Summary: Canon!AU Bucky doesn’t trust anyone but himself. But after you show up on his doorstep with a shoebox full of old HYDRA files, he finds himself in a very difficult situation: trust a spy or gamble with people’s lives.
Word Count: 1,947
Warnings: Language, Super Mild Violence
A/N: Here we go! This fic follows FATWS. I hope you enjoy this new fic, I will probably take a small tag list for this series but I plan to post every monday so you can follow @redgillan-shares and turn on notification. Happy reading!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Bucky paced the base with hasty steps, groaning under his breath while he waited for Sam to emerge from the locker room. He couldn’t stop thinking about Walker’s interview on Good Morning America.
“Even though I never met him, he feels like a brother.”
He’d gone on a walk then, tearing off posters of John Walker as the new Captain America before he remembered that Sam was at the military base near New York and decided to pester him about the shield instead.
“Does he know I’m here?” Bucky snapped, though the young lieutenant standing next to him didn’t flinch.
Torres kept his eyes trained on the sheet of paper he was reading, his unzipped backpack hanging off one shoulder. “He shouldn’t be long, sir.”
“Great,” Bucky mumbled to himself.
He took an immediate dislike to Torres. There was no logical reason for Bucky to be so cold to him but he couldn’t help it. Torres reminded him of the person he used to be; young, charming, friendly, easy-going... just your regular go-to guy.
Now he didn’t know who he was anymore.
Bucky was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of a door banging open against a wall, followed by the sound of booted feet tramping across the open base. The sounds caught everyone’s attention, even Torres finally looked up from his paperwork.
They both frowned as they watched you flounce toward the only person in the room who wasn’t looking at you.
You looked absolutely dishevelled, as if you’d gotten dressed in a hurry; oversized black cargo pants, an askew tank top that revealed a white sports bra, and one boot. Still you carried yourself with confidence and authority despite the very obvious limp.
“What the hell is that?” you barked, shoving a crumpled piece of paper against the man’s chest. He had seen you but pretended not to. Instead he took his time to acknowledge your presence. You straightened your spine and lifted your head. You looked ready to explode.
“New orders,” he said. “Effective immediately.”
“He has no authority over me.”
“He’s Captain America. Now, suit up. They’re waiting for you.”
You looked down at the tactical Kevlar suit in your clenched fist and scoffed. “Tell Walker I’m not going to follow him around in a skin tight suit. I’m out.” You threw the suit in his face and stormed back to the locker room, still limping.
“I’m not his secretary, tell him yourself,” the man shouted to your retreating back
“I don’t care.”
The door closed behind you with a bang that echoed through the base. The room was silent for a moment before everyone went back to work. Torres let out a sound halfway between a whistle and a sigh and Bucky glared at him.
“’Don’t think I’d like to be on the receiving end of that,” Torres said with a friendly smile. “I’m thinking either water or fire sign, uh?” The deadpan look on Bucky’s face was enough to make Torres uncomfortable. “Yeah, never mind. I’ll go get Sam.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
***
Bucky muttered a quiet thank you in German before hanging up and pocketing his phone. After Baltimore, he knew that tracking down the people responsible for the new super soldier serum would require Zemo’s help.
Now that the correctional facility had agreed to let them talk to Zemo, he needed a plan to break him out of prison. Planning wasn’t his forte. He had vague memories of HYDRA higher-ups giving him orders and telling him about escape routes.
He had less than twenty four hours to come up with a plan that wouldn’t blow up in his face. On top of that, his actions would definitely put a strain on his relationship with Wakanda.
It was a necessary evil, a means to an end. Zemo wasn’t just obsessed with HYDRA, he also had connections with very shady people.
Bucky started climbing the steps to his apartment when something caught his eye. You were sitting on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest, your arms wrapped around a shoe box. Reflexively, he looked around but there weren’t a lot of people in the street at –he glanced at his watch- 3:47 in the morning.
“Shit,” he mumbled to himself.
You looked up when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, a bright streetlight illuminating your features. You looked guarded and apprehensive as he stepped out of the shadows. Bucky frowned under your scrutiny.
He paused on the landing, keys in hand, ready to use them as a weapon if needed. He stared at you; your eyes were swollen and bloodshot, dried tear tracks streaking your cheeks.
You wiped your nose with your sleeve and looked away.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said. “At the base. You were yelling at someone. You only had one shoe on.”
“Sounds like me.”
You sniffed and got to your feet as he approached. He jutted his chin toward the box cradled against your chest, wordlessly asking for elaboration. You swallowed hard and opened the lid, showing him the logo on the manila folder.
A fucking red skull with six fucking tentacles.
Bucky gave you an exasperated look and sighed, moving past you to open his front door. You followed after him and closed the door behind you. He removed his jacket and tossed it haphazardly over an armchair.
“What’s your name?”
“It’s classified.”
He threw you another exasperated look as he grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge. He uncapped the bottle using his vibranium hand and took a swig. A little harmless show of strength. He watched you fight the urge to roll your eyes.
“Well, Classified, you can speak freely here,” he said, leaning against the fridge. “Though I’m sure you already know that.”
“I know you destroyed the listening devices,” you confirmed. “Those were expensive by the way.”
“I’ll write you a check.”
You snorted, though you tried to hide it.
He eyed you up and down, trying to figure you out. You didn’t look threatening, but maybe that was the point. Not a lot of men came home at the crack of dawn to find a pretty girl on their doorstep. The tears were a nice touch, added sympathy and vulnerability.
He wondered how many knives you were hiding under your jacket.
You took a cautious step in his direction, your eyes never leaving his, and set the shoe box down on the kitchen counter. He watched you take a step back, your expression neutral and your body language unthreatening.
Without taking his eyes off you, he sent the lid crashing to the floor and reached inside the box. He pulled out three hefty Manila folders, slapping them on the counter.
“There’s more,” you said quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.
He glared at you, then pulled the box closer. Inside there were three VHS tapes, no labels, no protection cases. He took one an examined it.
“What is it?” When you didn’t answer, he raised his eyes to you. “What’s on ‘em?”
You tightened your arms around yourself and took a hasty step back, almost tripping over your own feet. You made a sound, something between a sob and gasp, and collapsed into the armchair.
It took you a few minutes to pull yourself together; you were so tired, so emotionally drained. You rubbed your hands over your eyes and massaged your temple distractedly. The throbbing pain behind your eyes was unbearable. You wanted to sink into the armchair and fall asleep.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.
“Those are videos of HYDRA turning you into the Winter Soldier,” you finally said, your voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear you. You glanced sideways at him, unable to meet his eye but still trying to gauge his reaction.
“Where did you find ‘em?”
“I can’t tell you.”
The silence that followed only lasted a second before Bucky stomped over to where you were sitting and grasped your arm painfully, forcing you to your feet.
You recoiled and tried to pry your arm free but he tightened his grip and shoved you against the wall. He invaded your personal space, his nose almost touching yours. You hit your head on the wall trying to put some distance between you.
“Don’t play games with me, Classified,” he snarled, his nostrils flaring.
“I’m not,” you replied assuredly, locking eyes with him. His gaze was intense and probing, you tried not to show your discomfort.
“No?” he asked condescendingly. “Then answer me this. What’s a special agent doing at my apartment in the middle of the night with her little box of horrors?”
“I thought you deserved to destroy these tapes yourself.”
Your words left him speechless. He loosened his grip on your arm but did not let go. You pushed him away and put some distance between you. It was easier to think now that you could no longer feel his breath on your skin.
You stood in the middle of his living room, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself.
God, you wanted to cry. Not because he had hurt you; you were an agent, a sore arm was nothing, but because watching these videos had made you physically sick.
You had watched hours’ worth of footage of him being tortured, manipulated, brainwashed into an emotionless killing machine. It would remain forever etched in your memory.
You refused to cry in front of Bucky Barnes, though. It was embarrassing enough that he could tell you had been crying.
“What I saw-” You cleared your throat to get rid of the lump that had formed. “What I saw was so barbaric, so cruel,” you trailed off, aggressively wiping your nose with the back of your hand. You turned to him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and pointed to your ear. “I can still hear your screams in my head... like... like a distorted noise playing on a loop.”
Bucky looked down at the floor, his expression guarded, slightly hostile, though when he finally met your gaze, his eyes were softer this time.
“If it were me on those tapes, I would like to destroy them myself,” you spoke in a gentle but firm tone. “That’s why I came here. I understand why you’re angry, I would be too. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I’m sorry. We don’t know each other and you... you have a lot on your plate.”
He sagged back against the wall, physically and emotionally exhausted. He processed your words in silence, his eyes assessing your expression, gauging you. He exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair.
“No harm done, Classified.”
You snorted. “Yeah, I don’t like that nickname.”
You exchanged tight-lipped smiles and a curt nod before you took a step toward the front door. Bucky saw you pause. You looked over your shoulder, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He could see the conflict raging behind your eyes.
You crossed the room, stopped directly in front of him, and reached up to touch his cheek. He held your gaze, his eyes dark, intense. He was suddenly taken aback by your features; your eyes were so expressive, your lips so oddly tempting. Your eyes were sad and afraid, like they held a terrible secret.
Those videos had messed you up real good. It was written all over your face. You had heard and seen him being torn apart and put back together like a jigsaw puzzle; forcing together pieces that don’t fit because they have to go somewhere.
You ran the pad of your thumb over his bristled cheek. “You’re alive.”
Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.
Word Count: 6,800
Warnings: Mutual Masturbation (non explicit), Hallmark Movie Cheesiness
A/N: I’m am SO sorry it took me months to finish this. Also there’s a tiny bit of sexy times (it’s non explicit and put between two ‘*’ for those who want to skip it) but just a heads up. I can’t remember who said I should name Bucky’s book under pastel skies but thank you ;) I want to thank you all for reading this series, it has been really fun. I’m sad it’s over but hopefully I can add an epilogue and I got several requests for this series so it’s a good bye, not an adieu ♥
Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.
Summer was Bucky’s least favourite season. He despised the heat, the sunburns and mosquitoes, the sweat running down his temples and back. He was always tired, never hungry, and he hated feeling so... bleh.
But most of all, he hated the expectations that came with summer: enjoying the sun, reuniting with friends and family, soaking up the extra hours of daylight, being happy. It felt like an obligation.
Summer with you was Bucky’s favourite season. He loved the way you squinted against the sun, your face bright and happy and your lips glossy with sorbet. He loved those lazy afternoons spent at the pool and he definitely worshiped your summer wardrobe.
You had found a part-time job at a renewed museum. You often said that it was boring and tiring but your colleagues were nice. You were still visiting galleries from time to time but you weren’t actively pursuing a career as a professional artist.
Bucky spent most of his time in his office, finishing up his novel. He was really anxious about it, and he hoped his little surprise wouldn’t blow up in his face. He had everything planned. His uncle had been delighted when Bucky asked if he could use the bookstore for a reading. It would be a private reading, just the two of you after the shop closed.
Now he just had to ask you out...
Bucky climbed the stairs two at a time to your floor, a bouquet of flower in his hand and a smile on his lips. You had invited him over for dinner, which was a bit unusual because you had to work the next morning, but he wasn’t complaining. Far from.
