Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You wait for Bucky at the table as he reluctantly answers a phone call. He does that a lot. Friends call, and he has to answer.

For three months, you’d fielded a few quirks and he accepted all of yours. He was so sweet. Bucky referred to his therapist, and his friends. He spoke of wanting to help others, volunteering as frequently as he could.

You’d met him when he was in charge of pickup for animal rescue pets from the clinic you ran. He was devastatingly attractive, and he’d gone on a few dates with someone before. They said he was too quiet.

When he started showing up again months later, you figured he had some sort of history because of his frown when no one was looking. But you still pictured him as the flirty animal attendant for the rescue. It didn’t matter too much that he didnt feel comfortable diving into his past or anything else.

He’d asked you out, and you were beyond smitten. He was quiet, when he was too deep in thought. There were flirty moments, sweet and gentle kisses, but not much else.

“Sorry, I know I’m a workaholic. Steve was tryin to call me in, but I really wanted to spend more time together.” Bucky sits back down. He keeps ‘work’ ambiguous, and nobody seems to know what he does outside of all his volunteering. Some for the veterans, some for animals, some for the homeless.

“I am enjoying our night. If you need to go, I’ll understand. But it’s always nice to have you a little longer.” Your stomach flips when you realize the time, and what it could mean if he wants to stay a little later with you.

The restaurant is open until midnight. It’s eleven thirty, so you’ll have to go home, soon. Together?

“We could go to yours, less people around. I know it’s small but my room is, too. The common room is busy.” He frowns like he’s trying to remember the steps to a dance long gone.

“Yeah. Mine sounds good, as long as you don’t make me watch a scary movie and then leave. Then I panic.” You try to leave a sort of invitation.

“I had one in mind. But maybe I will just have to stay until you’re not scared.” He takes the bait and smirks, and your head goes static. It’s like he always knows the right move, whenever he’s not locked in his head.

—

“This isn’t so small. It’s… cozy.” Bucky steps into the four hundred square foot apartment.

“Cozy just means ‘really small’ in seller lingo. I think it’ll be enough space for a movie.” You feel all the warm and fuzzies spread to your fingertips as you watch him sit in your home. The leather jacket, tight jeans, and styled hair, always make you swoon. Now, they’re right where you are every evening.

“Enough space for the two of us on this couch, too.” He smiles and you feel your cheeks warm.

When he’s not stuck in his head, he’s suave. You like him both ways. They seem to all come from a good place, even when he’s a little surly or brusque. Some days, he’s grumpy, but never with you, which lights you up.

Bucky adjusts you to be under his right arm, cuddled up as a spooky movie starts. He lets you toy with his gloved hand. When you’d asked about it, he said his hands were rough from labour so he preferred them.

“Forgot these horror flicks have so many sex scenes. Sorry, Doll.” Bucky scratches the back of his neck with his left hand, and you laugh at the way his ears redden.

“I’m not that innocent, I can handle it.” You shuffle into him, giggling when he covers your eyes and ear. It surprises you how playful she is.

“My girl shouldn’t be forced to watch this. Maybe we change the movie.” He toys with your sight more and you are squealing with laughter.

“Then how will I get you to stay all night?” You tease but your heart is caught in your throat as he pauses. You sit up, a bit unsure if you should take it back.

Both of you had wanted to take it slow. You didn’t want to be another notch to him. Bucky said he had a lot going on, personally, so he wasn’t ready for something casual. He wanted to build trust and understanding, and you completely agreed.

Aside from sweet kisses, you’d never had physical relations. It’s been flirty and funny and you’ve had deep conversations about the world and mental health, but no sex. Even if he has teasingly told you he would die to touch you, in the heated moments you’ve shared.

Slow.

Bucky pulls you into his lap so tenderly you almost feel more like a child than a lover. His eyes are soft, warm, and locked on yours. Maybe you’d dreamed of them being sharp and blown wide, but you like this just as much. Before he can hesitate or get caught up in it, you dip down to kiss him.

It amazes you how he can know just what to do. It’s like he knows your daydreams, your wishes, and your favourite touch. His hand cups your hip, holding you close. You cup his face and enjoy the scrape of his stubble on your palm.

“Please,” you whimper. It makes his movements deeper, rougher, and firmer.

Your hands move to his neck, feeling his Adams apple bob and his muscles work as he deepens the connection. He groans when your hands wander just under the neck of his dress shirt.

“Slow.” He pulls away for a moment. He doesn’t move you, just looks you over and takes a few deep breaths. It doesn’t stop the fact you do feel trusting and comfortable, and ready for a little more.

It doesn’t have to be sex. That’s probably too much for you, but you want deeper kisses. Touches. Hands on you, over the clothes.

“Slow.” You smile and kiss him.

Your hands smooth over his shirt, beneath his jacket. When he pulls your hips close, he practically purrs into you and you melt against him. The heat of your centre is embarrassing.

Bucky breaks your kiss and his lips seal against your neck when the touches get a little more adventurous. Nothing dirty, but intimate. Your fingers follow his collar bone, thinking whether you would like to nip them or suck a hickey below them.

Then, you reach the edge of something hard. Metal.

Bucky rips away like you scalded him. You find yourself half out of his lap. Both of you stare at each other, unsure what to do next.

“It’s alright. Bucky, I didn’t mean to—”

“I have a metal arm. I’m sorry… I get nervous. People get scared, and I guess I’m scared, too.” Bucky clenches his jaw several times.

Not knowing what to say, you press your hand against his shoulder again. Then, beneath his jacket. Then, beneath the shirt.

“I can’t…” Bucky withdraws gently. “That arm… I’ve been through a lot. And that arm reminds me that I’m not ready. That I could screw this up.”

You stroke the skin along the edge, and slowly unzip. It’s not longer sexual or sensual. Bucky needs to trust you, and you need to know what he’s hiding. The movements are slow and tender. He shrugs the leather jacket off. Then the dress shirt, sitting in just a white undershirt.

The scent of cologne is stronger, and you smile at it. Bucky smiles at you like he’s grateful you haven’t run away.

“I like the black and gold. Chic.” You trace the little designs. He has some that are just details, but a few which resemble tattoos.

“Yeah? Doesn’t freak you out?” He lightens up.

“No, I see prosthetics plenty. I’m sorry for… whatever happened. When you’re ready, will you tell me?” You slip his gloves off with care.

“Soon. It’s just not something I really share much. I wanna be sure I get it right.” He brings you back to kiss you again. It amazes you how he can make you feel so incredible just by being with you.

“Thank you. For showing me. Do you regret kissing and stuff?” You check and see his skin flushed, and his face pleased.

“None. I’m glad you aren’t freaked out. Might take a while for me to feel normal.” He touches your wrist with the metal arm. “This was good. Thank you.”

You kiss his cheek and he smiles. It’s that smile you love that makes the world fall away, like you’re in a secret bubble and no one else will ever know this feeling. Any time he shares it, it’s the highlight of your life.

When you yawn, he turns the television off. Enough horror movie, for now.

“Go change into something comfy. I’ll stay, but I still want to wait before we do anything, alright?” He seems almost anxious about this step. You would adore some night time snuggles, even if you two will only kiss.

There’s no rush. He will be just as handsome and caring, and you’ll be just as horny and smitten. After. A few terrible casual relationships and situationships, you were too happy to find someone who wanted more.

“There’s a breakfast place on the ground floor, we can go in the morning! Thank you for staying, Buck. I wasn’t kidding about not sleeping well after scary movies.”

It’s true, you get nightmares. But something tells you you’ll be safe in Bucky’s arms. Metal or not.

—

Bucky kisses your forehead when you curl in to sleep. Your heart flutters so much, you’re not sure if you’ll ever rest. Bucky seems shy of his arm, keeping you carefully tucked to his right side.

When he’s dozing, breath evening, you gently stroke a fingertip over his index. Eyes that somehow feel unfamiliar flick open, watching you with intense interest as if you aren’t staring right back. It feels like you’ve found a cougar in the forest, and it is observing.

Then, he’s back asleep. You have to wonder if it ever really happened at all.

Chapter Text

“Bucky?” You wake a bit worried. He’s murmuring and mumbling in his sleep. “Buck?”

“Don’t!” Bucky shouts and pulls away, gasping himself awake. He silently stares at you, processing.

“Are you okay?” It’s been two weeks since he stayed over the first time. He had mentioned being a little overwhelmed by his big leap, and needing time. Then, when he asked to stay again, he got called with an emergency.

“I’m sorry, Doll. I get nightmares. Have for a long time, part of why I was nervous. Did I say anything?” Bucky stands, searching his night bag. You half worry he is leaving.

“No… you were just making sounds and sweating. Should I have let you sleep?” You wonder if what you did was the wrong thing.

“It’s alright. They’re just nightmares, they’re slowly going away. It’s better, since I met you.” Bucky’s cheeks turn pink as he admits it. He probably wasn’t used to sharing so much.

“That’s good. Maybe you’re less stressed, so they’re less common.” You feel a little zing of pride. Hopefully it’s because of you. It’s wrong to hope you’re the antidote, but you like knowing you help.

“Wish all my shit could be solved with a pretty girl. I’d be all better.” He changes into a clean shirt, spraying himself with a deodorant and cologne. You delight in the scent, already ‘him’.

“I love how much you flirt. I’m gonna be a puddle of goo with eyes only for you.” You push all his hair back, smiling as his eyes flutter shut.

“Maybe I like ya that way. Hard for you to go anywhere.” Bucky presses his cheek into your hand, trapping it against the pillow. The scene is so tender, you bookmark it in your heart.

“Will you ever tell me what the nightmares are about? I promise I won’t judge. You’ve been kind and gentle, just a little aloof. I don’t make judgements based on the past. Everyone has been someone they didn’t like, before.” You try to comfort him.

Something in your wording makes his brow then to stone again. He slows his breathing, seeming to focus on the depth and rhythm.

“I’ll try to. I’ll need to, someday. Just please, not yet. Maybe just Fridays are date nights and we sleep over, so we have Saturday together. See how it goes?” Bucky smiles just a little, the smallest bit in the world.

You can’t argue with that. He’s making time for you between all of his work and volunteering. It’s greatly appreciated. And he’s so present, when you’re together. It never feels like he’d want to be anywhere else.

The two of you snuggle up, despite the heat of the season. Bucky politely ignores your sighs that sound a little like moans just being in his arms. You will politely disregard his hips behind yours in the morning, with a tent forming.

—

It’s two weeks later that he stays up late wooing you, making up for missing the previous.

“Missed this pretty girl,” he flirts. “Did you get the flowers?”

Nodding, you confirm that you got the roses he had delivered. They’d filled your home with a nice scent, reminding you of him every day you returned home. Previous boyfriends had given you flowers, but this felt different. Genuine.

“Care to make it up by going for breakfast tomorrow?” You sort of pictured the cute place with Bucky in it. It was one you passed by, seeing the cute space that used to be a rail car. “It’s called ‘Diner’!”

“Creative.” Bucky touches his nose to yours.

“So… yes? No?”

“Ah, Doll. Wish I could. Because I was away, I gotta see my therapist in the morning. But the rest of the day is yours.” Bucky tries to hide his awkward admission.

“Therapist? Good for you. Kind of a green flag if men see therapists and genuinely want to improve.” One guy you knew went, but just used it to validate himself and lie. A friend from college started going but just used it as a crutch for her bad behaviour. Bucky seems to truly be working toward betterment.

Instead of accepting your compliment, he gets that distant look for a moment. It only takes a second, but then he dips down and kisses you.

“I wanna be… a new man.” The words come slowly and purposefully.

“Well, I really like who you are when I am with you. And I like how I feel, and how we communicate. So… I think you’re on the right track. And if you are worried, just check in with me.” That’s the offer you want to make sure you both have on the table.

Bucky nods, then hugs you and lifts you (so easily?) to be next to him on the couch.

That night, he finally sleeps with his left arm slung around you. Not that you’ve been waiting for that, but you’ve noticed his avoidance. It seems to disrupt his sleep and comfort, trying to keep you away from this part of him.

In the night, you hear him slip out for a glass of water. It’s happened before, after a nightmare. You’re so tired you feel like sandbags, so you just wait for him to come back.

Bucky gets in with stealth and grace. His lips meet your forehead, cheek, then lips. It’s hungry, but contained.

“You’ve never asked where I work.” His voice is low, rough, and stirs coals in your belly.

“Do you do something bad? You said you help people.” You speak as his mouth goes to your neck. Unlike when you two kiss and make out, Bucky confidently moves to between your thighs, and his mouth on your skin leaves little prickles from suction. You moan a little louder and more awkwardly than you mean.

An icy chuckle escapes him. His breath caresses you.

“My god, Barnes, you’re making it hard to wait.” You can’t deny the state of your centre, and wonder if he knows. He’s pressing his boxer-briefs to your sleeper shorts. It’s unlikely he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you.

Bucky tucks his hand beneath your shirt, moving until he cups your tit. The perfect feel of him makes you moan again. He’s never touched you like this. It’s always been slow, gentle, like he has to make sure both of you don’t spook. This feels more like he has waited for the opportunity his whole life and doesn’t want to waste it.

Metal fingers move to the elastic of your sleep shorts, and you feel your anxiety rise. You wanted your first time together to be special and romantic. Bucky had specifically told you he’d like it to be memorable and to mean something, because he’d had sex a lot where it hadn’t.

“Mmph,” you stifle a groan when his right hand tightens on your breast. But then you feel your throat tighten. It’s too fast. It’s not what you’d both wanted, and you’re scared of diving in physically.

Bucky has been very good about telling you where he is at in life. He wants something serious. He wants a future, a foundation, and he knows the timing hasn’t been quite right. But both of you thought going slow and being there for each other would help it all fall into place.

“We should wait.”

“But he loves you.” Bucky purrs at you as he brushes a thumb over your nipple. It makes you dizzy, but when your brain catches up, you freeze beneath him.

“He?” Bucky hasn’t said he loves you. You haven’t told him yet, either. It’s been a few days of both of you saying you ‘love seeing’ each other, or ‘love having these nights’, just toying with the word. And who is He?

Bucky watches you, eyes seeming to dive deep into yours, as if to scan every thought you’re having. Can he read minds? You’ve heard people like that exist, now. But he couldn’t be one.

“Think I’m having weird dreams, красивая девушка.” He kisses your forehead, thumb rubbing your cheek.

“Are you okay? You just spoke Russian?” You touch his chest. His eyes seem lost and blurry.

“Russian? Right. I… I learned a few languages. For work. Let’s get back to bed?” He pulls you back to him, and you decide to leave this be. More strange nights.

“Am I keeping you from having sex? I’m ready, soon. We could go away, or just to a nice hotel.” You just want it to be the way you’d both discussed.

-flashback-

“So, I wondered if we could spend more time together than just a couple hours at a restaurant.” Bucky suggested it after your fourth date.

“Um, yeah. I’d love that. But I can’t tell if you mean for a ‘night cap’ or actually just to have more time with each other.” You giggle and try to keep the mood light.

Bucky works his jaw, looking away. He seems nervous like you are.

“Uh, I really like you. And you’re beautiful, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve been workin’ on a lot. Wondered if we could delay that particular part, at least until we are goin’ steady.” Bucky shrugs at himself.

That makes you break into a smile.

“Promise there’s no reason except wanting to be real, first?” The idea is comforting and exciting. As long as he’s not lying.
A man his age, looking this good, probably has a reason he isn’t married.

“Yeah, Doll. Can’t mess things up with a pretty girl like you. I wanna show you the time of your life. Be a gentleman. Then… I’ll show you the time of your life again.” This man grins down at you like the cat who got the cream.

“I love that idea.”

“Yeah?” He breathes in relief.

“Yeah, I mean… I’m not looking for something casual. Are you?” You think of the little things he has said about wanting something deeper.

“No, nothing casual. Kinda picturin’ something else. Plus, wanna make you all mine somewhere from one of your fantasy books. Somethin’ hot and steamy and sweet.” He smirks because he’d seen the smutty fantasy books in your bag and you’d blushed.

-Present-

“I’m not gonna ask for that until I’m ready to share more about my past. I’m working on it, I promise. But I don’t wanna lose you…” Bucky seems a little dazed.

“Okay. I just…” you watch him fade back to sleep, and realize he might not be awake enough for this discussion.

“C’mere,” he mumbles as he squishes you against him. Every touch from him sends so much excitement and happiness through you.

It’s as if he never woke, and you smile to yourself as you accept his warm body pressed to yours. He has started telling you small things, here and there. He knows a lot about history, and languages. Surely, he is ramping up for whatever important things he wants to share.

You’re happy, with him.

Chapter Text

“So, you’re really good with problem dogs?” You observe as he collects the dogs who gave trouble to the vet techs all day. They remain quiet and calm.

“Uh, I think they just can sense I’ve seen just as much as they have.” Bucky tries to give you more insight, but he is still balking at sharing everything.

“Fair. You can tell me more, after work. Why don’t you adopt one?” It’s something everyone has asked. He is so good with the feral cats and reactive dogs. Seeing him with a fluffy puppy in his arms made you want to dash all your agreements and jump his bones. Yet, he had no pets.

“I travel for work, yknow? Not always sure how long for. Not even really sure I’m comin’ back, sometimes.” Bucky focuses his eyes on the dog he is petting, while he waits for discharge orders. He has told you he gets nervous when he shares, and is afraid to see rejection in your face.

