“The Right Side Up” you mean when Vecna will finally leave Will alone and Will’s trauma will begin to heal and all of the horrible things that have happened to Mike and Will will begin to disappear along with the internalized homophobia they’ve both grown up with and the self-hatred they’ve both internalized because they love each other and they know that they love each other and they can finally be together with no shame bc the shame is on the other side and they drive off happily together holding hands into the sunset??? That kind of Right Side Up???”
Fic alerte (To make it last a little longer chapter 3
“You’re not sleeping, Mick?”
He doesn’t answer right away. If he talks, he’ll spill everything, everything he’s keeping for him.
“Mickey?”
Ian insists.
“Hmm, you’re not sleeping either, and here I am just leaving you alone,” he grumbles.
He’s a little surprised when he hears the familiar rustle of blankets above him and Ian’s feet hitting the cell floor. In an instant, he is kneeling beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other sliding under his T-shirt, tracing his chest, his tattoo.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
Mickey puts all the force he can into the word. He curls up tighter against the wall. Ian’s hand falls back onto the mattress.
“Okay,” he breathes out.
Ian snorts, annoyed and frustrated. But he doesn’t go back to bed.
“Come here,” he whispers.
It’s a peace offering, a step toward Mickey, whatever you want to call it. He takes it, this outstretched hand, more than happy to accept it.
It’s more than just a hand. Ian slips in beside him on the tiny bed, wrapping them both in the messy blankets.
This time, when Mickey’s body moves, it’s not into empty space. He’s against Ian. His head rests on his chest, his nose pressed into his T-shirt.
“You good like this?” he asks, voice a little hesitant.
“Fuck, Ian, yeah,” Mickey mutters.
Ian stops talking. He maybe finally understand that Mickey’s s not some damn dying man just because he ate too many chips during movie night and refuses to talk about his feelings for a whole hour.
Though, he lets Ian lay his geant hand on his back. He lets that palm rest there, on the bare skin of his spine, on the other side of the pain in his belly. Ian wraps his other arm around Mickey and pulls him close."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Kay Romano, a plus sized/curvy ofc; Platonic Thunderbolts x Kay
Word Count: 5.2k
Summary: After a night together, Bucky and Kay wake up in each other’s arms. She eventually slips away to make breakfast, and Bucky processes what she means to him. A team member notices their changing dynamic. The two enjoy a romantic date, where they share confessions and memories before returning home and claiming one another.
Trigger warnings: ... they have a date. This is fluff with fade to black intimacy. Go to the 18+ version for spice.
Author's Note: Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this? Longer than you have. Enjoy!
Story Masterlist
Chapter 14 (Clean Version)
Chapter 14 (18+, MDNI)
Chapter 15 (18+, MDNI)
*****
GIF by ryomikairin
Bucky woke to warmth, slow and full in his chest, like a sunbeam spreading through his ribs. The room was still dim with early light, blue shadows pooling in corners, the quiet hum of the compound just beginning to stir. But more importantly, Kay, still curled into him, was soft and breathing steady in the crook of his body.
His arm was slung low across her waist, palm flattened over the gentle curve of her stomach. Their legs were tangled under the covers, and her back was pressed against his chest, warm and solid and real. Her hair had slipped loose sometime in the night, soft against his jaw. And his face was buried there now, tucked into her shoulder like he’d needed her to anchor him even in sleep.
Everything in his body was slow to move, heavy in the best way. His limbs were relaxed, his breathing was deep. His hips, though… they had a mind of their own.
Somewhere in the night, they'd shifted closer, and now every soft exhale from her made him feel her warmth, the dip of her waist, the curve of her ass nestled perfectly against the front of his sweatpants. And his body responded before his mind had the chance to catch up.
He didn’t move at first, just let himself feel her body tucked against his, the rhythm of her breathing, the subtle flex of her hips as she shifted in her sleep with a soft sigh. He could feel the rise and fall of her breath beneath the cotton of her shirt. His thumb absently traced the edge of the fabric where it had ridden up slightly, grazing the bare skin just above her shorts.
A slow, involuntary grind rolled his hips forward. Just enough to press himself against her. The groan that escaped him was quiet, muffled against her neck.
