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You love Bucky Barnes, and it is none of his goddamn business.
It’s not a small kind of love. It’s the love that lives in your eyes, searching every room to see if he’s there. Your hands that can’t help but linger when you’re allowed to touch him, every brush of his skin electric against yours.
It’s in the steam of the shower and your bedsheets, who know every fantasy you’ve made up in your head. All the ones where you’re allowed to be with him, and it makes sense, and your whole life doesn’t blow up horribly because your heart beats simply too fast at only the sound of his name.
“Do the tie again.” You tell him, standing in the doorway of his dressing room. Your palms are already sweaty. You blushed at the sight of him.
You need to get it together.
There are all kinds of these events. Valentina drags the team around to parade like her own person diamonds, and you make sure the diamonds don’t stab or shoot anyone while being paraded.
You’ve already confiscated three guns, two knifes, and John’s shield—which you told him not to bring five fucking times—and you haven’t even seen Yelena or Bob yet.
Bucky, of course, is making your life stupidly easy. He’s smuggled no weapons—although you look at his arms, and his chest, and he’s the weapon, and that shouldn’t make you feel so fuzzy—and he’d been waiting obediently for you to come in, hands on his hips and a small smile on his face.
“You look nice.” He offers, and you laugh.
“The handler at the zoo does need to look presentable for the show.”
Bucky’s lips twitch a little higher, and you point your pen at his neck.
“Tie.”
He grunts, and gets to work in a second. The tie was fine. He’s just too perfect, and you needed to find something wrong for your sanity.
“Are you just hovering?” He asks, watching you carefully, and you shrug.
“I’m wherever the night needs me to be.”
“Hm.” His tongue flicks over his lips, and he turns back to the mirror. “None of us like these things, you know.”
“I don’t like them either-“
“And sometimes.” He drawls. “They make us feel like meat-“
“Bucky.” You say firmly, and he meets your gaze in the mirror.
Drawls your name, an amused smirk on his face.
Your heart does a stupid little fumble, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Hard, to stop yourself from drooling.
The only person who must know about your… situation is Valentina. You don’t know how she knows. What she thinks of it. But she must be punishing you for being such a fool by making Bucky look like that.
Edible. The suit is too tight on his arms, perfectly fit on his torso, his hair long and soft and his eyes glimmering with teasing light, and you feel a little dizzy-
Bucky says your name, sounding a little more concerned this time.
You pinch your wrist behind your back—fucking get it together—and stand a little taller.
“I’ve talked to her.” You say lightly, glancing over your shoulder to check no one’s in the hall. “I can’t try again too soon, she’ll get angry.”
Bucky grunts. “Let her be angry-“
“No. Not-“ You take a steadying breath. “Angry, angry. Like If you can’t get them in line, I can start looking for someone who will.”
You echo Valentina’s words, a thin chill running up your spine. Bucky’s gone still, his hands hovering at his tie, and you wonder if he cares.
If the threat means nothing to him where it means the whole universe to you.
You need this job. You’ve worked for it, you survived brutal application process, the training period where the New Avengers were treating you like a rotten au pair they wanted to drive out of the house, the public scrutiny and surprising amount of foul press about your body, your hair, your personality and relationships.
Valentina threatens to fire you every month. You think it’s her way of saying she likes you.
But you’d gotten close to the team. They tell you their problems like you’re going to wave a magic wand and fix them, and you haven’t helped yourself by actually doing that.
From their point of view, they go to you and complain about something trivial. Alexei wants more missions in snowy areas, they remind him of Great Mother Russia. John needs everyone to stop calling his hat stupid. Ava thinks the tea in the kitchen tastes like ass, and would like it corrected, please.
Usually, you have to tell them to say please. The only ones who always say please are Bob and Bucky, and they barely ask for anything anyway.
But if you get that please, you wave a magic wand.
You research until you uncover a drug cartel in northmost Alaska for Alexei. You make threats and ambush column writers on the street for John, even run a fucking propaganda campaign to make his dumb beret come back in style. You rewrite a whole contract with the tea company for Ava, and barely get a thank you in return.
But you’re not magic. And even if you were, there’s one wish your magic wand can’t grant.
Changing Valentina’s mind.
Bucky had asked you to talk to her about the events. He asked because they send him for the big request, like he’s their fucking dad or something.
And you tried. You did.
Valentina said no. And her threat wasn’t a playful, look at how amazing I am for hiring you joke. It was real.
She won’t bend on it. And now you look at Bucky hopelessly, begging him to understand.
“I can try again in a few months.” You mumble, shifting on your feet. “But- Not now.”
“No, it’s fine. They’ll survive, but-“ Bucky frowns, turning around from the mirror. “Are you okay?”
You blink at him, a lump building in your throat. Something is stinging behind your eyes, your head spinning, and you nod weakly.
Bucky says your name, taking a step forward.
You take a step back.
You are not a damsel or foolish civilian girl for him to comfort. You are a grown woman, who can handle being in trouble with her boss alone. Bucky’s reaching out like he’s going to try and catch you, his eyes so strangely soft, and your stomach does a flip.
You don’t need his pity.
You don’t need him.
“I’m fine, James.” You snip, and Bucky’s hand freezes. “Fix your tie.”
“I- Uh-“ He glances down. “Already did?”
You shrug, raising your chin. “Then fix it again.”
You turn on your heels before he can say anything else, and march out of the dressing room.
It’s one of the rules you have for yourself. You’re not supposed to be alone with him. Not for more than ten minutes. Your hands get all sweaty, and he sees right through you, and it jeopardizes everything.