“Bucky,” you giggled sheepishly when you opened the door. He bought you flowers every time he saw you. It didn’t matter that your studio apartment now looked like the back room of a flower shop, he liked the way your eyes softened at the sight of the pretty blooms. “These are stunning.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”
You good-naturedly rolled your eyes before you waved him into the room. “Come in, I made dinner.”
Your apartment smelled of marinara sauce and spaghetti boiling in hot water. It was a comforting smell, a smell that reminded him that he wasn’t alone.
You didn’t have a proper table, the apartment was too small for that, so you ate on the breakfast counter. Bucky didn’t mind eating side by side. He liked the way you turned your body to face him, your knee touching his. It felt intimate.
“I have something to tell you,” you said, closing the door behind him. He watched you bounce around the room like some excited puppy dog. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”
His forehead creased into a deep frown. “What is it?”
You pulled something out of your bag and hid it behind your back before you took a step closer to him. You were unable to meet his confused gaze but he found it so endearing that he started smiling.
You handed him a postcard-style flyer with a shaking hand. It was a mini print of one of your paintings along with the logo of a gallery in New York. He turned the card over and read it, his eyes instantly brightening. It was a flyer for an art opening.
“Angel,” he said, his voice full of emotion. “You did it!”
You chuckled bashfully. “It’s a collective exhibition. They gave me half a wall and a corner of the engraving table.” You raised your eyes to his, your bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that managed to be both shy and sensual. “Will you be there?”
Bucky placed the flyer on the kitchen counter and took a step closer to you. “Will I b-? Of course!” he exclaimed, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“I did nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s all yours and you deserve it.”
With a little laugh, you pulled him into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. He hugged you against his chest and watched as you played with the lapels of his shirt.
“Do you think,” you started timidly, your eyes glued to his chest. “Do you think I can introduce you as my boyfriend?”
“Oh, my angel,” he chuckled lowly. “You think we’ve waited long enough? Am I allowed to kiss you now? Because let me tell you, sweet angel, I’ve been eager to taste you all summer. Didn’t help that all you ate was ice cream and sorbet. You know I have a sweet tooth.”
“You’re all talk,” you said with a grin before you curled your fingers around the lapels of his shirt and pulled him down to you.
He smiled against your lips and pressed his hand against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. You shivered when his hand trailed up your side, his fingers grazing your breast over your clothes. You leaned your head back enough to break the kiss and audibly sucked in your breath.
Bucky cupped the side of your face, planting one last kiss on your parted lips. “My girl.”
With a breathy laugh, you let your head fall onto his shoulder and soaked up his warmth, his love, before you took a step back.
Dinner went well, albeit with more sexual tension than you’d both anticipated. He stole several kisses from your tomato sauce-covered lips, praising your cooking skills.
You touched the pendant at your throat and traced the tiny gemstones with the pad of your middle finger.
“It drives me crazy when you do that,” Bucky admitted with a chuckle.
“Really?” you replied, a tentative smile on your lips.
“Mhm mhm.” He nodded and licked the creamy remnant of ice cream off his spoon. “Looks real pretty against your skin. I like seeing you wearing it.”
Watching you smile down at your pendant made his chest burst with protectiveness. You bit your lip but couldn’t hide your smile. He leaned sideways and kissed your cheek.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in your ear. “Especially when you’re wearing my necklace and nothing else.”
You tilted your head to look at him. The tension between you became so intense that he could hear you breathing hard, and without thinking he pressed his lips against yours. His hand came up to your face and you took the opportunity to climb into his lap, desperate to touch him.
You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, kissing him roughly. He could taste the ice cream on your lips, your tongue cool against his own. With his arm around your waist and a bit of your help, he hoisted you onto the counter.
The empty bowls, plates and glasses fell to the floor, shattering loudly but you didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he gently lowered you down onto the counter.
*
He kissed his way down your throat to the dip between your collarbones where the pendant was. He felt himself harden against you when you stirred against him, moaning. You pulled him down for a kiss and blindly reached for his belt.
“Condom?” you half moaned against his lips.
“Shit.” He sagged heavily against you and buried his face in your neck. “Fuck, shit! I don’t have one. I didn’t think we’d-”
“That’s okay,” you cut him off. “We can either cool down or... get creative.”
With a breathless chuckle, he started to run his hand down the length of your body. “I might have an idea.”
You squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation when his hand slipped between your thighs. Bucky looked at you, paying close attention to your movements and the sounds you made.
Your head thrashed from side to side, your breathing erratic. You gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and slapped the other against his chest, your back arching off the counter as you moaned his name.
He had never seen anything more beautiful than you; lost in your pleasure, brow furrowed, eyes fluttering shut. He almost reached his peak with you, untouched.
You lay there with your mouth open and took a series of short ragged breaths, filling your deprived lungs with air. After a minute, you tried to sit up but your arms were too weak to support you.
You let out a loud, frustrated groan as you tried again. “I think you killed me.” You held out your arms to him. “Help me up.”
He wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you into a sitting position. After another long kiss, you ran your hand over the front of his jeans, smiling wickedly when his breath hitched.
He looked down at your hands as you started unbuckling his belt. He knew you could feel the tension in his stomach, the anticipation.
“You don’t have to-”
“Shh,” you whispered, kissing his cheek. “Do you want me to?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
You slipped your fingers under the elastic waistband of his boxers and Bucky hissed. Your fingers were cool against his heated skin but he silenced your apology with a kiss.
He didn’t last long. He couldn’t; not when you were whispering filthy things in his ear, or playing with his earlobe, sucking it gently then biting it harshly. You were all he could feel, all he wanted to feel.
You chuckled softly when his legs buckled under him, your free arm coming around his waist to keep him upright. He slammed his hand down on the counter, grunting like a beast in pain. He moaned your name, repeated it like a prayer as he reached his peak.
With a tired laugh, he slumped forward, exhausted, and kissed your forehead before he drew several long deep breaths. He tucked himself back into his boxers, pulled his jeans up and buckled his belt.
*
“That was...” He didn’t finish his sentence, choosing instead to grab the back of your neck and pull you in for a kiss. You chuckled as you returned his kiss. Bucky drew back and bowed his head, resting his forehead against yours.
“Looks like we won’t do the dishes today,” you said, looking down at the broken ceramics and glass. Bucky followed your line of sight to the broken pates before he burst into laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
The next Thursday, Bucky was getting ready for your art opening. Sam and Natasha had flown from D.C. to see your first show, though you had no idea they were coming. Your sisters and brother were already at the gallery waiting for them.
The street was quiet when Sam, Natasha and Bucky arrived at the gallery. A few people were standing outside, smoking and talking. As they walked up to them, Bucky glanced through the window in hopes of finding you.
It was only seven but the gallery was already busy, packed with people milling around, laughing, drinking, and talking. His ears started ringing and he had to stop to take a deep breath.
“You okay?” Sam asked, concern colouring his brown eyes. Natasha paused too, her hand still clasped in Sam’s. They turned to the crowd then looked at Bucky with sympathetic eyes. He had grown paler and his skin looked shiny with sweat. “Is it too much?”
Bucky couldn’t see you but he knew you were inside. You were waiting for him. He couldn’t miss your first show, he simply couldn’t. He tried one of his breathing exercises, working with this nervous energy instead of letting it consume him. He tightened his grip on the single sunflower he was carrying and straightened his spine.
“I’m good.”
“If you need a minute, we can wait here.”
“You look very sharp, Bucky,” Natasha replied almost immediately, a warm smile on her lips. “She’ll be thrilled to see you.”
Sam wanted Bucky to be comfortable but Natasha understood that it wasn’t going to happen. Bucky needed reassurance; he needed to know that everything would be fine, that you’d be happy to see him.
“Yeah?” Bucky asked, seeking validation in his friends’ eyes. “Yeah, of course. C’mon, let’s go.”
Inside the gallery, they were greeted by a cute twentysomething who gave them a rundown on the gallery and the exhibition. She had more energy than a puppy and spoke incredibly fast. They smiled and nodded politely, though their eyes kept wandering around the main room looking for you.
They managed to quietly escape when another group of people entered the gallery. As Bucky looked around the room, he felt a little overwhelmed. A couple of women were speed walking amongst the guests, an urgency in the way they moved that contradicted with the smiles on their faces.
“Find her and I’ll get us something to drink,” Sam said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the chatter. It really didn’t help Bucky’s anxiety.
Natasha and Bucky made their way through the throng, trying not to bump into people. Natasha waved at someone across the room and Bucky recognized your sisters and their partners. Scott was there too, carrying a half-asleep little girl.
Natasha looked over her shoulder when he didn’t follow her, then smirked knowingly and jerked her head in the direction of the crowd. He’d say hello later, right now he wanted to see you.
The gallery was designed in a u-shape with a patio at the centre. From where he was, he could see the engraving table, the bar and the door that led to the patio. Candles were lit in the patio, climbing roses and jasmine elegantly concealing the cracks in the concrete walls.
And there you were.
You were standing amongst a group of older folks, listening to their stories. The woman next to you exuded confidence and she seemed to enjoy being the centre of attention.
Seeing you didn’t suddenly make his anxiety disappear, it didn’t make everyone around him vanish into thin air, but he still felt ten times better. It kept him grounded because he knew you were there for him.
A smile spread across Bucky’s lips as he observed you. You were smiling politely at the woman next to you, then let your eyes wander around the room as if you knew someone was watching you. When your eyes finally met, your whole face lit up and you quickly excused yourself.
“You’re here!” you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him. He raised his arm, making sure you weren’t crushing the flower, then returned the embrace. “Thank you for coming.”
“I hope you don’t mind, I brought a couple of friends who are die-hard fans of your work,” he said, kissing your temple.
You pulled back slightly. “What? Who?”
“You’ll see,” he replied with a grin before he handed you the flower with a flourish. “A sunflower for my sunshine.”
You rolled your eyes at the corny line but your smile was shy and happy. You carefully tucked the sunflower into the top buttonhole of your blouse, then gave him a kiss. He smiled against your lips, enjoying this moment when it felt like it was just the two of you.
“Hey listen,” you said, your hands framing his face. “I know there are a lot of people here tonight, so if you need to leave or take a break-”
“I know,” he interrupted you, a smile on his lips. “Thank you for always looking out for me.”
“That’s what angels are for.”
He laughed softly and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before he let you go. He’d been to several events like this one, he knew it was only a matter of time until someone dragged you away. After all, it was a networking event.
“This place is great,” he said. “But I haven’t seen your work yet.” He held out his hand, palm upward, and you bashfully looked at your feet as you took his hand. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
You simultaneously buried your face in his shoulder and smacked his arm, making him laugh. “It’s a sales technique,” you quipped, leading him across the room to where your family was waiting.
“Well, it’s definitely working on me, beautiful.”
“Oh, no! You’re not allowed to buy anything tonight. Your apartment already looks like a museum.”