Kay stirred, murmuring something unintelligible before stretching languidly into him. Her shoulder nudged his chin, and the subtle shift of her hips sent another jolt of heat up his spine.
Her voice was rough, barely awake. “Mmm. Good morning.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, voice scratchy with sleep and too much emotion. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
She didn’t move away. Instead, she settled back into him, letting his body cradle hers more fully. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her fingers brushing lightly along his forearm where it wrapped around her. “Did you sleep alright?”
“Better than I have in a long time,” he murmured, lips ghosting against the edge of her ear. His hand splayed more firmly across her stomach, holding her like she might vanish if he let up for even a second. “Still feels like I dreamed it.”
“Then it must’ve been a good dream,” she replied, “because I’m still here.” She yawned, soft and full of morning warmth. “What time is it?”
“Little before six,” he answered, voice low and lazy.
Kay gave a small hum. “I canceled my phone alarm last night, but I have to go make breakfast for the team.”
“Not yet,” he said quickly, tightening his arm around her, like instinct. “Five more minutes, sweetheart, please.”
She smiled, even if he couldn’t see it. “Someone’s getting greedy.”
He huffed a half-laugh, breath warm against her skin. “Can you blame me? I’ve got you in my bed, in my arms. I could stay like this forever.”
The silence that followed was full of quiet certainty. She brought his hand up slightly, laced her fingers with his over her stomach.
“Well, then,” she whispered, her voice still soft with sleep, “you can keep holding on.”
He did. He stayed there, breathing her in, like it was the first moment he’d ever been sure of anything.
*****
The door clicked softly behind her.
Bucky stayed where he was, motionless in the quiet that followed, staring at the space she’d just walked through. The bed was still mussed from them, the covers tangled and warm where she'd left them. Her scent clung to his pillow, subtle but undeniable, faint shampoo and skin. And in the center of his chest, the weight of her absence pressed down, not crushing, but lingering.
He’d wanted to walk her back. Every instinct told him he should’ve, not out of suspicion or protectiveness, but because it felt wrong to just let her go alone. It was the gentleman in him, the old-world part that still believed walking a woman to her door meant something. Especially after… that. After holding her all night. After whispering against her skin and letting her see him emotionally. That version of himself, the man he’d shown only her, didn’t just watch someone walk away.
But she’d smiled, soft and sleepy, touching his jaw like she already knew what he was thinking. She’d told him to rest, to stay in bed. Told him she’d see him at breakfast.
He hadn’t argued. But now, as silence crept in, thick and still, he wished he had. Not because she wasn’t safe, but because she was no longer here with him.
He crossed the floor barefoot, the cool hardwood grounding him with every step as he moved into the bathroom. The too-bright light clicked on with a mechanical hum and he squinted at the reflection that greeted him in the mirror.
His hair was a wreck. There was a faint crease on his cheek from his pillow. And his eyes…
God, his eyes looked different.
Not softer, just… less hollow. It looked like something that hadn’t been there in years had taken root behind them.
He braced both hands on the edge of the sink, fingers splayed over the cold ceramic as he leaned in and studied the man staring back at him. Then he inhaled slowly, held it, and let it out in one long, measured breath. He did it again. It didn’t entirely steady him, but it helped.
She had let him hold her.
Not just her body, though the memory of her weight in his arms and the heat of her against him was still branded on his skin like a touch he never wanted to wash away. She’d given him more than that. She’d given him trust. Over the months she’d given him the quiet burden of her fears and let him carry them without flinching. And last night she’d folded him into her comfort like he belonged there.
And for once, he had.
He hadn’t woken up gasping. He hadn’t bolted upright in a sweat, heart racing and eyes searching. He’d woken up with her. Still wrapped around her, like the night hadn’t ended, like it didn’t have to.
He turned on the tap and let the water run cold, then cupped his hands and splashed it over his face, trying to shake off the rising weight of all of it. It didn’t cool the warmth spreading slow and stubborn through his chest, because that heat wasn’t adrenaline or anxiety.
It was joy. It was foreign and fragile and so real it scared him.