“Wait, are you safe? I kinda like when you come home.” You tease him but feel a little anxiety. Is he a cop? You’d be really surprised. But he’s told you honestly that he isn’t a criminal. At least, not now.

“I help people. Or I try. But sometimes, people are in danger and me and this arm… gotta go in to help. I was gonna ask if I can message you, when I’m away? I wasn’t, before, because I thought maybe I’d be grumpy or lash out. My one friend sometimes gets on my nerves, and we get stuck in close quarters.” Bucky finally looks to you.

“Of course!” You answer just as the Tech comes out. She starts reviewing orders for at home, and you are almost glad because you would have poured a bunch of thoughts and plans and strategies at him.

Maybe you still don’t know exactly what he does. But he’s employed, which is a start.

—

“I’m covered in dog hair. And I probably stink.” Bucky gestures to his volunteer shirt.

“Buck, I have run vet clinics or worked at them for years. I don’t even notice. But, I already showered and actually set it up for you, if you want. Your clothes are in there, too.”

The way he turns into another person when he sees your kind gestures is your favourite. His entire posture just becomes younger and less rigid. It makes him open up just a little at a time.

As he cleans up, you prepare finger food and a card game. Frequently, you tease him about being an old man. Actually, you don’t know how old he is. Unless 108 is an option.

Instead of waiting too long for him to be ready, you start doing the dishes from the cooking. Your hands are soapy and you let your mind wander. Bucky makes your knees weak, and your heart happy… what would it be like to be intimate with him?

The ring of a phone startles you, and you grab for the device without much thought. It’s just a phone. All you do is press a side button, so the ringer is quieter and doesn’t make you pee your pants.

“Hello?” A voice comes from the phone. “Hello? Bucky, are you there?”

Shit. You hadn’t meant to answer, only to turn it down. The shower only just stopped, and the number is blocked, so you assumed you were giving Bucky time to breathe.

“Uhm, I’m sorry. I just pressed a button. Bucky is in the bathroom.” Your wet hands are shaking and you feel like you’ve done something wrong.

“Oh. Hi. Can you tell him Steve called?”

You nod, as if he can see you. Then quickly say yes.

“Thanks. Tell him to have a good night.” He sounds friendly and warm, despite the awkward situation.

“That Steve?” Bucky emerges and could clearly hear the voice on speaker. His hair is still soaked, and he’s got damp clean clothes on from the drips.

“I’m so sorry. Your ringer was on and it made me jump, I went to turn it down and must have answered. It was your friend Steve. I’m so sorry, I swear I wasn’t doing anything with it.”

Bucky shakes his head, like you’re panicking for nothing. Some guys you knew would have flipped out.

“It’s fine. Steve and Sam are my friends. They call and check in on me a lot, so if he didn’t say I had to call back, I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll introduce you soon.” Solid arms encase you, his lips pressed to your forehead.

“Wait, I actually would really like that. You sure you’re not mad? And you really want me to meet them?” Suddenly, you feel sparkly and excited. Meeting his friends is huge, since he has been largely a loner when you’ve seen him.

“Of course. I… I really care about you. I want this to grow, and I’d like to have you be part of my life, not just a bubble. But getting to know them will be a lot and will change some things, they’re kind of well-known. So if we can have our bubble just a little longer, I’d really like that.” He kisses you gently.

“Yes!” For all you know, his friends could be world famous rock stars. Those names aren’t uncommon. Maybe that’s where he goes— he’s on tour with a band in secret.

Snickering at your own mind, you dry your hands and show him the food. After a long day for both of you, you’re famished and ready to eat. Bucky shows you how to play card games, and you can’t stop smiling.

—

“Hey, Doll.” Bucky’s voice is rough and tired.

“Hey. Are you okay? You sound rough.” There’s a worry at the edge of your tone. He was hoping to be back and come over for your Friday night date, again. Maybe he’s stuck at work.

“I… I’m alive. I’m just gonna be a bit late for dinner. Any chance you wanna make it tomorrow?” He sounds in pain.

Someone is in the background and scolds him, telling him he’s been shot.

“Bucky… did I hear that right? What’s going on!?” Shot? How the hell would Bucky be shot? And how the hell would he expect to be better tomorrow?

“It’s nothing. He’s bein’ an idiot. Won’t be a mark on me by the time I’m at your place, you’ll see.” He almost chuckles but it sounds strained. “I’d be happy to play Doctor, though.”

Even though you’re near tears picturing him hurt, you laugh for him. Maybe you’ll take him up on that. Not that you’re rushing, but you do like time making out.

When Bucky does arrive, he seems alright. He moves a little slower and there’s a hitch in his step sometimes, but you don’t see anything that makes you suspicious of a bullet hole. Thank goodness.

“Just sore. How about we do that wine and paint thing, instead of a walk?” The music is playing softly, very old tunes he says make him feel better.

“I’d love that.”

And you do, as he seemingly remains untouched by the wine but you get a little touchy and giggly.

Some TikTok video comes across your phone, as you wait for him to finish opening a second bottle. You set up the paints and try to eat some of the food, so you can handle another glass or two. Bucky turns the video off, even though you weren’t paying attention.

“So… do you often keep up on Avengers Dating History?” The smirk that follows makes you feel like you have a poster on your wall.

“No, was that what that was? I thought I had most celebrity content blocked.” You shrug, knowing you were resigned a long time ago to not follow gossip or the like.

“Yeah? Never had a crush on some guy who saves the world?” He teases you and you blush.

“Actually, I was young when the whole invasion thing first happened. I didn’t live here, until five years ago. And it’s been so long, with so many fangirls, that I really haven’t been able to keep up. I generally know who they are, and I hope they can keep weird shit from killing us all. I think I thought Thor was hot, like, ten years ago. But that’s it.” Every cringe memory of your youth sneaks up on you.

Some people you found attractive were assholes or literally attempting world domination. You thought maybe you shouldn’t dive too hard into learning about all of them and forming opinions on people you didn’t know.

Bucky leaves it alone. He grows quiet and pensive when painting, and you wonder if he is secretly amazing at it. No such luck. The painting is clumsy but still artistic. It’s of the little charm you have on your cell phone case.

Your painting is of the train. As a child, you’d loved hearing the train go through your grandmothers small town at night. But Bucky goes quiet when he sees it.

“You’re pretty good!” It doesn’t hide his momentary surprise.

“I dunno. I like the forest, more than the train. I thought it would be easier to draw a tube with wheels.”

The two of you observe each others tipsy artwork, and he tells you his friend always sketched as a kid. Every word, you listen to with all your attention. It’s the first time he tells you he had a sister, but uses past tense. Past tense for his parents, too. But the friend was Steve, and he speaks highly of him.

In exchange, you tell him about your parents’ divorce, college, and how you decided to move to New York City. It never fails that he listens like every word is the most important. You’re grateful for having someone who makes you feel so seen and heard.

“The more I hear about you the more I’m proud you’re my girl.” That fluttery feeling invades your tummy again.

Your brother was an addict with mental health issues, and it fuelled you to see everyone with empathy. It made you want to help, and want to believe the best of them. As much as it hurt sometimes, it made you want to live life without judgement of people’s pasts when they want a better future.

He passed away in New York, in a shelter. Overdose.

Bucky pulls you to rest against him on the couch, and plays with your hair.

“I fell from a train.” It takes several long minutes before he says it. And it takes several more before he continues.

“Hard to explain, without all the backstory. And I’ll get to that, soon. But I know you saw my reaction to your painting. It’s how I lost my arm. Fell off a train.”

Stunned, you stare at him in awe. As a kid, you’d been told not to play near the tracks. In the city, you knew not to stand too close.

“I’ll tell you more, someday, Doll. But not tonight. You’re drunk.” The little bit of laughter dissipates your emotional turmoil.

—

In the middle of the night, Bucky starts to kiss your shoulder, collar, neck, and jaw. It pulls you from your wine-assisted sleep.

Maybe he’s just got to work up the nerve to be more physical. Not that he doesn’t caress your backside while you cook, or kiss your neck while you try to watch a movie. Sometimes, he pulls you into his lap and kisses you until you don’t know which way is up. But he’s only ever gone under your clothes once, at night.

Tonight, he seems disturbed. He’s growling when he can’t seem to kiss you hard enough. He sheds his pyjama bottoms and you can feel the wet patch on the remaining fabric. You mewl when he moves down to kiss at your belly, nipping your ribs, and flattening his tongue over your breast. When lips encircle your nipple, you fist his hair roughly.

“Fuck, why don’t you do this when I’m awake?” You can’t think clearly right now. But your body is speeding away with you, following desire.

Bucky smirks against your nipple. His palm makes it back beneath your shirt, and he makes a pleased sound at the way your breath catches. It’s impossible to ignore the feel of him, hard, against your panties. All you wore was one of his shirts.

It’s been so long since you’ve had sex. Achingly long. But the only one who isn’t fictional and makes you want it is him. Maybe you should just let go.

Bucky grips you tight. There will surely be bruise marks. Your body is on fire knowing where his mouth is, a little nervous but also excited. Wet kisses path back down, and you flinch your abdomen away.

He sucks at your belly, realizing you’re scared he will go lower. It’s oddly intimate, and you like the marks he leaves. Your hands pull him up, to explore his chest beneath the shirt. He removes it, and you joyfully map out every muscle.

Bucky has changed his shirt in front of you, but he hasn’t slept that way. He hasn’t really let you touch too much or too long. When your fingertips graze a healing wound, he hisses.

“Sorry! Is that where you got hurt?” You replay the feeling over and over in your head. That can’t be. It feels like it’s nearly all gone. But it felt like a bullet wound.

“Don’t worry. I’m almost better.” He dodges questions by kissing you again, smoothing your hand to his upper chest instead of abdomen.

“Let’s wait. For me to be sober, for you to not hurt. Or I’ll get carried away, because you’re so hot I’m pretty sure I’m gonna pass away.” You stream your thoughts aloud, loose lipped from the drinks.

He mutters something, sweetly, in Russian. Then he falls asleep rapidly.

—

When you wake up, the two of you whisper sweet nothings until you get up to brush your teeth. He starts and finishes before you, and starts mouthing at your neck and watching you in the mirror as your face turns pink. You whine and finishes brushing.

“I’ll get nothing done today, I’m just gonna stare at you and think how lucky I am.” Bucky smirks when you turn around and hook your arms around him.

“Same. I think we should just stay in and snuggle forever, until we’re a hundred.” You kiss him quickly.

As he deepens your kiss, you decide you liked what he did last night. Maybe he’s nervous, in the day. So you take his hand and so slowly, glide it beneath your shirt. It pulls the fabric up so he can see your underwear for the first time. And your hips. And the faint discolouration from yesterday.

He holds his breath as his hand cups your breast. It’s frozen there, but warm. You keep kissing him, and he nips your lip which makes you swell with happiness.

“Alright, pretty girl. We should go, or we will miss our event at Bryant Park.” He does take a small feel of your flesh, before pulling your shirt down, and getting ready.

Chapter Text

It’s beautiful, watching the fireworks from the bridge. You have no idea how Bucky secured this special placement for the vet clinic and rescue staff, but he did. It’s unreal to see from this angle.

“How are you real? Handsome, smart, strong, emotionally intelligent, curious. And standing with us, tonight?” You cup his face as bursts go off, to the side.

“Because I am damn lucky to be with you. Nowhere else I’d rather be, Doll. And… I have a friend who got us this spot. Called in a favour.” Bucky swallows anxiously.

Tugging your fingers, you know he means for you to follow. The breeze, over the water, this high up, is spectacular. The view itself nearly distracts you from seeing someone wave Bucky down in a lifted collar and ball cap.

“Hey, man. Happy with the view of the fireworks?” The man greets Bucky and hugs him. You can’t really tell how much Bucky enjoys that, and how much he’s just playing.

“Yeah. It was amazing. Sam, this is—”

“Your boo! Your girlfriend? Oh, I’ve been waiting to meet you. He was all drugged up after our last mission. In crazy pain, and all he kept sayin’ was ‘it’s Friday, it’s Friday’ and he didn’t even get it when I referenced that song. You know the one.” Sam excitedly leaps into conversation with you.

“Mission?” You look at Bucky who works his jaw and swallows roughly. His frown is not unfamiliar but usually saved for moments he thinks you’re not looking.

“Steve’s with Natasha tonight, but we can celebrate his birthday when we’re all back? Maybe bring your girl, they can meet her!” Sam playfully punches Bucky’s shoulder.

You don’t push the ‘missions’ thing. But you will ask about it in private. As much as you’ve tried not to push, things have started to shift and you want to be more serious. It’s going to start feeling a lot more like lying, soon.

“Would ya like to meet ‘em?” Bucky looks at you apprehensively.

“Of course!” You answer quietly but with excitement.

“So, did your crew like the view? We got that spot last year, and didn’t wanna turn it down when offered again. Figured we could give it to an organization, glad Buck here mentioned your clinic.” Sam looks around as the crowd starts to dissipate slowly.

“It’s not ‘my’ clinic. I just manage it. So usually I just smell like animals and need a massage, but we did love getting out with the rescues to see this. Thank you so much. It’s also great to meet you.” You enjoy his easy presence and sense of humour.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to put a face to the name. If you can put up with this frowny face, I’ll be around to lighten the mood. Let’s go back home and have drinks.” Sam looks elated at his own idea. It has been a great event, and he seems eager to keep it going.

“There’s a bar near here, I really like. Maybe we could go with some of the people from the rescue?” You feel Bucky’s hand gently squeeze yours. In thanks or in pause, you’re not sure.

“Well, I’d rather get to know you and all that. If we go to a club or bar, we’ll probably get recognized.” Sam flicks the tip of his hat, and you understand it really is meant to make him innocuous.

Bucky tips his chin down, his mouth pouting and his eye avoiding you. Everyone in New York is in television, Broadway, modelling, music, sports… honestly it became more than you could keep up with. Maybe Sam thinks they’re a bigger deal than they are.

“Oh, man. No way!” Sam looks between you like he’s amazed.

“Alright. You two should spend the night together, we head out again tomorrow. I’m gonna go to a club, and we can join up and all meet your girl properly after we’re all back.” Sam claps Bucky’s shoulder and hugs you like an old pal.

—

You feel a little gunshy all week, waiting for him to return.

- Hey, Pretty Girl. Everyone’s asking about you. Told ‘em you make balloon animals for a living and I met you under the bridge. Hope that’s okay.

You snicker at his message. It’s an inside joke about someone you know, who really met their husband that way.

- I’d believe you, but Sam already knew what I did. Did you tell them I’m also Batman? You’ve never seen us in the same room.

It’s corny. You hope you’ll get a free pass.

- Thought you didn’t like men in uniform?

Right. You’d said you didn’t like the police systemically, and didn’t care for what the army does nowadays. Part of it was what you’d seen of the world, especially in a large city with so much to offer. Part was because of systems you saw fail your brother, who left the army and had so many troubles after.

- I mean… technically he’s a vigilante and that’s more of a costume. Besides, now I don’t like men, I like you.

You feel giddy, like you’re 15 years old again.

- And what if I were in uniform? Wouldn’t you like that?

Picturing Bucky in army greens doesn’t give you butterflies for some reason. You feel almost nauseated, like you would want to save him. Save him from what your brother experienced. Save him from harms way. Save him from becoming part of a system you didn’t agree with.

- Better, out of one, I think ;)

You try to enjoy the little swoop of your stomach at your newfound extra flirting time. Texting while he is away has been a welcome upgrade, giving your mind less time to wander but still giving you healthy space.

- How will you know without comparing?

Your heart is in your throat.

- I’ll get right on that when you’re back. Is it too much to say I miss you?

- Never. I miss you, too.

He doesn’t message for another day. Then two. You try to think of it positively. Sometimes you grew too dependent and you wanted to avoid that. But he makes you happy and you can’t help but want more time.

When he calls, you smile as you answer.

“Hey,” he crows like it’s the world between you.

“Hi. You alright?” Last time, he was injured in some way.

“I’m home, just exhausted. Wondered if you’d want to have a nap when you’re off work, with me? Gimme time to clean up and come over?” The words all sparkle different colours.

“Yes. Yes, of course. I can give you my door code, and then you don’t have to wait for me. You can even get a head start.” It’s easier if he can just let himself in. It feels a little like giving him a key, which also makes your fingers tingle.

“Is that alright? I’ll bring some things for you, and you can join me when you’re here.” A smile is in his voice.

As you accept and hang up, you excitedly text your friends. They’ve all been happy for you and a little unsure about him. Your close friends are back home, but maybe you’ll video call them soon and try to give them the details.

The rest of the day, you get more and more excited. It feels like seeing him this time is more… special? Like you get to have just a tiny taste of coming home to him. Being domestic.

It’s not just a regular date night where sometimes you go out and sometimes he stays over. He’s sleeping in your bed, on a Tuesday, and you’re giving him a door code. You can’t wait to curl up next to him.

-

Bucky seems utterly exhausted. Still, he pulls you to him when you whisper hello and climb in. This is the most intimate you’ve felt with a partner, maybe ever.

Every day, you feel more like you know yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt safe to be weird, be vulnerable, tell secrets, share stories, and get to know yourself. Bucky makes that feel second nature.

“Need help sleepin’,” Bucky grumbles.

Before you reply, he is slowly pulling you over him. It’s like paint in water, the way you move and seem to glide there. The beat of your heart pumps to a wild crescendo.

Bucky cups your face, impossibly gently. The way he melts into you, you’re not certain you weren’t born two halves of one whole. Mouths seem to blend and blur.

