#redgillan

Summer with you was Bucky’s favourite season. He loved the way you squinted against the sun, your face bright and happy and your lips glossy with sorbet. He loved those lazy afternoons spent at the pool and he definitely worshiped your summer wardrobe.

You had found a part-time job at a renewed museum. You often said that it was boring and tiring but your colleagues were nice. You were still visiting galleries from time to time but you weren’t actively pursuing a career as a professional artist.

Bucky spent most of his time in his office, finishing up his novel. He was really anxious about it, and he hoped his little surprise wouldn’t blow up in his face. He had everything planned. His uncle had been delighted when Bucky asked if he could use the bookstore for a reading. It would be a private reading, just the two of you after the shop closed.

Now he just had to ask you out...

Bucky climbed the stairs two at a time to your floor, a bouquet of flower in his hand and a smile on his lips. You had invited him over for dinner, which was a bit unusual because you had to work the next morning, but he wasn’t complaining. Far from.

“Bucky,” you giggled sheepishly when you opened the door. He bought you flowers every time he saw you. It didn’t matter that your studio apartment now looked like the back room of a flower shop, he liked the way your eyes softened at the sight of the pretty blooms. “These are stunning.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

You good-naturedly rolled your eyes before you waved him into the room. “Come in, I made dinner.”

Your apartment smelled of marinara sauce and spaghetti boiling in hot water. It was a comforting smell, a smell that reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

You didn’t have a proper table, the apartment was too small for that, so you ate on the breakfast counter. Bucky didn’t mind eating side by side. He liked the way you turned your body to face him, your knee touching his. It felt intimate.

“I have something to tell you,” you said, closing the door behind him. He watched you bounce around the room like some excited puppy dog. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”

His forehead creased into a deep frown. “What is it?”

You pulled something out of your bag and hid it behind your back before you took a step closer to him. You were unable to meet his confused gaze but he found it so endearing that he started smiling.

You handed him a postcard-style flyer with a shaking hand. It was a mini print of one of your paintings along with the logo of a gallery in New York. He turned the card over and read it, his eyes instantly brightening. It was a flyer for an art opening.

“Angel,” he said, his voice full of emotion. “You did it!”

You chuckled bashfully. “It’s a collective exhibition. They gave me half a wall and a corner of the engraving table.” You raised your eyes to his, your bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that managed to be both shy and sensual. “Will you be there?”

Bucky placed the flyer on the kitchen counter and took a step closer to you. “Will I b-? Of course!” he exclaimed, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“I did nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s all yours and you deserve it.”

With a little laugh, you pulled him into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. He hugged you against his chest and watched as you played with the lapels of his shirt.

“Do you think,” you started timidly, your eyes glued to his chest. “Do you think I can introduce you as my boyfriend?”

“Oh, my angel,” he chuckled lowly. “You think we’ve waited long enough? Am I allowed to kiss you now? Because let me tell you, sweet angel, I’ve been eager to taste you all summer. Didn’t help that all you ate was ice cream and sorbet. You know I have a sweet tooth.”

“You’re all talk,” you said with a grin before you curled your fingers around the lapels of his shirt and pulled him down to you.

He smiled against your lips and pressed his hand against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. You shivered when his hand trailed up your side, his fingers grazing your breast over your clothes. You leaned your head back enough to break the kiss and audibly sucked in your breath.

Bucky cupped the side of your face, planting one last kiss on your parted lips. “My girl.”

With a breathy laugh, you let your head fall onto his shoulder and soaked up his warmth, his love, before you took a step back.

Dinner went well, albeit with more sexual tension than you’d both anticipated. He stole several kisses from your tomato sauce-covered lips, praising your cooking skills.

You touched the pendant at your throat and traced the tiny gemstones with the pad of your middle finger.

“It drives me crazy when you do that,” Bucky admitted with a chuckle.

“Really?” you replied, a tentative smile on your lips.

“Mhm mhm.” He nodded and licked the creamy remnant of ice cream off his spoon. “Looks real pretty against your skin. I like seeing you wearing it.”

Watching you smile down at your pendant made his chest burst with protectiveness. You bit your lip but couldn’t hide your smile. He leaned sideways and kissed your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in your ear. “Especially when you’re wearing my necklace and nothing else.”

You tilted your head to look at him. The tension between you became so intense that he could hear you breathing hard, and without thinking he pressed his lips against yours. His hand came up to your face and you took the opportunity to climb into his lap, desperate to touch him.

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, kissing him roughly. He could taste the ice cream on your lips, your tongue cool against his own. With his arm around your waist and a bit of your help, he hoisted you onto the counter.

The empty bowls, plates and glasses fell to the floor, shattering loudly but you didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he gently lowered you down onto the counter.

*

He kissed his way down your throat to the dip between your collarbones where the pendant was. He felt himself harden against you when you stirred against him, moaning. You pulled him down for a kiss and blindly reached for his belt.

“Condom?” you half moaned against his lips.

“Shit.” He sagged heavily against you and buried his face in your neck. “Fuck, shit! I don’t have one. I didn’t think we’d-”

“That’s okay,” you cut him off. “We can either cool down or... get creative.”

With a breathless chuckle, he started to run his hand down the length of your body. “I might have an idea.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation when his hand slipped between your thighs. Bucky looked at you, paying close attention to your movements and the sounds you made.