You can’t be in love with Bucky. You are, but you can’t be.
It puts your job at risk, and your job is your life. It’s getting you out of college debt, it gives you health insurance, it paid for your parent’s house and your sibling’s college, and soon it’s going to pay for you to have a home, which is almost unheard of in your generation.
Loving Bucky is a distraction. A pipe dream through a straw, flimsy and pointless. You will not risk your fucking life just so that the pretty, sweet, strong man will like you back.
Your dumb body and heart get all giddy in his presence, but you know better. You are better.
Love like this—mind numbing, world moving love—is for schoolgirls. You’re stronger.
Bucky does not need to be privy to the fact that you love him. He’s lucky he knows you like him. If you loved him a little less, you might’ve been able to pretend you didn’t care about his existence at all.
You’d tried that, when you felt the love start to bloom. There had been a whole week, where you ignored him entirely.
It had made you sick. Literally. You’d lost sleep and stopped eating, your thoughts entirely devoted to just missing him—his dry humor, his smile, his small, silent acts of kindness and his face, oh his face—and it had gotten so bad you’d called out with the flu by Friday.
Then you went to the doctor. And you didn’t have the flu. You just missed Bucky.
He’d visited you on Saturday, while you lay in your bed like some Shakespearian heroine, lamenting and tormented by your devotion. He brought you soup, his Ma’s recipe, because he hates you.
“Can I ask you something?” He’d said while you devoured the soup straight from the container, your stomach deciding to cooperate in his presence.
You’d hummed around a noddle, and his lips had twitched.
In the light, he’d been looking at you like you mattered to him. Like you were cute.
Bucky’s hand had flexed on the mattress, as you blinked up at him. He’d looked away, tongue darting over his lips, and spoken low words.
“Did I do somethin’ to you?”
You’d choked on a noodle. “What?”
“Just- before you got sick. We hadn’t been talking.” He’d sighed. “You left the room, when I walked in. And if I did somethin’, that make you uncomfortable or whatever, I’m sorry.”
That had been the moment. The out. If you were smart, you would’ve told him you needed space, or that he did make you uncomfortable, and it was best if you just didn’t speak for a while.
But he’d looked so sad. Almost nervous, his lips in a tight line and a flush on his ears.
So you’d shaken your head.
Because you’re weak, and so in love with him it’s pathetic, and if he asked you’d open up the sky with your bare hands, no please required.
“No. We’re okay.” You’d offered him a small smile. “Just really wasn’t feeling well.”
Bucky had nodded, and grinned. The kind of grin that lit up in his eyes and make your whole chest sing with delight. You made him happy. You made him smile.
“Alright. Good.” He’d kissed your sweaty brow, and lightning had sparked through your body.
You’d leaned into the touch, just barely.
Bucky, by a small mercy, hadn’t noticed at all.
“Feel better, doll.” He’d said before he left, his tone something close to tender and hopeful.
You had within the hour.
It had been the last straw.,
You were in love with him. There was no outrunning it or stomping it down. But you don’t stay alone with him for too long. You don’t give him special treatment. You tell no one, and deny any accusations.
Jealousy isn’t allowed. He’s not yours to be possessive over.
That doesn’t stop the sting, as you watch him talk to some rich lady across the room. She’s dressed like a bird, all feathers, her lips more like a beak, long nails like talons. You fight off a sour expression, when she reaches up to brush something from his shoulder.
There’s nothing there. You pressed his suit, and he’s a clean man.
You could rip her talons off her fingers and feed them to her. That would be a nice lesson.
That you’re not allowed to teach.
He’s not yours.
You turn back to the bar, taking a heavy breath through your nose and ordering another drink. The only upside of these parties is that you’re allowed to get wasted. You’ve got the team trained on good behavior, the worst that happens anymore is Alexei trying to grab the band’s microphone so he can tell a story. You can handle that drunk or sober.
Right now, it’s going to need to be drunk. When you turn back to watch the party, Bucky’s still talking to the bird.
You down your glass in one gulp, and push off the bar. You won’t fall into this trap. It’s not her fault she got his attention. Not his fault he’s entertaining it.
It is entirely your fault, for daring to look and letting your heart tell you he’d stay silently loyal to a love he doesn’t even feel in return.
You glide through the crowd, putting as much distance as you can between yourself and them. You can get through this. You’ve done it a million times before, and you’ll do it a million times again.
“You’re allowed to have fun at these, you know?”
You sigh, giving Yelena a flat look.
She materialized at your side. You’ve gotten used to it.
“I am having fun.”
That gets an amused smirk. “You look like someone kicked your puppy.”
“I’m tired-“
“We are all tired. That is why we drink.” She clinks her glass against yours. “But you are sad drunk. Be happy drunk.”
“I’m trying.” You grumble under your breath, taking another large swig, and Yelena laughs.
“You know what your problem is?”
“No.”
“You are angrier than Barnes at joy.” She points Bucky out in the crowd, and you bite your tongue until it bleeds.
You never lost track of him in the crowd. You don’t think you could if you tried. But it still feels like you’re being ripped open, to see that he’s letting the bird touch him. She’s tracing her finger over his tie, tilting her head and smiling like a wolf ready to eat him alive, and you’re going to fucking throw up-
“At least he is letting loose.” Yelena hums, and you force your face back into an indifferent mask. “Even if it is with a woman dressed like a duckling.”
You choke on your drink, covering your mouth with your hand. Yelena looks up at you with delight in her eyes, watching you try to wipe the bit of champagne that escaped your lips.
