hate yourself when Bucky squeezes your hand.

You wish he'd let go.

"You've killed people then?"

"I've sent orders. Usually wars between other Syndicates. We're in a tough period since my dad has passed. A lot of people are trying to take advantage of the new kid in power—even if the Syndicate belongs to me by blood," you confess, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

It's silent for a minute, and you want to pull your hand away if Bucky wasn't holding it so tightly.

Bucky just stares at you while you look straight forward.

"One more question," Bucky says slowly. "Is this what you continue to want? Do you want to be the crime boss of a Syndicate? Is this the life you want?"

You turn to stare at Bucky. His face holds no emotion, so you have no idea how he's feeling and for once, his eyes are guarded.

You knew it would be, but it still stung.

You let out a sigh.

"No," you finally say. "I did—at one point. Inheriting all this was always part of the plan. I just thought in some vague distant far part of the plan. I never really thought about it much. I'm capable of this work but I just—" you shook your head.

"Stop holding back," Bucky pushes you because he's not letting you hide this time. If he's going to fall, he's not going to let you dawdle if you want a parachute or not while joining him. He's going to rip your parachute right off.

You swallow as you look at him. "I just—want you. I didn't think meeting you would lead to all of this. But now, I can't stop wanting something that's going to get us both killed. I want to live in Barcelona where you sell stupid boats and I actually am a paint dealer because we do need money. I want that if I look out the window, I can see you all day and then we eat ridiculously good food that we both have concerns about becoming unhealthily obese quickly and both not really care because that's our life. Working weird hours and eating whatever we want when we want."

Bucky squints his eyes at you, unsure of what to make of what you're saying, but it's blooming something in his chest. It's all painful and muddled up with everything else that has happened recently.

He wonders why in this fantasy, he sells boats. Are boats popular in Barcelona?

You're quiet again, and Bucky has finally run out of questions. He leans back against your posh couch and thinks about how it's not worn in enough.

Bucky thinks about so many things.

He thinks about Steve and wonders if it's still okay to love you. It's easier knowing you had nothing to do with his death.

While it'd be easier to blame you because of your blood relations, Steve would probably punch him in the mouth. He's a good guy like that.

Is it still okay to love you knowing you've got blood on your hands? That you're capable of getting more if you had to.

Bucky's not sure.

But it doesn't stop his heart from feeling what it does.

He turns to you, and you watch him with open eyes. He wants to laugh. How the tables have turned.

"I love you," Bucky says, and he watches you swallow with tears in your eyes. "I love you even though you're the kind of people I hate. I love you and I want that kind of life you've just talked about. I'm not 100% sold on the boat idea, though."

You choke on a laugh.

Bucky smiles. He's super tired.

"Can we have that though?" He asks, and you know what he's really asking.

Are you willing to abandon everything to have that life?

Bucky's no stranger to blood in, blood out. You don't get special treatment just because you're a crime boss. If anything, it's harder.

You stare at him.

Finally, you're really looking at him with everything you have, and it feels so—right.

You lean over to kiss him, revelling in the way he kisses you back.

Because Bucky Barnes loves you. He loves you even though he knows the truth.

"Yes," you tell him. "Hope you don't sunburn easily. Also boats are a great idea, you'll see."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

The meeting with Stark had been a bust. His ego is way too big to even consider a détente.

It had ended with people being killed on both sides as you both escaped. You hadn't been in a good mood, and that was when you realized Bucky was sitting on the ground outside your gates.

Still, it was the best thing that he could've done. You're glad you're terrible with emotions and thought a sticky note would really keep him away.

Or maybe you knew it wouldn't. Maybe you held onto hope even though there was no reason for you.

There was some intel that Stark was planning to blow up one of your warehouses in the next week. It would probably be one of the bigger ones. He did want to try to stick it to you and cost your Syndicate money.

Well.

That was Natasha's problem now.

"Are you sure about this?" Natasha asks with a frown.

She's family. The most wonderful thing you have left of this world.

The only one who could understand that it doesn't have to be blood in, blood out.

Because she's not your blood, and she's family, your inner family.

"I think it's for the best," you mutter as you fidget with a puzzle. "I told you I wasn't like you. You're more fit to run this thing if you want to keep it out of the ground."

"But your father—"

"—is dead," you finish as you look up at her.

"If he wants to keep his legacy running, then he'll jump for joy at the thought of you taking over because I'm the selfish daughter that would run it into the ground," you smile prettily while Natasha scoffs.

"You love him that much?" She asks.

For a moment, you soften, the way Natasha has never seen you before.

"So much that I'd come up with new rules to be with him," you say quietly. "Besides, we're the new generation. We should make our own rules. Get married or die is way outdated."

"Ah, yes," Natasha said dryly. "I love faking your own death to be with the man you love because he can't stomach joining a mob Syndicate because his best friend was murdered by one is so much better."