Your head thrashed from side to side, your breathing erratic. You gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and slapped the other against his chest, your back arching off the counter as you moaned his name.

He had never seen anything more beautiful than you; lost in your pleasure, brow furrowed, eyes fluttering shut. He almost reached his peak with you, untouched.

You lay there with your mouth open and took a series of short ragged breaths, filling your deprived lungs with air. After a minute, you tried to sit up but your arms were too weak to support you.

You let out a loud, frustrated groan as you tried again. “I think you killed me.” You held out your arms to him. “Help me up.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you into a sitting position. After another long kiss, you ran your hand over the front of his jeans, smiling wickedly when his breath hitched.

He looked down at your hands as you started unbuckling his belt. He knew you could feel the tension in his stomach, the anticipation.

“You don’t have to-”  

“Shh,” you whispered, kissing his cheek. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

You slipped your fingers under the elastic waistband of his boxers and Bucky hissed. Your fingers were cool against his heated skin but he silenced your apology with a kiss.

He didn’t last long. He couldn’t; not when you were whispering filthy things in his ear, or playing with his earlobe, sucking it gently then biting it harshly. You were all he could feel, all he wanted to feel.

You chuckled softly when his legs buckled under him, your free arm coming around his waist to keep him upright. He slammed his hand down on the counter, grunting like a beast in pain. He moaned your name, repeated it like a prayer as he reached his peak.

With a tired laugh, he slumped forward, exhausted, and kissed your forehead before he drew several long deep breaths. He tucked himself back into his boxers, pulled his jeans up and buckled his belt.

*

“That was...” He didn’t finish his sentence, choosing instead to grab the back of your neck and pull you in for a kiss. You chuckled as you returned his kiss. Bucky drew back and bowed his head, resting his forehead against yours.

“Looks like we won’t do the dishes today,” you said, looking down at the broken ceramics and glass. Bucky followed your line of sight to the broken pates before he burst into laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

The next Thursday, Bucky was getting ready for your art opening. Sam and Natasha had flown from D.C. to see your first show, though you had no idea they were coming. Your sisters and brother were already at the gallery waiting for them.

The street was quiet when Sam, Natasha and Bucky arrived at the gallery. A few people were standing outside, smoking and talking. As they walked up to them, Bucky glanced through the window in hopes of finding you.

It was only seven but the gallery was already busy, packed with people milling around, laughing, drinking, and talking. His ears started ringing and he had to stop to take a deep breath.

“You okay?” Sam asked, concern colouring his brown eyes. Natasha paused too, her hand still clasped in Sam’s. They turned to the crowd then looked at Bucky with sympathetic eyes. He had grown paler and his skin looked shiny with sweat. “Is it too much?”

Bucky couldn’t see you but he knew you were inside. You were waiting for him. He couldn’t miss your first show, he simply couldn’t. He tried one of his breathing exercises, working with this nervous energy instead of letting it consume him. He tightened his grip on the single sunflower he was carrying and straightened his spine.

“I’m good.”

“If you need a minute, we can wait here.”

“You look very sharp, Bucky,” Natasha replied almost immediately, a warm smile on her lips. “She’ll be thrilled to see you.”

Sam wanted Bucky to be comfortable but Natasha understood that it wasn’t going to happen. Bucky needed reassurance; he needed to know that everything would be fine, that you’d be happy to see him.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, seeking validation in his friends’ eyes. “Yeah, of course. C’mon, let’s go.”

Inside the gallery, they were greeted by a cute twentysomething who gave them a rundown on the gallery and the exhibition. She had more energy than a puppy and spoke incredibly fast. They smiled and nodded politely, though their eyes kept wandering around the main room looking for you.

They managed to quietly escape when another group of people entered the gallery. As Bucky looked around the room, he felt a little overwhelmed. A couple of women were speed walking amongst the guests, an urgency in the way they moved that contradicted with the smiles on their faces.

“Find her and I’ll get us something to drink,” Sam said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the chatter. It really didn’t help Bucky’s anxiety.

Natasha and Bucky made their way through the throng, trying not to bump into people. Natasha waved at someone across the room and Bucky recognized your sisters and their partners. Scott was there too, carrying a half-asleep little girl.

Natasha looked over her shoulder when he didn’t follow her, then smirked knowingly and jerked her head in the direction of the crowd. He’d say hello later, right now he wanted to see you.

The gallery was designed in a u-shape with a patio at the centre. From where he was, he could see the engraving table, the bar and the door that led to the patio. Candles were lit in the patio, climbing roses and jasmine elegantly concealing the cracks in the concrete walls.

And there you were.

You were standing amongst a group of older folks, listening to their stories. The woman next to you exuded confidence and she seemed to enjoy being the centre of attention.  

Seeing you didn’t suddenly make his anxiety disappear, it didn’t make everyone around him vanish into thin air, but he still felt ten times better. It kept him grounded because he knew you were there for him.

A smile spread across Bucky’s lips as he observed you. You were smiling politely at the woman next to you, then let your eyes wander around the room as if you knew someone was watching you. When your eyes finally met, your whole face lit up and you quickly excused yourself.  

“You’re here!” you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him. He raised his arm, making sure you weren’t crushing the flower, then returned the embrace. “Thank you for coming.”