“She laughs! I have never seen you laugh, it is weird. Disturbing-“
“Shut up.” You mutter, wiping the last drops from your cheek. “You’ve heard me laugh before.”
“Have I? I think I would remember the witch experiencing joy.”
“I am not a witch-“
“You are magic and mean.”
“I’m not mean-“
“Not to us.” Yelena shrugs, grabbing some cheese off a wandering server. “But to everyone else. Bucky Barnes says you tried to talk to Valentia about these dummy parties.”
You swallow. “I did, but- Yelena-“
“It is okay. He says you tried, and though he is untrustworthy fool, I believe him.”
You nod, taking the cheese Yelena’s offering you, then frown. “Bucky’s not untrustworthy-“
“No. About most things.” She takes her cheese in one bite, speaking through the mouthful. “He will not be going home with duck-woman tonight. We will see you in the morning?”
“You’ll see me in an hour, I’m going back to the Watchtower with you-“
“Hm. No you are not.” Yelena smiles knowingly. “Turn on your location. It is safer.”
You gape at her, unable to get another word in before she’s walking away. You don’t know why you’re surprised she knows. Of course she does. She’s Yelena.
But it makes your fingers curl on your glass, your eyes darting back to Bucky and the duck.
She’s draped herself over him, cooing and batting her eyelashes. He’s barely looking at her at all.
Bucky’s scanning over the room, a tight frown on his face. Then, for a split second, your eyes meet.
You rip your gaze away, downing what little was left of your champagne. Yelena was right.
There’s no way you’re going home tonight.
Some would call it unhealthy. You call it a survival technique.
“Another one?” The bartender asks you as you return, nodding to your empty glass.
You smile and giggle, leaning over the counter, making your voice all airy and high. “You remember me?”
The bartender’s smiler widens, and you twirl your hair.
He’s nothing bad to look at. Rich skin and deep, gentle eyes. Nice, thick arms. Short hair. Smells like some thick, amber cologne that won’t give you a migraine.
He’ll do just fine.
By the time he’s done, you’ll still be thinking about Bucky. You’ll probably picture him, as this sweet bartender fucks you like an animal. You’ve gotten good at not calling Bucky’s name, too, so you can probably squeeze out two or three rounds.
It’s a band-aid on some internal bleeding. It’s a show that fixes nothing, but at least the illusion makes everyone else see what you need them to.
You don’t care about Bucky at all.
And you certainly don’t look for him one more time before the bartender takes you home.
The bartender is the latest in a long, long line. It’s nothing you’re ashamed of, nothing you bother to hide.
Even if only Yelena will say it, the rest of the team certainly knows. Fuck, even Valentina and Mel know. Last summer you went to a conference, and Mel joked that you’ll tear your way though half the crowd before midnight.
“Do you think I’m some kind of slutty Cinderella?” You’d joked, and she’d smiled.
“Is it bad if I say yes?”
You’d laughed it off, and you know those kinds of jokes are supposed to hurt, but it’s barely even a paper cut. You know why you sleep around, and if people think you’re just a whoreing man-eater, there’s more power and mystique than being a starry-eyed, lovelorn idiot over one old man.
The system works. You fuck around, and no one even thinks you might be interested in romance.
In a life with Bucky, where you roll over and he’s always on the other side of the bed. Where morning sex is slow and loving, drizzled in honey and adoration, rather than just one more quick fuck before you march out the door.
He’d be soft. Gentle. You’ve seen how he handles fragile object, how he arranges everything so meticulously and touches everything he finds important with such care.
You’d like to be something he finds important. You’d like to be the most important thing in his life. His doll, smiling at him and leaning your chin on his shoulder, listening to all his problems and sitting in his lap to whine about your own. Finding yourself under him in bed with your arms pinned up, giggling while he kisses all over your neck then gasping when he moves to your breasts.
That’s the move Bartender pulled last night. And it felt fine. Nice enough. You’d moaned a little louder than you needed to—only slightly over-performing—but you really hadn’t hated it. Hadn’t hated him.
Eventually, you’d gotten sick of it and flipped him over. Pinned his hands and rode his cock until you came with a tiny, pleasant shiver, then jerked him off until he stained your tits.
“Call me later?” Bartender asks, and you give him a sweet smile, looking up from your shoes.
“Sure. Bye!”
“Wait, you don’t have my number-“
You’re already out the door. Fixing the straps of your dress as you walk down the hall, calling your ride without a glance back.
Nobody says anything when you get back to the tower. Alexei high fives you, but that’s the only reaction at all.
Bucky isn’t there, though.
Why isn’t Bucky there.
“Where’s Barnes?” You say, causally as possible, and John grumbles.
“Thought being the keeper was your job, not ours-“
“He’s in the gym.” Ava drawls over John. “He’s been there all morning.”
You nod, grabbing your coffee, and mutter that you’re going to go get changed. You’re not going to check on him wearing the clothing. He’s not your top priority.
That’s the whole illusion.
You take a long, hot shower, and the Bartender really was good, but you’re still aching.
You’re thinking about Bucky.
About him in they gym all morning. How even a super soldier gets sweaty after a while, even if he doesn’t lose stamina. How he’s going to be panting and grunting, his hair stuck to his brow and neck, maybe his shirt will be off and you’ll get to see his broad, thick chest-
Your fingers had wandered between your thighs, and you’ve pressed yourself back up against the wall. Angled your hips up, your legs spread shamelessly wide, short moans falling from your lips as the water pelted against your clit. You slide two fingers in and out of your pussy, picturing Bucky in the shower with you.