“The one above my bed is my favorite,” he continued with a grin. A little shiver ran through you at the memory, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. He pulled you closer and whispered in your ear. “Do you remember the night we made it? You and I, naked, covered in paint, making each other feel so fucking good.”
“Bucky,” you whined, trying to wiggle out of his embrace. “I can’t think straight when you say things like that.” He chuckled lowly in your ear. “People are staring at us.”
“Let ‘em. They came to look at art, uh?”
You good-naturedly shook your head at him and rolled your eyes, your expression one of annoyance and amusement. Bucky had become a bit of a flirt since the two of you started dating, and he loved riling you up in public.
You opened your mouth to speak when your eyes darted toward something behind his shoulder. “Nat?” You looked at Bucky, your eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. “You brought Nat!”
“And Sam,” he said with a nod. “They’re a package deal now.”
“Sam’s here too?” you exclaimed.
Bucky watched you powerwalking toward your friends and family. You wrapped your arms around Natasha as tight as you could and she pretended to gasp for air making your siblings smile fondly at the two of you.
“Thanks for not inviting me to your first big gig, doofus,” Natasha said as she pulled back. “You’re lucky your boyfriend had my number.”
“I didn’t want you guys to come all the way here on a Thursday,” you explained. “You all have your lives. I don’t expect you to drop everything to see my art show.”
“We live in D.C., not Mars,” Sam said, appearing with two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Natasha before he greeted you with a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Besides it gave us an excuse to take a few days off work. We’re staying until Sunday.”
You looked away, uncomfortable. “Guys, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“Newsflash, it is,” Scott said, having heard your conversation.
“And we’re all incredibly proud of you,” Okoye added.
“You accomplished so much,” Wanda agreed, raising her own glass in a toast. The others raised their glasses high, clinking them together in the air before they drained them dry.
“I’m really glad you’re all here,” you said, sagging a little against Bucky’s chest. He wrapped his arm around you and kept you close. “It means a lot. I love you all.”
One of the interns popped out from behind Bucky, interrupting the little reunion. She walked over to the wall and placed a little red sticker on the label under one of your paintings. She turned around and congratulated you on your first sale, making everyone explode into cheers and applause.
“If you have a moment, the buyer would like to meet you,” she said.
“Oh, yes, of course!”
When you turned to him, Bucky saw the worry colouring your beautiful eyes. He smiled tenderly and cupped your cheek in his palm, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. “Go, it’s your night.”
He pressed his lips to yours before he let you go. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, a nervous habit Bucky had seen you do a lot in the past few months. You touched the pendant around your neck and smiled.
Before you left, you gave Natasha a sharp look –which could only mean one thing, ‘take care of him for me’- and she replied with a firm nod. It made Bucky grin to himself as he gently nudged you toward the intern.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur of soft classical music, loud conversations, and laughter. Bucky spent most of the evening sitting on the patio talking with Sam, Vis, Scott and W’Kabi while the girls were chattering cheerfully next to them.
He preened whenever you introduced him as your boyfriend to gallery owners and art collectors. You mentioned that he was a talented writer, even though it was supposed to be your big night.
“Are you writing anything at the moment?” someone asked him.
“I have a book coming out soon, hopefully,” he said, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. “But that’s not why I’m here tonight.”
“What is it about?”
“Oh, Bucky’s incredibly secretive,” you answered for him. “He wouldn’t even tell me.”
Bucky tuned out the rest of the conversation and decided to watch you instead. You were too engrossed in their story to notice his intense eyes fixed on you.
He decided that he’d take you to his uncle’s bookshop after the party.
He did a quick mental checklist to see if it was feasible; he had the keys to the bookshop, he knew the alarm code, and the back of the bookshop already had chairs lined up in rows from a previous author reading. The only thing missing was his book but he had a copy at home and Sam owed him a favour anyway.
It was getting late, several people were standing next to the engraving table but the gallery had emptied enough to really look at the paintings on the walls.
It was a beautiful, cosy place when it wasn’t overcrowded with guests.
Your siblings had left about an hour ago. Sam came back from Bucky’s apartment with Bucky’s book hidden under his coat, acting like he was smuggling candies into a movie theatre. They left soon after.
“Hey,” Bucky whispered in your ear as he wrapped his arm around you from behind, tucking you against his chest. You were standing alone in front of your paintings, the distant sound of voices and laughter came from the other side of the gallery. “Everything okay, angel?”
You hummed under your breath and tilted your head back so you could kiss the underside of his jaw. He felt you relax against him.
“They’re closing up soon,” you said. “But I don’t want tonight to end. Can I stay at your place?”
“The answer’s always yes,” he replied, making you laugh. “We have to make a quick stop somewhere first.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.” A minute passed before you turned and wrapped your arms tightly around him, squeezing hard enough to make the air whoosh from his lungs. He let out a surprised laugh and held you close to his chest. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“Nothin’,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “It was a really good night. I think I’m feeling a little emotional.” You pulled your head back to look at him. “Thank you for asking Sam and Nat to come. I really needed that.”
“That’s what good boyfriends do,” he said with a grin.
You laughed. “I love you.”
Your blunt admission made him blink. Hard. The words had left your lips so easily that the weight of their meaning hit him like a lightning bolt. He stood there frozen, unable to move, unable to speak.
You laughed softly. “Earlier tonight I was upset that my mom and Pietro couldn’t be here. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life and I wanted to cry. But then I saw you and I knew everything would be all right. I know we’ve only been dating for a couple of months but we’re known each other for almost a year and... I’ve loved you since you took me to that charity event at the Museum of Natural History.”
“Angel,” he said in a choked voice. He pressed his lips together, then tried to say your name.
“It’s okay,” you said, cupping his face. “You don’t have to say it back. I know you love me. You have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen. You can’t hide anything.” He laughed, the sound raspy and wet. “No one has ever looked at me like this before.”
“You’re-” he paused and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’re everything to me, y’know that?”
“I know,” you said, smiling tenderly at him.
His book felt heavy in his pocket, a reminder of all the things he wanted to tell you. He smoothed his hand over his pocket and looked over his shoulder but the remaining guests were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay attention to you.
“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.
You placed your hand in his and let him lead you out of the gallery. You both stepped out into the street laughing and feeling lighter than air. Bucky hailed a cab, opened the door for you and climbed in.
He gave the driver the address and settled back into his seat, his attention on you. You looked at him with incredulity mixed with amused curiosity. He leaned closer to you and rubbed his nose against yours, making you laugh.
When the cab stopped, Bucky looked out the window, surprised to see that they had already arrived. You let out an incredulous chuckle next to him, probably realizing that you’d spent most of the ride kissing.
“A bookstore?” you asked, watching Bucky walk over to the crisscrossed metal security gates. “Well, too bad it’s closed. Then again it’s almost midnight.”
“That’s not a problem.”
The gates made a loud screeching noise as Bucky opened the store. He punched in the security code and waited until the light turned green to turn on the lights. You slowly walked into the bookstore, a dubious look on your face.
“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?”
“Technically, no,” Bucky replied with a cringe. “But I have the keys, don’t I?” You levelled an assessing gaze on him. “It’s my uncle’s bookstore,” he finally relented. “He gave me a key for emergencies, and sweetheart, that’s one hell of an emergency.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re smooth, Barnes, but I’m not spending the night in jail.”
He laughed. “You’re no fun, angel.” When you didn’t seem convinced, he added, “We’re good, promise.”
You raised your eyebrows and puckered your lips into a doubtful grimace as you began browsing through the shelves. Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out his book, cradling it protectively against his side.
“I bet you used to work here,” you said, your back turned to him and your head tilted to one side as you read the titles.
“You’re right.” He glanced down at the book in his hand and traced his thumb along the gold lettering. “I worked here with Steve. We were saving up money to go to Nepal.”
You paused and looked over your shoulder at him. “To climb Mount Everest?”
Bucky made an affirmative sound but he was took busy looking at the book in his hand to notice that a worried look had crossed your face. You walked to him and touched his cheek, trying to coax his eyes back to yours.
“I’d go through all of this again,” he said, blue eyes boring into yours. “Just to spend a minute with you.”
“Don’t say things like that,” you whispered, hiding your flustered face in the crook of his neck. He tilted his head to kiss your crown. “Are you going to tell me why we’re here?”
He took a deep breath and you slowly pulled back from him. “We’re here, angel, because... well because I’m an idiot who can’t express his feelings, at least not out loud and definitely not in an intelligible way. I thought I’d sit down and write it down but it got away from me.”
He raised the book in his hand as if proving his point and let out a derisive snort. You cocked your head, trying to understand.
“I called it ‘Under Pastel Skies’ because that’s what you remind me of,” he said, looking down at the cover. “Clear, cotton candy skies. Bright and colourful, soft and beautiful, and with that ethereal golden hue that makes you believe in Heaven.”
“Bucky,” you tried, your voice coming out thin.
“Will you come with me, please?” He offered you his arm and you looped your hand around the crook of his elbow. You didn’t try to take the book from him and you were oddly silent next to him. He sneaked a glance at you but he couldn’t make out the expression on your face.
He led you into the backroom, where several rows of chairs had been set up in front of a lectern, and walked you down the central aisle.
“You want me to take a seat?” you asked, glancing around the room.
“Please,” he whispered and pressed his lips against your forehead.
You sat down willingly, though you kept wringing your hands. For a brief moment, Bucky wondered if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake. He had no idea how you were going to react to his book, and it hadn’t really hit him until now that his book was filled with extremely personal information.
He never mentioned your name, your siblings or your mother, but he did share more than he had intended. With his heart in his throat, he forced himself to walk over to the lectern.
“Thank you all for coming today,” he tried to joke but his anxiety made him stutter. “I see that we have a full house tonight.”
He briefly glanced up at you, sitting all alone in that big room, then looked down at his book.
“Mmh, so,” he cleared his throat, “usually when you speak in front of a large audience, or an important audience, they tell you to start with an anecdote. It’s supposed to put everyone at ease, it’s supposed to break the ice, but I, uh, I think we know each other quite well.”
Bucky became acutely aware of the beads of sweat running down his armpit, sending an uncomfortable chill through his spine. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and cursed when the book immediately closed itself.
“I’m,” he let out a small laugh, “I’m sorry, this is what happens when you only have one hand.” It took a few tries to open the book again. His fingers were trembling so much. “I’m a little nervous,” he acknowledged with a cringe. “Here we go!”
My name is Bucky. I have been writing for years and my faithful readers know me as Grant Thomas, a sarcastic and witty writer who makes fun of his own struggles, but in real life, I’m just Bucky. According to my friend, I’m a sourpuss, a fun killer, and I guess that’s fair. I’m not as charismatic as I used to be.
Meeting new people can be a scary thing, especially when you’re a one-armed brooding machine. I carry a lot of emotional baggage. Sometimes it feels like everywhere I go I have a backpack strapped to my chest, filled with notebooks containing undisclosed information about me.
I met my angel at a bar. She was wearing a tight orange-red dress, her lips the color of blood; she looked like she was about to sell her soul to the Devil. I was the Devil. And I knew I had to leave before I could taint her with my darkness.