“I hope you don’t mind, I brought a couple of friends who are die-hard fans of your work,” he said, kissing your temple.

You pulled back slightly. “What? Who?”

“You’ll see,” he replied with a grin before he handed you the flower with a flourish. “A sunflower for my sunshine.”

You rolled your eyes at the corny line but your smile was shy and happy. You carefully tucked the sunflower into the top buttonhole of your blouse, then gave him a kiss. He smiled against your lips, enjoying this moment when it felt like it was just the two of you.

“Hey listen,” you said, your hands framing his face. “I know there are a lot of people here tonight, so if you need to leave or take a break-”

“I know,” he interrupted you, a smile on his lips. “Thank you for always looking out for me.”

“That’s what angels are for.”

He laughed softly and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before he let you go. He’d been to several events like this one, he knew it was only a matter of time until someone dragged you away. After all, it was a networking event.

“This place is great,” he said. “But I haven’t seen your work yet.” He held out his hand, palm upward, and you bashfully looked at your feet as you took his hand. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You simultaneously buried your face in his shoulder and smacked his arm, making him laugh. “It’s a sales technique,” you quipped, leading him across the room to where your family was waiting.

“Well, it’s definitely working on me, beautiful.”

“Oh, no! You’re not allowed to buy anything tonight. Your apartment already looks like a museum.”

“The one above my bed is my favorite,” he continued with a grin. A little shiver ran through you at the memory, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. He pulled you closer and whispered in your ear. “Do you remember the night we made it? You and I, naked, covered in paint, making each other feel so fucking good.”

“Bucky,” you whined, trying to wiggle out of his embrace. “I can’t think straight when you say things like that.” He chuckled lowly in your ear. “People are staring at us.”

“Let ‘em. They came to look at art, uh?”

You good-naturedly shook your head at him and rolled your eyes, your expression one of annoyance and amusement. Bucky had become a bit of a flirt since the two of you started dating, and he loved riling you up in public.

You opened your mouth to speak when your eyes darted toward something behind his shoulder. “Nat?” You looked at Bucky, your eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. “You brought Nat!”

“And Sam,” he said with a nod. “They’re a package deal now.”

“Sam’s here too?” you exclaimed.

Bucky watched you powerwalking toward your friends and family. You wrapped your arms around Natasha as tight as you could and she pretended to gasp for air making your siblings smile fondly at the two of you.

“Thanks for not inviting me to your first big gig, doofus,” Natasha said as she pulled back. “You’re lucky your boyfriend had my number.”

“I didn’t want you guys to come all the way here on a Thursday,” you explained. “You all have your lives. I don’t expect you to drop everything to see my art show.”

“We live in D.C., not Mars,” Sam said, appearing with two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Natasha before he greeted you with a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Besides it gave us an excuse to take a few days off work. We’re staying until Sunday.”

You looked away, uncomfortable. “Guys, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Newsflash, it is,” Scott said, having heard your conversation.

“And we’re all incredibly proud of you,” Okoye added.

“You accomplished so much,” Wanda agreed, raising her own glass in a toast. The others raised their glasses high, clinking them together in the air before they drained them dry.

“I’m really glad you’re all here,” you said, sagging a little against Bucky’s chest. He wrapped his arm around you and kept you close. “It means a lot. I love you all.”

One of the interns popped out from behind Bucky, interrupting the little reunion. She walked over to the wall and placed a little red sticker on the label under one of your paintings. She turned around and congratulated you on your first sale, making everyone explode into cheers and applause.

“If you have a moment, the buyer would like to meet you,” she said.

“Oh, yes, of course!”

When you turned to him, Bucky saw the worry colouring your beautiful eyes. He smiled tenderly and cupped your cheek in his palm, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. “Go, it’s your night.”

He pressed his lips to yours before he let you go. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, a nervous habit Bucky had seen you do a lot in the past few months. You touched the pendant around your neck and smiled.

Before you left, you gave Natasha a sharp look –which could only mean one thing, ‘take care of him for me’- and she replied with a firm nod. It made Bucky grin to himself as he gently nudged you toward the intern.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of soft classical music, loud conversations, and laughter. Bucky spent most of the evening sitting on the patio talking with Sam, Vis, Scott and W’Kabi while the girls were chattering cheerfully next to them.

He preened whenever you introduced him as your boyfriend to gallery owners and art collectors. You mentioned that he was a talented writer, even though it was supposed to be your big night.  

“Are you writing anything at the moment?” someone asked him.

“I have a book coming out soon, hopefully,” he said, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. “But that’s not why I’m here tonight.”

“What is it about?”

“Oh, Bucky’s incredibly secretive,” you answered for him. “He wouldn’t even tell me.”

Bucky tuned out the rest of the conversation and decided to watch you instead. You were too engrossed in their story to notice his intense eyes fixed on you.

He decided that he’d take you to his uncle’s bookshop after the party.

He did a quick mental checklist to see if it was feasible; he had the keys to the bookshop, he knew the alarm code, and the back of the bookshop already had chairs lined up in rows from a previous author reading. The only thing missing was his book but he had a copy at home and Sam owed him a favour anyway.

It was getting late, several people were standing next to the engraving table but the gallery had emptied enough to really look at the paintings on the walls.

It was a beautiful, cosy place when it wasn’t overcrowded with guests.