“Needy fuckin’ baby.” He’d murmur in your ear, body folded over yours. “You’d be soaked without the water, wouldn’t you. Ready for me when I so much as look at you, my perfect little slut-“
You moan him name into the shower, and the Bucky in your head chuckles.
He’d graze his lips over your jaw, crook his thick fingers deep inside your weeping cunt, start to brutally rub on that gummy, sensitive spot. You’d call his name again and he’d kiss you, rough and deep, and your legs would give out as you came all over his hand-
You slump down to the floor, turning your head to avoid the fall of the water. Your clit throbs, your body still shaking, and you squeeze your eyes shut.
Fantasies help too. The tend you over, stop you from doing something stupid.
But they can be dangerous too. Because you get dressed and go to find Bucky—which is normal, because it’s your job—and find him twice the mess you pictured.
He’s shirtless alright. Shirtless and wearing loose shorts. There’s a feralness, to the way he’s punching the bags, a wild glint in his eyes and his hair flying around his face. He hasn’t even bothered to put it up, and with how his chest is heaving, he’s been at this a while.
All morning. Ava said.
You swallow the drool, letting your eyes rake over his flexing muscles, his shining skin, his sharp, clenched jaw. Christ, how you’d like all that brutal attention turned on you. He could throw you around like that punching bag, rearrange your guts and grab you until you bruised, just as long as he kissed the bruises after.
You’re supposed to be doing your job.
Just for today, you let yourself stare for more than a second before dragging yourself together and clearing your throat.
Bucky catches his punching bag, turning to you immediately. You smile at him, and his jaw flexes.
“You’re home.”
“Obviously.” You shrug, glancing at the bag. “Ava says you’ve been here all morning.”
He grunts, releasing the bag and slowly pulling off his gloves.
Bucky never wears gloves. Not when it’s just a workout. You’re surprised the bag isn’t broken.
“Couldn’t sleep.” He mutters, and you frown.
“Nightmares? I can get another appointment with Dr. Indira-“
“No. The meds are fine. Just-“ He sighs, giving you an unreadable look. “Couldn’t sleep.”
You blink at him, tilting your head slightly. Bucky’s spent years getting back to a tolerable sleep schedule. You helped with every appointment, with every new med and strategy. It took months to get right, and if it’s not working anymore-
“I’m fine.” Bucky repeats firmly, and you scowl.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Could hear you thinking, doll.”
You stick your tongue out, digging your nails into your arm. “Shut up.”
He chuckles dryly, unhooking the bag from the ceiling. “You back for the day?”
“I’m always back for the day, it’s my job-“
“You weren’t doin’ your job last night. Maybe you’re seein’ the guy again.”
You flush at that, turning your chin up to hide it. When Bucky turns to look at you, you glare at him, and his mouth twitches.
He raises his brows in silent challenge. You can’t help yourself. It’s Bucky giving you the bait.
“I don’t see people twice. You know that.”
He snorts. “Yeah. I do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean-“
“Nothin’. I’m agreeing with you-“
“You didn’t say it like you were agreeing with me.” You snap. “You said it- You- Yeah. I do.”
You drop your voice to mimic his sardonic, dismissive tone, and Bucky gives you a look of almost mocking delight.
“You’re not good at impressions, are you?”
“I’m not- You just said it like an asshole-“
“You think I’m an asshole?”
“I think you’re like an asshole.” You sneer, and Bucky’s grin widens.
You don’t know what’s gotten into him this morning. You’ve been sleeping around for almost two years now. If he had a problem with it, he’s never so much as glared at you after.
He’s barely even looked at you. Everyone else teases or lets it go, but Bucky doesn’t even turn your way. Because you’re nothing but a friend to him, just like he’s supposed to be to you.
But now he’s taking a large step forward, looking at you with a strange glint in his eyes that makes your heartrate jumpstart. You take heavy breaths through your nose, trying to keep it together. You can keep it together.
Even with Bucky towering over you, all muscle and intense, blue eyes, you have to keep it together.
“That hurts my feelings, doll.” He mutters, leaning slightly down.
You’re not touching, but you can feel the heat rolling off his body. It’s almost an aesthetic, making your head empty and mouth hang slightly open.
Keep it together.
“Then stop being like an asshole.” You manage to snap. “And I’ll stop hurting your feelings.”
He laughs again, a low, deep sound that lights a fire in your gut. “Wouldn’t it be nice, if it were that damn easy.”
You blink at him, for once completely lost in the conversation. “What?”
“Nothin’.” He shrugs, leaning in a little closer.
His breath is warm and minty on your face. He takes up your whole vision, demanding every ounce of your attention, and all you can try to do is keep your breathing steady. Bucky’s eyes rake over your body like an inspection, landing near your throat.
On a hickey, you’d forgotten to cover with makeup.
You open your mouth to make a lame excuse, but he’s already moving.
Bucky reaches up his metal hand, and drags his thumb over the mark. Over your collarbone, then your sternum, then your neck. His touch is feather light and taunting. Your breath catches, your eyes fluttering against your will. Bucky hums, his hand wrapping fully around your throat. Your body reacts like a magnet, leaning into the touch.
He drags his attention back to your slack, hopeless face, your parted lips and glossy eyes.
His hand is just resting on your throat. His tongue darts over his lips, but you can’t imagine what he’s thinking. Why he’s doing this to you, when he’s never once looked at you like he is now.
Like you’re something tantalizing he needs to taste.
Like he’s hanging onto himself by a thread, and isn’t sure if his grip will slip before the string just snaps.
You try to say his name, to make him realize what he’s doing. How close he’s gotten, how your knees are threatening to give, if he doesn’t look away now. But it just comes out a shaky exhale, and Bucky looks hungrier.