When he straightened and met his reflection again, he took it in more fully this time. There were the usual shadows beneath his eyes. A scar on his temple, pale in the light. All the pieces of who he’d been, soldier, assassin, almost-hero. But beneath all of that, something new was taking shape. And it was all because of her.
His mouth twitched, the barest hint of a smile that almost didn’t know how to form anymore, but it tried.
He ran a hand back through his hair to smooth it out, fingers catching on a tangle. Then he froze.
Her scent was still on his shirt.
He didn’t change out of it.
*****
The common room kitchen was wrapped in soft early light, just shy of sunrise. The hum of appliances and the low sizzle of batter on a skillet were the only sounds.
Kay stood at the stove, hair pulled into a loose knot at the top of her head, dressed in her usual soft tee and well-worn leggings. Barefoot, steady, and humming low under her breath, she flipped a pancake with practiced ease. It was a little too early for the full crowd, and she liked it that way. She liked the quiet, the smell of browning butter, the way the silence made it feel like the whole space belonged just to her for a while.
The scent of coffee and warm maple syrup began to pull the others in.
Bob appeared first, yawning wide enough to make his jaw pop as he padded in and made a beeline for the coffee pot. He gave Kay a groggy thumbs-up without a word before slumping into a chair, cradling his mug like it held the meaning of life.
Yelena arrived next, hood up and hair loose, eyes sharp despite the hour. She paused in the doorway just long enough to scan the room before joining Bob at the table. She gave Kay a faint suspicious smile, barely there, but didn’t speak.
John Walker came next, sweaty from an early run, muttering something about protein as he asked for eggs. Ava ghosted in shortly after, quieter than the others, settling at the far end of the table.
And then Bucky.
He stepped into the kitchen like he’d always belonged there. Sweatpants, a worn t-shirt that clung just right, and bare feet against the hardwood. He didn’t speak, but his presence shifted something in the air.
Kay barely looked up, but when she slid a plate across the counter toward him, there was a flicker of something shared in the glance they exchanged. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a single nod of silent thanks and quiet affection.
She didn’t smile exactly, but there was a warmth behind her eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday.
He sat without a word, choosing the spot nearest the stove, nearest to where he knew she would sit.
The kitchen buzzed softly with the sound of forks scraping plates, mugs clinking gently on the table. A low murmur of conversation drifted through the kitchen, a clear indication that everyone was still waking up and the coffee hadn’t fully kicked in.
Kay moved easily between the stove and the table, refilling mugs and plating pancakes like it was just another morning. Her oversized tee was speckled with a little flour, hair swept up in a lazy twist that somehow looked more intentional than it was. Her face was calm and focused when she finally found her seat.
Bucky kept his eyes on his plate, quiet and unassuming, but his hand slid subtly under the table. His fingers found her thigh beneath the tablecloth in a simple, warm press. It was nothing scandalous, but it was a claim nonetheless.
No one noticed.
Except Yelena.
She blinked once, lowered her coffee slowly, and smirked into the steam like she’d just figured out how to defuse a tricky bomb. Or maybe how to arm one.
Her gaze flicked to Kay, who gave no outward reaction. But Yelena didn’t miss the slight stiffening in her shoulders, the way her lips twitched like she was trying very hard not to smile. There was a satisfied glow about her, like a woman who’d finally been chosen, and had chosen right.
When the others were busy arguing over syrup, Yelena leaned just slightly closer to Kay, her tone dry as toast.
“You’re glowing,” she murmured. “And Barnes smells like your pink grapefruit shampoo.”
Kay blinked, straightened a touch. “Does he?” she said, aiming for casual.
Yelena’s brows lifted, the corner of her mouth curving. “Mmhmm.”
Kay neither denied nor confirmed the suspicion, but the flush creeping up her neck wasn’t from the heat. Yelena gave her a soft pat on the arm, conspiratorial but gentle, and straightened back into her seat with the air of someone who could wait all day to be proven right.
Kay kept her eyes on her plate, but the edges of her mouth curled, slow and small. A glow warmed her cheeks that hadn’t come from the stove.
Beside her, Bucky leaned back slightly, shifting just enough to glance down at her. It wasn’t obvious, but it was intentional. And when she looked up to meet his gaze, something quiet and private passed between them.