Your siblings had left about an hour ago. Sam came back from Bucky’s apartment with Bucky’s book hidden under his coat, acting like he was smuggling candies into a movie theatre. They left soon after.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered in your ear as he wrapped his arm around you from behind, tucking you against his chest. You were standing alone in front of your paintings, the distant sound of voices and laughter came from the other side of the gallery. “Everything okay, angel?”

You hummed under your breath and tilted your head back so you could kiss the underside of his jaw. He felt you relax against him.

“They’re closing up soon,” you said. “But I don’t want tonight to end. Can I stay at your place?”

“The answer’s always yes,” he replied, making you laugh. “We have to make a quick stop somewhere first.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.” A minute passed before you turned and wrapped your arms tightly around him, squeezing hard enough to make the air whoosh from his lungs. He let out a surprised laugh and held you close to his chest. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “It was a really good night. I think I’m feeling a little emotional.” You pulled your head back to look at him. “Thank you for asking Sam and Nat to come. I really needed that.”

“That’s what good boyfriends do,” he said with a grin.

You laughed. “I love you.”

Your blunt admission made him blink. Hard. The words had left your lips so easily that the weight of their meaning hit him like a lightning bolt. He stood there frozen, unable to move, unable to speak.

You laughed softly. “Earlier tonight I was upset that my mom and Pietro couldn’t be here. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life and I wanted to cry. But then I saw you and I knew everything would be all right. I know we’ve only been dating for a couple of months but we’re known each other for almost a year and... I’ve loved you since you took me to that charity event at the Museum of Natural History.”

“Angel,” he said in a choked voice. He pressed his lips together, then tried to say your name.

“It’s okay,” you said, cupping his face. “You don’t have to say it back. I know you love me. You have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen. You can’t hide anything.” He laughed, the sound raspy and wet. “No one has ever looked at me like this before.”

“You’re-” he paused and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’re everything to me, y’know that?”

“I know,” you said, smiling tenderly at him.

His book felt heavy in his pocket, a reminder of all the things he wanted to tell you. He smoothed his hand over his pocket and looked over his shoulder but the remaining guests were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay attention to you.

“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

You placed your hand in his and let him lead you out of the gallery. You both stepped out into the street laughing and feeling lighter than air. Bucky hailed a cab, opened the door for you and climbed in.

He gave the driver the address and settled back into his seat, his attention on you. You looked at him with incredulity mixed with amused curiosity. He leaned closer to you and rubbed his nose against yours, making you laugh.

When the cab stopped, Bucky looked out the window, surprised to see that they had already arrived. You let out an incredulous chuckle next to him, probably realizing that you’d spent most of the ride kissing.

“A bookstore?” you asked, watching Bucky walk over to the crisscrossed metal security gates. “Well, too bad it’s closed. Then again it’s almost midnight.”

“That’s not a problem.”

The gates made a loud screeching noise as Bucky opened the store. He punched in the security code and waited until the light turned green to turn on the lights. You slowly walked into the bookstore, a dubious look on your face.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?”

“Technically, no,” Bucky replied with a cringe. “But I have the keys, don’t I?” You levelled an assessing gaze on him. “It’s my uncle’s bookstore,” he finally relented. “He gave me a key for emergencies, and sweetheart, that’s one hell of an emergency.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re smooth, Barnes, but I’m not spending the night in jail.”

He laughed. “You’re no fun, angel.” When you didn’t seem convinced, he added, “We’re good, promise.”

You raised your eyebrows and puckered your lips into a doubtful grimace as you began browsing through the shelves. Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out his book, cradling it protectively against his side.

“I bet you used to work here,” you said, your back turned to him and your head tilted to one side as you read the titles.

“You’re right.” He glanced down at the book in his hand and traced his thumb along the gold lettering. “I worked here with Steve. We were saving up money to go to Nepal.”

You paused and looked over your shoulder at him. “To climb Mount Everest?”

Bucky made an affirmative sound but he was took busy looking at the book in his hand to notice that a worried look had crossed your face. You walked to him and touched his cheek, trying to coax his eyes back to yours.

“I’d go through all of this again,” he said, blue eyes boring into yours. “Just to spend a minute with you.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you whispered, hiding your flustered face in the crook of his neck. He tilted his head to kiss your crown. “Are you going to tell me why we’re here?”

He took a deep breath and you slowly pulled back from him. “We’re here, angel, because... well because I’m an idiot who can’t express his feelings, at least not out loud and definitely not in an intelligible way. I thought I’d sit down and write it down but it got away from me.”

He raised the book in his hand as if proving his point and let out a derisive snort. You cocked your head, trying to understand.

“I called it ‘Under Pastel Skies’ because that’s what you remind me of,” he said, looking down at the cover. “Clear, cotton candy skies. Bright and colourful, soft and beautiful, and with that ethereal golden hue that makes you believe in Heaven.”

“Bucky,” you tried, your voice coming out thin.

“Will you come with me, please?” He offered you his arm and you looped your hand around the crook of his elbow. You didn’t try to take the book from him and you were oddly silent next to him. He sneaked a glance at you but he couldn’t make out the expression on your face.

He led you into the backroom, where several rows of chairs had been set up in front of a lectern, and walked you down the central aisle.