Still, his hands remain over your clothes. His metal one runs between your thighs, and he hisses when he realizes you’re just in a pair of his boxers. They’re loose enough… his fingers can feel your heat as they decide if he will move closer.

In the end, he doesn’t. His hands cup your bum, spreading your thighs until your core is over his. It’s disappointing, but not a problem if he still isn’t ready.

“Thought about you, every night. And day.” He kisses you and catches his breath a moment only with sweetness. “Thought about ya so much Sam said I just looked pissed off any time I wasn’t.”

You giggle, kissing his cheeks and nose and ears when he speaks.

“About my nose?”

“No…”

“Oh, about my wrists? Scandalous.” You keep teasing, enjoying every response. Bucky grins like a wolf and captures your playful wrists.

“Not your wrists…”

“My eyes? You said you like my eyes. Oh, maybe show me. Guess you’ll have to be really really specific and touch anywhere you thought about.” The flirting makes your heart pick up tempo again.

When you look at Bucky after a moment of silence, his pupils are blown and his breath is heavy. His palm slowly migrates to your side, then breast. Every move makes you keen, hyper aware of his touch.

Honestly, people should make out more. What you have been doing with Bucky has been so unbelievably hot. But you also had never known that you could get ‘blue ovaries’ from wanting to have sex so badly and not following through.

His thumb finds your peak, strumming it back and forth. You moan into his mouth. When he returns it, you blush.

“So… you thought about this?” You cover his hand with yours.

Bucky smiles, eyes still dark and chest still strong beneath you. His hand moves up, stroking over your bottom lip. It sticks to the metal and he hums. His flesh hand goes beneath the elastic of his boxers on your body, exploring the inches of skin just below.

“Did you think about me?” He pauses when you start to melt into him, enjoying every touch and kiss and caress.

“Fuck, did I ever.” You realize he wants his turn. He’s ready for you to touch him, which he normally balks at.

Blue eyes scan you as you draw fingers along the veins on his arms and skate them to his chest. The soft skin over his hard muscle seems eager for your touches.

“Where?”

“Where what?” You know what he’s asking. But he’s just on the precipice of being bolder. You’re just on the edge of wanting him to push your comfort zone. The two of you are playing a dangerous game.

“Where did you think of me? On you? What did you think of me doing?” He adjusts his placement beneath you, and settles with your body achingly pressed to his. The scorching heat between your thighs doubles every time your centre lightly brushes over a bulge.

When all you do is pant and refrain from whimpering, he kisses you like a promise. His hands gently rock your hips, and his rise and shift just a little at the same time. Fuck, you almost come just at the little drag you get and the thought of this sweet rhythm.

“Where, Darlin’?” Revelling in your wanton and lightheaded behaviour, he pulls you to him more roughly to break your trance.

“Here,” you touch his mouth. Then you settle your pelvis a little differently, curious at the damp fabric you both have. “And here.”

Bucky nips your lip, moving his hand back to toy with your nipple through your shirt. He ducks his head down, briefly nipping at your other breast over your clothes. It makes you squeak, and he does it once more.

“I wanna be there. Wanna touch you and make love to you,” he admits.

Every part of you sings. It’s more than just physical, you feel like he’s promising that this is more. This isn’t something that’s fleeting for either of you.

“Please, Bucky. Wanna make love to you, too.” You smile shyly as he kisses you and his tongue drags over the sensitive spots of your mouth.

“Soon. Real soon, pretty girl. But for right now, can we rest? Or I’ll definitely do something without thinking. And if I have your body, I’ll be addicted.” An honest chuckle falls from his lips.

You whine when he guides you to the side, returning to meaningful kisses. His warm palm studies the curve of your side, and your hips. One knee is hooked over his, and you adore the soft and relaxed smile on his features.

——

The two of you wake up late, after dinner should have been eaten. But you decide to make snacks and play some games.

“Freightcar!” You shout when you pull a card. It interrupts the conversation you two had been having about the coworkers you saw at the fireworks.

You don’t anticipate him pausing for as long as he does. His eyes flit between the cards and pieces, a shadow of silence falling.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted you… I didn’t mean to.” The old habit of babysitting people’s emotions creeps up. It’s never happened with Bucky, and the cycle sends you into a minor panic about what you’re going to do.

“No, don’t apologize.” His voice is rougher and cooler than normal. Especially when comforting you, you expect him to soften. “I’m happy to be with you. Doesn’t matter how.”

You feel a bit confused. What he’s saying doesn’t match what just occurred. He looks at you like you are foreign and new and something to question.

“Bucky…” you touch his face and he presses into your palm.

“Bucky?” He repeats.

“Where do you work?” The question simply pops up, unbidden. It was what he’d said in his sleep, once.

“I’m… a soldier. The Soldier…” he frowns like he’s not sure if that’s the answer. Crystalline eyes wander to the touch of your hands on his, and suddenly he’s back to normal.

“You’re a soldier?” You ask when his eyes meet yours again, more grounded.

“What? No. No, I’m a volunteer. And an agent… And I don’t hurt people. I don’t.” Bucky clasps your hands and seems afraid, like you’ll run.

“An agent?” You suddenly wonder what’s happening.

“I really can’t do this. Not yet. I… what made you ask if I’m a soldier?” He breathes shallow, hands starting to become unsteady.

“Bucky, are you feeling okay? Maybe it’s too late, we should get to bed. You are really tired.” You squeeze his right shoulder.

Bucky stands, wiping his hands on his pants like they’ve started to sweat. He tries steadying his breath. He stares at the pieces like they’re to blame.

“Where did you get this game?” He asks as he plucks a few cards. Freight car, Furnace, Day Break, Homecoming. All answers to rapid questions.

“I don’t know. Bucky, please, relax. I’m not judging you, can’t you trust me?” You see him look at other parts of the game, the snowy background of the map, the questions for the cards.

“I don’t know.”

The whisper breaks your heart and soul. Why wouldn’t he trust you? What did you do? All of your trust and ease and excitement has been just starting to develop and feel secure.

You watch him as he leaves, and feel hot tears at the sight. Will he come back? Why is he running from you?

“But I love you,” you whimper into your own hands. This was something you never could have seen happening. What did you do?

Chapter Text

Ten days is how long you go with no Hope. Bucky texts you once. He asks where you got the game. But he brought it. It was there when you got home from work.

It wasn’t even unusual. The two of you played games and cards all the time. Sometimes he brought them over, and sometimes you spent an afternoon at a game cafe. It never occurred to you that it wasn’t his.

You work, and watch your phone. Nothing else. You give yourself two weeks to be sad and lost, so you have four days left.

He has a couple pieces of clothing at your house. It doesn’t matter how pathetic it may be, you wear it to bed. If you can pretend for one night, maybe you won’t cry so hard your eyes are swollen.

Crying over a man feels stupid. But you really got your hopes up, this time. If you place your pillows just the right way, you can almost feel him next to you.

You think of the way he would whisper you awake. Moments you hold precious come to mind, like when he kissed your forehead each night, or tried to teach you Morse Code, or knew your phone passcode was your favourite television characters birthday. It just made you feel seen, and special, and ready to get to know who you were when you were with him.

“Can you stay late? Chelsey is sick.” The doctor asks as you glare at your computer.

“Yup. Not like I’ve got anywhere to be.” Not on a Friday. Not any more.

Maybe never, and not in a dramatic way. But you’re tired. You have given and given over the years. You’re empathetic, positive, validating, and you try so hard to be good. Bucky was the first time you’ve felt safe to explore you, instead of worry constantly about pleasing them.

By ten, everything is wrapped up. But you don’t want to go home. Not to think and think. Not to scowl at that stupid game and wonder what the hell Daybreak and Homecoming have to do with him.

You’re tempted to Google him. Or find out how to run a background check. But you feel insane for considering it, and drop your phone in your cup holder.

That damned hope that the will come back, means you have to hear it from him.

There’s someone waiting at the entry to your building. You feel really stupid, coming home so late, with no one to call if it went sideways. Sometimes you forget the city can be scary.

“It’s me.” Sam sees you panicking. He uncovers his face, and steps out of the shadows.

“Well, what the fuck?” You feel the adrenaline surge out of you, but it makes you say what’s on your mind. Why would he stand there, shadowed and looking disguised, and not think you’d flip out?

“I need to speak with you.” He gestures to a suave car. “Now.”

No way. Whatever this is, they’re not playing any more. Bucky was truly out of his skin, and Sam isn’t being cool and fun. This feels wrong.

Making your way into the vehicle, you feel yourself want to cry. Maybe it’s weak, you don’t care. Sam’s gonna tell you you’re all wrong for each other and it’s your fault. And you’ll always wonder how you lost something that made you so happy.

“How did you meet Bucky?” He wastes no time, once you’re sitting in the passenger seat.

“He volunteers for the rescue. I liked him, he asked me out.” You frown at the man, not understanding the disconnect.

“You had no idea who he was? Didn’t search him up or listen to a podcast? Didn’t secretly know and not know how to tell him?” Sam runs through several options for why you’d know who Bucky was and not say.

“I’d probably be a lot less fucking confused about why we were taking things slow and having a great time, and had a great evening together, only for him to become disoriented and then leave and ghost me.” You snap at the man, tired of feeling guilty or being made to be guilty.

Sam pauses, studying your body language.

“Look, I’m not gonna tell you what he’s been through. He needs to do that himself, if it’s gonna work. But I need to make sure you’re not some kind of under cover person here to ruin his progress. He has come so far.”

Under cover? You scrunch your nose at the insinuation.

He asks several questions, and a few about the game. When you can’t answer certain things or get confused, he studies you. It’s a long, long conversation, and eventually, you just start to cry.

“Hey, I’m sorry. We gotta be careful. He’s really scared for you, but I’m scared for him. I needed to make sure this wasn’t bigger than he was willing to admit.” Sam awkwardly tries to calm you down.

“I don’t even know what that means. I know hardly anything about him, as far as anything weird or requiring some sort of suspicion. I know he grew up in Brooklyn, you and Steve are his best friends—”

“Wow, he admitted that out loud?”

“—ugh, yes, and that he had a sister, and his family is all passed away. I know you one time said missions, and he acts like he’s famous or something. But then… we played that game and he just looked zoned out, and said he was ‘the Soldier’, then started freaking out and left.” You relay the information you’ve been spinning in your brain.

He rubs your shoulder as you swipe at hot tears. This is so embarrassing, and you still don’t know what’s going on.

“He said he was The Soldier? Did he do anything?” Sam sounds concerned, well beyond just curiosity about a strange statement.

Shaking your head, you blink back any further tears and grow determined to stop crying. You lived without Bucky, before, you’ll do it again. Maybe this is for the best.

“This is my cell number. Should reach me anywhere I am, or forward to me, anyway. If you think of anything, or notice anything, call me.” He gives you a card.

What the hell?

“I’ll have someone bring you food, and you take care of yourself, tonight. Just take it easy. I know your industry can be stressful and you look like you’re dealing with a lot, okay?”

You stare at him, bewildered, before thanking him. Sam walks you to the door, waving and offering half a smile.

Absorbed in thoughts, you unlock your door. You walk in, feeling the tacky residue on your cheeks. While you put things away, you zone out and start thinking every part of your interactions over.

Were you too shy? Were you too friendly when he introduced you to Sam? Did he not like that you weren’t some sexual expert and all over him?

But even asking those questions made you angry. He pursued you, he told you he wanted to wait, and he made those choices. What would a game do that could possibly excuse all this?

Shoving things in their places, you spitefully tidy your kitchen. Everything reminds you of him and you hate this part of a breakup.

The game on the table sends you into a fury, and you dash it to the ground.

The doorbell rings just a second later, and your blink at it. Right, Sam had offered you food. But you hadn’t buzzed anyone up.

Part of you hopes Bucky will be behind that door. The rest of you doesn’t want to answer at all, since you weren’t expecting company. Your damned stomach growls, and you sigh as you accept your fate.

“Bucky told me that you guys ordered food from here, once, so I got a few things. He also said you can’t handle spicy food, so I ordered stuff that wasn’t spicy. Except these— these are for me.” Sam holds bags and invites himself in.

You follow him around as he talks and talks and unpacks food and searches for cutlery, still talking. It feels like he doesn’t notice this isn’t his house. Maybe he doesn’t care that you barely know him.

“So, what are we watching? I’m like, a chick flick expert, by the way. It’s how I get the ladies.” His brows wag and you feel your mouth open but nothing comes out. “What’s one Bucky wouldn’t watch?”

You suddenly realize why Bucky sometimes sounded begrudging when he called Sam his friend. It’s awfully hard to say no to him. The blitzkrieg of friendship is insurmountable.

“I sort of thought I’d rewatch The Office for the twentieth time. Just… zone out a bit.” You say as he dishes himself up.

“Yeah, yeah I have the bag of drinks and all this food, so we can marathon. My favourite episodes are the ones with Robert California.” Sam grins and scoops you an extra bit of each food onto your plate.

You continue gawking at him, at the door, and at the food. He had been extremely serious when questioning you about Bucky. Now, he’s like a brother. Even he seems entertained by his own antics.

“C’mon. Do you two just sit in silence for hours? One of you has to be chatty, and it’s not him. Tell me about yourself. Or about how things were with Bucky.” Sam plops onto the couch before seeing the mess you created.

He picks up the cards and pieces. The board turns over in his hands and he frowns.

“Where did the game come from?” Sam traces the fold and focuses.

“I thought he brought it. He said he was really tired. I offered that he sleep in my room until I got home from work. It was already here, and I just started reading the rules like I always do. We were talking while playing, but then it was like he noticed it was horrible. And he just… ran.”

Sam picks everything up and tucks it into the box. He hums in thought, before finding the remote and turning your TV on.

“Is he hiding something I should worry about?” You ask in the middle of an episode, when the courage strikes.

“No. I mean, he puts his life on the line a lot. I’ll be real with you, Steve and I are Avengers. Captain America, Y’know? He won’t take any official title. And the government won’t give him one, not yet. But he helps us, when we need it.”

Holy shit. Steve ROGERS. That’s his best friend? That’s probably the only person you’d have recognized just by their face, other than Thor. Mostly because of friends who liked him and how his picture was everywhere.

“I’m not gonna tell you all the stuff, he really wants to be the one who shares his past with you. But I’m more concerned about someone hurting him, than I am with him hurting anyone, these days. But that game was altered. It was a bunch of pieces and cards from other games, and I have a few suspicions why. It probably really scared him, he’s so afraid of getting this wrong.” Sam gestures to you.

“Can I trust you?” You ask Sam.

“Yes.”

“I feel, sometimes, like he looks at me differently. I don’t feel like I’m in danger, but I just feel like he’s not himself. Is he struggling with PTSD? The stuff you guys do… it’s intense.” You instantly worry so much more for him. Bucky gasped that one night, the night you thought maybe you’d cave in.

Maybe it really was a bullet wound.

“He’s got a lot to deal with. And for a long time, he isolated. Even if he went on dates, he told them nothing, and struggled to connect. He mentioned you, but he kept saying he wasn’t ready. We sort of encouraged him to at least start seeing you and go from there, if you liked him. I know he’s been trying to be honest, but he’s trying not to trigger himself or scare you off.” Sam smiles softly as he explains where Bucky is at.

That lines up with everything Bucky has told you before.

Sam answers a few more questions about his role as an Avenger, and what Bucky has told the team about you so far. He teases that he hasn’t seen Bucky smile this much before. You blush at a few innuendos.

He keeps you company for a little while, until you stop crying or getting so lost in thought. When he leaves, he takes the game and promises Bucky will find his way back. It’s apparently normal for him to go into hiding here and there.

—

You decide to get dressed up. You are tired of moping, and your mind had started to wander to whether Bucky was actually just seeing someone else. Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t sleep with you. Maybe that’s where he was when he was ‘away’. The whole mission thing was just his friend covering for him.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to be recognized.

Your hair is shiny and styled. If you were in a better mood, you’d feel pretty damn good about yourself today. The sundress is cute, the makeup is great. So how are you in the big city and all alone?

On your way to the Met, you pick up an iced coffee at your favourite shop. You stop in at the book store, before catching the F train.

“I’m sorry.” Someone speaks from just around the corner as you step down to the platform.

“You scared the shit out of me!” You jump and feel your heart gallop. Normally, people doing that is not good.

“I thought you’d go out today. I was actually just about to buzz you, but I panicked, and then I came down to leave, and I saw you coming down just after me, and I didn’t want to freak you out.” Bucky runs a hand through his hair, stressing.

How he wears a leather jacket and two gloves in this intense heat, you’ll never know.

“Do you have the weekend free?” He sounds like he’s begging. Like if you say no, the world will collapse.

“I can.”

“What do you say to a road trip to DC? The Smithsonian?” He studies your expression as you regard him carefully. “It’ll make sense. But I think it’ll help.”

When he offers his hand, tentatively, you take a moment. But you want him. You feel it in your gut, this is right. So you tuck your fingers into his.

Chapter Text

Neither of you say anything, he just smiles when you nod and trail behind him. His fingers stretch for yours, and you hope you’ll have your answers.

—

The drive is four hours. Bucky stops outside the city, gassing up and collecting snacks and drinks. He remembers all your favourites.

“How can you eat something that spicy?” You eye his blue chips and try to still be aloof.

Bucky smirks, your sharp tone unconvincing. Opening the bag, he simply eats one unflinchingly.

“High pain tolerance?” You tease.