It was a second too long to be nothing. Her lips curved, subtle and slow, like something inside her had finally settled. There was no teasing in it, no pretense, just warmth.
Bucky’s smile, when it came, was smaller. But it was steady, private, like he’d tucked it in his pocket just for her. The kind of look you didn’t give someone unless something had finally begun.
Kay stood, carrying an empty mug to the coffee pot. As she passed behind him, her fingers brushed lightly along his shoulder, barely a graze. But his hand lifted instinctively to catch the touch, just for a second, like he didn’t want it to pass unnoticed.
A minute later, Bucky stood and took his plate to the sink. He didn’t say anything, just stepped beside her at the counter and reached for the sponge. His hand slid gently along the small of her back in passing, just a touch, not possessive, not for show. A simple quiet promise of presence.
They didn’t look at each other this time.
Yelena, still nursing her coffee, caught the whole thing with the disinterest of someone who’d already known how this story ended. She arched a single eyebrow over the rim of her mug, then took a sip like she had no intention of telling anyone else… yet.
*****
The unusually kitchen was quiet when Kay walked in.
No Alexei rummaging through drawers, no Bob heating up leftovers, no Ava perched somewhere inappropriate. Just the soft hum of the fridge, the ticking of the wall clock, and a beam of sunlight slanting across the counter.
And a bouquet sat in the center of the counter.
Six red roses, rich and velvety, gathered tight with soft eucalyptus threaded between their stems. The petals were open and dark, just beginning to curl at the edges, like they were at their peak and knew it. It was elegant and understated, not flashy, not performative.
And unmistakably from him.
A small square of folded paper peeked from between the stems, tucked just inside the ribbon. Her fingers hovered for a moment before she reached out and plucked the note free. It was warm from the sun, and her name was scrawled on the outside in that familiar slanted handwriting.
She unfolded it, heart already thudding behind her ribs.
Dinner tonight? I’ll be at your door at 7. I don’t want to wait any longer.
—B
The words were simple, but her whole chest went tight. She read it twice, then again, then pressed the card to her sternum like it could keep her from floating off the floor.
A stupid smile crept up before she could stop it, wide and giddy, blooming across her face like heat. She bit down on it hard, trying to flatten it into something cool, but her mouth had other plans.
“Roses,” Yelena’s voice drawled behind her. “Classic. Good choice from a man over a century old.”
Kay startled, shoulders jerking before she masked it. She glanced over to see Yelena casually leaning in the doorway, sipping from a chipped mug, her eyes sharp even through the steam.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kay said quickly, voice way too light as she slid the note into her back pocket.
“Mmhmm,” Yelena hummed, not even pretending to buy it. She didn’t press. She just gave Kay a slow, knowing nod and turned back down the hall, amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth. She left the kitchen with the smug patience of someone who saw every domino lined up and felt no need to knock them down.
Kay, meanwhile, stood frozen for a beat longer. She couldn’t stop touching her back pocket for the rest of the afternoon.
*****
She heard the soft knock at her door, just before seven, right on time.
Kay smoothed her hands down the sides of her dress and exhaled. Steady, she reminded herself. It’s just Bucky. The same man who’d held her all night like she was a treasure. The same man who sent her roses. Who asked her out with a note instead of a speech, because he knew that would mean more.
Her heart was doing unhelpful gymnastics in her chest.
She opened the door, and there he was.
Bucky stood in the hall, dressed in a gray button-down she’d seen once before. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, collar open just enough to suggest he wasn’t trying too hard, but the way the shirt fit him made her stomach flutter all the same. In his hand, a single red rose, a match to the bouquet that had been waiting for her at lunch.
He didn’t say anything right away, looked at her.
She was in a soft black blouse with jeans, casual but flattering, hair pulled back loosely, gold earrings catching the hallway light.
His expression gentled at the sight of her.
“God, you look beautiful,” he said, voice quiet but certain, like the words had been waiting at the back of his throat all day.
Her throat tightened at that. The rose was lovely, but it was the way he looked at her that made her chest ache.