“You want me to take a seat?” you asked, glancing around the room.

“Please,” he whispered and pressed his lips against your forehead.

You sat down willingly, though you kept wringing your hands. For a brief moment, Bucky wondered if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake. He had no idea how you were going to react to his book, and it hadn’t really hit him until now that his book was filled with extremely personal information.

He never mentioned your name, your siblings or your mother, but he did share more than he had intended. With his heart in his throat, he forced himself to walk over to the lectern.

“Thank you all for coming today,” he tried to joke but his anxiety made him stutter. “I see that we have a full house tonight.”

He briefly glanced up at you, sitting all alone in that big room, then looked down at his book.

“Mmh, so,” he cleared his throat, “usually when you speak in front of a large audience, or an important audience, they tell you to start with an anecdote. It’s supposed to put everyone at ease, it’s supposed to break the ice, but I, uh, I think we know each other quite well.”

Bucky became acutely aware of the beads of sweat running down his armpit, sending an uncomfortable chill through his spine. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and cursed when the book immediately closed itself.

“I’m,” he let out a small laugh, “I’m sorry, this is what happens when you only have one hand.” It took a few tries to open the book again. His fingers were trembling so much. “I’m a little nervous,” he acknowledged with a cringe. “Here we go!”

My name is Bucky. I have been writing for years and my faithful readers know me as Grant Thomas, a sarcastic and witty writer who makes fun of his own struggles, but in real life, I’m just Bucky. According to my friend, I’m a sourpuss, a fun killer, and I guess that’s fair. I’m not as charismatic as I used to be.

Meeting new people can be a scary thing, especially when you’re a one-armed brooding machine. I carry a lot of emotional baggage. Sometimes it feels like everywhere I go I have a backpack strapped to my chest, filled with notebooks containing undisclosed information about me.

I met my angel at a bar. She was wearing a tight orange-red dress, her lips the color of blood; she looked like she was about to sell her soul to the Devil. I was the Devil. And I knew I had to leave before I could taint her with my darkness.

I saw her outside the bar while I was hailing a cab. I don’t know if she followed me or if she wanted to leave but I was drawn to her. Her shoes didn’t match her dress. She was wearing an expensive-looking dress but her shoes were old and scuffed, most certainly loved, and spattered with flecks of orange and blue paint.

It dawned on me that blue and orange have nothing in common but they do look good together. I shared a cab with her that night.

Bucky turned the pages until he found the chapter he’d been looking for. He didn’t look up, too afraid of your reaction. He continued.

The first holiday we spent together was Liss, our made-up holiday around Christmas time. Liss is an old English word, it means comfort, happiness. I remember feeling particularly happy. I had opened up to her. I felt close to her. I told her things I’d never told anyone, not even in my books, not even to my best friends, the men who’d saved my life.

Everything is so natural with her, so easy. She challenges me and I like to think I challenge her too. She makes me feel at peace, she understands me. She’s my friend, my companion, my soulmate.

And as I sat on my apartment floor, covered in tinsel, laughing so hard my cheeks hurt, I realized I was falling in love with her.

At first I struggled against this feeling. In all honesty, I’m not a model of emotional stability. I have a compulsive need to clean when I’m stressed, I label things and put them into boxes instead of dealing with my problems, and I simultaneously crave and loathe the comfort of my everyday life.

As someone once pointed out, I’m not boyfriend material.

It doesn’t matter if the person you love is a friend, a family member or your partner; when you love someone, the last thing you want is to smother them with your darkness. I’m lucky enough to have friends who never gave up on me.

Bucky quickly flipped over the pages until he found what he’d been looking for. He knew you were there and he knew you were watching him but he couldn’t meet your eyes. He lowered his head, his heart hammering in his chest.

My angel is nothing if not strong. She cares so deeply for the people she loves that she puts their needs before her own. It breaks my heart to know that she gave up, not only her dreams, but also her comfort and independence.

Sometimes I watch her from the living room while she paints, her brush strokes quick and confident, or slow and delicate. She is talented; entire worlds spring into life under her fingers.

I love the way she squints at the canvas, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth in extreme concentration, a paint brush behind each ear. Her posture is awful and I know I’ll hear her joints crack when she finally stretches. The sigh that comes with it makes me smile.

I won’t go into the details of her artistic journey, but like most artists, she’s plagued with self-doubt. Inspiration, like happiness, is a fickle thing, and sometimes they are tied to one another so intricately that the knot can never be untied.

I gave her a necklace; a gold pendant in the form of a palette. It took me weeks to find the perfect charm, something that would remind her that even if inspiration fails her, she is still an accomplished, talented artist.

She was born with a paint brush in her hand and her skin is dotted with multi-coloured freckles.

I want her to be happy.

Bucky closed his eyes and took a steadying breath as he finished reading these lines. He raised his terrified eyes to yours and words failed him. He could see tears streaming down your face and a little frown between your eyes.

He set the open book upside down and started to move toward you when you pushed yourself off your chair and rushed to him. You buried your face in his chest and he wrapped his arm around you, relief washing through him.

“My love,” he said, now tenderly stroking your hair. You brushed your tears away and sighed. “Is it too much? Do you want me to stop?” He pulled back and met your eyes. “Are you upset? You don’t need to worry, I’ll never publish this book if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You turned your body sideways and touched the book, your other arm still wrapped around his waist. “No, I- I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Do you want me to keep reading?”