The smirk falters for a moment, and you gnaw your lip. He’s not an Avenger. People talk about them by their name or monicker all the time. Other people don’t recognize him, no one has said anything at your work.

So… why does Bucky go on missions? Why does he get dodgy about injuries and trauma and why does he have a high tech metal arm?

“You know Steve is Captain America? Or… was, but he’s passing the mantel?” Bucky changes the subject a hair.

You nod, taking a few snacks. Would you want to be with Bucky if he were the one who took over for Steve? It is insanely dangerous, and stressful.

“I’ve known Steve since we were kids. 1923.” His hand squeezes the steering wheel, like he physically struggled to share that part.

“You’re… actually one hundred something?” You should probably be more shocked. So many weird things happen now that you sort of consider this to be the least strange.

“I am. And I have a version of the serum that made Steve into Captain America. The strength and shit, not his personality.” He flexes again, and his chest expands.

“Wait, I think I’ve heard about this. I just never expected to meet anyone so I didn’t really keep track. You showed back up a few years ago, right?” You know it was controversial, but you can’t really remember details. So much has happened that you’ve had to tune it out to survive.

“Yeah. About ten years ago, Steve found me. Took a long time for him to get me back. I have been trying to recover, and make amends, ever since. It’s been… hard.” He sighs and flexes his jaw.

“I don’t care about superpowers. Or aliens or whatever. I do care about you. But Bucky, it really hurt me that you said you couldn’t trust me. And it really hurt me that you wouldn’t talk, and left like that.” You know you won’t get over his behaviour on your own. If you let it go too long, it’ll scar you and you’ll always worry he will leave again.

Silence stretches, and you wonder if he will ever speak again. Sam was right, you can see every wheel turn in Bucky’s head as he thinks himself into oblivion. Maybe he doesn’t even realize how long he has been quiet.

“People did things to me. And those people have a lot of power. And they would do just about anything to get me back.”

“Oh. So that’s what Sam meant- you were scared I was not really me, and I was trying to break you for someone. But I’m not, Bucky. I still find this whole thing a little hard to believe.” You don’t understand how no one recognizes him.

“I take you places where I can ask staff to be discreet. Steve often helps make sure people don’t say anything at places we frequent, and I try to keep a low profile when I’m out. Usually, if people don’t see my arm, they don’t know a thing.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I really like you, pretty girl. A lot. And I think I got real scared of how that might blind me.”

It makes your chest soar to hear that. Maybe it shouldn’t, but you like knowing he really likes you.

The two of you drive quietly, for a while. You fall asleep against the window, only waking up when Bucky parks. This place is entirely different than you imagined.

He helps you out of the car, and you suddenly feel like there are miles between you again. Is he still just Bucky? The guy who you teased about his name, and watched handle reactive dogs, and had to turn away from when he was being climbed by kittens? Or was he someone else.

When he looks at your hands, fumbling with your phone, you see his eyes soften. He wants to reach for you, you know he does. But he wants you to reach first.

“So… this is a better option than Google?” You watch him swallow thickly and scan the crowd.

“It’s sort of for me, too. Haven’t been in a long time.” His breathing is just a little too calm, his movements stoic, like he’s building a brick wall between himself and whatever is in there.

“Hey,” you crow. You take his left hand, knowing how incredibly afraid of it he was just a couple months ago. “Thank you for coming to find me. I can’t promise the future, nobody can. But I didn’t agree to a four hour road trip just to ditch you if I see something I don’t like.”

The grip on your fingers becomes solid, as he accepts your olive branch. He breathes again, a little more human. Leading the way, he encourages you closer to him.

At first, Bucky is distant and grumbles footnotes while you stare in awe. The Avengers exhibit is huge. You’ve never seen this place.

“They got my birth year wrong here. It’s corrected on the other piece.” Bucky offers in a half-playful tone. Then he withdraws again.

The brunette stands awkwardly tucked aside. He watches you read the first part of his tribute in with Captain America. You read about him, his accolades in the army. That he was forced to go, and took care of everyone.

They mention his fall from the train, and the trail seems to end there. That wasn’t at all what you imagined when he told you, and you feel a swirl of emotion picturing him in so much pain. Alone. For decades.

The large doorway leads to another section of Captain America information. There are blurry photos, newspaper clippings, and videos playing of a large base crashing from the sky. And photos from the news of Bucky, masked with a silver arm.

Bucky is hovering away from you, but watching. Something in that moment, seeing his charged but scared eyes, makes you realize he needs you. This room houses all his memories, tragedies, and trauma. He wanted you to see it, but he didn’t want to be alone.

When you link his arm to his, he shudders and presses his face to your hair. Suddenly, you’re wrapped in Super Soldier, and there’s nowhere you’d rather be. It’s only a moment, before he collects himself silently and straightens. But it means the world.

For just one second, he let himself feel you there for him. Accepting him. As you look through the rest of the displays, he can’t stop touching you. His hands are on your hips, toying with your hair, tracing your tan line, or holding your warm hand in his.

There are mentions of the Winter Soldier and what he did. They briefly mention it, as if most is redacted, but they say he was an assassin, tortured by the soviets and used as a weapon.

“Guess Steve worked his magic. Used to be more.” Bucky’s mouth quirks with relief. His hand relaxes in yours, less holding on for dear life and more grateful for support.

“I’m sorry for what you lived through. I’m glad you’re here, now, but that’s selfish of me.” You see the little montage video playing that catches his eye. Surrounded by pieces of metal from his old arm, replica dog tags, and scans of file folders, there’s a video of times he has helped the Avengers.

“I’m glad I’m here. I have Steve, and friends. And my girl.” He kisses your temple after making sure there aren’t onlookers. “But… I did awful things. They made me a weapon. They forced me to do what they asked. And I won’t downplay it just to make you stay.”

It feels so much more real, when you scan headlines of murders the files linked Bucky to. The numbers. The ages. The stories. A queasiness develops when you think too hard for too long. Bucky notices the way you have paled, and the tremble of your lip.

“I got you a hotel room. I’ll pick you up in the morning to go home, or I can ask Steve to.” Bucky squeezes your fingers just firmly enough to show his thanks.

“Wait! I wasn’t sick over what you have done. It’s awful- it’s heartbreaking. But I am sick over the fact you had to do it to survive. Bucky, you were tortured into this. No one knows if they’d do the same, in your shoes. And you spend every day of your life trying to make people’s lives better!” You gesture to the section that shows every Avengers volunteer work, donations, campaigns, partnerships, and non-profits.

Almost everyone has partnered with organizations for veterans, the homeless, sick kids, immigrants, victims of war, family violence, mental health, women’s rights, disability advocates. They all contribute in meaningful ways, including grants, events, charities, and the like. But nobody’s list is as long as Bucky’s.

“Do you think you have touched more lives through all these, than as the soldier?”

He works his jaw again, then swallows.

“You are a victim, too, Buck. I am sorry to everyone you hurt, and everyone who carries that grief with them. But Bucky, your name is in this with all of these Avengers because you’re a hero. Superpowers or not. And you carry that weight with you.” You embrace him. He hides his emotional expression in your hair.

—

“Fuck,” you whine loudly when Bucky presses you against the hotel door.

This is way faster than it should be. But the feel of his hands on you clears your mind of worry.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” His smooth grumble makes you clench around nothing. You had been afraid you’d never hear that voice again.

Bucky hoists your legs around his hips, and you let out a greedy sound. God, you can feel his bulge along your slit even under both your clothes.

“Missed that sound. That heat from deep inside ya.” His hair falls over his face as he looks down.

You squeak when he tugs you away from the wall and walks to the bed. He drops you, and you realize why it’s been so easy for him all this time. But you flood with more desire remembering how connected and vulnerable you’ve both been.

“Dreamed about you. A lot. Thought about what I’d do if I had ya back.” Bucky kisses you between sentences, climbing over you and feeling you absolutely everywhere.

“Mmmmmm!” You respond as he kisses you and you think of your own fantasy about reuniting. It shouldn’t happen, it’ll be too fast, but your body doesn’t agree.

Bucky bravely slips his hands beneath your shirt, just an inch. When you don’t argue, he starts to pull the edge. His hands, still gloved, guide your arms above your head and he removes your shirt.

This is the first time you’ve been so exposed, in daylight, to him. Both of you pause and catch your breath. He doesn’t hide the way he is looking at your body and your shape.

You wiggle back down, resting against the pillows and urging him back to you. He slowly meets your lips, allowing you to pluck his gloves off so his hands can explore while he keeps kissing you.

For a long time, you hadn’t been into kissing. It was fine. But it never really ‘did it’ for you. You’d had good partners, good sex, but something was always missing. Something that Bucky gave to you, even without making out or touching you. His lips burn into yours with so much passion and unspoken connection, that every time they meet, your soul comes alive.

“I gotta slow down, Doll.” Bucky barely finishes saying the words before you let out an involuntary whine of complaint. “I know. I’m sorry. I want to.”

Of course he wants to. You do, too. But jumping headfirst when you’re both feeling vulnerable isn’t what you should do. His hands touching your bare skin and edge of your bra don’t really make you patient, however.

“We can do other stuff…” you slowly trace your finger down the zip of his jacket. Then to the buckle of his pants. This is the most you’ve put yourself out there in a long time, and when he gives an apologetic smile, you have to compose yourself.

You feel suddenly exposed and unwanted.

“Just give me a second. We do have the hotel. I want… I want to do more, because I love you, and I know whatever is happening in my head shouldn’t hold us back. You’re so good and I have a few things to do, to help prevent the flashbacks.” He speaks quickly and sweetly, distracted by his anxiety.

“You what?”

“I’ve been working with a therapist to make sure I don’t revert or anything. I… when we get carried away, I feel afraid you’ll disappear. Or that you’re not who you say. Or that someone will take you. I just… I feel so afraid and sometimes angry, angry that I still struggle so much to let myself be happy and feel good and have someone close to me.” He seems upset by his own words, and stops to stare at you while taking ragged breaths.

“Wait, you never told me all this. Bucky, that’s really scary for someone who went through what you did.” You tuck away the fact he just said he loves you. What’s important is this conversation.

Bucky pulls away at first, then consciously brings himself close and allows you to comfort him. That’s his pattern. He is afraid at first, but given time, accepts how to move forward.

“I had… partners. At Hydra. I had one who I met on assignment and thought I could return to. They made sure she would never cross my mind again. And I had another who I thought could help me. I thought she was trapped in the Widow program, I believed she was stolen like the other girls and raised there. She begged me to run away with her, and I believed it. But when we got out, she gave up my location so she could find her actual love who had escaped. I was her protector, her intel, her comfort, and her plan. They tortured me for leaving and made me their weapon again. Nothing else. And I was punished… And now, I just cannot do it.” He sits on the bed and stares at the ceiling.

He was betrayed. That was probably the first time in decades he had thought he would ever be free, but he was just used by yet another person. Punished in ways you can’t let yourself imagine.

“I’m so sorry that happened. Bucky,” you hiccup unexpectedly, not even noticing you’re upset, “I can’t believe how much you’ve gone through. And I’m never going to be able to remove that from you. But I’m grateful you told me.”

Instead of replying, he roughly undoes his jacket and shucks it to the floor. He seems to seek safety in your lips and skin, matching your state in seconds with his shirt off.

Bucky covers your body with his, smiling when you gasp at his hands on your body. Your heart pounds when he places his hand under your bra cup. His breath catches in your ear when you palm his erection through his jeans.

The way he responds to your touch sets you on fire. You love his groan that he can’t stop, and the way it makes him touch you more.

“I missed you,” he whispers brokenly. “Not just this. You.”

But every time he says shit like that you need him more. You would hug him and never let go. It’s kind of cringy how much you want to be part of him.

“It’s fine if you’re not ready. I just missed you too. This is enough, Bucky. It is.” You feel your own breath catch as his fingers move beneath your leggings.

Icy eyes check yours, making sure you’re comfortable. Every fibre of your being is shrieking for his touch just a little lower… a little deeper. He looks down and moans when he sinks his fingers to your centre, just barely outside of you. But he can feel how you clench, you’re sure.

His hand moves, and his eyes blow black as you keen and allow his fingers to part you.

Your hands strangle his arm as it delves between your thighs. The filthy sound of how wet you are fills your ears. The build up has been vicious, taking months to feel his fingers right where they are.

“Wanna hear ya. Please.” He nudges his shoulder under your chin, so your lips are brushing his ear instead of turned into the pillow. Every sigh and mumble and whisper falling from your lips lands softly on his ear.

It takes an embarrassingly short time to feel the high approach. Bucky uses his palm to stimulate your clit, while working his fingers against the spongy inside. It’s such a stunning rhythm and pressure, practiced and sure. You wish to kiss him, but he wants to hear you cum for him for the first time.

The way you break is like an ice sculpture, frozen yet shattering against him. Have your thighs ever quivered before? How does he know how to work you through this with such perfect, delicate pressure to prolong the orgasm, and then smooth movements to bring you down?

“Fuckin’ amazing, when you cum for me. Can’t wait to do it again.” Bucky chuckles and tucks you into him. Your heavy breathing seems to amuse him, but you swear you’ll never feel that good again. Not without him.

“I swear you were made just for me. I’m gonna keep you around forever.” You laugh shakily as your heart still races. “I want to…”

You trace the edge of his jeans, but he covers your hand.

“This was perfect. You were perfect. And gorgeous. I want to take you out, do something in DC other than show you all the terrible things I carry with me.” He looks at the clock, noticing how late in the day it is after all that driving and museum exploration.

“Or maybe take me dancing. I saw the photos.” You grin at him, secretly hoping you do get to dance slow and close.

“Steve submitted those. They were from a competition I did. Some dame I was into begged me to be her partner, so I went. He thought it’d help humanize me, in the museum. Help acclimate.” He sighs, but there’s a tired smile on his lips.

“I say we enjoy this hotel room… and being next to each other again.” You snuggle into his side.

“Well, we didn’t have time to pack… so…” he pulls you close in just your bra and helps you remove your leggings. This is as bare as you’ve been to him. It makes your skin feel on fire.

“You don’t seem to mind.” You convince him to shuck his jeans, so he’s in underwear as well.

The two of you watch each other warmly, having a thousand silent conversations. When you smirk, wondering if you should start kissing him like crazy again, he kisses you softly and pulls up the room service menu.

Chapter Text

“Краса́вица.” You hear softly.

When your eyes flick open, you see those eyes of a jaguar. Intense and aware.

Russian. Like Hydra. Like the people who tortured him and turned him into a weapon. All the memories of the horrifying headlines and file excerpts make you physically sick.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” You don’t want to feel whatever this is. Sick. Afraid? Like you’re in the room with a stranger.

“Please…” he whispers in the dark. “I don’t mean to frighten you.”

You can’t ignore how broken he sounds. Maybe he was having more dreams. You breathe deep, hoping to settle your nerves and your stomach.

“Are you afraid of me?” His voice feels so big in the hotel room, but so small when you catch his eyes.

“I’m not. Im happy to have you back, it’s just a lot. I think it’s just sinking in.” You’re determined to be honest. If you lie to someone like him, you know it’ll affect both of you deeply.

“They made me. They forced me. I never…” he stops and watches you. Everything he wants to say, you already know. It wasn’t who he was, and he didn’t harm anyone willingly.

“I can’t imagine how you feel. How much you carry. I think partially, I feel this way because you should never have had to go through all that.”

His wolfish eyes soften with understanding. But he doesn’t reach for your soft touch. He doesn’t bury his face in your hair, or seek gentle kisses, or melt under the warmth of you next to him. It’s like he’s someone else.

“You don’t hate me for surviving? Sometimes, I used to wonder if someone more malicious would take my place. Would make more people suffer. Even chose to come back when I could have escaped, because I couldn’t remember who I was outside of Hydra and knew the people who wanted my spot would do it for sport.” His voice is chilling. It’s detached with oceans of aching regret beneath the void.

This is too much information. He’s never been anything but kind, protective, sweet, and broody. The image of him letting kittens clamber up his sleeves, and picking up sad puppies after their medical stays, clashes with everything he’s saying. Of course, you care and you understand, but you don’t want to dwell on it right now.

Bucky sees your conflict and you find yourself on your back. His fingers dig into your sides as he kisses you roughly and thoroughly. The raw power is a definite reminder that he is more than just a man. Yet, you think, he’s your man. You don’t want him to be apart from you.

The ease with which he flipped you is too much. It’s a little unsettling to know he’s so strong and has so much to work on. Maybe he was right to take things slow and make sure you knew him, first. If he’d explained before you had time together, you’d likely not have been here.

Experimenting, you feel how easily he has your wrists locked. Until you catch his eye, his grip doesn’t falter.

You move to push Bucky on his back, and he gets that distant, cooler look on his face. He allows you to sit astride him. His pupils are blown wide, his breath is fast, you know he wants you. But he stops you when you lick a stripe on his chest.

“Gotta wait,” he grumbles but kisses you soundly. His timbre is low and husky. “I’m not soft. Not now.”

Bucky encourages you to slow down, tongue exploring your mouth. You sigh contentedly as he tucks you back in.

“It doesn’t bother you?” He asks when you touch his arm.

“No. I’m used to it, and it’s beautiful.” You test his response when you touch different places.

“My past…” his blue eyes sharpen as he studies your response. The fraction of a second you hesitate is calculated by him. When he goes to explain, you stop him.

“Like I said, I don’t think you deserved what you survived. I don’t think anyone could blame you. I appreciate you opening up to me, and sharing even though it’s hard. I’m not promising that it’ll never bother me or make me think a little, but I know you didn’t do it because you wanted to.” Again, honesty. This time, he doesn’t reward you quite the same.