"It's interesting at least," you laugh. "Besides, it'll give leeway for you to take over much easier. I even left my will here. See?"

Natasha clicks her tongue at it.

"You have everything else prepared?" Natasha asks, and you nod.

"All the stuff I need to start over is good to go."

"And did you..."

"Clean up loose ends? Yes," you sigh. "Bucky wasn't happy with me."

"And he just forgave you?"

"It helped I chose someone who also dabbled in child pornography to set up our documents. I don't think Bucky was too morally conflicted to see him go," you shrugged. "He helped me get rid of the body."

"Glad you two are bonding," Natasha shook her head with a sigh.

You hum.

It's a long moment before Natasha pulls you in for a rare, tight hug.

"Be safe," she mumbles. "Don't actually get blown up. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," you hug her back, tears welling in your eyes. "We'll meet again if we ever cross paths. Hopefully after you're a badass crime boss that's taken Stark down a few notches. I mean, you have to avenge my tragic death."

Natasha just laughs.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

1 year later...

You hear the door ring as it opens.

You look up from the counter and give a hopeless grin.

"Back again, Rafael?" You sigh. "What did you do this time?"

The man just laughs as you start preparing a bouquet for him.

"I brought home the wrong ice cream," he says with a shrug.

You click your tongue at him. "How could you forget again? You did this three weeks ago."

"She changes her favourite flavour every week! I can't keep up," Rafael frowned.

"She's making a human, a human that's half yours," you quirk a brow at him. "She's entitled to changing her ice cream flavour if she wants."

Rafael sighs but good-naturedly as you finish fixing his bouquet.

"I should go talk to Steve out there, huh? All he does is sell boats and manage to keep you happy. How is that?"

You smile as you look at the window, staring at your husband, who is fixing up a boat. It's like he can sense when you're looking at him as he looks up, giving you a charming smirk.

"Stevie's a whole other level. It's best not to compare. He's crazily good at knowing everything about me by just looking into my eyes."

"But how!" Rafael exclaims.

"Um, something about precipice and practice," you tilt your head.

"Unhelpful," Rafael tuts, and you laugh.

"I'll give a ten percent discount due to my unhelpfulness, how's that?"

"You are an angel. Maybe I should try to look in your eyes and see if I have this superpower too," Rafael waggles his brow, and before you can retort, the door rings again as it opens.

"Stop hitting on my wife, Rafael, you're going to end up having to come back twice if your wife finds out."

You look up and see your husband, tanned and delicious.

"And who would tell her?" Rafael quirked his brow.

"Me, and I'm sure she's already one step from leaving you if you dawdle any longer with your flowers and ice cream," your husband smirks.

Rafael curses as he winks at you before giving your husband a nod and leaves.

When it's just the two of you, you beckon him closer to the counter. You tug on his shirt as you pull him in for a sweet kiss.

"Hi," you say.

"Hi," he husks back.

"I miss calling you Bucky," you sigh.

"Stevie's not as fun?" Bucky smiles.

"It's alright," you crinkle your nose.

"You can still call me Bucky in bed," he waggled his eyebrows at you as he hops over the counter to kiss you again.

"Mm," you hum in pleasure. "We'll see if we're up for those kinds of activities after we go eat tonight."

Bucky looks excited. "Can we go to the usual? I can't get enough of the calamari."

You snicker but nod before you look around.

"I can't believe you went and opened a flower shop too. Isn't art dealing enough?" Bucky sighs.

"The flower shop is just an add on, you big baby. I meet my clients here and they like buying flowers too. Besides, you like seeing me here every day. And I like it too," you pout.

Bucky sighs. "Shit, we're that clingy couple. Can't function without seeing each other."

You smile.

"That's a good thing," you decide.

"You're a good thing," Bucky shoots back haughtily like you should be offended.

You roll your eyes as you pull Bucky in for another kiss—much longer and deeper. You love that he still smells like pinewood and clean laundry. But now he also smells like the ocean, and you adore it. Because the ocean was something you added to him.

"Always let me be your good thing," you mutter against his lips.

Fin

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Moodboard: @empyreanwritings 💕💕

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"You must be James-"

"Bucky, please," he offers you an easy, charming smile. 

"Bucky, nice to meet you," you smiled back.

You had been standing outside your door for quite sometime when Bucky came back, explaining how Steve was out with his girlfriend. As it would be, Bucky knew how to pick a locked door open. You only got a laugh when you asked him about such questionable skills he had.

The next time you met Bucky was when you spilled your grocery bags all over the floor before entering into your building. Bucky seemed to just arrive home from his afternoon classes. 

"This is so embarrassing," you muttered with flushed cheeks as Bucky helped you pick everything up.

"Well, no use crying over spilled milk."

"I haven't bought milk," you joked, causing him to laugh. Bucky had helped you carry your groceries in.