“Yes, please,” you said softly.

Bucky chuckled under his breath and pressed his lips to the top of your head. He shuffled the two of you closer to the lectern and cradled you against his chest, kissing your hair, before he turned the book over. You tightened your hold on his waist and played with your pendant.

“I love you,” he said, dipping his head slightly to meet your eyes. The words came so naturally that he realized he wasn’t afraid to share his feelings anymore. You deserved to know you were loved. You reached up to caress his cheek and repeated his words back to him.

The moment I saw her, I knew I had met my soulmate. I don’t mean it in a romantic way, I didn’t fall in love with her at first sight, but despite our brief and awkward first conversation, we clicked. I knew I could trust her.

She knows how to bring me back from the darkest corners of my mind. I am myself with her, flaws and all. She’s patient, kind, and understanding, and the best part is, I know I bring her similar comfort. It’s as if we’ve always known each other, as if we’ve carried each other’s fears in us all our lives, not knowing what it was.

She doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile, but she’s careful. She took care of my scars, a look of intense concentration on her face. I almost blurted out the three words I’m so desperate to say. I love you. But I chickened out, too scared, too insecure. Our first kiss brought tears to my eyes. She held my hand and took me to her studio, and I knew, right there, that I would love her for the rest of my life.

I only ask one thing: let this book live. Crack its spine, fold the corners of the pages, write in it, stain the pages with your tea or coffee or your wine, let it be a coaster, and then give it to someone you love. It will look a bit rough and damaged, like me I guess, but it’ll be worth something to whoever wants it. I can understand the appeal of a well-worn book. When it bears the marks of our everyday lives, reading it feels more personal. So please, do not handle it with care. Hold it close to your heart and let it live its best life.

Bucky let out a long sigh as he closed the book. There was a moment’s silence between you as he cradled your head, his lips resting against your temple. Slowly you untangled yourself from him and reached for the book.

“To my angel, this book is my heart,” you read the epigraph. You turned to him, tears in your eyes, and a wave of panic hit him. “When you said you had an idea for a new book, I asked you if I could be in it,” you said with a little laugh, “Do you remember?”

“I do.” He laughed along with you, then his voice took on a serious tone. “I never intended to publish it, you have to know that, I just wanted you to read it but I was so... I don’t know, so in love with you that I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.”

You looked down at the book and bit your bottom lip to keep from smiling. “I really don’t know what to say.” You raised your eyes to his face. “Can I keep it?”

“Yes, of course. And if there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable with-”

“I’ll let you know,” you replied with a coy smile. “But I want people to know our story. I want to live forever as your angel and maybe, in a hundred years, someone will read this book and they’ll know the love we had for each other was real.”

He hadn’t realized he was crying until you wiped away a tear with a stroke of your thumb, the action so delicate and sweet it made his breath hitch in his throat. He closed his eyes, causing more tears to fall down his cheeks.

“Because after this, Bucky Barnes, you’re stuck with me forever,” you emphasised the last word and Bucky chuckled.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, angel,” he said, claiming your lips in a searing kiss.

- the end

“Alright time for bird brain to go.” Bucky said, a slur blurring his words as he pushed Sam's face out of the window.

The driver sped off and you giggled as he took a sharp turn and you slammed into Bucky. In response Bucky threw his arm around your shoulder to steady you, his deep chuckle filled your ear. Bucky felt a flutter in his stomach and he felt himself fighting the urge to press his lips to your hair. The urge passed quickly as the cab driver took another sharp turn and Bucky's head slammed into yours with a violent crack.

“Ow.” You said in the cutest voice Bucky had ever heard. He rubbed  the spot where your head collided with his causing you to suck a breath through your teeth. Then it happened, Bucky leaned down, smelling the sweet smell of your shampoo and pressed his lips to your temple.

You looked up at him through your thick lashes, a blush coloring your cheeks. Bucky felt his own face heat up. There had always been the casual, playful affection between the two of you but in the dark cab with the alcohol running through both of you, it felt different.

Bucky was about to apologize when he felt your hands wrap around his neck. Your fingers curled in his hair and you pulled his lips down to meet yours. He was lost in the soft brush of your lips, not caring about the lipstick that would surely cover his mouth. His hand ran across your shoulder, pulling you into his lap and holding you tight as the cab slowed, getting closer to his destination.

“Shit” Bucky heard you whisper as the cab pulled up to the curb in front of your apartment building. You ducked your head, not making eye contact as you slid off his lap and handed the driver money for the ride. “I'm so sorry Buck. I've got to go.” He sat in the cab with the door open long enough to watch you make your way in to the building. His eyes burned with tears and his face was heated with embarrassment.

“That was rough. Where can I take you, man?” The cab driver asked.

“I'll get out here. Thanks.” Bucky stepped out in to the cool New York air and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and headed to the only place he would be able to collect his thoughts.

Even in the haze of your hangover you could feel the embarrassment from last nights episode. Your head was pounding and you could still feel the stubble rubbing against your lips. How could you be so incredibly stupid. Bucky was your best friend. You kept telling yourself that what you were feeling in your stomach was due to the announcement of Nat and Steve's engagement mixed with the alcohol and loneliness. That the kiss was a mistake. How were  you supposed to face your best friend when you couldn't help thinking about how gentle and soft his lips had been on yours. You covered your face with the extra pillow on your bed and let out a scream that could wake the dead had it not been muffled.