“Why are you different, sometimes? You don’t have to protect yourself from me.” The words from your lips pull that predatory gaze back. It makes something swirl in your tummy.

“We should sleep.” The distance in his voice echoes around you.

“Wait—”

But he’s gone. Fast asleep, like the last ten minutes was a dream. Maybe he sleep talks, you dated someone who did that. He even ate and tried to drive in his sleep.

—

“Do you sleep talk?” You ask over dinner, a week later.

He has stopped by your place for dinner every night this week. He brought takeout, two nights, but cooked for you the rest of the week. Now that it’s Friday, he even brought a dessert almost too beautiful to eat.

“No, do you? I haven’t heard ya sayin’ anything.” He smiles and kisses your nose, enjoying the way you scrunch it.

“Are you sure? I had a boyfriend insist he didn’t, when I was younger. Woke up at three to him making a sandwich. He dropped the knife on his foot, waking up!” The memory makes you both laugh. But you aren’t sure if Bucky is fully awake when it’s the middle of the night.

“What? Damn, I’m glad you aren’t with him. I do think you’d be a little fun to wake up at three in the morning, however.” He nips your lip, grinning like mad when you moan.

“You’re more than welcome.” The invitation makes him groan back.

Last night, before he left, he’d teased you for an hour, then swallowed your keens as you came on his fingers again. He’d promised to let you return the favour, tonight, when he didn’t have to run off.

Tension has been high all night. Bucky’s fingers skim the curve of your bust when he helps you serve up food. You purposely bend over and stretch, or make little sounds while eating.

It’s not all about sex, but six months of Bucky being this fucking fine and this emotionally available? The suffering has to end soon.

“What if I enjoy you right now… and we can see how we feel at three a.m.?” The suggestion makes you flush, but it makes his ears pink. A super soldier, warm and breathless for you, who would have known?

Bucky nods, stretching his neck to follow your gentle kiss a little longer.

Both of your knees bracket his, and he guides you snug to him. His lips suck so gently at your neck, you whine and beg for more. Fingers start to unbutton your blouse. A nose brushes down your collar as his face travels.

It’s not your turn, you’ve decided. As much as he is spoiling you, you want to touch him. It’s been so damn long and you yearn to feel him and hear him as you touch.

“Gimme a sec,” he pleads. He keeps your hands where they are, just on his zipper. When you look at him, he’s staring at you with wild and anxious eyes.

Nodding, you pause where you are but press soft kisses to his hair as he catches his breath. You can feel his hands finish shaking, his shoulders relax.

“What are you afraid of?” You whisper tenderly. It’s not the sex, itself. He has a history of that, and flirts up a storm. Given what little information he has provided, you know it’s about something deeper.

“‘M scared they’ll hurt ya. Or that you’re one of ‘em. It’s shit I’ve sorted out, I’ve talked it out, and you’ve been real good.” He kisses you, and shifts your hips to let his roll beneath you. It makes you keen. “But it’s a powerful weapon for someone who wants to get my guard down. Or for me, if you let yours down.”

“You’re afraid you’ll hurt me?” The new addition of information helps. There’s little you can do to prove you’re not a spy, he has told you so. But he’s also afraid for you.

“I feel all my old ways come up, when I get really passionate. There’s just so much that boils over. Like someone else could take over.” Bucky seems to be purposely vague.

“I can wait. That’s never a problem.”

“No. No, I just… I love you.” The way his voice cracks makes you stop breathing. This isn’t an accident, like at the museum. “I love you, and I want to be together, and I’m fuckin’ happy. And that’s terrifying because I’ve never been happy. Not once, not even before.”

Before. Before he was tortured, betrayed, or fell from a train. Before Steve saved him, before he was conscripted, before war broke out? Was there a real ‘before’ for Bucky?

“I love you, too.”

And his mouth joins yours, his hands both on your ribcage near your spine. Bucky holds you to him like a gift, a reward for all he has lost. It burns sweet and holy.

Free, your hands return to their work as Bucky licks your lower lip and you gasp as he kisses you hotly. Once he awkwardly shifts out of his jeans, your hand carefully slips into his boxers and Bucky releases an exalted groan.

His cock is hard and heavy, and impossibly velvety as you explore. Watching Bucky’s jaw slacken, his head tipping back, is your own personal treat. When you pick up a rhythm, you huff a little laugh as you spread his own precum over his tip.

“How did I just know you’d be fucking huge?” You praise him and it seems to fracture his mask. “I’m not the only one who thinks of this. Do you do this, when you’re away? When I’m not here, and you think of me?”

You use his most sensitive skin to pump him, swirling over the head just right. But he’s gritting his teeth and twitching in your hand when you bury your other hand deeper, cupping his balls and rolling them carefully. Did girls in his day do this?

“I’m happy, too,” you murmur in his ear as his hips roll instinctively. “I wanna be yours.”

Bucky opens his eyes, still hazy and hooded as he looks at you. But your hands are still working him and enjoying the way he responds to different pressure and strokes. It intrigues you when he covers your hand, and starts to join you.

“Wanted to feel ya so bad that first night. Had to see to myself the minute I got home. Rubbed myself raw, when I could smell ya on my fingers yesterday.” He babbles and you loudly respond to his words.

“Fuck, show me. Show me what you did.” Bucky takes over the pumping, setting a pace you wouldn’t have guessed. He encourages your other hand to keep fondling, and your now free one to hold his neck as you deepen a kiss.

“Fuck!” You respond to a particularly passionate kiss, which he ends with a sharp nibble on your lip. “I love you. I love you, Bucky.”

Hot, sticky, ropes shoot up your abdomen and breasts. Bucky is groaning and choking down loud noises of pleasure, covering your body in his spend. There is so much… so much. He’s still going, when he kisses you again and moans carelessly into your mouth.

Both of you caress each other. It feels like your hands are magnetized to one another’s bodies. Oversensitive, he captures your hand and tucks himself back in to his pants.

“I love you.” Bucky is breathless and charmed.

“You struck me more as the ‘ditto’ type.” The teasing takes a moment, and you realize he may not have seen that movie. “I’m glad you feel safe with me. I think we’re gonna say it a lot.”

Teeth catch your collar when he laughs and drops his head. It’s a moment you want to stay in, forever.

—

Bucky blinks around the room late in the night and you watch him. He doesn’t sit up, but observes the bedroom with a look of suspicion. You turn on the recorder on your phone, hoping to present it to Bucky in the morning so he can explain the night time conversations.

When you look back, his eyes are sewn to yours. You swear he can read your mind and see your future with the gaze. It chills your insides and you try to explain.

“You sleep talk to me. I just wanted to show you.”

He reaches and presses the record button, eerily silent.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how that would make you feel.” You blink back tears as you fret about him being angry. It was thoughtless and doesn’t help your trust.

“Why do you apologize so freely? Like you have guilt on your conscience?” He assesses you. It makes you feel the urge to speak honestly again.

“I’m just genuinely sorry. I hadn’t thought of your perspective, and I regret that because I love you and I want to make sure I consider how these things could affect you.” The eyes you are looking at are still weary.

After a moment, the focus softens and he hesitantly stretches his metal fingers into yours. They rest over your pulse, and he watches your breaths.

“You love me?” As if it’s new and novel, something he doesn’t understand.

“I do. Of course.”

Strong hands pull you to him. They trace you like it’s the first time you’ve laid in bed together. Instead of a rough and forceful kiss or passionate response, he absorbs your warmth.

“Is it hard? Loving me, my arm, my past? Do you love me in spite of it?” Bucky sounds almost angry, like he sees himself as so flawed and broken he doesn’t deserve this.

“I don’t get to pick and choose parts of you, Bucky. And I hope you don’t only love pieces of me.” You touch his cheek and see him flinch, then relax into you.

Just like that, his features fall and his eyes flutter shut. Sleep takes him, fast as ever. You allow it to claim you, too.

Chapter Text

“So…” Bucky moans as he settles between your thighs. Your skirt is hitched up, over your hips. “Are you free for Labor day?”

You giggle at the question when he’s in the middle of dry humping you. All your brain was thinking about is how badly you want him and how hot he is. Maybe you also thought of the smell of his cologne, but definitely not what your plans were.

“No idea. If you’re home from missions, I’d - ah! - like to spend it with you?” You really don’t want to be talking right now. Not anything but the dirty words that fall between you two.

“Mmmm, think ya might like my plan, better.” He moves against you like waves in the ocean. You can hardly think of what he’s saying, dizzy from all of his touch and kisses. He palms your breast, kissing you so fervently you know your lips are red.

“Pretty busy enjoying this,” you breathe. He presses his trapped length across your centre again, grumbling when your legs hook over his hips and pull him more firmly.

“What about more?” Bucky’s voice is smooth and hot. The words make you sweat, a swirling heat filling your whole body. An embarrassing moan escapes you at just the idea of what he could mean.

“Would you want to go? Are you ready?” Even being asked is sending tingles down your spine. His rhythm slows, grinding against you and groping your side.

“I’m ready,” you grin. “Are you sure?”

There have been many discussions of trust and history. He told you about how he was so betrayed and hurt, and all the ways he’d been convinced to trust the wrong people. You shared about your exes and a girl who you’d crushed on in college.

“‘M sure. So sure. Wish I could do it now.” Bucky cheekily replies as you gasp beneath him. He knows just how to roll his hips, through all your clothes, to still have you come undone. But knowing he wants to be with you, fully, makes you climb even higher. “Just know you’re tight. Soakin’ for me. Wanna feel you around me.”

You whimper as his words push you over, your own hips twisting. Fuck, the months of foreplay are going to make you pass out. But he’s talking about next weekend and you’re going to cry if it doesn’t come fast enough.

“Why don’t we just do it now?” You press into him more. His hands are still tracing your thighs beneath the dress he has pushed up. You know he thinks this dress is sexy and just loves to lift the hem this way.

“I need to do a few things. Needa make sure you’re not just runnin’ hot. Gotta set the mood, be a gentleman.” His lips drift down your belly, and your muscles twitch as your core clenches.

Is he gonna take this next step?

No. He stops, smirking at your sad whine when he does.

“Yes, holy shit. Let’s go to a hotel.” You squirm as he pulls your dress down, kissing you like it’s your wedding day.

“Patience. We have actual places to go. I just couldn’t resist you in that dress.” Bucky tugs you up, enjoying your pinup style dress and makeup.

“Is my makeup alright? I don’t want your friends to think I’m some floozy. My friends think you’re a freaking mega star superhero underwear model.” You think of when he has taken you to lunch with your coworkers on days off, or attended rescue events and got to know them better.

“Trust me, they’ll love you. Like I do. And Sam will just enjoy trying to annoy me.” He kisses you again when you try to check your lipstick.

—

“I hear you’re goin’ to Lake George?” Sam jovially asks as everyone finishes ordering the meals.

“I hadn’t known that was where.” You smile at Bucky, who frowns sternly at Sam. He hasn’t been so grumpy or pouty in your presence, but you somehow love it.

“You’ll love it. Steve! You two went there last week, it’s nice of you to lend it to Buck.”

Steve has been pleasant and friendly, but you can’t decide if he likes you at all. His eyes are mostly scanning your interactions with Bucky. Unlike Sam, he hasn’t quite accepted you aren’t a threat.

“Yeah, I thought maybe he’d like to be more adventurous for the long weekend. But he’s playing it pretty safe.” He shrugs but smiles softly.

“Someone got in my head, so now I don’t want to go far.” Bucky snarls at Sam.

Sam only laughs, waving him off. He pulls out a few board games, and you recognize most of them from your nights with Bucky. You’re a little nervous to play games with such high status people, but Bucky senses that and squeezes your hand.

“I think starting in your comfort zone isn’t a bad thing. I’m sure we have lots of trips to plan for the future.” You suddenly feel very serious with Bucky. But aren’t you? The way your relationship has developed certainly couldn’t be described as casual.

“Ugh, you’re so good to him. The way he pines for you, I thought you’d boss him around more. He doesn’t like me unless I do.” Sam scoffs at the slight affection between you two.

“Maybe it’s ’cause she’s a pretty dame, who I love, and not a pain in my ass?” Bucky helps sort playing pieces and doesn’t look at anyone as he tries to banter.

Steve bursts into a huge grin, and it makes you blush to realize this may be the first time he’s said it in front of anyone but you. Nobody says anything to Bucky, but you can tell by his avoidant eyes that he knows. You slide into the floor next to him, quietly helping him place objects.

“I’ll teach her to be a pain in your ass, don’t worry.” Sam flicks a piece and laughs.

“You can’t toss these, because the whole game ends when you run out. So if we lose them, we will end the game too fast!” Bucky scolds him and Steve intervenes. He’s like their parent.

“Natasha will be here, shortly. She and Yelena will make sure you’re not alone with a bunch of morons.” Steve leans over to start.

-

Natasha and Yelena are somehow far more intimidating than Sam and Steve. They’re so confident and beautiful, with an air you could never achieve. But Yelena starts bickering with Sam and poking fun at her sister, and you suddenly feel right at home.

“So, was it his bitchy demeanour, or his tragic backstory that got you?” Yelena turns to you and Natasha nearly spits out her beer.

“I actually only knew him as the guy who worked for the rescue our vet owns. He was a little grouchy, but he was so cute with the animals. But he’s not grumpy when we spend time together.”

“Yeah, cuz he has a great source of conflict resolution and stress relief.” Sam wags his brows as Yelena knocks his character off the board, killing him.

“That’s not until this weekend, I’m sure.” Natasha pauses when everyone stares at her. She shrugs, grinning away. She knows absolutely everything, you swear.

The evening goes well, and you stop feeling so overwhelmed near the end. Bucky is shy about being physically affectionate, but just touch starved enough to linger. Any time you exchange game pieces, his fingers remain on yours for an extra second. When others go to retrieve pizza, he steadies himself with his face against your hair, one arm snaking around your waist.

“We really did like meeting you. Bucky has been through a lot, and took a long time to open up to dating seriously. We are glad it’s you.” Natasha speaks to you while everyone else is putting games and food away.

“I’m really happy to hear that. I definitely understand, now, that he’s seen a lot. But it’s good, yknow, we’re doing well.” You smile when she nods and chews her cheek.

Everyone is kind when they say goodnight. Bucky leads you away from the lounge where apparently they tend to have guests over, instead of their small apartments. But when you turn to the elevator to go home, he turns you back.

“My place… I have a room here. It’s not much…”

“Yes!” You excitedly accept his awkward offer. Bucky has said a few times that he never decorated, and there’s only a bed in his room. He didn’t feel comfortable making the space his.

But you still want to be there, with him. It’s his space, nonetheless.

Stepping in, Bucky eyes something in the entryway.

“Why are we here?” He asks like it’s out of a nightmare.

“You brought us here. It’s your room.” You frown and look at him, but he seems a little shaken. Looking around, you don’t see any reason to panic.

Bucky speaks in Russian, tense and terse. That sends a little chill through you, and you take his hand.

“What are the orders?” He seems so disoriented, and you kiss his fingers when he dissociates.

Does he think you’ll hurt him? Is he scared? This is probably the most vulnerable he has been in a long time. Maybe he’s having some form of flashbacks and you just need to sit with him.

“Hey, everything is fine. We’re okay. We’re at the tower, in your room. I can get Steve or Sam, if you need. They’re right down the hall.” You touch his face and his cool eyes soften just a little.

“I got out.” It’s not a question, almost a statement telling himself for a fact.

“Yeah, Bucky. You got out. You met me. You do a lot of good. And I love you, you have so much love. I’m sorry if you felt pressured to take this step.” You kiss him gently and he grumbles. Almost in shock, he draws away for a moment.

“Thank you for tonight,” he says as if the last two minutes never happened. He’s soft and warm again, mouth on yours.

“So you don’t? Feel pressured?” You ask between fierce kisses.

“Do I?” He responds with a soft chuckle. “No. I was freaking out a little, yeah. But I love you and I wanted you here. Kinda like when the pillows smell like ya.”

You feel warm at his words. Maybe the sheets will smell like you two, soon. Bucky smiles through your happy kisses.

“I love you, and I’m happy to be here.”

Bucky gently tips you back onto the bed, a little too happy in his purr when your dress easily glides up your thighs. This moment is just too happy, too safe, to be forgotten. His metal hand discovers the garter you’d put on, and you whine when he nips your neck.

“Wrapped yourself like a gift?” He huffs a laugh as he touches the fabric.

“Just for you. Thought you’d like them.”

And he does. He kisses you wildly, and you return with small moans.

“Soundproofed. Trust me, even I can’t hear anythin’ in these rooms.” Bucky seems excited to hear you.

“Fuck!” Your favourite curse falls again as he dips his fingers between your folds, around your underwear.

“Mmm, sweetheart, love seein’ ya in my bed. All I ever wanted.” The words register in your heart more than your ears.

Fingers work, audibly, in your wetness and both of you sigh in pleasure at once. What you don’t expect is for him to remove his fingers and gently move your thighs back together. It worries you that he’s leaving, but his eyes flick to yours as he draws the edge of your underwear down.

This was not something either of you had done, yet. Underwear stayed on, you admitted that if you were both bare together you wouldn’t stop. He’d agreed. But you also have been ready since saying you loved each other a few weeks ago.

“We don’t need to. Just because I’m in your room doesn’t mean you have to do anything.” You kiss him, as he slowly disentangles your panties from your ankles.