I saw her outside the bar while I was hailing a cab. I don’t know if she followed me or if she wanted to leave but I was drawn to her. Her shoes didn’t match her dress. She was wearing an expensive-looking dress but her shoes were old and scuffed, most certainly loved, and spattered with flecks of orange and blue paint.
It dawned on me that blue and orange have nothing in common but they do look good together. I shared a cab with her that night.
Bucky turned the pages until he found the chapter he’d been looking for. He didn’t look up, too afraid of your reaction. He continued.
The first holiday we spent together was Liss, our made-up holiday around Christmas time. Liss is an old English word, it means comfort, happiness. I remember feeling particularly happy. I had opened up to her. I felt close to her. I told her things I’d never told anyone, not even in my books, not even to my best friends, the men who’d saved my life.
Everything is so natural with her, so easy. She challenges me and I like to think I challenge her too. She makes me feel at peace, she understands me. She’s my friend, my companion, my soulmate.
And as I sat on my apartment floor, covered in tinsel, laughing so hard my cheeks hurt, I realized I was falling in love with her.
At first I struggled against this feeling. In all honesty, I’m not a model of emotional stability. I have a compulsive need to clean when I’m stressed, I label things and put them into boxes instead of dealing with my problems, and I simultaneously crave and loathe the comfort of my everyday life.
As someone once pointed out, I’m not boyfriend material.
It doesn’t matter if the person you love is a friend, a family member or your partner; when you love someone, the last thing you want is to smother them with your darkness. I’m lucky enough to have friends who never gave up on me.
Bucky quickly flipped over the pages until he found what he’d been looking for. He knew you were there and he knew you were watching him but he couldn’t meet your eyes. He lowered his head, his heart hammering in his chest.
My angel is nothing if not strong. She cares so deeply for the people she loves that she puts their needs before her own. It breaks my heart to know that she gave up, not only her dreams, but also her comfort and independence.
Sometimes I watch her from the living room while she paints, her brush strokes quick and confident, or slow and delicate. She is talented; entire worlds spring into life under her fingers.
I love the way she squints at the canvas, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth in extreme concentration, a paint brush behind each ear. Her posture is awful and I know I’ll hear her joints crack when she finally stretches. The sigh that comes with it makes me smile.
I won’t go into the details of her artistic journey, but like most artists, she’s plagued with self-doubt. Inspiration, like happiness, is a fickle thing, and sometimes they are tied to one another so intricately that the knot can never be untied.
I gave her a necklace; a gold pendant in the form of a palette. It took me weeks to find the perfect charm, something that would remind her that even if inspiration fails her, she is still an accomplished, talented artist.
She was born with a paint brush in her hand and her skin is dotted with multi-coloured freckles.
I want her to be happy.
Bucky closed his eyes and took a steadying breath as he finished reading these lines. He raised his terrified eyes to yours and words failed him. He could see tears streaming down your face and a little frown between your eyes.
He set the open book upside down and started to move toward you when you pushed yourself off your chair and rushed to him. You buried your face in his chest and he wrapped his arm around you, relief washing through him.
“My love,” he said, now tenderly stroking your hair. You brushed your tears away and sighed. “Is it too much? Do you want me to stop?” He pulled back and met your eyes. “Are you upset? You don’t need to worry, I’ll never publish this book if it makes you uncomfortable.”
You turned your body sideways and touched the book, your other arm still wrapped around his waist. “No, I- I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Do you want me to keep reading?”
“Yes, please,” you said softly.
Bucky chuckled under his breath and pressed his lips to the top of your head. He shuffled the two of you closer to the lectern and cradled you against his chest, kissing your hair, before he turned the book over. You tightened your hold on his waist and played with your pendant.
“I love you,” he said, dipping his head slightly to meet your eyes. The words came so naturally that he realized he wasn’t afraid to share his feelings anymore. You deserved to know you were loved. You reached up to caress his cheek and repeated his words back to him.
The moment I saw her, I knew I had met my soulmate. I don’t mean it in a romantic way, I didn’t fall in love with her at first sight, but despite our brief and awkward first conversation, we clicked. I knew I could trust her.
She knows how to bring me back from the darkest corners of my mind. I am myself with her, flaws and all. She’s patient, kind, and understanding, and the best part is, I know I bring her similar comfort. It’s as if we’ve always known each other, as if we’ve carried each other’s fears in us all our lives, not knowing what it was.
She doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile, but she’s careful. She took care of my scars, a look of intense concentration on her face. I almost blurted out the three words I’m so desperate to say. I love you. But I chickened out, too scared, too insecure. Our first kiss brought tears to my eyes. She held my hand and took me to her studio, and I knew, right there, that I would love her for the rest of my life.
I only ask one thing: let this book live. Crack its spine, fold the corners of the pages, write in it, stain the pages with your tea or coffee or your wine, let it be a coaster, and then give it to someone you love. It will look a bit rough and damaged, like me I guess, but it’ll be worth something to whoever wants it. I can understand the appeal of a well-worn book. When it bears the marks of our everyday lives, reading it feels more personal. So please, do not handle it with care. Hold it close to your heart and let it live its best life.
Bucky let out a long sigh as he closed the book. There was a moment’s silence between you as he cradled your head, his lips resting against your temple. Slowly you untangled yourself from him and reached for the book.
“To my angel, this book is my heart,” you read the epigraph. You turned to him, tears in your eyes, and a wave of panic hit him. “When you said you had an idea for a new book, I asked you if I could be in it,” you said with a little laugh, “Do you remember?”
“I do.” He laughed along with you, then his voice took on a serious tone. “I never intended to publish it, you have to know that, I just wanted you to read it but I was so... I don’t know, so in love with you that I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.”
You looked down at the book and bit your bottom lip to keep from smiling. “I really don’t know what to say.” You raised your eyes to his face. “Can I keep it?”
“Yes, of course. And if there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable with-”
“I’ll let you know,” you replied with a coy smile. “But I want people to know our story. I want to live forever as your angel and maybe, in a hundred years, someone will read this book and they’ll know the love we had for each other was real.”
He hadn’t realized he was crying until you wiped away a tear with a stroke of your thumb, the action so delicate and sweet it made his breath hitch in his throat. He closed his eyes, causing more tears to fall down his cheeks.
“Because after this, Bucky Barnes, you’re stuck with me forever,” you emphasised the last word and Bucky chuckled.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, angel,” he said, claiming your lips in a searing kiss.
- the end
if you’ve enjoyed this story, please consider supporting my work by buying me a Ko-fi
Summary: Canon!AU Bucky doesn’t trust anyone but himself. But after you show up on his doorstep with a shoebox full of old HYDRA files, he finds himself in a very difficult situation: trust a spy or gamble with people’s lives.
Word Count: 2,872
Warnings: Language
A/N: Thank you for the feedback on part 1. Now the plot thickens... ;) Hope you enjoy!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Bucky saw you again a week later. You were pacing back and forth in front of his door, talking to yourself and rubbing your arms furiously. You looked insane. He briefly considered breaking into his own apartment through a window.
He didn’t have time for this.
Zemo had taken them to Madripoor. With Sharon Carter’s help, they found the scientist responsible for the new super soldier serum. They left after Sam promised to get her name cleared.
Then things took a turn for the worse in Latvia. During the fight against the Flag Smashers, a newly enhanced John Walker murdered a man in front of dozens of people who were all recording the scene on their smartphone.
So, yeah, he really didn’t have time for this.
Once you spotted him, you rushed to his side. “Why were you in Madripoor? Did someone activate the Winter Soldier? How did Zemo break out of jail? Was it you? What does King T’Challa think about this? Did Captain America really murder a man in broad daylight?”
“No comment.”
“Oh, c’mon!”
He unlocked his front door but you slipped into the room before he could close the door in your face. At least you had good reflexes. He sighed resignedly and held the door wide open, gesturing you out. You shook your head.
“You’re a real pain in my ass, y’know that?” he seethed, throwing his jacket on the floor. “I miss the days when I came home and you weren’t there.” He watched you rub your arm frenetically. “What’s wrong with your arm?”
“Eczema,” you muttered. “It happens when I’m stressed.”
Bucky hung his head and tried to find the right words. You continued rubbing your hand up and down your upper arm while you looked around the room. He glanced up at you, his eyes kind. “Go home. For your own safety.”
You scoffed. “Don’t treat me like a child.”
He buried his face in his hands and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, sighing loudly. “I can’t do this,” he said, annoyed. “I’m just giving you some friendly advice, is all.”
“Did you get rid of the tapes?”
“Yes.” He had watched them first in case they contained undisclosed information about the organization or the super soldier serum. “Where’d you get ‘em?” You opened your mouth to reply but he cut you off. “Let me guess. ‘I can’t tell you’.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is,” he deadpanned.
The conversation fell into a long, tense silence. You stared at each other like wild animals; faces grim, shoulders tense, ready to snap. You broke the silence first.
“I know Walker took the serum.”
Bucky’s face morphed into a grimace that wrinkled his forehead. “Who told you that?”
You eluded his question. “He received an other than honorable discharge, he’s no longer Captain America. They have no idea he took the serum but someone else knows and they’re very interested in him.”
“Who?” he asked, then raised a warning finger. “And I swear to God if you say ‘I can’t tell you’,” he trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air. You pressed your lips shut in an exaggerated way. “You speak in goddamn riddles. What the hell do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know!” you exclaimed, frustrated. “I’ve never had to deal with this kind of stuff before. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
“Yeah?” He titled his head to the side, his voice getting louder. “And I feel like I’m speaking to Gandalf.”
You balled your fists up at your sides and lifted your chin up in a show of defiance. “With all due respect the world doesn’t revolve around you. Five years ago I was a barista so I apologize if my method displeases you but I’m kinda new at this. I’m just trying to stay alive.”
“You can’t tell me your name, you can’t tell me who you work for or how you got your intel but somehow I’m supposed to trust you?”
He stepped closer to you and you took a step back, sensing something hostile and dangerous in the way he moved.
“Are you here to keep an eye on me? Is that your assignment?” He jutted his chin toward you as he asked the question. “Hell, I know how these things work. They send a pretty girl in distress, make sure she befriends the man behind the Winter Soldier, keep tabs on him in case he starts terrorising the neighbourhood. Hey, if you’re lucky maybe he’ll tell you a thing or two about HYDRA.” He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. “‘Bet you thought you’d have me eating out of the palm of your hand, uh. Too bad, I’m an asshole, right?”
You remained expressionless but Bucky could see the anger brewing in your eyes. “I’ve seen what HYDRA did to you,” you said calmly. “I haven’t told anyone. I came to you. I thought we could help each other but you’re acting like an asshole.” You took a step back, giving him a once-over. “And I thought I had trust issues,” you spat before storming out of his apartment.
On your way out, you almost ran into the woman who was climbing up the stairs. She watched you turn the corner and disappear, then she walked to the front door where Bucky was standing.
“Trouble in paradise?” Ayo asked, a mischievous grin on her lips.
He levelled her with a deadpan look and walked back into his apartment. She followed him and set a metallic suitcase down on his kitchen counter. He didn’t need to open it to know that it was Sam’s new suit.
“Thank you.”