She reached out, her fingers brushing against his as she took the rose, just long enough to feel the warmth of his hand.
“Thank you,” she said, the word softer than she meant it to be.
His lips twitched, like he was about to say something else, but thought better of it. Then he tipped his chin slightly and said, “You like the shirt?”
Her smile turned sly. “You wore the ‘non-date’ shirt for our actual date?”
“Only seemed fair,” he said, shrugging. “Thought I’d give it a better memory.”
That earned him a grin, wide and genuine. She reached for her jacket behind the door, but he stopped her gently, offering his arm instead.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep you warm.”
She took his arm without hesitation and they walked out together.
*****
The team was scattered across the oversized sectional and various mismatched chairs like they’d melted into the furniture after a long day. Bob was upside down on the couch, legs hooked over the back, arms dangling toward the floor as he munched loudly on a bag of pretzels. Yelena was curled in a sweatshirt, cradling a bowl of popcorn like it held state secrets. Walker slouched in the armchair closest to the screen, one beer in hand and a second on standby at his feet. Ava sat cross-legged on the ottoman, brow furrowed, arguing with Alexei over the incorrect translation of a subtitled spy flick, he insisted the line meant “brotherhood,” she said it was “idiocy.”
The sound of purposeful footsteps, two aligned sets, turned a few heads. Kay and Bucky stepped into view side by side. She was dressed simple and stunning, her hair pulled back in a way that revealed just enough of her neck to draw the eye. Bucky was relaxed but put-together in his gray button-down and dark jeans, sleeves rolled, collar open, the edge of his stubble catching the light. They were a perfect match in every way.
As they crossed the room, Bucky’s hand slipped to the small of Kay’s back. Not showy, not hesitant; just steady and sure.
Kay raised her voice slightly to be heard over the dialogue on the screen. “I ordered a bunch of fried chicken for you guys. Should be here in twenty.”
The silence that followed was instant.
Bob slowly swung his legs off the back of the couch and sat upright, blinking like he’d just come out of a trance. Ava paused her argument and stared, narrowing her eyes. Walker turned down the volume with theatrical suspicion.
Alexei looked genuinely delighted. “Fried chicken? I love fried chicken.”
But it was Yelena who addressed the elephant in the room at last, calm, dry, and eyes still on the screen as she popped a kernel into her mouth.
“Finally,” she muttered, pleased. “Took you two long enough.”
Kay smiled, cool and faintly smug, eyes forward as Bucky stepped ahead to press the elevator button for them.
As they passed through, he shot a look over his shoulder at the team, then leaned toward Kay and murmured under his breath, “Next time we sneak out the back.”
She laughed, warm and real, and tucked the single rose behind her ear like it belonged there.
Back in the common room, Yelena smirked without looking up. “I give them forty-five minutes before she tears off the nice shirt.”
Walker groaned. Bob laughed.
*****
The restaurant was warm with candlelight, soft jazz curling through the air like smoke. “Il Burro” wasn’t fancy in the white-tablecloth, five-fork sense, but it was unmistakably nice—exposed brick, linen napkins, and the kind of menu that came printed on thick cream cardstock and changed with the season. The name was painted in looping cursive across a brass plate out front, and the inside smelled like roasted garlic, fresh herbs, and something slow-simmered in wine.
Bucky held the door for her without a word, his fingers slightly brushing the small of her back.
Kay took in the space with quiet appreciation as they were led to a table near the window, tucked half out of view. The host lit a small candle between them, and when they sat, a reverent silence stretched for a moment.
She reached for her drink first—something citrusy, cold, and garnished with a twist of basil—and stirred the ice with her straw, the metal clinking against the glass. Her voice was quiet but light as she glanced up.
“Are you nervous too?”
Bucky glanced at her, then down at the condensation on his glass. His thumb ran slowly across the curve of it, and then he looked back up at her, eyes soft.
“Yeah,” he said. “But in a good way.”
Kay smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, heart thudding a little faster. “I keep thinking… I was so sure after that game of pool that you weren’t really interested,” she admitted, voice low. “Just… having fun. What changed?”