Bucky settles on his side, hooking your leg over his hip. Everything is in slow motion, as you both read each other. His chest is heaving, when you start to smooth your hands on his skin beneath it.

“I don’t wanna wait for a hotel. This… here…”

“Feels right?” You whisper to only him and the walls. It does, it feels like his room is where he feels safe and connected, and now he has shared it with you.

Bucky lets you take his shirt off, before moving impossibly close to you. Breath intermingles. His fingers undo the zipper on the back of your dress, and his lips are pillows on yours.

It feels like you blink, and you’re both naked beneath the covers.

The two of you wrap into each other, nervous and panting. He’s fucking gorgeous, and you adore every touch from him. All he murmurs are praises to you.

“I love you,” you breathe. He captures your lips again. As he does, your leg curls around his bum and your hand wanders there.

“Please, baby. Needa be inside you. Tell me yes.” He speaks mostly into your neck as he slowly moves to be above you. His length is gliding through your wet heat. “I love you.”

You feel your body moving to meet his. The tip of him just catches like he might enter, before sliding through again. He does that twice more before you pull his mouth to yours and kiss him. He reaches for a condom in his drawer, and you feel a bit of relief that it’s an unopened box.

It’s a slow, sultry dance. Bucky rolls his hips against you, enjoying your breath hitching every time he almost follows through. You stretch and arch to angle yourself, feeling him differently every second.

Bucky finally pauses, stretching perfectly over your body. His weight shifts as he reaches down with one hand, and you feel your toes curl at the sublime pressure as he enters you.

“Yes,” you exclaim. Bucky groans from somewhere deep inside himself. Everything feels fucking perfect.

You expected him to never shut up, which you actually liked. But today, both of you only say words when they bloom unbidden. The joining is too exquisite.

Bucky gives you a long moment to adjust, but you flex around him and his jaw falls open. He starts to move and you start to suck at his neck. Thank fuck for sound proofing. You’ve never sounded more like a pornstar.

Every thrust pushes him deeper and harder into you. His whole body is firm against you, and you wonder if you’ll ever want to live in a world without it.

“You’re so beautiful.” He stretches your arm onto the bed, before tangling your fingers together. His forehead falls to yours.

“You’re so handsome.” You smile at him as he watches your expression and listens to your keens.

He feels like he’s made for you. The way his planes match to yours, the size of him causing you to stretch every stroke.

“Ah!” You bite out as he finally bottoms out inside you, unafraid to sink fully into your body. Even though he was gentle and slow, he’s hitting somewhere deep inside that no one else has. He kisses you, smoothing his hands all over to keep you relaxed.

“Perfect for me.” Bucky moves again, grinding the last inch so he can let you feel the pressure in a pleasurable way. It mesmerizes you how much he seems to care about your pleasure.

Lost in the ocean current, you let him worship your neck and jaw, flesh hand cupping your tits and gently toying with your nipples. Occasionally, he looks down at where you join, and whispers sweet nothings about how you’re sucking him in. But you know how bad your body craves him.

All too quickly, it seems, your breaths become sharper and shorter. They match his pace, which increases like a crescendo. Bucky lifts your thigh, moving deeper and dragging his pelvis over your clit.

When you cum, you swear you see stars. You can’t help but gasp and cry out, riding the longest wave you’ve ever ridden. Bucky fills your ears with soft praise, loving your body, your voice, and you.

His hands cup your face as his hips start to push deeper and faster. When his rhythm falters, he holds his breath before letting out a low and long rumble. It’s so earthy and sounds gorgeous on your ears.

“Wow,” Bucky huffs after the deepest kiss.

“Yeah. Wow.” You catch your breath and giggle when he kisses down your chest and shoulders as he cleans up. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt more connected after sex than during. He absolutely fawns over you, smiling like he just can’t help it.

“I’m sorry we didn’t wait.” He pushes your sweaty hair back. The tenderness of his gaze makes you melt into a puddle. He takes advantage and pulls you to snuggle against him.

“No, Bucky. I love you and this feels right. But I wouldn’t say no to the weekend you’d planned.” You laugh again because he’s mapping your body with his mouth as you talk.

“Oh, this weekend is gonna be even better. Less pressure, and more time to enjoy each other. I wanna get to know. every. inch.” More kisses and licks greet your skin down your arms, wrists, and beneath each breast.

“I love you.” You both speak at the same time and smile as you kiss again.

“Let’s get some sleep. Early morning tomorrow, they serve breakfast at 6am.” He knows you despise the early morning. But maybe you can ask him for help changing that.

Bucky kisses your crown as you listen to his heart. It’s everything you dreamed of for your first time together.

Chapter Text

“Bucky?” He snaps his eyes toward you just before the alarm is set.

“Моя любовь,” he whispers.

“You don’t regret last night, do you?” The sight of him frowning is worrying you. He seems unsure about why you’re in his room, as he looks around.

“Last night?” He scans you, seeing your bare skin hidden just beneath the sheet. You’re a little shy, realizing you’ve woken up naked. Watching his lips curve just into a smirk makes your heart soar.

“Yeah. You’re okay?”

A soft smile seems almost foreign to his features, when his eyes are this lost in thought. But it makes you happy. Whatever he’s thinking isn’t remorseful.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me,” you laugh.

Bucky kisses you with a crushing urgency, like the world is on fire. When you touch his chest, it’s like he just realized he’s naked as well. A low rumble reverberates through his chest and he lets his fingers press into your hips bruisingly.

Though he had been gentle, you were still a little sore. He was huge, and you had been without sex for a while. Plus, how hard you came made things extra tight.

A cool palm cups your breast, growing a little needier and rougher as you curl a leg around his hip. A little sting accompanies his fingertips, when they grasp at your fleshy spots and pull you closer. Naked, you moan into his mouth when you feel him hard against you.

“I’m okay, Bucky. I want this.”

Groaning loudly, he pulls away when your hand pumps his length. Immediately, you’re embarrassed and wonder if you’ve done something wrong.

“I don’t even know who I am.” The broken explanation only confuses you further. How would he not know?

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you, it’s alright. I just meant… when you’re ready for more, I am, too. But last night was beautiful.” Maybe you shouldn’t be rushing.

“I want you.” Bucky rolls over you, sliding through your soaking folds before entering you powerfully. Your sore walls stretch to accommodate him.

“You feel amazing. Please, please, deeper.”

The second he rocks as deep as he can, you gasp and your fingernails bite his skin. It’s a little too much, when he dives in. That wasn’t what you expected.

Bucky keeps his hips rolling, moving just enough to work you through the shock and throbbing. It’s not like last night, and you know there will be nights when this is all you crave. His mouth brings colour to the surface of your shoulder and neck.

Emboldened, you nip his skin. A lengthy, harsh, groan makes you do it again.

A warning tone in Russian fills your ears. It does nothing to dissuade you from meeting his hips with yours. If anything, it encourages you.

“Yes, harder, there!” You are drunk on the feel of him within you. It’s liquid euphoria. It’s stretching and pulling and animal.

“Tell me you’re mine. This pussy is mine. These are mine.” He bends to take a nipple between his teeth and you squeal.

“Yes. Yours. I’m yours.” The words come easily.

Bucky drives deep, pulling your hand to your clit. His metal hand holds you, flesh palm over your lower tummy to double the pressure. The intensity it creates could send you to the moon.

The way he speaks filth and manhandles you ignites something entirely different than last night. But you love it, just the same. Every touch is a miracle.

You gasp and wail as he rolls your hips up and moves deeper, sending you into the abyss. Bucky chokes on his own sounds as your core squeezes around him, pulling him in.

Thankfully, he’s slightly more aware than you. He pulls out at the last second, cumming hot and powerfully over your torso. It’s the first time you have found it wildly attractive. Forgetting the condoms, not so much. But you’re on birth control, and he said something about Shield giving him a form of birth control for men. You know you’re both clean, he even had his records verified by Shield.

“I love you,” you pant again.

“All of me?”

“Every molecule.” And you mean it. More, when he kisses you bruisingly and cleans you up.

—

“Mmmm,” Bucky groans when you get back from your shower. He was clearly asleep.

“Wake up, sleepy head.” You plop onto the bed and kiss him. He frowns and looks you over, damp hair and his clothes on.

“Why are you up? Dressed?” Bucky sits up and looks at the time, just after he had set his alarm originally. “Did the alarm clock not go?”

“Well, I was already up, so I turned it off. I thought you’d stay awake, but I guess I tuckered you out.” You flirt and tease, accepting his smiling peck on the lips.

“That you did. Sorry, wanted to be up in time to look after you.” Bucky touches you like a treasure. “But I guess I’ll do that this weekend.”

You grin like crazy, thrilled that you’ll still have your time by the lake.

—

—

Bucky takes you for a walk by the water. He guides you to the dock, and you both dip your toes. It’s not as god-awful hot as summer, but still warm enough to enjoy the clean fresh water.

“Are you… happy? I know you said you were, but it’s been a week and I want to check in before this weekend. We can slow down, if you want.” Bucky speaks mostly to the water, as he wrestles his anxiety.

“I love you so much for caring. I… I do want to keep being together. But I really want that intimate feeling, like our first time.” You’ve thought a lot about it all week.

Any time Bucky was free while he was away, he called. Even if he had nothing to say, he just asked about your day. Something about listening to you describe the monotony of the clinic eased his PTSD while helping his friends, and he even fell asleep once. Not that you minded whatsoever, if that’s how he found comfort enough to rest.

Whatever that feeling was, it felt like you could bottle it up forever the first time he joined with you. Peace, home, all the corny things you thought you’d never find. It was all of those, really.

“Of course. I don’t really intend on doing too much.” There’s a long pause, where you consider what he means and whether he regrets your morning tryst. “I have been very nervous to let someone in that way. Or at all.”

Head resting on his shoulder, you sigh and lean against him. Bucky supports you, wrapping an arm around your waist. This feels so comfortable, so safe. You know he has concerns, but you can’t see how he would ever hurt you.

The late summer air has a gentle breeze, and you feel him hum into your hair. His fingers knead your muscles, and the silence has never felt so beautiful between you as nature plays in the background.

“What do you want? From your future?” The question seems so delicate and floaty, in such a scene. But it makes your heart skip, and suddenly you realize what having a serious relationship means.

Of course, you’ve done this before. When starry eyed, you had discussed houses and kids and moving, and all the rest. It felt like endless possibility. But before Bucky, you’d sort of thought it might be unrealistic.

Now, with a metal arm around you, a chin over your hair, and a heartbeat next to yours, you think maybe it would work. You could see yourself with him. Forever. Forever is a long time.

“I’m honestly afraid you won’t want the same things.” It feels easy to admit things to him. Safe.

“I’m asking because… I haven’t ever considered it. I’ve been so busy trying to keep myself together, I haven’t thought of anything I’d want.” The truth seems to strangle him, but you turn to face him.

“Bucky, all I can tell you is that I do feel like we have potential to be a really happy couple. I think I’d eventually want to get married, but I’m not in a rush. Mostly because legally, things like advocating for each other medically are important.” The words “husband and wife” still feel so huge, even when everyone else uses them.

“I can do that.” He smiles, like you’ve opened the gates to heaven and let him peer in.

“If we decide this is forever, yes, I’d want to be married. I want a couple of pets, but not so many we can’t travel or it’s overwhelming when you go away.” You’ve been holding off because of your long hours at work, with no one else at home.

“I actually have a cat.” Bucky smirks and lays back on the dock.

Lying back, next to him, you shade your eyes with your arm.

“Alpine. The first mission Steve took me on, a little girl was trapped in the hospital. She was really sick, some sorta cancer. Had this cat she said made her feel all better. We were stuck in that medical wing for two days, the structure too unstable to remove the rubble around us. She got really unwell, and asked me to take her cat. I decided that she wouldn’t make it if we didn’t escape, her doctors agreed. So… I took her and her cat, and jumped from the fifth story.” He almost laughs at how ridiculous his plan was.

“So, she inspired you to get a cat?” His spirits don’t suggest that the little girl didn’t make it.

“That was two years ago. She had that cat her whole life. But she passed away, I got asked to her funeral. Guess she wanted me to have Alpine. So I’ve got this old lady cat, she goes to Steve and Natasha’s when I’m not home, because she loves Natasha’s cat.” Bucky shuffles closer to you, like he needs reassurance.

“I’d love to meet her. Would she like me?” You look over at his too-long hair all over the dock. He turns to face you with a big smile.

“She hissed at me the first day after I stayed at your place. Ever since, she waits for me to come home and then sleeps on my clothes that smell like you, like she just had to see how happy I was. Last weekend, Natasha brought her back to my room, and Alpine slept on your side of the bed.” He starts kissing your cheek.

You nuzzle into him, cheeks warm from the sunshine and love.

“You make me think of the future, Pretty Girl,” he observes.

“You make me think of it, too. But right now, I’m thinking how comfy our bed at the condo is.” And how he would feel in those sheets. A week without his body has been difficult.

“Yeah? Great minds think alike.” Bucky cups your face and kisses you properly. You’ll remember to pester him about his goals for the future later.

Bucky practically glides into the top floor condo. He kisses you against the door, unlocking it while you’re distracted with his mouth. You moan when he traps your hips between his and the couch, on the way to the bedroom.

“I need a second.” Bucky grumbles when he has your top off and your skirt hiked.

Suddenly, you feel like it’s all turning down. He moves his soft lips to your neck. Trembling hands move to his jacket, and you stop him from trying to force it.

“Fuck.” The word is impossibly low, but it stings. He’s struggling to do this.

“Bucky, it’s okay. If it takes a while for us to get a rhythm, we can take that time. I’m just happy to have some days off with you.” Every sentence seems to add to the tension for both of you.

“I… I feel like something else is taking over. Ever since last week. And I’ve been someone that hurt people, I have this part of me that I try to lock away and leave behind. When I think of sleeping with you, I feel like that part of me is back.”

That hurts. Of course, that’s not how he means it, but it hurts.

“I love you.” You both say at the same time. It makes you both giggle a bit.

Everything lightens again, just a little. He draws circles over your hips, settling back into you. You sigh as he slowly melts back into deeper kisses.

You slip your hand beneath his pants, exploring the shape of his backside. Even parts of people you’ve never enjoyed, you take interest in with him. It also adds some playfulness, which helps him relax.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” Bucky husks his words in your ear, before spotting the bruises that are almost healed on your sides.

Everything stops again for a minute. But as he slowly undresses you, kissing you, and appreciating your shape, he stares at every hickey and bruise left. You finally catch his attention again when you kiss him, biting his lip and sucking his tongue.

Bucky finds a condom, throwing his head back as you roll it firmly down his length. You take care to check in with him just as often as he does, you. And he enters you slowly, giving you time to adjust, but also loving words.

“Feel so good around me. I wanna make you feel this good.”

“You do,” you insist. “Please, make love to me. Softly.” You try hiding your nerves because he was rough, the second time he slept with you. And he’s clearly worried he will be rough. You don’t want him to regret this.

“I love you. I wanna fill you up. Wake up next to you every day. Touch you, when nobody’s watchin.” The little murmurs make your heart glow.

“Ah, my god, Bucky, I haven’t stopped thinking of you all week. Or ever since you brought some dog covered in fleas to my desk.” Laughing, you find it turns into a moan as Bucky finds himself again.

“You’re like a damned dream. A safe house. Used to dream of someone like you.” Bucky whispers between grunts and groans as you move with him.

Cupping your face, he lets your tongue wrestle his and strokes your jawline. His left hand gently twirls his thumb over your nipple. Your right hand studies every muscle on his back.

“I’m close. Please.” You whine and feel him pick up tempo, and you wonder how you survived your entire life without this feeling. Maybe the world exists specifically to make you his.

Nodding, Bucky moves a little harder and faster. Both of you moan simultaneously as another wave of wetness falls between your thighs, just thinking how he perfectly covers your body and presses your buttons. It’s too fucking perfect.

“I— I— Bucky, I need you. Need this.” You are higher pitched than you’ve ever heard yourself.

The world goes white as you are hit hard with an orgasm. It steals your breath, and you forget what planet you’re on for a moment. Only Bucky tethers you to the earth.

He works you through it with strength and tenderness. Hips move and roll and press hard into yours. The rush of need and fire don’t leave you for a long time, extended every move.

“That was gorgeous.” Bucky’s hot breath swims across you. “I love watchin’ you cum for me. All pretty and shit.”

You sweep your arms back around him, feeling encompassed in love and safety. He picks his pace up again, slowly. It feels like the rhythm of your heart. Both of your bodies move in harmony.

Bucky kisses you with the urgency of an army. His thrusts stutter, slamming deep inside you and tugging your hips up to his. In sync, he sways inside of you several times as he releases a long, quiet, moan.

When your limbs stop contracting with tidal waves of pleasure and love, Bucky quickly withdraws so he can remove the condom. He peppers your cheek with kisses as you both bloom into big smiles.

“Thank you. For being patient and understanding when I’m struggling. I’m sure I’ll get through this, it’s just so new to me. I haven’t felt this passionately, maybe ever. But especially now, it makes me worry about things I’m trying to leave behind.”

You scratch his scalp, when you hear the fracture in his voice. Bucky has been through an incredible amount of betrayal and torture and trauma. Treating him like a stray dog wouldn’t help, he wants to build something new. Living in pity and the past aren’t his goals, but you want to show him you are here because it’s alright to need help.