"No roommate?" He looked around the place, seeing how the extra room you had turned into a study room.

"Nope! Well, I mean, I had one earlier in the year, but she moved out after 3 months to transfer to another university. They didn't assign me with anyone else." 

"Lucky," Bucky sighed.

"Roommate problems?" You raised your brow. You had come to know that Bucky and Steve have been friends since they were in diapers, now seemingly grown and going to university together too. 

It seemed hard to believe the two friends would not like rooming together.

"Not problems, per se," Bucky licked his lips. "Just Steve likes to bring Peggy over a lot, and she stays the night often. I guess her roommate is kind of a psychopath."

You nodded slowly and understandingly. It was probably difficult to get studying done or sleep with hearing your roommate fuck at night.

"Well," you offer him a nervous smile, "you are always welcome here if you need the space to study."

"Thanks, doll."

It seems after that, Bucky took your offer quite seriously. Over the next few weeks, he would show up to your place in the evening needing some quiet to work on his papers and upcoming tests.

You certainly didn't mind the company, sometimes having the place to yourself could be a little lonely when everyone else had their roommates to hang out with. 

It was almost kind of nice—an easy friendship brewing between the two of you. 

The thought of dating never really crossed your mind because you weren't ignorant of the fact that Bucky was wildly popular across campus. Steve was too, but Peggy Carter was also wildly popular herself, making them a dream couple. 

So, all sorts of people were trying to put themselves on Bucky's radar.

And, well, you were just you. 

You were just flittering through your university life. You had friends, of course, game nights were on Friday, and went out on the occasional weekend to drink. 

Really, the only time you got to spend time with Bucky was within your dorm building. 

"I brought takeout!" Bucky holds up thick bags with food. You can smell the contents right away and smile.

"Thai food?" You smile, hopeful, in case you're somehow wrong.

Bucky grins at you as you let him in. He puts the bags on the counter, and you help him take the things out.

"Yeah, I saw you staring at their building while I was on the way to class the other day," he laughs. "How long did you stand there?"

You felt your cheeks warm at being caught by someone.

"Only ten minutes," you mumble. 

Bucky licks his tongue against his bottom lip, smiling at you as he takes a seat.

You moan, almost a little inappropriately when you take your first bite.

"God, it's been way too long," you sigh happily as you munch away.

Bucky laughs, "For someone who likes Thai food so much, I don't see you eat it too often."

You shrug. "Thai food is one of those things where there's a lot of dishes that are shared. My friends, unfortunately, don't share my love for Thai food."

"Blasphemous!" Bucky gasps dramatically and jokingly, but you follow along with a firm nod.

"That's what I've been saying!"

Bucky grins. "Alright, how about your boyfriend?"

You roll your head over to Bucky with a look. "I think as often as you spend here, you should know by now I don't have one."

"Just checking," Bucky shrugs. "Any particular reason why?"

You quirk your brow at him. "Well, I'll tell you if you tell me why you haven't got a girl. Lord knows you don't have a shortage of options."

Bucky chuckles as he looks at you, scooping more food into your mouth. His eyes soften for just a moment.

"Just waiting on the right girl is all," he says, looking back at his food when you look up at him.

"Ah, then we're two peas in a pod," you smile, "I'm also waiting for the right person, and unfortunately, the only guys on my roster right now are frat boys."

You scrunch your face a little, and Bucky lets out a burst of laughter at your expression.

"Any particular reason for that?" He asks.

"One of my friends is in a sorority," you sigh. "She thinks she can get me to join if she shoves hot guys my way. I'm actually going to get dragged to a party on Saturday."

"Well," Bucky licks his lip, "is it working?"

"Not even in the slightest," you smirk.

Bucky grins. 

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

"I don't want to study anymore, my brain is melting," Bucky groans as he leans back against your couch with his head facing the ceiling.

His eyes shut as he tries to make all the words disappear from his head, and you laugh at him.

"It's only been two hours," you point out. "Don't you have a huge test on Saturday afternoon?"

"I can't," Bucky moans dramatically. "I can't anymore. I should accept my inevitable doom and fail."

You roll your eyes with a smile as you lean forward and close his books. "Alright, drama queen. I think you just need a break. Why don't we just put on a movie?"

"Annnnd, now my brain is unmelting," Bucky sits up with an excited twinkle in his eye. 

You end up watching three movies, but by the third movie, you fall asleep. 

Bucky sits there, eyes drifting to you with ease as the movie plays on.

You snored a little, causing him to smile involuntarily. 

Alright, Bucky admits, you were just beyond adorable to him. 

But finding the right person also takes time.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Friday night is game night. 

Your friends get much too rowdy as you try to quiet them down, knowing Bucky is probably trying to study across the hall. 

One of your friends drinks way too much and ends up passing out on the couch, dead to the world. 