Bucky doesn’t do this kind of thing. Not to you. He’s your friend—you cling so desperately to the fact that at least he’s your friend, at least he doesn’t hate or desire you, at least you’re the only one being broken—but now his breath is fanning over your flushed face, his eyes blown out like he’s just as stranded in the dark as you are, his fingers digging into the nape of your neck like he’s trying to leave a mark.
All you’d have to do is lean a little forward and your lips would meet. Every secret fantasy—in the dead of night, until the shower so even the walls don’t hear your shame—would be real.
You can’t let this be real.
Bucky’s eyes flick down to your lips. His nostrils flare, moving slightly forward until your knees and chests bump.
With every bit of resolve you’ve got, you move a hand up to his chest.
He goes rigid. Frozen like he’s waiting for you to shove him or drag him closer. Your fingers curl in the cloth of his shirt, as his grip slackens on your neck.
“Bucky…” You whisper, not even sure what you’re begging for.
He makes the hard choice for you.
Bucky lets go of you, stumbling back as if repelled. He frowns, blinks at you once, then just… leaves.
Walks out of the gym without another glance in your direction, swaying and stranded in the room.
Alone. Just like you wanted.
The air around you so, so cold.
You don’t stop thinking about it.
A week passes. Work resumes like normal, and Bucky behaves as if nothing happened at all.
Technically it wasn’t anything. Nothing HR would care about, at least. In a workplace of assassins and mercenaries, getting choked is more of a don’t be such a fucking pussy thing.
Which isn’t amazing legally. But Bucky didn’t hurt you. If you’d shoved him, you’re sure he would’ve let go.
But you hadn’t shoved him. He’d just stared at you with that look—the one now seared into your memory, that makes your thighs press together and thoughts work overtime—then left.
On missions he’s treating you the same as ever. Small grins and low, sarcastic jokes that make you both smile. Once in the kitchen he taps your shoulder and passes you tea without a word. John walks in a second later, shouting about how he wants a better parking spot—which is ridiculous, you don’t have parking spots, it’s a limited garage with two hundred parking spots and like eight people who use them—and Bucky puts a firm hand on your shoulder before you can stand up and start fixing it.
“Make him ask.” He mutters, low enough for only you to hear. “You gotta start makin’ them say please.”
You snort, breaking off a piece of your muffin. “You ever teach a toddler raised by wolves manners?”
He frowns. “Children don’t get raised by wolves-“
“They do in stories.”
“What stories-“
“The Jungle Book. Phineas and Ferb, but- Those are ocelots.”
Bucky hums, tongue flicking over his lip. “Y’know I met an ocelot once-“
“You met an ocelot-“
“In 19… 86?”
You snort. “Old man.”
“Shut up.” He nudges your knee with his, and the whole world stops for a second. “But yeah, I met one. Reminds me of someone.”
“Yeah?” You give him an expectant look, and he smirks.
“Walker.”
You giggle.
Like a fucking ditzy idiot, you giggle, and John cuts off his rant to look at you like you just vomited.
“What was that sound.”
“She laughed, John.” Bucky says dryly, taking a long drink of his coffee, and John frowns.
“No, I’ve heard her laugh, she laughs like a swamp witch-“
Your mouth falls open. “I do not-“
“Yes, you do, it’s all-“
“Walker.” Bucky grunts, giving John a silent, firm glare.
John scowls. “Whatever. Stop flirting with her so she can fix my damn parking spot.”
You flush, the usual biting tactic not working at all. Beside you, Bucky doesn’t even talk. He excuses himself as soon as John starts asking why Yelena’s scooter even needs a spot over his bike, leaving the space next to you just as empty and cold as before.
He probably just didn’t want to listen to John. You don’t either, you’re just being paid a disgusting amount of money that depends on going to Yelena and buying her five cakes in exchange for her moving her scooter five feet to the left.
Bucky might’ve already forgotten about the gym. Everything would be easier if he did. No complex conversations or dynamic. Just your livelihood safe, and Bucky not thinking about you.
Which is fine. Everything, as always, is perfectly fine.
You go out that weekend. There’s a club several blocks over where you know the bartenders and you usually get free drinks. You just need to not be in the tower. To not be near him, and remember that you are, in fact, capable of surviving silent love.
“You’re dressed up.” Bucky mutters as you stand at the elevator, and you laugh.
“Look at you, being observational.”
You only get a grunt in return.
“I won’t be out late,” you sound like a fucking mom, sliding on your heels and giving instructions about how to care for four grown adults. “Bob might forget where his meds are, in the new spot-“
“Top right cabinet.” Bucky mutters, and you nod.
“Don’t let Yelena drink coffee past seven, she’ll be up all night. Switch her to tea. If Alexei is looking for me, tell him I rented all the movies on the TV, and tell John I ordered his gun part-“
“We’ve got an event tomorrow.” Bucky says suddenly. “Save the seals. In Philly. We gotta leave early-“
“No, we don’t.” You grab your bag, not looking him in the eyes.
That always makes you want to stay. Forgetting Bucky—the point of this whole thing—is impossible when you look in his stupid, beautiful eyes.
“I got us out of it.” You tuck your phone in your bag, rolling out a crink in your neck. “And it was Save the Sea Lions.”
Bucky doesn’t respond. You usually don’t let yourself look back, but then he says your name.
“What time are you gonna be home?”
You swallow. His eyes are shining on yours. There’s a pull in your chest, that hurts to ignore.
But you’re good at it. And if you drink enough, you won’t be able to feel it at all.