“I love you, every little piece. I know you still have things to share, and I know you might not be ready yet. But I am so proud of your path back to who you want to be, Buck. And if that means you’re ready for fantastic sex, I’m thrilled. But if you need any steps back later, I’ll also understand. Just… let’s both agree not to push each other away.” It’s a bad habit you’ve got, and wouldn’t put past Bucky either.

Smiling again, he wraps you in his arms around you, too.

“I am so in love with you. I really want to focus on what we both want from the future. I’m tired of always replaying my past.” Bucky nuzzles you as he adjusts you both to be comfortable.

You agree. Bucky is determined to get beyond his history, and you want to support that.

Chapter Text

Bucky wakes you with sweet kisses and your favourite coffee.

“I love you in the morning,” he murmurs.

“My hair is oily, and no makeup, I highly doubt this is my best form.” You sit up lazily, expecting to be handed the coffee but instead being embraced first.

“You look like yourself, and like I get to see you at your most raw. I like that we don’t hide. And I like picturing this being all of our mornings.” Bucky toys with your fingers.

It’s been nearly a year together. Learning each other slowly, challenging each of his road blocks one by one.

“Okay, my turn to admit something. Being here, I have thought about living together. When we’re both ready,” you add when his eyes seem hopeful. “But I did that before, and things got so toxic. I’m worried I’ll be messy or moody or start internalizing everything you say.”

Pensive, he watches you sip your coffee and pretend you’re not thinking of worse times. Your ex wasn’t cruel nor awful, but you know you worry about repeating things. At that time, you were young and hopeful. The house was messy, you two annoyed each other.

It had made you realize that infatuation didn’t mean compatibility. You could both be good people who didn’t work. Or the honeymoon phase could end and you realize it’s not meant to be.

“I think it’s always possible. But we aren’t rushing, and we have been honest with each other. Maybe… after we have been together a year, we consider it?” Bucky seems a little hopeful, which boosts your spirits immensely.

“Bucky, I’d love to.” You smile broadly as he kisses you, careful not to spill the coffee.

Holy shit. You just agreed to talk about moving in with your boyfriend. It feels amazing and right and exciting.

When he tucks you back under the covers, you both decide to sleep in. It’s too rare, with your jobs and situations. Plus, you love feeling warm in his arms.

“What did you want when you were younger? A house wife?” You’re curious about his life in the 40’s and want to know more about him without getting into the more triggering times.

“Well… yeah. I wasn’t exactly a gentleman, but I think I thought I’d find my gal and then settle down so I wanted to have fun first. Everybody wanted a housewife. I liked the idea of protecting somethin’, making her mine, comin’ home to her. Didn’t think about how much work a bunch o’ kids were, or whether she’d want more.” He sighs.

“So, you were a slut!” You tease him as he barks a laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, I was a nightmare for all the pretty dames. But now I’m your nightmare. How do ya feel about that?” He looks at you and you soften.

“I think I’m glad you changed your ways.” You snuggle in and half sleep.

—

“Why can’t he do both?” Bucky snarks at the movie as he watches Bob Parr look like the life is drained from him.

“They got in trouble, so he shouldn’t risk their family’s cover.” You love that he has had a big reaction to every part of The Incredibles.

“I’d do both. I feel like, if they gave me this serum, and I had to use it for their cause, I have to do some good with it, now that I’m free.” Bucky touches his metal arm. “I’d want to find a way to do both.”

“Well, they don’t have that history. But I think they have kids, so they don’t want to risk their kids’ safety.” You shrug and eat the food Bucky ordered in.

He’s quiet, for a long time afterward. He watches the movie, as if it holds important answers. It was meant to be a silly movie you could show him about what people used to expect for superheroes. Instead, he seems to be absorbed.

He insists on following with the sequel, kissing your neck playfully as you swap the movies. When you press play, he cuddles you and teases you with little touches. This wasn’t how you expected the night to go, but it’s so sweet and charming.

Bucky watches the train scene early into the film silently. It was something you’d forgotten existed. All you know is that he fell from a train, helping Steve. He still won’t discuss too much more.

“Bucky… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? Have you done something?” His distant eyes scan you.

“No, not at all. But I don’t want to ruin our weekend reminding you of your trauma.” You touch his back, seeing him frown.

“The train?” He asks like you dont know the rest.

“All of it, Bucky. I care about you and I want you to feel comfortable planning for the future. I want us both to let go of the past and look forward to what comes next.” You mean every word.

“What are your plans for me?”

“No, Bucky. Us. Are you okay? I’m never going to decide anything for you. I think you’ve had enough of that in your life.” You lean against him.

Bucky stares at you, like he isn’t sure if he believes. He’s oddly quiet, but he gets that way sometimes. It’s less cold and unsettling, now. You’re used to him.

“So… I’ve got some clothes from the 50s. Peak Housewife culture. Maybe I can make those old dreams come true?” You’re trying to be playful, but grow shy when he looks puzzled. “Sorry. I just knew you wanted a house wife when you were young. I was… trying to add some humour. Or some sweetness… familiarity? I dunno.”

“I’d like that. Please.” His quiet demeanour and awkward responses remind you of the other times.

“Where do you go, sometimes? Like, you change so fast and I worry I’ve done something.” You breathe shallow, anxious but wanting to deepen your relationship.

“I’m just different. Does that bother you?” The question is without nerves. Bucky cups your cheek and studies your face, as if he just woke up next to a stranger.

“Are you okay, though? I can’t tell if I’ve upset you or stressed you out?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. Sometimes I’m reminded of how my life used to be. Where I was for decades. What I hoped for in secret moments when all other light was out.” Bucky keeps staring at you like an angel. Like a prayer answered.

Sniffing, you can’t understand the desire to cry. This feels like a very intense and emotional moment, like parts of you are being rewritten.

“I’m so happy you’re out. That you’re here. I love you, so much.” You start to feel your breath catch, and Bucky watches as one very real tear slips free.

“I’ve seen so many fake tears, любимая. A million, from the most cunning of manipulators. And I’ve seen a million more from those who grieve or hate or fear. But, любимая, I’ve never had someone cry for their love of me.” Bucky thumbs the tear and kisses you.

The world revolves around this moment.

“You asked me what I want for my future. Can you think of what you want from yours? There is more than marriage, to think about. I really want to make sure we are both ready to be serious with each other. I’m just scared of getting more invested, I already love you a lot.” You smile when he nods and kisses all over.

“I love you.” Bucky answers briefly. “I feel it, even when I’m lost.”

Before you can do any of the things you want, he says he needs a shower. You don’t take it personally, knowing you’re both still dirty from the day at the lake.

“Will you join me?” Bucky calls to you from under the water. He seems back to himself, sparky and flirty again.

“I’ll be right there!”

Chapter Text

Bucky’s hands slide all over you as the beat echoes through your body. It wasn’t something he really wanted to do, but you’d insisted on stopping by the club here. Your friends would never let it go if you didn’t.

A little incentivized by the fact no one is paying attention and everyone is grinding against each other, he chuckles as you sneak close. His chest is pressed against yours. Your heartbeat is probably double what it should be.

“We never danced like this back then.” Bucky laughs as he shouts over the music.

“Yeah? I think you’re adjusting well. Maybe still too chaste, old man.” You joke as he cups your ass and grinds lower into you, moving with the music. He certainly has rhythm, not that you weren’t aware.

“God, I have to show you Dirty Dancing tomorrow.” The way his face buries at your breastbone and his nose trails up gets you high. Maybe you want everyone in this club to see.

Bucky grumbles so you feel it through your skin. Teeth greet your jaw and you smile without a care. It’s your last night here, and you want to enjoy it.

“I love you,” he groans as you dip all the way back and he kisses back down your clavicle.

“I love you, too.” You wonder if he can hear it, over everything else. When you straighten up, his eyes are locked to you and needy.

“I… I feel ready. If you are.” Bucky tips his head to the door.

He’d been touching you all day. At coffee, he swept your hair over your shoulder and nosed at your pulse. At brunch, he smoothed his palm over your spine and held you close before letting you sit. The afternoon on the boat ride, he wound around you to point at everything and feed the animals. Dinner you swore he was going to eat straight off your skin, interrupting his meal so many times to kiss your hands, arms, shoulders, and neck.

But every time you thought he would take you to bed, he suggested something else. Once, you’d thought you may never escape the bed while here with him. Now, you are itching to take the leap.

Bucky kisses you like crazy in the back of the cab. It’s silly and immature, but you realize he hasn’t had that experience in 80 years. So you kiss him back, raking your fingers through his hair. The appreciative moan and scoot closer to you are your favourite.

You feel like a kid again. High on making out, no fear nor worry weighing you down. This is your night.

Bucky is hardly through the condo door when you feel him pick you up. He chuckles when you whimper. It feels like every romance novel you’ve ever read and every romcom you love have flooded into your world.

Slowly, he lowers to bury his face between your thighs. You cry out loudly, pulling his hair. He loves it, groaning as he adds suction. When you cum, your spine arches hard enough that you nearly fall from the shelf he perched you on.

Returning the favour, you slip to your knees and Bucky freezes like a statue. He lets you slowly uncover him, and holds his breath when you peer up through your own lashes.

“Don’t look at me that way, baby. Can’t handle it.” Bucky brokenly moans when you lick up the underside.

He has you stop again, collecting himself and challenging his own concerns. When he is certain, you make sure to blow his mind. The twists and licks and humming on his length make him come unhinged in a short amount of time.

Bucky releases over your breasts, painting you as his own. You smile when he tries to take care of you and clean you up after. As much as you’d like to continue, Bucky’s kisses turn so soft and adoring.

“I love you. I’m so grateful I’m yours.” Bucky sweeps your hair back and traces your features.

“I’m excited to be yours, too. Can I meet your cat? It’s not official until she likes me.” You tease him and enjoy the sparkle in his eyes at the thought. His two best girls, friends.

—

Pulling away from the sleeping brunette, you go to the bathroom. Bucky woke in the middle of the night, taking you roughly and speaking dirty in your ears. But the disconnect unsettled you.

Bruises are forming on your sides, hickeys on your breasts. They usually make you smile, but standing in the harsh light in the middle of the night, you have to wonder…

Why would Bucky speak Russian? Wouldn’t that be an off limits language to someone so traumatized? He was tortured and even forgot Steve, didn’t he? Could he still be dealing with that?

The door eases open, the only noise that indicates the man from your bed has stirred or come to see you. He is always silent, aware, and wanting you.

“Did I hurt you?” He touches the marks, and you blush at being fully naked in his view.

“No. I will always tell you if I am not enjoying something. But maybe we keep it somewhere I can cover with my scrubs,” you laugh.

Bucky nuzzles your neck again, squeezing you in his arms. His cool vibranium makes your nipples perk and your skin get goosebumps. You wouldn’t change it for anything.

“I need you next to me.” His voice is vulnerable and quiet. His eyes are dull and distant, like the other times. He’s lost in a world of his own torment.

“Of course. Any time you need me.” You sneak into bed together, slowly and softly.

Bucky lays back stoically, like he’s afraid you’ll take advantage of his admission.

“Why did you need me? I thought we had a lovely weekend?” You are curious what has made him feel touchy enough to request your support.

“Memories. I think. Wish they were nightmares, but they’re not. And you… when I saw you, I felt safe. It scares me to feel that way, but I immediately felt like you were my anchor. Need to wake up next to you, when the memories come.” His admission breaks your heart. Even his most genuine plea sounds like he is waiting for someone to whip him. Mask him. Put him back in line.

“Come here,” you crow. You curl in to him, and wrap his head in your arms.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after several minutes, just before he is ready for sleep. The way you hold each other is full of compassion and love. He is protecting you, and you are caring for him.

—

In the morning, Bucky seems utterly himself. He cooks, showers, and wakes you with breakfast in bed. Strawberries and pancakes have never been more delicious.

Steve calls him briefly, organizing their next assignment and how to lock up the condo. You drink a mimosa on the balcony, breathing the fresh air. It’s a perfect, beautiful day. Nothing could spoil it.

As you pack up, you collect the cribbage board and card games you’d both brought. They belong in a specific bag, which you browse to find as Bucky washes dishes.

It’s been kicked under the bed, so you pull out the carrier and see the board game from before, tucked further back. The one that made Bucky question you, and resulted in your painful time apart. You didn’t bring it here. Did Bucky?

You don’t want to make the drive home weird,
So you bury it under the rest of the games. Steve had taken it to inspect, and likely left it here when he and Natasha visited. It’s their place, and their frequent getaway between missions.

“Alright, pretty darling. Let’s get back home.”

You two sing clumsily to songs throughout the decades. You sigh when he likes a song your dad loves. He mentions he could imagine his sister singing to a Britney Spears song you share. It’s peaceful and perfect.

“And this is Alpine,” he tenderly explains as he picks up the cat. She is being picked up so he can take her back to his dorm.

“She is so pretty!” You admire her cream points and white fur. Her sharp blue eyes are deeper in colour than Bucky’s. They fix on you as she curls against his neck.

“Well, she’s not hissing. Big step for catkind.” Natasha smirks dryly as she shoos you all away. You like that she likes you. Natasha and the cat. With more time, you hope to be her best friend. Plots of treats and toys already dance in your mind.

To finish the long weekend, everyone is having dinner. You are nervous but excited to stay, feeling much more secure in your place at Bucky’s side. He can’t stop touching your side, the small of your back, or your neck.

Sam smiles every time he catches Bucky being soft on you. Tony scares you to death because he has a quick, quippy vibe and hates Bucky for reasons no one is saying. So Steve and Natasha puppy guard you two all night.

The team effort to let you and Bucky settle in is nice. As much as Sam tries to initiate you with a constant barrage of teasing, you kind of like him, too.

When games are over, Bucky is out of the table space and helping someone in another gathering room. Despite having a wonderful drive home, your brain has been putting pieces together. Questions have risen, and you’re nervous for the answers.

“Steve?” He turns to look at you, Sam following his gaze. “When Bucky got brainwashed and all that, is it possible it still really affects who he is? Like his personality?”

“What happened?” Sam replies first, a little too gruff. It startles you, validating your concerns.

“Bucky had a lot happen. He had to go to Wakanda, to have memories restored. Sometimes, those memories make him really upset, or confused, but if it were more than that, you’d let us know, right?” Steve gently tries to calm you down.

“Yes. Yeah. I would.” Except you’re not. Bucky hasn’t hurt you, he has been so loving and honest. He hasn’t scared you, nor pushed beyond your boundaries. He just seems… different, here and there.

When you leave the game room, Bucky is standing against the wall just outside of the door. He lets his whole face soften when he sees you, but you can’t tell what mood he is in. Soft lips plant on yours, then your forehead, as he walks you to the room.

“Have I frightened you?” He asks honestly, squeezing your hand.

“No. I’m worried more about you, than me. I know this can’t be easy.” If he had given you ‘unstable’ or ‘violent’ vibes, you knew to head out. Too many women were lost that way.

“Do you really understand who I am?” His warm voice is so unprotected.

“You’re Bucky. My Bucky. And I want to help, if I can.”

That answer makes his face drop, but he places your palm over his heart. His own palm moves over yours. All the strife and heartache in his life grows evident on his features, and he seems so tired.

“I really thought you knew.”

Chapter Text

“I really thought you knew.”

The words send a chill through you. He sounds so broken, you wonder what is going on.

“Bucky—”

“I’m not Bucky. I didn’t know I was Bucky until Steve stopped me years ago.” He detaches, explaining as if he has no emotional connection to any of this. “Barnes was young. He was terrified and they operated without medication. The first thing I can remember is that pain. That terror.”

Stunned, you remain silent and staring. He doesn’t continue, just stares at you, then away. It’s slow, like he is reading you methodically and trying to remain emotionally unscathed.

“This isn’t a villainous reveal. I didn’t take pleasure in what I did, all those years. I’m still someone, but I did what Barnes couldn’t do. There was never an option. There was never a moments hesitation, it would cost me, it would cost my assignments, and anyone else involved. So I did everything for decades. I had an entire lifetime.”

An entire lifetime of punishment, pain, training, and submission. His first memory being his arm removal. That was a life you couldn’t imagine.

“You could have chosen not to do it!” The accusation surprises you from your own mouth. But your brain is working a mile a minute.

“I could not even have chosen to die. They wouldn’t let me. What they put me through, you have to understand, there was no option.” He swallows hard, and you want to ask so many things. If you start questioning him, you fear it will hurt him.

“So, what is this? An alter? Multiple personalities?” You haven’t really seen them portrayed often. It’s frightening that Bucky hasn’t always been Bucky, when you’ve been with him. But he has always loved you, and been kind.

“I don’t know. Barnes still isn’t really aware of me. I know about him. I looked up everything I could, in Romania. At the museum. In textbooks. I have almost no memories between Wakanda and now. But I’ve seen you. I’ve shown back up when he withdraws the most.”

Your heart aches for Bucky. For this Soldier. If you think back, the times he was confused or different, he was likely nervous. The first time he slept over, the first time you saw his place. The morning after sex…

“Did you sleep with me?” You feel a little violated.

“Yes.” He seems guilty but honest.

“Why? How do I get Bucky back? I love him, and I love what we had. When were you here?” You second guess every cherished memory.

“I’m so sorry. You didn’t freak out, and you were so kind. I… I sort of thought we’d been together for a long time. I thought he told you. I’m so sorry.” Bucky backs further into his room, Alpine hopping onto the bed and meowing at him.

You remain silent again, trying to unravel the nightmare of flooding emotions.

Bucky… not Bucky? He lets you process, not moving closer. Steve and Sam approach, watching the two of you exchange in front of the door.