She gave him a slow nod before she left. As she made her way to the door, Bucky stopped her.
“I have one last favor.”
“Another last favor?”
“Please. It’s important.”
She sighed. “What is it?”
“I need you to find everything you can on the woman who left my apartment.”
A smile spread across Ayo’s lips. “I will.”
***
Bucky was on his way back to Brooklyn after dropping off Sam’s suit and spending the weekend with the Wilsons when he got an email from Ayo. He skimmed through the documents, his eyes moving quickly over the words.
He knew your name, your date and place of birth, your address in Brooklyn. You used to be a barista and joined the army only two months after the Blip. You excelled in every course, particularly hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship. You graduated top of your class but disappeared from official records right after. You had no family, no close friends, no significant other.
You were still a mystery to him.
And where there’s mystery, there’s a whole lot of trouble.
He went to your apartment instead of heading straight home. The sky was pitch-black and clouded over, no moon or stars showing. He didn’t feel guilty for showing up so late, it was only fair after you had surprised him twice in a week.
Bucky knocked on your door and waited. The apartment was silent at first, then he heard the sound of a gun’s safety click off and he snapped. He felt disconnected from his body, moving on autopilot to protect himself.
He took a step back, ready to kick the door open when you called out his name. He sensed disbelief and tension in your voice. Instinctively, his eyes went to the peephole.
You unlocked the dead bolt, leaving the chain on its hook, and peered at him through the partially opened door. “What are you doing here?”
Bucky thought it was kind of sad the way you were hiding behind your door, using it like a shield. It was only wood, easily breakable. He glanced down at the gun in your hand.
“Why don’t you open the door so we can talk?”
You hesitated a long minute before you closed the door and slid the chain out of its holder. You opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing toward your entryway with the barrel of your gun.
Your apartment was small, clean, warm, and devoid of personal photographs. He figured it was a nice place to relax but it also looked disposable. There was nothing valuable to steal, nothing that you would miss if you had to leave in a hurry.
You clicked the safety back on and stayed close to the door. He took a seat at the kitchen island, his broad legs spread open on the stool and his right elbow casually resting on the counter. He said your name and your nostrils flared.
“I think I prefer Classified,” he said with a cocky smile, looking around your living room.
“How did you find me?”
“I can’t tell you.” He grinned at the nasty glare you sent his way. You looked like you wanted to strangle him. “I’ve decided to give you a chance. Tell me everything you know and I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s a tempting offer but my superior told me to play hard to get,” you said mockingly, then your eyes widened in fake horror. “Oh, no! I wasn’t supposed to tell you that!”
At least he had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m an asshole. I get it, sorry,” he replied, blushing. “But don’t be a smartass.”
“You said I was pretty,” you said with a grin.
He glanced over at you and grumbled something under his breath, fidgeting in his seat. You bit your lip to keep from smiling; he looked kind of cute.
He blushed, the colour creeping up his neck and his ears. He looked everywhere but at you, feeling exposed now that he couldn’t hide behind his long hair.
“Can you just drop it now?”
You waited until he met your eyes before you said, “For now.” You shoved the gun into the waistband at the small of your back. You had a feeling you wouldn’t need it. “Listen, what I know is enough to get me killed. I need to know I can trust you. I need your support.”
Bucky stared at you, his face a study of conflicting emotions. Concern. Uncertainty. Dread. His eyes unfocused as he got lost in his thoughts. You were lost, scared, and alone. He wanted to help but a little voice in the back of his head kept repeating over and over: ‘She will betray you. Everyone betrays you.’
Dr. Raynor kept saying he had to find his place in the world, nurture friendship and trust people. It was easier said than done, especially in his line of work. He wanted you to be completely honest with him but he had to give you something in return, something he had never told anyone.
He shook himself out of his reverie and gazed at you absentmindedly. Your brow furrowed and he realized he had been silent for too long. He cleared his throat and apologized.
“Okay, fair’s fair. I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I-um, deep down, I know the Soldier’s still a part of me. The trigger words are gone but he’s always there, lurking, powerless, but for how long? It’s like having an insect living inside your brain.”
You slumped against the door and slowly slid down until you were sitting on the floor. You looked up at the ceiling and deflated, blowing out a hard breath. You hadn’t expected such a confession, and all of a sudden your mind was filled with images of him lying on an operating table, begging for his life, screaming in agony. You wished you’d never seen those tapes.
“I used to work at a coffee house,” you started. Bucky straightened up and leaned forward, listening intently. “But after the Blip, it seemed kinda pointless. The world had changed, billions of people evaporated into thin air. And the Blip caused a lot of accidents. Hospitals were overwhelmed and understaffed,” you paused, swallowed. “My parents died that day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“A lot of children lost their parents, at least I was an adult.” You tried to give a casual shrug, determined not to show your pain but he saw right through you. “Then gradually, things started to get even worse. They erected memorial sites in honour of the victims of the Blip, which was nice, but meanwhile we were living in a lawless world. Violence, looting, vandalism, you name it.
“So obviously, the U.S. government manipulated the masses in a desperate attempt to avoid the creation of a libertarian one-world government. The army offered what people were craving; financial stability, food on the table, a roof over your head, a purpose,” you paused. “Sound familiar?”
Bucky clicked his tongue. He remembered the first time he’d seen one of those ‘I Want You’ posters. His father had given him a curious look, sad and expectant, but Bucky didn’t enlist. He couldn’t. He started working at the docks after his father lost his job, his meagre income was the only thing keeping them –and Steve- afloat.
“Anyway,” you continued. “I joined the program, graduated with honours and then I met the woman who’d become my boss. Her name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. She goes by Val. She rebuilt SHIELD from scratch after the destruction of the Triskelion. When she offered me a job, I looked into her.
“After SHIELD fell, Black Widow released SHIELD and HYDRA’s files to the public. They were encrypted but I’m pretty good with computers. De Fontaine used to work with Nick Fury. They were real close, if you know what I mean,” you said, giving Bucky a pointed look. He gave you thumbs up, signalling that he had understood your innuendo. “She also led a group of elite agents called Femme Force with Sharon Carter. Once I was certain she had no affiliation with HYDRA, I accepted her offer.”
“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”
“But,” you said, emphasising the word. “Last week, I was working late when I got an anonymous text. It said that in De Fontaine’s office there was a safe hidden behind a bookcase and I might want to take a look inside.”
“Let me guess,” Bucky cut you off. “The tapes.”
“Yeah. I replaced them with some blank tapes and fake files so she doesn’t notice they’re missing but it’s only a matter of time. I don’t know how often she looks at those,” you sighed. “There’s nothing about the Winter Soldier Program in our database, I checked, so I don’t know why she had them or why she didn’t put them in the base. The only logical explanation is that she’s HYDRA. I don’t have any real evidence to back this up but... I mean-”
“It’s suspicious,” Bucky agreed. “Her name doesn’t ring a bell but she could be a sleeper agent. You still work for her?”
You rested your head against the door and looked guiltily at him. “Yeah, I was thinking of transferring but I want to keep an eye on her. I’m not exactly her favourite agent at the moment.” Upon seeing Bucky’s frown, you explained, “She tried to send me on a mission with Walker but I refused.”
“I know,” Bucky replied with a grin. “I was there.”
You bit your lip and laughed under your breath. “She found out Walker took the serum in Latvia. I think she’s trying to recruit him.”
“’Makes sense.”
“So, you know pretty much everything.” You wrapped your arms around your bent legs and buried your face in your knees. “There’s a good chance I’ve been working for HYDRA this whole time.”
Bucky watched you curl into yourself and he couldn’t help but empathise with your feelings. He knew exactly how you felt. Betrayed, used, ashamed, angry. He was extremely familiar with these emotions, they were an inherent part of his new life.
He glanced down at his lap and sighed. You had more in common than he realized. He abandoned his chair and crossed the short distance between you. His movements were slow as he sat next to you on the floor.
You sat in silence until Bucky put his hand on your shoulder and gave it a quick, light squeeze. That simple touch made you turn your head in his direction, your cheek pressed against your knees.
He didn’t know what to say and it suddenly hit him that you didn’t look like a spy at all. Just like he didn’t look like a soldier when he arrived at Camp Lehigh.
“I can’t stop thinking about everything I did since I joined SHIELD,” you said, your voice soft. “The decisions I had to make, the people I hurt,” you trailed off and swallowed hard. “I thought I was helping people.”
“I know exactly how you feel.”
You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as you contemplated his words “Sorry, I shouldn’t complain,” you said, mirroring his sitting position. “You’ve been through so much worse.”
He hummed as he rested his head against the front door. “We’ve both been through a lot-” he sighed “-but we’ll get through it.”
“Unless they kill us first.”
“Unless they kill us first,” he repeated sombrely.
Summary: Canon!AU Bucky doesn’t trust anyone but himself. But after you show up on his doorstep with a shoebox full of old HYDRA files, he finds himself in a very difficult situation: trust a spy or gamble with people’s lives.
Word Count: 1,842
Warnings: Language
A/N: Thank you for the feedback on part 2, I hope you enjoy part 3 :’) This chapter is brought to you by It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Jeff Bezos and the FBI agent watching me. For updates, please follow @redgillan-shares and turn on notification. Happy reading!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
It was late in the afternoon by the time Bucky reached your apartment and his mind began to wander. Sam had called him a few days ago to keep him updated on the Flag Smashers. So far, they were still waiting for them to reappear, which suited Sam fine. At least he had time to train with the shield.
After that night at your apartment, Bucky had agreed to help you. You spent your evenings together trying to figure out a way to stop De Fontaine, though without new elements you were going round in circles.
Bucky wasn’t sure what to call your relationship. ‘Work partners’ seemed too formal and ‘friends’ was a bit of a stretch. You were a good agent, your instincts were insightful and you could anticipate your enemies’ moves pretty accurately, but you were a little too inexperienced to deal with HYDRA.
You were keeping tabs on De Fontaine during the day and reported back to Bucky in the evening. You were constantly looking over your shoulder, afraid to get caught. Bucky encouraged you to transfer to another department but you were reluctant. If you found another job, you wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on De Fontaine.
“You good?” Bucky asked with a frown when you opened the door ajar, showing only half of your face. Even from where he was standing, he could see that your eyes were red from lack of sleep and worry. He held up the brown paper bag he had been carrying. “I’ve got food.”
“Good,” you replied, a crazed look in your eyes as you ushered him into your apartment. You closed the door behind him and latched the deadbolt, giving the doorknob a little wiggle to make sure it was locked.
“Are you sure you okay?” he asked again.
You gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder as you walked past him into the kitchen.
Your apartment was small, just one bedroom and a kitchen-slash-living room, so it didn’t take him long to notice the bulletin board covered in news articles, official files, handwritten post-it notes and pictures, all connected to each other by lengths of red strings and multi-coloured tacks.
“What the fuck?” Bucky blindly set down the brown paper bag, unable to take his eyes off the board. “That wasn’t here last night. Did you have a board and red yarn lying around somewhere?”
“Amazon Prime,” you replied, though he wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. “Now can we talk about the case, please? I've been dying to talk about the case with you all day? The Power Broker... This name keeps coming up over and over again.”