“I don’t know.” You shrug. “Don’t wait up.”
You turn and walk away. He can’t be allowed to call you back. You’d always return to his side.
The night is just as awful as you expect. You drink too much, and find someone with blue eyes that can artificially feed the love ringing in your ears. It’s under the beat of every song, and on the tip of your tongue as they fuck you into a mattress.
You leave long before dawn, and far after midnight. Call a car and fix your hair in the backseat, like anything matters at all.
When the elevator dings, you touch the wall to keep yourself walking steady.
There’s a lamp on, in the living area. You poke your head in to check it’s not Bob.
It’s not.
It’s Bucky.
He looks you up and down, taking in the disaster like it’s a book. You smile at him. He doesn’t smile back.
His eyes land on a hickey near your jaw. His tongue flick, his brows knit.
And you thought you were good. That even after the gym, you were good.
But Bucky stares at you like you’re nothing. Not gutter trash or a buzzing fly.
Just thin air he’s trying to look right through.
He turns off the light, and walks past you again. Your shoulders brush, and the world shakes.
And you’re alone again. Which isn’t the end of the world.
Your heart is doing this strange, boiling roll about how it is the end of the world. Burning and howling like you’re flaying it alive, when it is perfectly fine.
Everything, even as your chest starts to absorb that cold, hollow space, is fine.
It’s not fine on the roof.
Everything is all in it’s perfect place, and then… the roof.
You go up there to listen to the city. To lean over the edge and watch the lights blink, and wonder if you’re really this small. It’s where you get dramatic, and listen music and pretend you’re important. Where you cry when you need it, your tears carried away in the wind. Where you whine to the sky about how much you love Bucky, and how pathetic it is, then go back inside and go about your business.
It’s a good thing you hadn’t quite gotten to that last stage yet, when you heard the door close behind you.
That’s where everything started to crumble apart.
Bucky says your name, and you glance over your shoulder, not hiding your surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He shrugs, holding up his phone. “Called three times.”
“Oh. No service-“
“Yeah, figured that out.” He stops at your side, leaning over the wall. “But you’re here.”
“I’m here.” You pause. “Where did you think I was?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did you need something-“
“Not really.”
“Bucky-“
“Just wanted to know where you were.” He mutters, glaring out at the city. “Didn’t know that was a crime.”
You don’t have anything to say to that. You try, opening and closing your mouth, but everything you can think of is mean. You don’t like being mean to Bucky, not when something in the air feels raw. Looking at his shoulders, it’s like he’s about to snap. You want to help. To make it better for him.
For this, you’re not sure how.
“You like it up here?” He asks, and you nod.
“I- I like seeing the people.”
“Course you do.” He mutters, dragging his gaze up to the sky.
“Wha-“
“There used to be more stars.” He cuts you off, brows knitting tight. “You woulda liked that too.”
You stare at him. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was drunk. “I like the stars now just fine. All three of them.”
That gets a low laugh, even if he shakes his head. “Nah. In the 40s, it was different. You woulda loved that.”
“The 40s? Where I would’ve been property-“
“Not that part, but- The sky. The water was cleaner, the air-“ He sighs, looking back down to the city. “Never mind. Forget it.”
You swallow, trying to make your voice softer. “Do you ever want to go back?”
“To the 40s?” He snorts. “Fuck no. There are just- Some things. That I think that you would’ve liked.”
“Oh.” You watch his jaw clench in the dark, fidgeting with your fingers. “What would Yelena have liked?”
Bucky shrugs. “I dunno.”
You blink, lost for words again. Bucky takes over the silence first.
“You really never see any of them twice?”
“Any- Huh?”
“Your… people.” He clarifies, a bitter look on his face. You frown.
“My hookups?”
He grunts, and you shake your head.
“No? I don’t even get their names.”
“But you fuck them?”
“Oh- Um-“ You flush, looking back out to the city. “Yeah?”
“Hm. Seems unsafe.”
“I share my location with Yelena, and I’m pretty sure Valentina put an implant in me, so I think I’m safe.”
It’s a joke. Bucky doesn’t laugh. “Why don’t you bother to date ‘em?”
You feel his gaze burning into you. It’s hard to speak in an even voice. “I- I don’t know-“
“They gotta have something for your attention.” He mutters, but it sounds like it’s mostly to himself. “The hell are they doing that isn’t up to your bar? What is up to your bar?”
It’s impossible not to look at him now. His gaze is demanding, and your heart starts to flutter under the attention.
“Why do you care?” You try to snap. It sounds weak.
Bucky chuckles to himself. “Why do I care, doll? You got the fix for everything.” He leans a little forward.
Your lips are inches away. His forearm is pressed against yours, and the sky is so big over your head but it’s all narrowing down.
It’s Bucky. Just Bucky. So close, closer than before, close like he wants to be touched. Like that could be allowed.
His eyes shining on yours in the dark.
His voice, deep and mocking and enchanting you like a bee to flowers.
“What’s my fix for this?” He looks back to your lips, his tongue flicking out. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do, ‘cause I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind.”
You stare at him, voice small. “Bucky, I- I don’t know what you’re talking about-“
“I know.” He sighs. “Just- Tell me no.”
“No-“
He reaches up, thumb brushing over your lips, and your whole head goes quiet.
“Tell me to walk.” He mutters, gaze dragging back to yours. “Now. Please.”
You should. If your brain was working, it would’ve given him what he wanted.
But every thought but Bucky has left the building. And now it’s just your heart, singing his name.
You kiss him. It’s a movement like a wave, rising up until your lips are comfortably pressed together, every movement so natural you’d think you’d kissed a million times before.