“Buck? What’s going on?” Steve watches you struggle to put everything into your mind.

“He didn’t know,” you defend before anyone can follow.

“What? What’s happened?” Steve looks to Bucky. The brunette sets his jaw, staring back.

“What do you guys know about split personalities?” You ask and slip your hand into his, certain he has never been anything but kind to you.

—

“Fascinating!” Shuri studies her findings after a scan. She is projected onto a screen, obviously looking between her computer screens and results.

“So… can you fix it?” Sam looks at your boyfriend.

“This could be helped, maybe. But I’m not a psychiatrist. Does Bucky know about the other one? He always just said it was brainwashing and memories.” She seems very curious.

The version of Bucky before you shakes his head. Nobody thinks Bucky is aware. Will it break him? He’s tried so hard to move on.

“Well, maybe he should find out. But gently.”

—

There is so much talk. A million plans, backups, rules, and questions are put forth. You aren’t allowed in to certain parts, so you sit alone in the lobby, or with Steve. He tells you stories about when Bucky saved him from bullies years ago.

Asleep on the couch of the lobby, Steve leaves you covered by a blanket. You didn’t want to go home. Bucky won’t want to go back to his room alone, after all this. Or Not-Bucky.

“What are you still doing here?” The cool, quiet voice wakes you instantly.

“I wanted to see you. Are you alright?” You reach for him, and he gently folds your hand into his.

“Please, sleep here. I’m not a threat.” He pleads to you.

“I will,” you assure. It doesn’t feel like he’s a threat. And as strange as it is, no one has voiced concern about you staying over.

“I won’t be me, by morning. I’m here because it scared him that you were talking to Sam and Steve about him.”

“What do I call you? Do you want a different name?” You realize you don’t know how to handle this at all. He’s still so… Bucky.

“I was just the Asset, the American. I had no idea there was more to me. The Winter Soldier.” Bucky sighs.

“Can I call you Winter?”

Slowly, he nods. It’s maybe not the most comfortable name, but you hope to give it a positive effect. Winter. He is cool and crisp and beautiful, like a winter eve.

“I thought you were like Tatyana. Sent to help them control me… to get my secrets.” He stays frozen in the bed, like he’s not allowed to touch you.

“Bucky told me you had someone, at Hydra. And she faked the relationship. I’m sorry.” You hug him, a little awkwardly. “How come you believed I wasn’t? You trusted me not to be an agent, and not to hurt you?”

The silence between you stretches, Winter obviously weighing his options on how to respond.

“I can’t access Bucky’s memories, we only have them because of what Shuri did to undo the trigger words and conditioning. But until he knows about me, I can’t access the new things. I just kept waking up to you. And you were soft, you felt safe. I didn’t trust you until the weekend.” He admits it with little care.

All the times he would say he didn’t know who he was, or asked what you wanted. He didn’t even recognize the bedroom, just saw a sterile room with a bed. Bucky must have been so nervous it cued the change.

“I found that game. Arranged the cards.” Winter admits to the event that freaked everyone out most.

“Why? That really scared everyone.” You stay close with him, not angry at all. Just puzzled.

“Because I wanted to see you. I was curious, and you felt so safe.”

That makes you cry. He has memories of betrayal and hurt and anguish and conditioning. Maybe youll have lists of questions for him, in the future. Right now, you snuggle in close and wrap him up, as he enfolds you.

You’d made him feel secure, probably for the first time. And you know it’s the first time no one is about to take advantage of his guard being down. It makes you both sit in silence together.

Waking up, you feel Bucky’s metal arm strewn across your body. Your head spins with the situation you’re in, but he sneaks an eye open before you can decide how to proceed.

“I’m gonna get used to this too fast. Might keep you here.” Bucky smirks as you stare fondly.

“After a year, you said.” You laugh when he playfully reaches your sides and gives a quick tickle for your sass.

“Maybe a year. I gotta go to an adoption event today. Wanna come?” He holds you sweetly, letting you mull it over.

Of course, you want to spend time with him after work. But you really don’t know how to act, after last night. So you pause a little too long and he frowns at himself.

“I can give you space. If I’m being too much, I get it. We just had a great weekend and I don’t want to let that go.” Bucky smooths your hair back and tries to read you.

“I had a wonderful weekend. And I love you, just let me see if I can handle a full day, okay? I have to work in an hour, and sometimes Mondays are nightmares.” You try to make him feel better without lying. Some sleep and some time to think would do you some good.

“Okay… yeah. Yeah, I’m just on a mission this week. Thought we could spend some time together before I left. But we can always get together when I’m back, if that’s okay.” He seems to have less excitement, now, and you feel guilty. Bucky should always feel safe and loved, when you’re here.

“I love you. This weekend was amazing, and I was thinking we could plan a trip. Maybe somewhere warm, since winter is coming.” You want him to know you want time together, and you plan on sticking around. “Maybe Spain? Or Mexico? I haven’t really travelled anywhere tropical so I don’t know!”

Bucky brightens back up, and kisses you soundly.

“I’d go anywhere, as long as I had you.”

Chapter Text

I’m worried someone will know before I do, what’s wrong.

There have been blips in my memory. Sometimes seconds, sometimes hours. Sometimes, it feels like I’m a passenger, or emotions come up in response to things that I don’t expect or understand.

This is the first time I’ve ever felt safe or supported, so I can’t tell why it’s happening now. Maybe it’s all my own special brand of self sabotage. Maybe I’m not as recovered as Shuri thought.

Everyone is acting strangely this week, and I’m convinced I’ve done something wrong.

“How about you stay off the mission. Sam wanted to go, and your girlfriend would probably like to join us all for a movie night or games.” Steve has never lied convincingly.

“Why is everyone being weird?”

“We’re not. We like seeing you happy with your lady and I like when you’re not sulking or snarking. So more bangin’ equals less frowny face. Make sense?” Sam interjects with glee just to step on my nerves.

“She has been weird, too. Only comes here to see me, we don’t go out any more. And she acts funny sometimes. Could she… would she be cheating?” The thought entered my head when I saw bruises on you, with hickeys.

At first, I worried I’d done it. But the way she hid them, and never mentioned them, I got anxious. After our weekend at the lake, I’d hoped she would spend more time.

Instead, she was suddenly reluctant. She stayed home when I invited her out. She started talking more about waiting to move in, or staying in to save money.

I feel… different. Sometimes. When we’re in bed, I feel that sensation I’ve only really likened to the distant memories of Tatyana. Something rough and carnal and, deep in my core, a little afraid. It makes me worry I’ll be too much, for such a normal and beautiful partner.

Touching her should make her feel like a treasure. The last time I actually remember having sex before her I was so young and free and foolish. I was waiting for someone who made me feel the way she does. Wasting her on anything like Tatyana scared me.

For a while, because of the strange emotions and memory troubles, I was sure she was just like the Russian woman. But everything checked out, and Sam cleared her. When I missed her, it felt like I missed her enough for two of me.

I thought we had got past this stage, though. I was certain she and I would be alright after we slept together. Everything was beautiful, patient, and gentle. Having control while feeling so incredible, made me certain I was okay.

But to suddenly hide, and be busy, and tap the brakes on what I’d discussed with her, scared me. Maybe I’d misread this entirely. Or I’ve done something I don’t recall. But mainly, I’d become certain she found someone better.

“No, she would never cheat. I really think you’ve found your girl, of things go well.” Sam is too cheerful in his support.

There are mornings I notice new bruises or spots on her that I’m sure I didn’t make. And this week, she hasn’t been open to sex. Not that it’s really come up, I’ve mostly been very fond of our banter and her sweetness.

I’m not stupid. I behaved poorly as a young man, but I didn’t cheat. I knew the signs, though.

The skills of the Winter Soldier have stuck with me, since regaining my memories. It would be easy to tap a phone, read her texts, or even find out where she goes when I’m not there. But that’s not what I want.

Since meeting her, I’ve felt secure and like I was simply born in the wrong century. I was always meant to be here, with her, with Steve, in the modern time where we can be friends with Sam and rescue dogs and fall in love. Where I can ask her to marry me someday because I love her, not because of social expectation.

She will make a beautiful wife. A great one, if she wants to be. I see a future for the first time, tangible and real. Until I feel like anyone is keeping anything from me, or like she is avoiding certain things.

—

The weekend after that is peaceful and harmless. While she doesn’t pursue sex, she is exceptionally sweet. Maybe I’m wrong, or maybe she’s trying to let me down easy. She still doesn’t talk about loving in, or the future, again.

That’s all I want to talk about. A taste of having a relationship where those possibilities and discussions were real is so new and exciting. I’d thought we might be love birds, singing to each other so much everyone can’t stand it. I had expected us to be care free and heart eyed.

“I’d love to see you Friday. I’m off missions, so my schedule is open, outside of volunteer hours. Maybe we could take the weekend?” I see her half smile and that gnarly twist of my gut happens again.

“Yeah. Uh, let me check what Steve had planned for Saturday. I think he invited me and you somewhere.” There it is again. A half truth. A lie.

“Why did Steve make plans for us? When did you discuss that?” I frown but wrap my arm around her. If these are the end days of what I thought was Hope, I want to bask in them. I’ll remember her softness, her sweetness, and the fact she brought me back to the old times.

“Last week, he mentioned you were helping with a training event. We said we would go, to support the charities. I really want to be a demonstrator, since I know nothing. It’s for self defence for women, and a segment on self defence and resources for homeless people.” She smiles and leans against me.

Good fucking causes. Ones I am so proud she would support. How could anyone so aligned like this, not performative but genuinely, be cheating? Yet I can’t ignore the fresh hickey on her neck, hidden just beneath her nape.

“Bucky, I love you. I am amazed by you, and proud of you, and I am so grateful I can help raise funds for good causes. Thank you, for proving good men exist.” She snuggles close, and I feel moved by her words.

But I also feel afraid.

“I love you, too. You’d tell me, if you wanted to do something else, right? I know I’m a lot to take on, if you changed your mind about things, I would understand.” I feel my heart climbing into my throat, a desperate urge to claw back all of my words throttling me.

She seems hurt by the possibility, and kisses me. Her mouth feels like love and home.

“I haven’t changed my mind. I just… I was swept up in how much I love you, and forgot about all the other factors. But let’s get through this weekend and we can discuss everything afterward? I’d still love waking up to you each day, when we are ready.”

I nod, trying to ignore everything else i feel, and believe her.

It’s hard to imagine letting go of how she makes me feel. It’s worse to consider that she would hurt me. The memories of Tatyana are emotional, but not fresh or raw to me. That was the last time I recall trusting, or believing in anything. She even discussed marriage and children, pretending we could have some idyllic life. But that hurt is old, a couple of decades between us.

—

Friday, everything feels normal again. She lays her head in my lap while we watch a movie. I rub her feet as she excitedly talks about history and theatre.

I feel my body flush when she sits on my lap. My right hand snakes to the small of her back, and her soft noise is heavenly. She kisses me from her perch, until her head falls back and her hips sink close.

That feeling like something else is going to take over has subsided, and I eagerly explore her skin. I just love her. We laugh a lot, and her touch feels as though it would never burn.

“Y’so damn pretty. So perfect in my hands.”

She loves to be praised. She keens when I am soft and take my time warming her up. I could tease her forever, just to study her responses. Every second she is happy or pleased or just feeling loved, I know I’m not the monster I used to be, I’m just hers. Being hers and her protector and her comfort could keep me alight for eons.

“Buck, you can let go. Use me. I swear, whatever you do, I’ll let you know if I like it.” She traces up my metal arm, guiding it up. I think she will move it to her breast, but she pushes it to her throat.

There’s no echoing feeling like the shadow of my soul could take over. But I’m still afraid.

Leaving my hand there, I don’t squeeze or lift it higher. We kiss, and I wonder if I’ve been too soft and that’s why she has possibly found another lover. Maybe she thinks I am too gentle and don’t possess prowess. I do.

Breathing, I make sure I don’t feel that side of myself anywhere. Then, I bite her lip hard enough that she gasps. My mouth moves to her skin as I remove her shirt and bra deftly.

I know she is wetter than ever, the instant I shove her panties aside. They’re soaked, she is soaked, and I take a lungful of the scent. I groan as she slides a condom onto my length, squeezing and pumping as she looks at me. She makes no complaint when I skip the ages of foreplay, sliding right inside.

Fuck, I am not even all the way in. She usually needs more warmup, to take all of me. But in two more thrusts, she falls onto me, split open on my length.

While she is a big fan of our love making, I am glad to have such a clear sign she is ready for more. It takes away that sickly worry that I might be doing too much, or might revert to who I used to be.

Trembling, she knots her fingers in my hair as I thrust upward and nibble her collar. My flesh hand moves back to her pulse, choking her in a fashion I know means she will be a little buzzed but not afraid or harmed. If there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s that I never did anything by accident.

“Please, Bucky. Oh, my god, yes.” She gasps when I let her breathe and she is flooding me with her wetness.

“Easy, little one. Need help staying quiet?” I allow my fantasies to run a little more freely than the vanilla safety of before. My thumb enters her mouth and she sucks it gratefully.

When I let her gasp for more air, I move my thumb to her clit as I help her increase the pace. After another minute of filthy whispers, I stand with her in my arms. I have yet to explore my own strength and how the serum can increase her pleasure.

Using her body weight, I continue fucking her as I move to the wall. She cries her pleasure when I bury myself impossibly deep, sucking my own marks into her skin, knowing I have to ask her about the others tonight or only get more hurt. At least, I’ll leave her completely used and completely claimed.

“Do you belong to me?”

“Yes,” she replies with her whole heart.

“You sure?” I stop, sliding out, hand on my base. I want to feel her slick walls. I got an implant to ensure I won’t have any accidents. We’re both clean, and even if she were cheating I can’t contract anything.

The sound she makes is otherworldly. She nods, practically screaming when I slam back in.

My body seems to sing. I know her— I know her soul is meeting mine and her body belongs to me. I know she is meant to be here.

“I love you. Stay. Please.” I beg but firmly grasp her, working her deep and rearranging her.

“Yes, Bucky. Always.” I feel her tighten around me, and I hear her stop breathing as her climax slams hard. I move faster, harder, knowing I have some innate knowledge of how much power I can use of my serum before I physically harm her.

She is without words, communicating only with carnal vocalizations. I work her down, before chasing my own pleasure.

Seeing her breasts bounce, and her chest flush, and her light headed fluttery eyes as I move my hand back to her neck, I’m entirely euphoric. She is perfection.

I’m finally myself.

I slam inside her, and feel her legs and arms pull me tighter and closer as I fill her to bursting. There’s so much of me to give, especially with the serum. Surely, she is all mine after this.

She’s still chasing aftershocks, rolling her body just like I am as the blinding ecstasy passes.

We curl up, in my bed, and I gently press pecks to her forehead. Tomorrow we are meant to see everyone, but tonight is for us. Everything will be fine.

Except I dream of my past again.

He has been watching me. I hate this part of myself. I hate how easily I stole lives and families and loved ones.

According to the memories of myself as the Winter Soldier, when I did resist, they would kill innocents before me. More vile people would take great pleasure in far more gruesome kills.

I knew I would be merciful in my clean, quick assassinations. I did not taunt, torment, or anything else.
When I tried to push it and decline assignments because I could fight most of the people they’d send to scare me, they started blowing up buildings. Hospitals. Homeless shelters. All to gain my compliance.

So it was safer just to do as I was told, do it silently, do it quickly, and do it better every time.

But instead of those memories, I simply feel the boring eyes of the version of myself I keep behind glass. I’m too afraid to speak, or to hear him. He just hovers, like a reminder of what I’ve done and who I’ve hurt.

I wake with a gasp when he gently unmasks himself, and I see that he is human. I’m human. I can’t make him a monster, not when the truth is in the mirror.

“Bucky?” She sits up and cups my face.

I can’t explain this to anyone. The raw, paralyzing agony of knowing I can never undo the hurt. As much as I try to other the Winter Soldier, my hands are dirty and my mind cannot cage him forever.

“You shouldn’t love me. I… I love you so much it hurts. And I keep believing we can have this future… you should be with whoever you’re seeing.” I find myself speaking rapidly and trying to guillotine the snake of shame.

“Seeing? Buck, are you still in a dream? I’m not seeing anyone but you.” She scoots close, soothing me with caresses. I always feel that touch starved, aching feeling dissolve when she does this.

“I see the marks. Marks I never put there. I… I understand if I’m too much. But I don’t want to be lied to. I don’t want to make you a cheater or a liar because you feel too guilty to leave.” I try to simmer down, and she holds me with her whole soul.

But she doesn’t argue. We sit in silence, and my heart breaks as I accept that she’s no longer mine. I’m not stable. I can’t give her the world, like I want.

“Bucky… I’m not seeing anyone else. You did give me these marks. I love you so much, and I didn’t understand what was happening. Not until recently. Steve and Sam were supposed to help…” she looks away like they might show up.

“What?” My brow furrows and I know this isn’t good.

“Winter. The Winter Soldier. I love that part of you, too.”

I feel nausea course through me.

“What? So you knew who I was? You came here because you are some sort of fan of his?” I struggle to see where she is going with this. No, I know she didn’t know. I know it.

“Bucky, have there been any gaps in your memory? Anything?” She seems near tears, lost on what to say.

How does she know about the lost time and memories?

My heart pounds with sickening thuds.

Before she can say anything else, I run. Just like I have every time I have to accept that I’ll never see a future within it my awful past.