He gave a short, self-conscious laugh. His fingers kept moving along the rim of his water glass, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I was always interested in you. Ever since those damn blueberry muffins, if I’m honest.” He smiled faintly. “I just finally let myself realize I was allowed to have you.”
A beat passed.
“And your not-date with Sam may have lit a fire under my ass,” he added, more wryly.
Kay’s right brow lifted, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Why, Bucky Barnes, were you jealous?”
He leaned forward just slightly, the candlelight casting soft shadows under his cheekbones. “You have no idea,” he murmured. “I was ready to tear his arm off just for touching your shoulder.”
Kay blinked, cheeks going warm. Her lips parted, but she hesitated just a second before admitting, “I didn’t much like the idea of you going to dinner with Mel, either. Felt like I lost something I never even really had.”
Bucky’s voice went soft again, laced with something deeper, “Oh, you had me. From the very start.”
She held his gaze, the restaurant fading into a hush as the weight of that moment settled gently over them with their shared admissions.
The food came then, as if the universe knew to give them something grounding.
The server set a risotto in front of Kay, creamy and pale gold, flecked with butternut squash, grilled chicken, and green asparagus tips, and a steak for Bucky, thick and glistening beside a cloud of whipped mashed potatoes and a swirl of pan jus.
She gave a soft, pleased sigh. “This looks amazing.”
“Oh my God,” she said after the first spoonful, “This risotto might be my new religion. You have to try it.”
He grinned. “That steak’s not too bad either.”
They leaned forward at the same time, exchanging tastes like it was something they’d done a dozen times.
For a minute, they just ate, quietly content, and then Bucky leaned back slightly, fork resting against his plate.
“You know,” he said, eyes thoughtful, “I think it was my birthday. That was the moment I knew I was a goner.”
He looked up.
“The teacup?”
He laughed. “That too. But it was when you called me ‘moonbeam,’ like you saw a light in me. It didn’t feel like it fit me, but I wanted it to so badly.” Bucky exhaled, slow. His eyes dropped to his plate, then rose again.
“For me it was the hoodie you gave me,” she said quietly. “The way it wrapped me up in… you. I realized it was everything I always wanted.”
He felt his throat catch.
Silence curled again between them, warm and full of the promise of the future.
Kay tilted her head, chin tipping toward him.
“Do you think this will change us?” she asked, her voice honest.
He didn’t hesitate. “In the best way.”
They held each other’s gaze, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the low hum of clinking glassware, cutlery, and soft conversation all around them. And in that moment, nothing had ever felt more right.
*****
The elevator chimed softly, emptying them into the quiet hallway. Their footsteps echoed, deliberate but slow, as if neither of them wanted the night to end too soon.
Kay’s fingers brushed his hand once, then stayed, lacing with his like it was second nature.
He glanced over at her, the rose still tucked behind her ear and her eyes shining warmth.
“You don’t have to walk me all the way to my door, you know,” she teased gently.
Bucky shrugged, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Old habits die hard.”
They stopped in front of her room. She turned to him slowly, searching his face. “Do you want to come in?” she asked softly, voice steady and sure.
His eyes searched hers for half a second. “Yeah,” he said, just as softly. “Yeah, I do.”
The second the door closed behind them, she turned, and he was already there.
His hands found her hips, her waist, her face, like he didn’t know where to start, just that he had to touch her. Their mouths met hard, breath catching between them.
She gasped into his mouth and fisted the front of his shirt, dragging him closer until his chest hit hers with a thud.
It wasn’t polite or careful. It was everything they’d been holding back, spilling over all at once. It was a kiss born from sleepless nights and aching restraint, from months of hovering at the edge of something that terrified them both. It was a confession and a claim in one, all tongue and teeth and hands that couldn’t bear to be still.
He pressed her back against the door hard enough to make her gasp, his mouth moving over hers like he was starving for her. Her hands flew to his shoulders, clutching him, dragging him closer, nails digging in through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Her skin burned everywhere he touched. The coolness of the vibranium at her hip, the warmth of his palm at her nape, the steady press of his body so close it stole the air from her lungs.