"Alright, let's call it a night," you yawn as you stand up and stretch. It's well past 1 AM as your friends get up.

"Should we wake him?" One of your friends asks.

"Nah, just leave him. I don't even know if he will wake up," you and your friends share a quick laugh as they leave your building.

"Don't forget we have the party tomorrow," your friend, Mary Jane, pulls you in for a hug.

"Right," you drawl, "Another attempt to find me a gross, frat boyfriend?"

"I mean, show me another guy on your roster, and I won't try to drag you to these parties," Mary Jane laughs.

You made some noise of agreement as you pat her back before she lets go, walking to the door and giving you a little wave before leaving. 

You stretch again before you go to your closet to bring out an extra blanket and set it over your friend. You grab a glass of water and some Advil because you know that poor sucker will feel it tomorrow.

You look in the fridge and groan when you see you've run out of eggs. Typically, you wouldn't mind getting them in the morning, but your friend was someone who needed food immediately when they were hungover. You weren't willing to wake up any earlier to get the eggs in the morning, so you closed the fridge and got ready to head to the 24-hour convenience store down the block. 

You were casually scrolling through your phone as you left your apartment. When you opened the door, you could hear some...sounds from Bucky's apartment, and you felt instant pity for the man. You were ready to leave the building when a figure sitting in the lobby scared the shit out of you.

"Holy fuc--Bucky?"

Bucky looked up with slightly bleary eyes, and it looks like he was still studying as he had his textbook in his lap along with his notebook.

"Oh, what are you doing down here?" He asked, sounding rather tired. 

"What are you doing down here?" You retorted. "It's almost 2 AM. Don't you have a huge test tomorrow?"

"...Steve and Peggy had a fight..." Bucky pressed his lips together, and you don't need to ask further that the noises you heard earlier were them making up.

You wheedle from foot to foot while you look at Bucky. He looks exhausted, and you feel awful he's been sitting out here for God knows how long.

"How long were you out here for?"

"I don't know," Bucky shrugs, "Couple hours?"

You sigh. "Why didn't you just let me know. You could've come over."

"It was game night for you, wasn't it?" Bucky blinks because he was pretty sure he saw your sorority friend leave about 10 minutes ago. 

You let out a pretty deep sigh, holding your hand out in front of him.

He scrunches his brows.

"C'mon," you wiggle your fingers, "come get some eggs with me, and you can crash at my place tonight."

Bucky gives you a light grin as he closes his textbook and grabs your hand as you put very little effort into pulling him up. 

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

There's a body.

In the place where Bucky thought he was going to sleep. 

You don't seem to pay any mind to it as you put the eggs and orange juice away in the fridge.

Bucky is thinking a mile a minute.

The couch was taken, and the extra room you had was turned into a study room. 

Was he supposed to sleep on the carpet? Were you going to give him a sleeping bag?

"Hey," Bucky grabs your attention, "Where should I crash?"

You shut the fridge door, running your hand through your hair as you make your way to your room.

"We can just bunk in the same bed," you say with a shrug, and Bucky thinks he might have a heart attack.

"You're okay with that?" Bucky asks slowly.

You shrug again, "Yeah, I bunk with people all the time. Don't you? It's like part of the university experience."

Bucky doesn't know how to say that he's probably doing more than just sleeping when he bunks with someone.

You turn around and lean at your doorframe, quirking your brow with a smirk.

"Don't tell me you aren't enough of an adult to share a bed with me."

Getting a rise out of Bucky seems to work as Bucky stalks into your bedroom.

"I'll show you an adult," he mutters childishly, and you roll your eyes with a smile.  

And although Bucky says such big words, he's lying stiff as a board on the bed. He lies as close to the edge as possible without falling with his back turned to you, and you can't help but chuckle a little.

"You can unclench, you know. I hardly doubt you'll get some rest if you lie there like a metal rod," you say, but you're also lying pretty close to the edge with your back turned to him, though not as stiff. 

It's silent for a moment, but eventually, you feel the bed shift a little as Bucky relaxes. 

It's silent again, and you feel yourself starting to fall asleep.

"Who was that on your couch?" Bucky asks, breaking the silence.

"Hm?" You hum, opening your eyes slightly. "Oh, just a friend. He usually doesn't come to game night, but his boyfriend is visiting back home this weekend. He went a little too hard on the drinks."

"He's gay?"

"Yeah, got a problem?" You ask almost daring Bucky to say he does. 

"Definitely not," Bucky smiles. 

It's silent again.

"So--"

"Go to sleep, dumbass, you have a test in the morning," you say without opening your eyes. You hear Bucky chuckle softly. 

"Goodnight, doll."

"Goodnight," you smile. 

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Warm. 

Bucky felt warm. Maybe a little too warm. 

He hasn't opened his eyes yet, but he can feel sunlight hitting his face and hear the birds chirping outside. 