Bucky cups your face, return every bit of passion in a second. You melt into him, your bodies moving like you were made for this, the heat spreading from his touch and taste straight to your core.
You grind forward, and Bucky moans your name.
It flips a switch. You’re not just a flame, kindled and alight in his arms.
You’re not supposed to do this.
You pull back, and Bucky freezes. You open your mouth, trying to find an apology, to beg him to convince you that this is a good idea.
But Bucky just lets you go.
You both stare at each other. You take a small step closer, asking him to catch you.
It’s not fine. You can’t breathe, if he walks away. You’re supposed to be stronger than that, but the world is going to fucking end, if Bucky leaves you here alone again.
“Why.” He rasps, and you shake your head.
“Bucky-“
“If you’re not- If this isn’t what I’ve been reading-“
“No, it’s-“
“You kissed me-“
“I know-“
“And you-“
“I know!” You scream, taking a stumbling step back. “I know, Bucky, I know- I just can’t!”
“Can’t what?” He takes a step forward. “Just tell me you’re not interested, I told you I’d walk-“
“But-“ Your hands wring, unsure what to do if they’re not allowed to touch him. “I don’t want you to walk.”
“But you shoved me-“
“I know.” You whisper. “I’m sorry.”
Bucky just stares at you, and you bow your head, hugging your chest tight. He’s going to walk. This time, he’s going to walk away-
“Can you give me the reason?” He mutters, and when you risk a look up, he’s hunched into himself like a kicked puppy. “I mean- I can try and help work it out, maybe change something-“
“No, it’s not-“ You swallow. “You don’t need to change anything Bucky.” Tears prick at your eyes. “You’re perfect.”
He nods, then mutters, “But you don’t want me.”
“I just- It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, looking up to the sky before you speak. “I’m negotiable, okay. I worked really hard to get where I am, and I- I’m not like you. Valentina can find another version of me, who doesn’t fall in love with her superheroes, and then everything- everything- That I have worked for is gone.”
You give him a pleading look, begging him to understand.
Bucky looks like you shot him. You don’t realize why until it’s too late.
“You love me?” His voice is rough, and your heart drops to your stomach.
“I- That’s- That wasn’t my point-“
“But you do-“
“I’m trying to say I shouldn’t-“
“But you do.” He mutters. He says it like it’s a miracle, and not your greatest curse. “You love me.”
“Well, don’t fucking say it like that.” You snap. “Of course I- You’re you.”
“And you’re you.” He counters, taking a step forward.
Your legs can’t seem to will themselves to step back. “Yeah. That’s my whole point-“
“It’s allowed.” He mutters, and you blink.
“What?”
“Us. Dating.” His eyes might be searing into your soul. “I checked.”
“Oh- Okay.” You frown slightly. “Why did you check?”
“Because.” Bucky’s hovering over you again. Both of you clear under the open sky, the heat from his body radiating onto yours, his hand slowly rising up to trace your waste. You want to murmur his name, but you can’t remember how words work.
Again, it’s all just Bucky.
“I can’t survive another hour.” He mutters, tracing a hand over your face. “Pretending I don’t need you like oxygen.”
Your mouth falls open. Bucky presses closer.
“It kills me, doll. Bein’ your friend kills me, ‘cause I’m lucky you’re just nice enough to pretend we’re better than a pack of feral animals with muscles and powers, but then you’re strong and kind and always so goddamn pretty, and I’m your friend but you’re my whole damn world.”
“Bucky-“
“I don’t ask you for anything.” He mutters, leaning down until your lips brush. “’Cause there’s nothing I want from you that I got any right to have. I want all your smiles, doll. Those cute snorts and glares, when you’re sad and hide it like it’s not making the whole place feel wrong, when you’re getting lost and you need someone to hold onto, hold onto me. Anything you need, I’d get. Anything. I’ll even let you keep fucking around with all that asses that can’t keep you satisfied for more than a night, if that’s what you need. But,” he drops his brow against yours, voice thick. “I want your mornings. Please.”
You can’t think enough to speak. If you do, you’ll break the moment and you want it to last forever.
“We can keep it secret.” He’s sinking down. Getting on his knees. “Or if Valentina threatens to sack you, I’ll threaten to walk. Just-“
“Bucky.” You whisper, because there’s only one answer you can give.
He stares at you desperately, your fingers combing through his hair. You’re tired of being alone.
And his body, pressed against yours is so warm.
“Okay.” You whisper, and his throat bobs.
“Okay?”
You nod, and smile.
Bucky smiles back.
And you’re under open sky, but you don’t really care who knows.
You fall into him, just as he rises into you. And this is even better than the kiss. This is hungry. Urgent and made of a fever you’re finally just letting sweep you away.
Bucky grabs at your hips, one arm sliding around your back as the other cradles the back of your head. Your arms wrap around his neck, your leg hiking up to his hip, and your kisses are urgent and sloppy. Open mouths pressed over each other, tongues tangled together with moans, Bucky’s hand dropping to your ass as your nails dig into his neck.
He squeezes, and you can’t stop the moan. Your fingers scramble to tangle in his hair, and he grunts at the pull, picking you fully up off the ground.
He’s getting hard, against your core. You grind down, trailing kisses over his jaw and trying to spur him into action.
Bucky moans in your ear, squeezing your ass again.
“Doll, you’re startin’ something-“
“Good.” You whisper, nipping at his throat. “Want it. Want it so bad, Bucky, wanted you forever-“
He groans, grabbing your jaw and slamming your lips back together. You make a high noise of delight, grinding faster and faster, the fractured pressure winding you tight like an electrical coil about to snap.