You kept warring with yourself as you laid in bed. Should you call him and explain yourself? Maybe pretend like it didn't happen, act like you couldn't remember his hair tangled in your hands and his warm lips on your neck.

Then it hit you like a bolt of lightening. He had kissed you too and looked like he was more than willing to follow you up to your room before you bolted. You tried to shake the image of him standing at the edge of your bed, looking at you the way he had in the cab last night. It was far too dangerous for this early in the morning. You let out a frustrated breath and threw the covers off before willing your body in some version of a vertical position. Your first instinct was to pick up the phone and call Bucky to vent your frustration but being as he was the star of your current problem you opted to call Natasha instead.

The phone rang twice before she picked up. Her voice was alert and perky considering that it was before noon and you were completely shocked. Nat was not a morning person at all.

“Hello brat. What can I do for you this morning?” Natasha asked.

“I kissed Bucky.”

“Finally. Good for you by the way. If I wasn't in deep with the golden boy I'd be all over that. Ouch!” Nat giggled, you assumed Steve was giving her hell about what she'd just said about his best friend.

“No. Nat it is so so so bad.”

“Need me to come over?” She asked, the joking tone disappeared.

“I don't know. I just... after you left, Wanda ran in to some guy she used to work with and I guess they hit it off because she left with him and I called Bucky. He showed up. We drank.”

“I'm not hearing anything bad yet?” Nat pushed.

“Well on the way back home we kissed. It got pretty heated and then when it got to much, I ran.”

“You guys have been dancing around your feelings for years and you ran?” She all but yelled into the phone.

“WE'RE BEST FRIENDS NATASHA! WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO? HAVE A FANTASTIC ONE NIGHT STAND JUST TO LOSE EVERYTHING WE HAVE?” You felt the frustration melt out of your mouth. It felt good to yell, even if Nat didn't totally deserve it.

“No you giant idiot. You were supposed to fall in bed and take the night to feel the feelings you have been covering up since you were kids! Christ!”

You were silent then, thinking about what she was saying. There was dead air over the phone line and then a different voice came across the line. It was deep and sweet as honey. And honestly it was probably the voice you needed to hear when you first picked up the phone.

“Look, Bucky has been in love with you since the day you pulled up with your mom when we were teenagers. For years you were the only girl he had eyes for. Shit. It wasn't until that- that monster of a girl our senior year that I got a break about hearing his every thought about you. I don't know if he even realized it was love until the last few years. But I can promise you that's what it is. And if you feel for him in any way you need to talk to him.” Steve said confidently. “But please, you need to make sure your heart is in the right place. If you don't feel the same don't tell him you do.”

You sucked in a breath but it didn't feel like it should. It felt heavy and you choked out a quiet thanks before hanging up and putting your head between your knees. What Steve had just said to you buzzed in your head like a hornet and it felt like you couldn't catch your breath. You needed to calm down and sort out your head.

You stood up, still in your pajamas, and slipped on your sneakers before making your way to the only place you knew you would be able to sort out what you were feeling.

He had heard you snivelling in your room earlier, and had come back with his arms laden with blankets, chocolate, and a heating pad. You welcomed him in with a small smile, before promptly shoving your face full of the sweets. 

When you had your fill, you nearly laughed at how Steve’s eyebrows had shot up into his hairline, the rest of his face drawn up into a kind, yet worried expression. You invited him to join you on the bed, explaining that you were about to watch a movie and would like the company. He accepted with a bright smile, and padded over to you, tucking himself under the covers you offered to him. He took the laptop from you, and with only a small amount of guidance, he began the movie. You gave a small sigh of what he could tell was contentment, before attaching yourself to his side, burrowing into his warmth as he placed his arms around you, and tucked your head under his chin, allowing your steady breaths to calm whatever stress that had fallen on his shoulders.

Half way through the movie, you had paused it and had scurried off to the bathroom, fleeing your bedroom like a bat out of hell. Upon your return, you were muttering to yourself about needing more pads. However before you could pull your shoes on, Steve was up in a flash, offering to go himself to get you what you needed.

Whatever his motives, Steve was relieved that he could help you in at least some small way, and was indeed glad to be standing in the middle of the menstruation aisle. However, like most things in his life, something went wrong.

In the grand scheme of all the bad things that had happened to him, this was a minor incident, but nonetheless the situation had him a bit stuck.

He couldn’t remember what you needed.

He remembered that you needed pads, but what about the brand? Or the strength? Were pads even measured in strength? Or was it absorbency? Natasha, Wanda, and yourself had once told him, with Sam gloating off to the side before he too, had been dragged into the conversation unwillingly, with Natasha lightly threatening him.

Faced with an admittedly small dilemma, Steve did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed as many different kinds of pads as he could, all varying strengths, and shoved them into his basket, marching over to the checkout.

The elderly woman at the counter glanced between Steve and the mass of products before him, nodded, and started to ring them through the checkout.

After he had payed, the woman started to pack all the products into bags. As she handed the bags over to him she raised her brown eyes up to his, holding his gaze firmly. 