You walked over to the board and gestured furiously at several pictures, screenshots from the bar fight in Madripoor.
Bucky froze, not sure how to react. You looked drained; your eyes sunken, your complexion dull, but the worst thing was the way your back hunched with exhaustion, as if you couldn’t stand upright anymore.
“Let’s sit down for a minute,” he said, gently guiding you to the sofa. He pressed on your shoulders until you sat down. “When's the last time you slept?”
“Dunno, couple days,” you replied with a shrug. He clicked his tongue in disproval but you cut him off before he could speak. “You don’t have to say it. I know I’m more likely to make a mistake if I’m too tired to function.”
“So why don’t we take the night out, uh? We’ll work on the case tomorrow. De Fontaine and the Power Broker can wait.”
“No, it can’t wait, Bucky!” you said, a slight tremble in your voice. Your nose started to burn and there were tears gathering in your eyes. Great, now you were going to cry. This was so silly, you started laughing but your laughter quickly turned to wracking sobs. He gave you a tissue. “I’m not crying, okay, I’m just tired.”
He dipped his head so he could look directly at you. “Use the goddamn tissue, or I’ll blow your nose myself.”
You chuckled, then did what he asked. You had figured out by now that this was how he expressed affection. You were fine with it. After spending five years on your own and only touching other people when you were fighting, that was the most you could handle.
“Wanna talk ‘bout it?”
You shrugged.
You hesitated, reluctant to share this with him. You never felt safe, it was the sad reality of your new life as a SHIELD agent. As such, you should have better control over your emotions, your fears, but you were only human.
He placed his hand on your knee, pulling you out of your thoughts. He smiled at you, a soft, gentle smile that made him look so much younger. There was something about the way he was looking at you that made you think he’d understand. It was comfortable.
“As soon as I close my eyes, I feel like they’re going to burst into my apartment and... get rid of me.”
Bucky nodded. Your fear wasn’t unfounded. Anyone in your position would be restless, but constantly living in fear that something bad might happen was not healthy. Though he knew it was easier said than done.
“Don’t trust your fears,” he said. “They hold you back. Look, there’s nothing we can do tonight. I brought food, we can watch something. Ideally something from the 30s but I’m pretty partial to Dwayne Johnson.” He smiled when that made you laugh. “No one’s gonna hurt you tonight.”
“How do you know that?”
“They’d have to go through me first.” You looked down at your lap but he saw the smile on your face. “Now, c’mon, Classified, help me move your crazy board out of the way.”
“Stop calling it a crazy board,” you grumbled, following him. “And stop calling me Classified.”
You spent the rest of the evening eating takeout in front of the television. Bucky sat on the floor between your sofa and the coffee table and balanced his plate on his knees. You had looked at him funny and asked him to join you on the sofa but shook his head no.
Sitting on the floor reminded him of simpler times when they all gathered around the radio and listened to Fibber McGee and Molly. His mother would sit on the sofa, his father had his own sacred armchair while Bucky and his sister grabbed a few cushions from the sofa and lay down on the carpet in front of the radio. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“I got offered a job today,” you said, breaking the silence. “It’s with the CIA.”
He pulled his eyes from the screen and glanced at you over his shoulder. You had barely touched your food. You leaned forward and set your plate down on the coffee table. “You should say yes.”
“Isn’t that just trading one evil for another?”
“Possibly,” he replied. “Nigel was recruited by the CIA after HYDRA fell. They want the super soldier serum. I’m sure they’re into some shady shit.”
“Great,” you said sarcastically.
“Doesn’t mean they’re all bad. And you need to get away from De Fontaine before she figures out you stole those tapes. I know you want to keep monitoring her but it’s not safe.”
You sighed as you dramatically sank into the sofa. “If Sam ever decides to reform the Avengers, put in a good word for me, okay?”
He grinned. “Sure.”
At some point, not long after dinner, you fell asleep fully clothed on the sofa. As he laid a blanket over you, Bucky wondered what he should do. If he left, your door would remain unlocked and he didn’t like the idea of you, sound asleep with your front door unlocked.
He decided to stay.
With a sigh, he grabbed a few throw pillows and threw them on the floor. He didn’t mind sleeping on the floor, he just hoped you wouldn’t yell at him for staying the night. He fell asleep to an infomercial.
When he woke up the next morning, he felt rested even though he had slept in short bursts. He sat up on the floor and picked up the shirt he had carelessly discarded during the night. You were still sound asleep, drooling a little, your face serene.
He went through the kitchen, silently opening and closing cupboards, but he couldn’t find the coffee grounds. He opened the fridge and looked back over his shoulder when you stirred awake. In a voice thick with sleep, you asked what he was doing.
“You don’t have coffee,” he replied, closing the fridge. “I found a worrying amount of gummy bears and energy drinks though.”
“’Keeps me awake,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “You stayed here all night.”
It wasn’t a question but Bucky felt the need to explain himself. “I told you I would take care of you. And I couldn’t leave once you fell asleep or your front door would have been unlocked all night.”
You walked up to him and squeezed his arm. “Thank you. Let me change real quick and I’ll get us breakfast. How do you take your coffee?”
“Black. Oh, and grab me a handful of sugar packets.” You failed to hide your amusement as you walked past him to your bedroom. “What? They store well!”
While you were out, Bucky took a look at your board. You had written down several questions: who is the Power Broker? What is De Fontaine’s endgame? Is Walker that fucking clueless?
There were screenshots of the altercation at the bar in Madripoor. You had circled a few faces and linked them together with red yarn. Are they working for the Power Broker? Who is the hooded figure? Power Broker???
Those were interesting questions that he unfortunately didn’t have the answers to.
You ate breakfast in front of some game show, arguing over the correct answer, when suddenly a breaking news banner came across the screen. Attack on the Global Repatriation Council in New York. A reporter was standing in front of the building, an ominous red light coming from the glass building.
“What the hell?” you muttered, turning the volume up. Next to you, Bucky’s phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. “What’s going on?”
“The Flash Smashers are trying to stop the GRC’s vote on global resettlement,” Bucky replied, pocketing his phone. “Sam’s flying to New York. I gotta go.”
He stood, grabbed his jacket, and walked to the door but you stopped him before he could open it. You asked if he needed anything.
“Keep an eye on De Fontaine, and keep your phone close. I’ll be calling you.” He unlocked the door and paused, his hand on the knob. “Don’t get caught and don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’ll try,” you deadpanned, then shifted in your seat before you added, “Don’t get yourself killed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a nod before he slipped out of your apartment.
Summary: Canon!AU Bucky doesn’t trust anyone but himself. But after you show up on his doorstep with a shoebox full of old HYDRA files, he finds himself in a very difficult situation: trust a spy or gamble with people’s lives.
A/N: written for kas’ writing challenge - Believing they’re about to die, Character A confesses their feelings for Character B before they pass out.
Warnings: Canon Divergence (set during tfatws), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Semi-Explicit Sex (+16), Mutual Pining, Slow Burn-ish, Violence
DISCONTINUED - follow @redgillan-shares for updates
please consider supporting my work by buying me a Ko-fi
Summary: Canon!AU Bucky doesn’t trust anyone but himself. But after you show up on his doorstep with a shoebox full of old HYDRA files, he finds himself in a very difficult situation: trust a spy or gamble with people’s lives.
Word Count: 2,591
Warnings: Semi-descriptive Sex
A/N: Thank you for the feedback on part 3. For updates, please follow @redgillan-shares and turn on notification. Happy reading!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
In the aftermath of the attack on the GRC, the world, still licking its wounds after the Blip, became even more chaotic. No one really knew what to do. The Flash Smashers were gone but their message survived.
Bucky took Sam’s advice; he did the work, he brought closure to the victims of the Winter Soldier. It hurt, it hurt like hell but he figured it meant he still had a soul. It always left him emotionally drained, which is why he sought you out after those long nights.
The last one on his list was Yori Nakajima. He dreaded having to talk to the old man, especially after he befriended him. He knew, no matter the outcome, he’d never see Yori again.
Bucky showed up at your door in the middle of the night. You barely slept these days so it didn’t surprise him when he heard you unlock the deadbolt. The moment you opened the door, he could tell you had been expecting him.
He sat heavily on your sofa, shrunk into himself, looking so empty and lonely. You sat next to him, your knees drawn up to your chest, and muted the television before you wrapped your arms around your legs.
“I crossed all the names in my book,” he said, looking straight ahead. “What am I supposed to do now?”
It took you a while to reply. “Whatever you want. Are you still having nightmares?”
“They’re less intense.” He paused for a long moment before his shoulders sagged. “I still don’t know who I am.”
“Who do you want to be?”
He turned his face to look at you, his smile sad. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to decide right away.”
He snorted. “It’s too late for me. I’m no longer the Winter Soldier, but I will always be the Winter Soldier. There’s a part of me that craves violence.” He paused, swallowed hard, then glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “I think... maybe violence has always been a part of my life. Even before the Soldier.”
He waited for you to say something but you seemed lost in your thoughts and didn’t answer. The silence grew and Bucky sighed inwardly, already regretting telling you his biggest secret.
The hard to swallow pill was that violence was ingrained into his soul; from his father’s occasional walloping to saving Steve’s ass to boxing to World War II. He never really enjoyed fighting but he was good at it.
“Bucky, life isn’t all black and white,” you said, scooting a little closer to him on the sofa. “We’ve all experienced violence before. It’s part of being human. Violence is dark but helping others is light, and together they make grey. And according to my high school History textbook, you’ve helped others your whole life.” You enumerated on your fingers. “You took care of your family, you took care of Steve Rogers when no one cared about him-”
He tilted his head to look at you, his eyebrows narrowed in amused confusion. “You read about me in high school?”
“Of course,” you replied enthusiastically. “We worked on the Howling Commandos. James Morita, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Jacques Dernier, James Falsworth.”
He looked down at his lap, blushing. “You have a good memory.”
“You guys were such posers.”
You grinned when that comment made him laugh out loud. His smile was beautiful.
You reached up to touch his cheek and his smile faltered a fraction. “You can be whoever you want, Bucky. You’re in charge of your life. And if the whole world sees you as the Winter Soldier, which I don’t think is true by the way, I know you’ll turn it into something good.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re a good person.”
He took some time to process your words but eventually he leaned almost imperceptibly into your touch, a soft smile on his lips. “You’re pretty wise for your age, Classified.”
“I have an old soul.”
He chuckled, his eyes dropping to your lips. His pulse quickened at the thought of kissing you. Slowly, he leaned in and his nose grazed yours.
You tilted your head up but he could tell you were holding your breath. His mouth hovered over yours before he pressed his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. Then he pulled back to meet your gaze.
You mirrored each other; eyes dark with desire and chests heaving in a staccato rhythm with your racing pulses. You moved first, pulling him into a desperate kiss.
He cupped the side of your face as he kissed you, his other hand went to your waist and encouraged you to straddle his lap. He tilted your head up and trailed kisses down the column of your neck, his lips warm and wet.