Bucky takes a deep breath in and feels shifting in his arms. He moves a little, pulling the warmth in closer. 

He roughly hums in the back of his throat when he feels lips press against his collarbone.

It hits him like a freight train.

Bucky immediately opens his eyes, his body becoming rigid again as you come into view. 

What started with the two of you sleeping at the furthest edges of the bed with your backs turned to each other ended up being the very opposite. 

Sometime during the middle of the night, the two of you gravitated towards the middle of the bed. You were wrapped up in his arms, head just under his chin. He could feel your breath on the base of this throat, and it was giving him goosebumps.

Your hands were wrapped around his back, gripping his shirt slightly. Bucky couldn't even move too much with your legs intertwined with his. A groan wanted to escape his lips with his thigh wedged between your legs.

Bucky tried to move slowly without waking you. 

He really did.

But then you let out a whine, holding him tighter and clenching your legs to lock his thigh in.

"Stop moving," you whined.

God, Bucky doesn't think he'll make it. He's already got morning wood, and this is too much. 

He calls your name in an attempt to wake you up. 

"Doll, you gotta get up, I have a test soon," he says instead when you hardly react to him calling your name. 

This time, you do blearily open your eyes with a huff. 

You untangle yourself from him as Bucky lets out a quiet sigh of relief. Sitting up, you let out a yawn and let out a big stretch, your shirt riding a little up as you do. 

You look at your clock.

"Alright, there's about an hour before your test. Eat some breakfast before you go."

"It's really fin--"

"Break. fast."

You leave the room, and Bucky is left sitting there by himself. The morning passes quickly as you make breakfast. The sounds nor the smell seem to wake your friend up.

"Good luck on your test!" You smile at him as you make him a breakfast sandwich for him to go. 

Bucky smiles back with a 'thanks' before he leaves your place confused.  

Did this morning not affect you at all? Did you not see him as a man? 

Bucky was distracted during the whole test.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You held your smile until you heard the footsteps fade from your door.

After that, you nearly screamed. You stalked over to your hungover friend and whipped a pillow into his face.

"Ack!" He wakes up, nearly falling off the couch. He groans instantly when he sees your face.

"I'm so hungover, oh my god," your friend moans. 

Your face feels hot as it's flushed in embarrassment. "This is all your fault for drinking too much and crashing on the couch! I should've pushed you onto the floor!"

You let out a groan before you stalked off to the washroom, closing the door. 

Your friend sits up, looking at the plate of eggs and bacon on the table. 

"What'd I do?"

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

The entire day leading up to the party is spent with you trying to contain your embarrassment. You're trying to repress the memory of being pressed up against Bucky and clingy. 

You didn't hear from Bucky after his test, and you were much too mortified to say anything, so you hadn't texted him either. 

"You look constipated, please take some shots and relax," Mary Jane hands you tequila with a lime slice.

You shoot back the shot without hesitation.

"Alright," Mary Jane whistles, "Do I even want to know what's got your panties in a knot?"

"Nope," you shake your head.

"Alright, fair enough. Get some more drinks and mingle!" Mary Jane turns her attention past you. You look behind and see her current boyfriend, Harry, enter the room with kegs.

You sigh when Mary Jane looks at you with puppy eyes.

"Go," you tell her. She squeals and kisses you on the cheek before rushing off. 

You do flitter through the party, catching up with some friends, and getting some drinks. 

As embarrassed as you are, the last thing you want is to get sloppy, so you don't overdo it. 

But as you already know, luck is never on your side. 

Especially when you see Bucky walking into the party. People are getting excited and rushing up to say hi to him because Bucky rarely goes to frat parties. 

The two of you lock eyes instantly, and the memory of this morning rushes back, and you wished the ground would open up and swallow you.

'Play it cool,' you tell yourself as you turn back to the group of people you're standing with. 

You're not even sure what they've been talking about, and there's no way you could focus on that now. 

Bucky doesn't seem to be rushing up to you either. He's drinking a beer with Harry as a crowd surrounds them. 

You can see girls in the back looking at him and whispering, and you feel the burn in your gut now for some reason. 

God, were you such a cliché that sharing a bed with Bucky actually made you think that way about him?

The night seems to continue on, and even though you keep catching eyes with Bucky, neither of you seems willing to make the first move. 

You head over to the bar to get more drinks when someone approaches you and orders you a drink. 

You internally groan.

Brock Rumlow. 

A real piece of work. 

He made it into Theta Chi, well-known to be a troublemaker. 

He was known to sleep around and make unwanted advances towards girls and was hardly passing his classes.

Brock had turned his attention to you lately, which you flat out rejected him. It helped that you were friends with Mary Jane, who was dating Harry, the president of Theta Chi, and could tell Brock to back off. 

But Brock Rumlow liked to push his boundaries. 

"You look pretty good tonight, did you dress pretty for me?" He smirks at you, and you roll your eyes.