“I’m going to tell you something, that I told my children,” she started, “When a man or woman buys these kinds of products for the people they love, be it a family member, or a lover, it means that they are truly devoted to them. Are you buying these for a girlfriend?”

Unsure of what to say, Steve just nodded. The woman smiled, her eyes crinkling, before she whispered, 

“She’s very lucky.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile a bit at that, before he raised his eyebrows in a playful manner, “No offence ma’am, but I think that I’m the lucky one. Thank you for the help, and have a nice night.”

The first time Steve saw her was one of his favorite days. His morning run with Sam and Bucky was beautiful, the perfect spring dawn and the temperature just right so that they didn’t melt a mile into the daily outing. Once back, Steve decided to make a nice fruit salad to quench his craving for something sweet yet healthy. He’s starting to slice the apples to cut into a medium dice when she enters with Tony. He knew of a new recruit to the initiative but didn’t know when they would be expecting her. Steve hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone anymore until he feels a pair of eyes closely watching his every knife stroke and he glances up, momentarily caught off guard by the beauty in front of him and accidentally slices his finger open. The icy alloy moved through his skin with ease, not differentiating between the flesh of the apple and the meat of Steve’s digit. The yelp he emits startles the girl and she jumps into action, wrapping a paper towel around the open wound, telling him to keep pressure on it while she finds some hydrogen peroxide and a fresh band aid. She helps to get him all patched up, his eyes never once shifting from her movements, mesmerized by this woman who was so quick to help him with the smallest thing when she didn’t even know who he was. Once she was finished, they exchanged names and pleasantries and she departed with Tony to finish her tour of the compound, leaving Steve to watch her retreating form wishing to get to know her more very, very soon.

Not long after the first encounter did they start hanging out, mostly with other members of the team but with each other nonetheless. Her birthday had come soon after her arrival and the group had decided to throw her an intimate, yet lively party. They had piñata, presents, basically everything. Her favorite thing though was the three-tiered red velvet cake with cream cheese icing that sat next to a beautiful, jewel handled knife, ready to make pieces for all of the people in the room. She gravitated towards that first thing, basically begging Steve to let her cut it before doing anything else. He pretended to contemplate his decision, dragging it on to bug her even though she knew he would cave. After using her big Y/C/E puppy dog eyes, he finally broke and ushered her over to the towering cake. She immediately grabbed the encrusted blade but before she could take a segment out she was stopped by the sound of singing and the soft glow of the gold candles gently placed in the white frosting. This is where she felt the safest and most serene in a long time.  

Training seemed to have the biggest impact on her. She’d go so hard it felt like there was a knife permanently lodged into her side, even hours after her previous session. But they were her favorite moments in the compound. Training with Steve were her most prized sessions. Was endurance and weight lifting training not as fun as other kinds; maybe but if Steve was there that’s all that mattered. This particular day was combat training with plastic knives and batons. Since Bucky was the best trained in this specific area, he would be the lead for the day, but Steve decided to tag along to maybe get some pointers. What he didn’t expect to see was Bucky getting his ass handed to him by someone who has never had any training in this field at all. The plastic blade she was using always seemed to find it’s mark, no matter how fast Bucky moved to dodge it. This was the exact moment that Steve fell in love with her. And how could he not? If someone could disarm his best friend in a matter of seconds, they had to be extremely special because that was a feat even Steve couldn’t do.

There she was, standing in the back of the small church, breathtaking as ever. Steve couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. After missing 70 years of his life, the ache in his heart after losing Peggy felt like he was stabbed 37 times by the dull knife of regret. He never expected to find someone like her when he came out of the ice but as she made her way to the front the realization finally hit that she was going to be his; Mrs. Rogers. The ceremony went off without a hitch and throughout the cocktail hour and dinner people were enjoying themselves and coming up to the happy couple congratulating them on their big day. When it was time to cut the cake, it had looked awfully familiar to Y/N. Steve had decided to surprise her and order the cake that they had for her first birthday with the team, except this time with a few more tiers. As they got closer, she recognized the same bejeweled knife that she had used all those years earlier. Tears welled up in her eyes as she laid a soft kiss on Steve’s lips, silently thanking him for remembering one of her most favorite days of her life. The knife felt familiar, like it had never departed from her hand. The same sense of serenity washed over her as she portioned out a piece for her and her new husband, then feeding him sweetly as family and friends cheered on as they watched the new couple celebrate the beginning of their lives together.

Y/N woke up with a start. This shouldn’t be happening, not now. She had just gotten into a dreamless sleep after not getting much for a while. She shook Steve awake telling him to get ready and meet her in the car. It was time. They arrived at the hospital soon after, the stabbing in Y/N’s stomach getting stronger and stronger by the second. It was like she had swallowed a knife and it had just now decided to leave her body after staying hidden for this long. It wasn’t that much longer after arriving that she was on the bed pushing, the stabbing pain becoming unbearable, but she had to get through it. For Steve and their currently unborn child. One hour and 20 pushes later, Steve and Y/N welcomed their baby girl, Alea Suree Rogers, into the world. At 4:28 am on July 4, 2018, Steve Rogers became a father on his 100th birthday. What a wonderful birthday present and better late than never.

A/N: Suree is also a nod to the knife emotion. It means “One sharp, like the knife” so I thought it would be a nice addition to the overall theme.