Almost unconsciously, you moved your hips back and forth. He followed your rhythm. He felt himself get hard, the sensation so overwhelming and new that he threw his head back with a groan.
Things had escalated fast, and he was already ready to reach his peak.
“Slow down.” He had to grit his teeth to stave off his climax. “It’s been a while.”
You paused, breathless, an excited smile on your face. “It’s like riding a bike.”
“Yeah?” he replied with a crooked smile. He liked seeing you giddy. “Well s’been a while since I rode a bike. Barely got rid of my training wheels.” Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hand under the hem of your shirt. “You’re so fucking soft. How’re you so soft?”
You chuckled, then took his left hand and gingerly slid it under your shirt, testing the coolness of the vibranium. Bucky smiled as he watched you anticipate the coolness of his touch, but his arm was actually pretty hot.
You both laughed softly when you let out a pleased sigh.
“You’re so warm and... strong,” you said, running your hands up his chest, feeling the hard planes of his torso. “You’re here. You’re really here.”
“I’m here.”
“Please don’t disappear.” Your voice wavered and you lowered your face, unable to look at him. He ducked his head to meet your eyes and rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.
“I won’t.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he rose from the sofa with you in his arms. Goddamn super soldier serum! A chill ran through his body when you clung to him. “I won’t go away.”
He carried you to the bedroom and lay you down on the bed. You scooted back against the headboard, resting your head on the pillow.
He held himself above you, his weight balanced on his forearms and his knees planted on either side of your hips. You clung to him, desperate to touch him after years spent alone.
Bucky could read between the lines; you wanted his weight on top of you, you wanted to feel him, make sure he was real. You wanted him to shield you.
He looked down at your hands as you unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time until it hung loose.
You pushed the cotton over his shoulders and let your fingers trace over the bulging muscles in his flesh arm. He sat back and threw his shirt on the floor, his eyes on you. He was breathing hard, looking down at you with a guarded expression.
His scars were on full display. He didn’t move as he waited for your reaction. You rose up on your elbows and traced an old, curved scar on his abdomen. His muscles tightened under your touch. You removed your top, revealing a similar scar above your bellybutton.
You lay back down again and smiled up at him, sweet and inviting. His eyes were transfixed on your bare breast. He hadn’t been in bed with a woman in a really long time and the thought was unnerving.
He remembered the dance halls, flirting, kissing, and touching, but things were different in the 30s. Pre-marital sex was frowned upon, and while he never went all the way with his dates, he was known to be exceptionally good with his tongue.
The night he lost his virginity was also the night he got his orders. He lost it with both his date and Steve’s, a fact that made him quite popular in his unit.
Your smile dropped when he didn’t move. You squirmed uncomfortably and covered your chest with your arms. That pulled him out of his memory.
“Sorry,” he said, climbing out of your lap.
He lay down next to you and stared at the ceiling as he raked a hand through his hair. He could see you from the corner of his eye; your face blank, your arms crossed in an ‘X’ over your chest. You felt humiliated, undesired, and he felt like an asshole.
“I’m sorry.”
You swallowed hard before you spoke. “Please close the door behind you on your way out.”
Your voice was cold, detached, almost robotic, and it made his stomach drop. It had taken you so long to open up to him and he ruined it all in thirty seconds. “It’s not- it’s not what you think.”
You pursed your lips up into a dubious pout and nodded. “Okay, can you leave me alone now?”
“I-” He sat up and buried his face in his hands with a sigh, unable to articulate his thoughts properly. “I mean, look at you! You’re a dream and I haven’t... dreamed since 1943.”
You threw him a curious look, your arms still crossed. You had understood his metaphor and he couldn’t help feeling a bit embarrassed.
“It’s been a while for me, too,” you said. “Not 1943, but close.”
He rolled his eyes at you, a smile on his lips. You smiled too.
“How about we take it slow?" he said. He moved closer to you and placed his metal hand on your elbow. “It’s been a while but I’m not completely senile yet. If you give me a minute or two, I know I can make you-”
“Daydream?”
He laughed softly. “Yeah, daydream.”
Shivers ran through you when his fingers grazed the exposed skin of your forearms. He slowly uncrossed your arms and kissed the valley between your breasts. He kept eye contact with you as he kissed a path down your stomach, stopping a second to lick your bellybutton.
He stripped you of your remaining clothes and settled between your legs, hooking one of your thighs over his shoulder. You gasped and arched your back when you felt his breath on your thigh.
He shushed you, his lips grazing your inner thigh. “It’s gonna be good. ‘Promise.”
He soothed your whimper with a gentle kiss on the inside of your knee and felt your whole body tensed up in anticipation of another kiss. He smiled to himself and playfully bit your thigh, just hard enough to make you moan. Your face lit up with such pleasure that his confidence soared.
You slammed your arms down at your sides, your shaking hands balled into fists, clutching the sheets. He reached for your hand and linked your fingers together.
It all came back to him; the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the growing pressure in his groin, the way you twined your fingers into his hair, the way you cursed and moaned his name, the satisfying ache in his jaw after you climaxed.
Pleased with himself, he watched your tired body melt into the mattress. You looked exhausted and beautiful. His smile brought out the wrinkles around his eyes. Still holding your hand, he gave it a kiss before you pulled him up.
He obeyed, kissing every inch of your glistening skin on his way up.
“You look too smug,” you said, unbuckling his belt. His smile only grew as he braced himself with his forearms near your head, caging you on the bed. “Wait until I get my hands on you.”
He shook his head. “Won’t last that long.”
You pulled his jeans down in one quick motion and maneuvered his boxers over his erection. He grumbled something under his breath and sighed when he realized his jeans and boxers were wrapped around his ankles.
You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle but he heard it anyway. He tilted his head and looked at you with feigned annoyance. “Whatcha laughin’ at, sugar?”
“Sugar?” you asked, a smile dancing at the corner of your lips.
He blushed. “It slipped.”
You didn’t say anything, just smiled gently and brushed your fingers through his hair. He wished he still had long hair.
Your hand caressed his jaw, where you let your thumb run over the faint cleft in his chin, before you traced a path down his side to his hip bone. Your touch was soft, almost too gentle, and he instinctively closed his eyes.
He felt you wiggle onto your side, heard you rummaging through your bedside drawer before you let out a victorious ‘ah-ha!’ followed by the crinkling sound of a condom wrapper being opened.
“You okay? You want me to stop?” you asked. He shook his head, eyes still closed. You raised your hand to his cheek and spoke softly, “Can you talk to me? I don’t want to do anything you might regret.”
“I’m good,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just... y’know... trying to make it last.”
He took the condom and slowly rolled the latex down his length. He wasn’t going to last. He had already recited the alphabet in his head about twenty times.
Every muscle in his body tightened as he finally pushed inside you. A throaty moan escaped his parted lips; something wild and unrestrained. He would have been embarrassed if his head hadn’t been filled with endorphins.
It took him a minute to get used to the sensation but he once he did, he was on you like a beast. He cradled your face and looked into your eyes, gauging your pleasure. It didn’t take him long to figure out what made you gasp.
Sweat began to mist your skin, your moans turning into cries as you rode out your orgasm. Every cell in his body burned, he was so close it was almost painful.
Bucky glanced down the length of your body and watched himself thrust in and out of you. He let out a cry as his body jerked forward. He came down from his high and fell next to you on the bed, breathing hard, his heart galloping in his chest.
The next few minutes were spent in silence as you avoided looking at each other. You shivered, the sweat on your body cooling. Bucky left to dispose of the used condom in a trash can, then went back to bed. Things started to get weird now that your brains were no longer fogged with lust.
“So,” you drawled out, pulling the sheet up to cover your body. “That was fun.”
“Yup. Lots of fun.” He pulled his jeans up and tucked himself away.
A full minute of awkward silence passed before you spoke again. “Just so you know, things are a bit different nowadays, you don’t have to ask for my hand in marriage.”
Rolling his head to the side, Bucky stared at you with his best deadpan face. The corner of your lips started to lift and he could tell you were trying hard to contain your laughter.
He let out an amused snort. “Wow, you really are insufferable.”
Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.
Word Count: 6,696
Warnings: Unprotected Sex (non explicit)
A/N: And finally... Just a word before, and it’s important, I wanted to put the explicit between two ‘*’ but I settled for one at the end because explicit means different things to different people. So whenever it starts to get too steamy for you, skip to the *. Thank you for reading, I appreciate your support!
Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.
Bucky moved behind the kitchen counter when he heard the door close. You and your guests were in the hallway where you took their coats and asked them to remove their shoes. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He had to stay calm, you depended on him tonight.
“It smells nice in here. What did y-”
Bucky straightened himself up and tried to keep a casual, friendly smile on his face as he came face-to-face with Okoye. He had seen enough pictures of your siblings to recognize them.
She looked surprised to find someone else there. He raised his hand and waved, and she frowned at him in confusion. The rest of the guests stopped short when they saw him waving like a dork. You pushed through them and came to his side.
“Guys, this is my friend, Bucky,” you said. “He’s the one who invited you.”
“Thanks for the invite. I hope you like wine,” Scott said, extending his hand as he walked over to Bucky.
“I sure do.”
Then he shook Wanda and Okoye’s hands, telling them how good it was to finally meet them. Your sisters introduced him to their partners, W’Kabi and Edwin who preferred to be called ‘Viz’.
You led them to the living room while Bucky prepared the drinks. W’Kabi decided to stay behind and help Bucky carry the drinks to the living room. He praised Bucky for having such a nice home.
The conversation seemed to flow easily between your siblings, though as Bucky arrived with your drink, he couldn’t help but notice that you were not participating. You took the glass from his hand, smiled then went back to staring at the coffee table. He sat next to you and rubbed soothing strokes on your arm before he reached for his drink.
Okoye was telling everyone that she had decided to return to New York after King T’Chaka’s passing. His son carried the mantle of the Black Panther, surrounding himself with his father’s Dora Milaje, but Okoye wanted to live closer to her own family.
She was a Dora Milaje, loyal to her king, but she was also a sister, loyal to her family. She felt like there were no good choices, and it ate away at her until her king found a solution to her problem. His little sister, Shuri, was starting her own business in the United States and needed her own bodyguards. Okoye accepted and W’Kabi followed her.
Scott didn’t share much. He showed everyone pictures of his little girl, Cassie, and said he was now working at Baskin-Robbins.
Wanda was evasive about her life and whereabouts. She told everyone that she’d been backpacking across Europe and met Viz, a wealthy businessman, on a beautiful sunny day in Berlin. They’d been attached at the hip ever since.
“And of course, you’re all invited to the wedding,” Wanda said while Okoye admired the ring. “It’s going to be a small wedding. I just need my family.”
“Excuse-me,” you said, standing up abruptly. “I think something’s burning.”
Bucky watched you disappear into the kitchen. He glanced at the group again, no one was paying attention so he followed you into the kitchen.
He found you leaning back against the counter, your arms crossed over your chest, staring into nothing. He walked over to you and pulled you into a one-armed hug that you accepted with a pleased sigh.
“I don’t think I can do this,” you said, your voice muffled against his shirt.