"Fuck off, Rumlow. I already told you I'm not interested," you look away, not bothering to take the drink he ordered for you. 

"Now don't be like that, you haven't even gotten to know me yet," Brock leans against the counter close to you. 

"And as I've explicitly told you, no," you whip your head back and glare at him. 

You're about to walk off and see if you could find Mary Jane and Harry when Brock grabs your arm. 

"What the fuck-" You start to say when another arm comes into view, grabbing Brock's wrist. 

You look over to see Bucky standing there with his lip pressed into a thin line as he grips Brock's wrist hard enough until he lets go.

"Ow--what's your problem, dude?" Brock holds his wrist before shaking the pain off.

"Keep your hands off her," Bucky cocks his brow as he stands in front of you.

"How about you mind your business," Brock glares at him. "What? Are you her boyfriend?"

Bucky is standing so close to you that you can see his muscles tense, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around him from behind.

"Yes," you interrupt as Bucky lifts his arm over you and then around you so that you're tucked by his side. "He is my boyfriend."

You look up with a loving smile, trying to play the part when you find Bucky's steel-blue eyes gazing back at you.

He licks his lips, teeth dragging over his bottom lip, you swear so slowly before he smirks and looks back at Brock.

"So," Bucky keeps smiling, "fuck off."

"You could've just said you had a boyfriend," Brock grumbles at you like it's your fault somehow.

"My girlfriend doesn't have to say anything. Do you need to be taken back to elementary school to understand what 'no' or 'I'm not interested' means?" Bucky cocks his brow, and Brock sneers at him.

He looks like he wants to cause a scene, but Bucky is a well-known guy around campus, even if he's not in a fraternity house. Brock knows nothing good would come from starting a fight with Bucky, and he's already on thin ice with Harry.

And Bucky knows that. 

So, he turns to you with a smile.

"C'mon, doll, let's get out of here."

As you get ready to leave, Bucky turns to Brock once more with a steely look on his face.

"Stay the fuck away from my girl."

Bucky actually leads you out of the party, saying a brief goodbye to Harry and Mary Jane, who wiggles her brows at you, and you're so grateful to have left.

The two of you walk silently but slowly back to the apartment, and you've got your arms wrapped around your midsection. 

You cough, bringing Bucky's attention to you as you come to a stop under the streetlight.

"Thanks," you say a little awkwardly, "for you know, playing along."

Bucky smiles lightly. 

"If those are the kind of guys on your roster, I think you should expand your horizons a little."

"Not all of us can have a guy like you on our list, but I'll take that under advisement."

You laugh, trying to play it off as a joke because even though it was all just pretend for a moment, being pressed up against Bucky as his girlfriend shouldn't have felt as good as it did.

"You can add me to your roster."

The words were said so smoothly you had almost missed it. You turn your head to Bucky, who's standing there with his hands in his pockets. 

"What?" You say unsurely, convinced you might've heard him wrong.

"I told you I was waiting for the right girl," Bucky smiles, "I'm waiting for you, doll."

You feel an explosion of butterflies in your stomach, cheeks heating up as you process Bucky's words. 

Every meeting you've had with Bucky is a series of unfortunate events. 

Whiskey.

Bucky finds himself in a fight when he has too much. 

Cocktails. 

No one could probably tell, but Bucky did have a specific cocktail. Something he enjoyed at a leisurely pace. A blend of rye whiskey, extra dry vermouth, and maraschino liqueur. He likes that it's smooth, it's dry bite keeping him coming back. 

Bucky has a high tolerance, he always has. No one could outdrink him, and you'd be hard-pressed ever to find him drunk. But he likes a good party. He likes being able to take care of you if you drank too much, even though it's not really his job.

Because you're not his girl. 

"Bucky!"

He turns over to see you coming over with a huge grin and rosy cheeks.

"Are you drunk already, doll?" He laughs as you stumble into him at your last step, fumbling over a faulty tile. He catches you easily as he wraps one of his arms around you as you fling your arms around his waist.

"God, no, maybe, yes, no," you decidedly answer with a laugh. "I think Tony poured me way too much rum in my last drink."

"And you drank it?"

"You know I love rum."

Bucky merely sighs playfully, painfully aware of how warm your body feels against his. How perfectly you fit under his arm and into his side. His fingers ache to flex, to hold you more tightly, but he can't. 

So, he helps you stand upright as you cheekily blow a raspberry at him.

"Careful now, you don't want to finish off so early when the night's just begun," Bucky tells you, and you blow air out of your mouth before grabbing a water bottle. 

"C'mon, it's my first party since the breakup. Surely this is better than having to hang inside watching b-rated chick flicks, eating an unhealthy amount of pizza and ice cream while I cry," you wryly quirk your lips.

But Bucky doesn't say that he secretly enjoyed those times.

Not you crying.