Her breath hitched when his tongue swept into her mouth, deep and slow, and the sound she made undid him. He groaned low in his throat, metal hand slamming flat against the door beside her head, body braced against hers. His flesh hand gripped her waist, sliding down over the curve of her hip, fingers digging in like he needed to memorize her shape to believe she was real.
She kissed him back with every ounce of heat and heartbreak she’d bottled up, arching against him, her body answering his without hesitation. Her hands slid under the hem of his shirt, over the warm, solid plane of his back, pulling him closer still.
Her name fell from his lips between kisses. It was a whisper, a prayer, and a plea all in one breath.
“Kay…”
He kissed her like he didn’t know if he would ever get another chance, but right now, she was here, under his hands, her lips parted for him, her whole body saying yes.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were panting, faces flushed. Her lips were red and wet and trembling. His pupils were blown, jaw clenched tight like he was barely holding something back.
“Jesus,” he rasped. “I—”
She leaned in again, kissing him before he could finish the thought. Softer this time, but just as intense.
“Bucky,” she whispered against his mouth, too thoughtless to say anything but his name.
The rest of the world faded. There was only her, the taste of her breath, the way her tongue chased his, the pulse pounding in both their veins. She clawed at the hem of his shirt and anchored herself to his shoulders, while his hands mapped the landscape of her body, her waist, her hips, the valley of her spine. Every touch stoked the wildfire in his blood, and when she pressed her body flush to his, he could feel her heartbeat, as frantic as his own.
They made it, somehow, to the bed. The backs of her knees hit the edge and she fell back, pulling him down with her as the mattress creaked. He half-laughed, half-groaned into her mouth, and she grinned against his teeth.
"God, I want you," he admitted, the words so thick and raw he barely recognized his own voice.
She shivered at the truth of it. "Good," she whispered. "Because I want you too."
*****
At the end of the night,
She sagged forward, chest pressed to his, her entire body gone limp and boneless. Bucky’s heart hammered against her cheek where she lay on his collarbone, and his breath came in ragged pulses, cooling the sweat that glued them together chest to chest, thigh to thigh.
He stroked her back with both hands, one warm, one cool, like he was reassembling her from atoms, and for a long time neither of them spoke. She was too busy cataloguing the aches of her own body and the tickle of his hair against her lips. She thought he might be crying, just a little, but when she wiped a thumb under his eye, it was only sweat, and the wild, glassy look he gave her made her want to start the whole thing all over again.
They lay there, entwined, as their hearts remembered how to slow down. She felt slick and ruined and perfect, and she never wanted to move. He kissed her temple, then her cheek, then her jaw, then the corner of her mouth, as if mapping her face for some secret mission only he could understand.
They were sticky and sore and spent, but it was the closest either one had felt to home in years.
Chapter 16
Tag list: @lovely-seb @calwitch @its-in-the-woods @multifandom-03 @ficmeiguess
Now the wait is finally almost over. In about a month or so, I’ll get back what I’ve been aching for: presence. Not voices echoing through a speaker, not blurry pixels, but real laughter. Real arms around me. Real time together. That’s what I’ve missed the most.
I keep playing the scene over and over in my mind, seeing him walk through the gates at the airport, and running into his arms like it’s some cliché movie moment. But it won’t feel cliché to me. It will feel like relief, like home, like the thing I’ve been waiting months for.
And with our anniversary coming up on September 5, the timing makes it even more special. Four years of loving each other across the miles, four years of late nights and early mornings, of holding on even when everything felt stretched thin. To finally celebrate that together, in person, feels like a kind of victory. Like proof that no matter how far apart we’ve been, we’ve never let go.
What makes this visit even more important is that it will be the first time he’s coming here to see me. All the other times, I was the one traveling to Florida. This time, he’ll be stepping into my world, into my space, into the home I’ve built for myself. That means more than I can explain.
I don’t even need grand plans. What I want most is the simple stuff, cuddling at home, ordering boba, watching shows side by side instead of syncing them over a call. Falling asleep with him next to me instead of through a screen. Those are the little things that feel the biggest when you’ve been waiting this long.
So I’m counting down. Each day feels both heavy and fast, dragging and rushing at the same time. But soon, all the waiting will be worth it. Soon, I won’t have to imagine anymore.