Bucky stumbles blindly back to the door, his mouth never fully leaving yours. His grip on you is possessive, and he stops every few feet, to kiss you deeper, squeezing your ass again. His hand slips further down, his fingers brushing over your core through your pants, and you whine into his mouth.
You barely make it into the stairwell.
Bucky kicks the door closed behind you, pauses for a split second, then whirls around and pins you against the wall. You start to pull at his shirt, but he’s got a single mind.
His mouth slots over yours, swallowing every single breath and gasp of his name. One hand grabs your wrists, pinning them over your head, and the other starts to tease down your body. Over your collarbone, up and down your sides, under your shirt to palm your breasts.
“Bucky…” You whine against his lips, and he only grunts, pinching at your nipple. “No- No teasing-“
“’M not teasing.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, dragging his hand back down to your waist. “I’m takin’ my time, doll. There’s a difference.”
“It- It just feels-“ Stars spark behind your eyes, when he switches to the other nipple. “God, Bucky-“
“Feels what?” He mocks, leaning back just enough to watch your expression. “Gonna use your words like a good girl.”
You try to snap back, but Bucky pinches the sensitive bud and your mouth falls stupidly open. Your breathing is coming short and fast, your head spinning with desire, and Bucky’s just playing with you like his favorite toy.
But God, being his favorite anything is paradise.
When he’s done with your breasts, your short breathless pleas for more completely ignored, he starts to kiss you again.
You just think he wants to taste your moan, when he finally shoves down your pants.
“Fuck.” He groans, dragging his fingers between your pussy lips, your head falling back against the door with a squeak. “You’re soaked. You always walk around this soaked for me, baby? Always wondering when I’ll finally be the one to take care of this pretty fuckin’ mess, fuck you so dumb you can’t even remember how to stand?”
You nod, straining at his hold on your wrists. This is the best torture you’ve ever experienced, bare to his whims and exposed, but you need more. You need him to fuck you like an animal, for the cool, metal fingers brushing teasing touches over your clit to just get inside of you, to let the release boiling over inside of you explode. They way you’re reacting to his light touches, you’d think you were a blushing virgin. You certainly feel like one.
You want to touch him. You need to touch him-
“Hey.” He spanks your pussy, and your whole body rushes with heat. “Asked you a question-“
“Yes.” You moan, giving him your best, doe-eyed stare. “Please, Bucky, fill me, I- I need it- Need you-“
That does it for him. He groans, and two fingers tease at your entrance. Bucky watches your reaction carefully, your legs spreading in offering, eyes still soft and pleading on his.
“Bet you’re gonna taste good.” He mutters, smearing your arousal all over your pussy, knuckles grazing your clit. “Think when I’m done with this, I’ll sit you on my face. Let you ride it until I’m drowning in it. You can touch me all you want, like that. But I’m not lettin’ you up until you’re begging.”
Bucky slides one finger in, slow and taunting. You squeeze around him, and he groans.
“Goddamnit, babydoll, you’re perfect.” He kisses all over your face, your lust glazed eyes unable to do anything but flutter with desire. “My pretty girl, mine-“
Another finger. Then a third. He starts to pump slowly, and you make a sound like his name.
“I know.” Bucky kisses your cheek, the pace picking up. “I know, but you’re takin’ it so good. Jesus, look at you.”
He yanks his hand out, spanking your pussy before shoving them back in, and you scream with pleasure.
“This fucking dumb on my hand, you’re gonna be drooling on my cock. I’ll fuck that smart head empty, keep you all pretty and relaxed in my bed for a month-“
You moan again, dropping your brow against his, and Bucky chuckles.
“Oh, you fuckin’ like that. Like the idea of bein’ nothing but a pretty slut for me, spending every day being fed and stuffed full of cock. You can put in your mouth, doll, take it how ever you want. Touch yourself in front of me, jerk me off, just get on your hands and knees and I’ll take you, just spank your pretty fuckin’ ass until you’re begging for me to fuck you-“
His fingers are drilling into your cunt now, the wet sounds echoing through the stairwell. He’s going faster than a machine, abusing your pussy until it’s fluttering and dripping down your thighs, slamming against that deep spot and driving you right up to the edge. When he chuckles the sound rolls through you, and when his cold thumb starts to rub furious circles on your clit, you open your mouth in a silent scream.
“That’s it, baby, there you go. All relaxed and happy.” He kisses you gently, and you whine.
Bucky smirks, twisting his fingers as his pace hits an impossible, skin-slapping high.
“Come for me.” He mutters in your ear, thumb working your clit into a frenzy. “Give it to me, baby, c’mon-“
Your release hits your with a scream. Your body goes limp as the stimulation turns into a blinding rush of pleasure, your pussy clenching wildly around Bucky’s fingers and a hot, wet gushing sound hitting your ears as your grind onto his hand.
Bucky pulls out slowly, keeping your hands above your head.
Then he cleans his fingers, holding your gaze the whole time.
Your hips buck, your fingers itching to hold onto more than just his wrist, and he grins. Leans down to kiss you sweetly, his lips tasting of your own arousal and making the heat in you spark up even faster than before.
“My room?” He mutters, and you nod.
“It’s closer.”
He hums, drawing back just enough to look you in the eyes. “And you’re staying the night?”
There’s the weight in his words. The silent promise, that he’s asking for.
It’s so easy to make it. There will be things to deal with, in the morning.
You’d rather deal with them, having Bucky at your side.
“Yeah.” You whisper. “I am."