That was awful, and it broke his heart to see you cry like that. But there was something about hanging in your apartment for long periods with nothing to do but watch movies and eat together.

It was like on some level, only the two of you existed in those moments. It helped that you would snuggle up to Bucky under the blankets, and sometimes even fell asleep.

"You sure you're up for tonight? I know Sam is here too," Bucky asked quietly. 

You sighed but shook your head. "I can't avoid him anymore. Besides, I can't keep you locked up with me forever, either."

Bucky wishes he could say he wouldn't mind. 

He looks at you, watching as your turn to your head to look out into the living room where Sam is standing talking with a bunch of guys.

For the longest time, you were Sam's girl. 

Bucky has known you since pre-K, then Sam came in the picture in junior high, and when the two of you started dating in high school, everyone was surprised.

It was no secret that Sam was a notorious player, never have been in a long-term relationship. But the two of you had always clicked, and Bucky couldn't help but feel that it was like a cliche movie. 

The player settles down for the one girl who's always been by his side and keeps up with him the way no one else can.

Bucky was convinced this was only destined to end happily ever after. 

And so, he kept quiet about his feelings.

But then midway through the first year of university, Sam broke up with you. Sitting on the couch crying your eyes out, you had told Bucky that Sam said he just wasn't ready for a relationship right now. It was amicable, you didn't hate Sam, but it had also hurt a lot. He didn't know what to say when you had said that perhaps you just weren't the girl who could get a player to retire from his game. 

It made Bucky's chest ache painfully because he's stopped looking at other girls for a long time now. 

"Alright," Bucky decides, "finish up that water bottle, and we're going to find some duds to destroy beer pong at."

You smile at him, tipping the water bottle all the way up as you finish the last of it. Chucking the water bottle aside, you take Bucky's outstretched hand as he leads you into the living room. 

You pass Sam, giving him only a nod of acknowledgment as you keep walking. You hear Bucky give him a brief greeting, but he doesn't stop to chit-chat with his friend.

Entering the area for games, the two of you arrive just in time to enter into a new game with two strangers that seemed to have been dominating the game the entire night.

The two frat boys looked at you, making wolf-whistling sounds that made Bucky quirk his brow. You didn't react to it, but you did meet Bucky's eyes from the side. He gave you a knowing smile as the game started.

Sinking cup after cup, the game ends way too quickly, and the frat boys aren't too happy about being trounced, but they're not willing to start something with Bucky Barnes, so they leave quietly.

Bucky starts to walk off, but you pull his sleeve.

"Let's play a couple more rounds," you smile at him. He tilts his head, a little surprised as you usually don't like to play the same game in a row, but he nods nonetheless.

Seven rounds. 

You don't call it quits until after seven rounds. With Bucky by your side, you never lose a game, but you are feeling buzzed again. 

"Done with the games?" Bucky teases.

You're about to answer, but the words get caught in your throat. 

You probably weren't meant to see it, but you did. Sam's on the dance floor with some girl you don't recognize, she might be in her second year of university. 

They're grinding and kissing, and even though you're pretty sure you're starting to move on, it still hits you in the gut. 

There's a momentary flashback to when Sam first broke up with you and the painful feeling of knowing somehow, you weren't enough. 

You know Sam didn't mean it that way, but that's how it felt.

Bucky follows your line of sight and feels his gut sink. He doesn't know what to do other than to move to stand in front of you. You blink, your view being blocked as you look into Bucky's eyes.

"Let's grab some drinks," Bucky turns you around, pushing you towards the kitchen. 

He thinks it might still be too early for you to be out and partying when you've got a broken heart, but when you don't cry, he's impressed.

You swallow the lump in your throat, coughing lightly to clear your throat as you turn to Bucky. 

"This party blows," you tell him, watching him quirk his brow with a smile. "You know, Tony has the good stuff up in his study room."

You don't say anything, but Bucky grins right away, knowing what you're insinuating.

"Meet me out back?" You lick your lips.

"You've got yourself a rendezvous, doll."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Bucky finds you not too far from the house, just down the block where the road curves. You're sitting on the edge of the sidewalk under the streetlight. 

Normally, Bucky would scold you for being so reckless, but it's late in the night, and you've got a look on your face that he just decides to let this one slide.

He walks up to you, taking a seat and shows you the treasure he brought.

You chortle, "I knew Tony was hiding the good stuff."

"We're probably going to hear about it from him tomorrow," Bucky smirks, but that doesn't stop him from cracking the bottle open. 

"That's a tomorrow us problem," you shrug, causing him to laugh.

You both take a shot of the premium vodka Bucky stole, licking your lips at how smooth it goes down. 

Even as good as it was, you still make a face and a displeased noise.

Bucky turns to you and laughs.

"I knew I should've brought the rum instead," he jokes, and you lean over and push him playfully with your shoulder.

"You fool," you smile, "there was rum, and you took vodka? Rookie mistake."

Bucky throws his head back with laughter. There's something that feels warm in your stomach as you watch Bucky laugh, and you wonder if it's the vodka.

"Here," you say, turning over slightly pick up two glasses you had brought out earlier.

"What's this?" Bucky asks as he looks at the cocktail. The orange color looks familiar to him, and there's a toothpick with cherries in it. 

You quirk your eyebrow at him as if he should know. "Your favorite cocktail? The Brooklyn cocktail. I think it should be called the Bucky Barnes cocktail, though."

Bucky takes the drink slowly, sipping it. He's not sure if it's because he's already had so many drinks tonight, or if it's the fact that you made it, but it tastes better than usual.

"I hope you appreciate this. I stole the cherries."

"From where?"

You were silent.

"From where?" Bucky jokingly begged.

The two of you burst into laughter as you share drinks under the night sky.

"How did you know this was my favorite cocktail? I drink everything, and I've never mentioned this drink," Bucky asked, savoring the flavor.

You look at him with furrow brows.

"What do you mean?" You lick your lips. "It's the only cocktail you'll drink twice."

It was so small, something no one else ever has noticed. Bucky likes to drink, and he really will drink everything. It's easy for people to assume he likes vodka the best. 

Fuck, he's so in love. 

But he downs the rest of the drink along with his feelings.

The night passes quietly with the two of you drinking from the vodka bottle, and Bucky is feeling the liquor a little more than usual.

"This is so dumb," you sigh.

"What is?" Bucky asks softly back.

"I dragged you and myself to this party, but now we're sitting out here on the curb."

Bucky shrugs. "This right here is the coolest party 'round town."

You laugh, "Not sure if two people make it a party."

"What does it make then?"

"A date, maybe?" You say.

It's meant innocently, but Bucky's chest flares with butterflies, and he's gripping the edge of the curb tightly.

Suddenly, you groan as you lean against his shoulder.

"Be honest, you think I'm tragic, don't you?" The warmth immediately seeps through Bucky's shirt against your temple. 

"Not at all, doll," Bucky licks his bottom lip.

You pinch his side lightly. "Doll this, doll that. Careful, Barnes, I might just fall for you."

And maybe it's the alcohol that has him relaxed. 

Maybe it's the way you look under the streetlight. 

Maybe it's the way you look like you don't believe you can be anyone's entire universe.

Whatever it is, it has Bucky leaning over your face. You look up, caught in his steel-blue eyes. Your breath hitches when you feel his breath ghost over your cheeks and on your lips. 

His other hand comes to cup your face, thumb dragging from the corner of your mouth across your cheekbone.

Your eyes flutter closed as you unknowingly move closer. 

"What are you doing?" You whisper.

You open your eyes when Bucky doesn't answer. He only swallows visibly. 

"How long?" You ask instead.

"Before Sam," Bucky's forehead touches yours as your noses brush.

Your jaw clenches because that was ages ago. 

You come to a sobering realization that Bucky has loved you longer than you have ever known. 

There's a nagging thought in both of your heads that this could be a mistake. 

But as quick as Bucky's lips brush against yours, he pulls back. 

You blink.

Bucky coughs, standing up.

"Sorry," Bucky smiles contritely. 

Because the thing is, even if you're not Sam's girl, you're not Bucky's either.

And he's not about to risk something just because his entire body feels like he's about to go through vertigo if he doesn't kiss you. 

You stare at Bucky as he gives you that goofy grin, scratching the back of his head. 

"Let's head back inside," Bucky starts walking, "I bet Tony is white girl wasted at this point."

You watch Bucky's back as you stand up.

The truth is, you don't understand. You don't know what the right decision is or if you'll regret it in the morning. 

The only thing you know is that things have changed regardless of what you choose to do.

There's this uncomfortable feeling in your gut as you bite your nail before running your hand through your hair frustratedly. 

You look to the side, huffing before you look back.

"Bucky!" 

You're already running when he turns around as you collide into his body, hand cupping his jaw with a bruising kiss. 

Bucky responds immediately, both his hands coming around to hold your face. You feel the ring on his thumb as it's pressed just right on the corner of your lips. 

He kisses you like he's known your lips forever. Even though the last thing you drank was vodka, there's still an underlying tone of rum, and Bucky thinks rum might be his new favorite. 

The smell of orange blossoms and dry leaves invades his nose as he pulls back, both breathless. 

He doesn't dare pull back any further, feeling your warm breath on his lips. 

He catches your eyes, the way they flutter to his as your chest heaves. Your fingers move to hold his fingers that are cupping your jaw and neck.

And Bucky falls all over. 

"I'm in love with you, doll," Bucky confesses, pulling you into another consuming kiss. 

Cars pass you, their headlights shining just momentarily on the two of you as you share something new from drinks.