“Is it a code ‘flamingo’?”
“No,” you chuckled, pulling away. You took a deep breath and leaned back against the counter again. “It’s just...”
You huffed, unable to find the words and grabbed him by the waist, seeking his warmth again. Bucky let out a surprised laugh as you squeezed him tightly. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pressed you against his chest.
“I know it’s hard,” he said, kissing the crown of your head. “It’ll be over soon, angel.”
Bucky rocked you side to side in a slow, soothing rhythm until you were practically melting against him. He felt you take a deep breath, your nose buried in his chest. He didn’t want the moment to end, but you’d been gone for several minutes now, and the others would barge in the kitchen soon.
He pressed a long kiss to your forehead and gently pushed you away, his arm falling to your waist. You smoothed out the wrinkles you had made in his shirt without looking him in the eye.
He could tell you were thinking about something but before he could ask what was on your mind, you kissed the slight cleft in his chin and quickly moved away from him.
He smiled to himself, his heart beating a little faster.
You were transferring the dinner rolls from the pan to the basket when Scott poked his head into the kitchen. Bucky was still smiling to himself like a lovesick idiot.
“Everything okay?” Scott asked, taking a step closer to you. You turned to him and nodded. “It’s kinda weird, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Seeing each other again after all this time.” He leaned his forearm on the counter next to you and smelled the bread. “Baby Wanda’s getting married. Did you know they flew me first class? And the hotel is incredible. I feel like a prince.”
“Viz seems very nice.”
“I can’t believe Wanda backpacked through Europe,” Scott scoffed. “She hates camping.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Bucky watched as Scott leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me and for Cassie-” Bucky quietly left the two of you alone. It was a private conversation and he didn’t want to impose himself.
He finished setting the table, and soon everyone joined in. Bucky was sitting with his back to the kitchen, W’Kabi sitting next to him. You took a seat across from him, Wanda sitting next to you. Okoye sat next to Wanda, facing Scott, and Viz took a seat at the end of the table.
The food was good, and everyone complimented Bucky on his cooking skills. He said that you had helped him a lot, but you refused to take credit for chopping up a bunch of vegetables. You gushed about his cooking skills and his delicious recipes. It made them salivate just thinking about it.
“And your house is amazing,” Scott said with a dreamy look on his face. “A place like that...” he sighed, “that must have cost you an arm and a leg.” The whole room fell silent, and something that sounded like a foot hitting a shin made the table jump. “Ouch, why did yo- oh.”
Okoye was looking at him with the widest pair of eyes Bucky had ever seen. She looked furious and exasperated at the same time. The others stared at their plates as the uncomfortable silence grew.
Bucky glanced at you, not surprised to find you smirking. You knew he lived for moments like these, and you knew he already had the perfect comeback. As he watched you bit your lip, trying to contain a little giggle, he couldn’t help but love you even more.
“It was the original price but I’m a good negotiator,” Bucky said. “Only cost me an arm.”
W’Kabi was the first to laugh at his joke, then the whole table broke into fits of laughter. Scott looked equally amused and relieved.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”
“No problem,” Bucky cut him off.
“Can’t take you anywhere,” Okoye said with a smile and a shake of her head. She turned to Bucky as everyone calmed down. “So, Bucky, strange name, uh? What do you do for a living?”
“My name is James, Bucky’s just a nickname.” He wiped his mouth and set the napkin down. “I’m a writer.”
“A pretty good one, judging by your apartment.”
“I’m all right.” He shrugged. “Literally.” Scott snickered at the joke.
“He’s too modest,” you said. “His books are best sellers. They’re autobiographical, he’s very sincere and honest and funny. He has a way of making you laugh about things that are pretty awful.”
“Yeah, we saw that,” Wanda said with a grin. “Are you working on anything at the moment?”
Bucky shifted a little in his seat. “Yeah, it’s uh,” he cleared his throat. “It’s a very important one. I don’t really want to talk about it. Don’t wanna jinx it.”
He wasn’t going to tell your family that he was writing a book about how he fell in love with you. That’d be pretty awkward.
“I understand,” Okoye nodded, then looked at you. “You’ve been really quiet tonight.” You shrugged. “I thought you were still living with Natasha. Do you still work at the hotel? Where is it again? Chelsea? That’s one hell of a commute from Brooklyn.”
“I wasn’t exactly living with Natasha,” you said. “I was crashing on her sofa. And no, I quit six months ago. I’m a full time artist now.”
“That’s great,” Scott said, raising his glass toward you in a silent toast. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Not too bad. Bucky’s friend is a professional photographer. He helped me set up my website. The pictures he took are amazing. I sold a few pieces online but I’m struggling to find gallery representation.”
“Hey, as long as it pays the bills.”
“I don’t really have to worry about bills these days.”
“What do you mean?”
The room got quiet again, and Bucky could feel the tension in the air, buzzing like static electricity. All eyes were suddenly on you, waiting for an explanation. Bucky knew you were not going to lie to them. He locked eyes with you, and braced himself for impact.
You set your fork down and folded your hands in your lap.
“Well, Bucky and I have an arrangement.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Scott cut you off.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush and I’m not going to use pretty words to make it sounds more appealing,” you continued as if you hadn’t heard him. “He’s my sugar daddy.”
“You’re joking. Please, tell me you’re joking.”
“Nope,” you replied smugly, popping the ‘p’.
A chorus of voices rose in protest. Okoye and Scott were shouting while the others kept glancing around wondering what had just happened. Wanda was strangely quiet next to you.
“Oh, shut up!” you shouted. “You left me alone. All of you. We were all grieving our brother but it doesn’t give you the right to fuck off when things get tough. Do you know how fucking terrifying it was when mom started to lose her memories? Or when the police drove her home at three in the morning after one of her spells? No, you don’t know because you weren’t there.”
Bucky had never seen you so upset before, and he didn’t quite know what to do but he felt like you needed to get it off your chest.
“I didn’t have friends or boyfriends. I went to class, then got home, hoping mom hadn’t set the house on fire. I took the first decent job I could find because she needed a new home and professional help. Without Natasha I would have been homeless.” You turned to Bucky. “I’m so sorry, I’ve ruined dinner. You’ve worked so hard.”
“It’s okay,” he replied immediately. “I’m with you.”
“God, you’re so nice,” you sighed, then turned to your siblings. “See? That’s the kind of person he is. I was lonely and lost, and I found him and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s kind and sweet, he’s selfless and generous, and you have no right to criticize our relationship.”
Bucky stared at you, his mouth hanging open a little. Slowly he shook himself out of his trance and reached for your hand on the table. He had no idea you thought so highly of him.
“We needed each other,” you continued. “And I don’t care what you think.”
Dinner was officially ruined but Bucky didn’t care. He smiled at you, soft and reassuring, and let go of your hand when you smiled back. He was proud of you for speaking up, for standing up for yourself.
Bucky noticed Wanda and Viz exchanging looks.
“Okay so, since we’re sharing truth bombs,” Wanda said, shifting a bit in her seat. “I wasn’t really traveling through Europe. I went to Sokovia and after that, everything’s kind of a blur. I did things I’m not proud of. I wanted to forget,” she paused and sighed, “everything. I hit rock bottom, pretty hard, and checked myself into a psychiatric hospital. That’s where I met Viz. He helped me send you those postcards. I screwed up, real bad, but I couldn’t tell you guys the truth. I’m not really proud of myself.”
“I got fired from Baskin-Robbins for yelling at a costumer.”
“Okay!” Okoye exclaimed in her big sister voice. “Enough truth bombs.” She pointed at you. “I’m sorry you had to do this alone, it wasn’t right but we’re here now and we won’t let you down. As for the sugar daddy thing... well you’re a grown woman, you can do whatever you want. Bucky seems like a nice guy.” She turned to Wanda. “We are all dealing with our pain in our own way. I’m not judging you. We’re here for you, Wanda.”
“I know,” Wanda said, sniffing.
“And Scott, stop yelling at people.”
“Yeah, good idea.”
Bucky turned to W’Kabi and Viz who looked proud of their girls, albeit a little uncomfortable with the whole situation. Someone started chuckling, he couldn’t tell who it was, but suddenly the whole table broke into a fit of laughter.
“How about some dessert,” he said. “Then you guys can fill me in on some childhood secrets.”
As he walked away from the table, he heard you warn your siblings to keep their mouths shut. They laughed in response, which made Bucky smile. Surely it’d take more than one outburst at a family dinner to fix your broken bond but it was a good start.
During dessert, he learned that everyone called you ‘Splotchy’ because you painted on the living room walls as a child. He learned that you always wanted to play board games with Okoye. Your favourite one was Mystery Date.
“She had a crush on Tyler, the beach date.”
“No, that’s not true, don’t listen to them.”
When they finally left, you spent a few extra moments hugging everyone. Promises were made, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he watched you wave goodbye to your siblings.
It was just the two of you again, and the mountain of dirty dishes and silverware. He told you not to worry about the dishes, but you knew if he went to bed he wouldn't be able to sleep, not when the kitchen was such a mess so you cleaned together.
He loved these moments with you. There was something very peaceful about the night; the dark skies, the soft lights, the quiet apartment, knowing people all around town where getting ready for bed. It used to make him feel tiny and isolated but now, with you, the night didn’t seem so frightening anymore.
A few weeks went by, and things were changing a bit. You spent your Saturday mornings with your sisters, bonding, and facetimed with Scott at least once a week.
Bucky also noticed a subtle change in Sam’s behaviour. He seemed happier and he wondered if his friend had already forgotten Natasha.
It was almost June, and the building’s swimming pool reopened as the weather got warmer. Despite living there for several years, he had never gone near that swimming pool until you dragged him out one scorching afternoon.
The rooftop was surprisingly calm, apart for the group of children playing in the pool. There were people sunbathing around the pool, enjoying a good book, socializing. You dropped your bag on the floor and laid out your towel on the reclining chair.
Bucky had never seen you in a bathing suit before and it caught him completely off guard, but what made him literally growl was seeing the little pendant of your necklace rest against your skin. He didn’t know why but it awoke something in him.
You both slathered on sunscreen before you went for a swim. Bucky recognized a few neighbours, and while they all knew he only had one arm, they had never seen him shirtless before. Bucky didn’t mind their inquisitiveness, as long as you were beside him.
“Do you think the kids peed in the water?” you asked as you rested against the edge of the pool.
“Probably,” Bucky cringed. “When I was a kid, my mom told me that there were chemicals that turned the water a different color when someone pees.”
“Ew,” you laughed.
After a while, he lay out in the sun, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. He could still hear you playing water polo with the kids when a shadow passed over him. With a frown, he pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead.
“It’s nice to see you, James,” his neighbour beamed, taking a seat on your unoccupied chair. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out here.”
“Hi.” He wasn’t surprised when his voice came out hoarse since he had been on the verge of falling asleep. With the grace of a walrus, he propped himself into a sitting position. “Yes, well, swimming pools are more fun when you’re not alone.”
His neighbour turned to look at you. “Congratulations, by the way. I didn’t know you were seeing someone. Must have been serious if you two moved in together. How long has it been since she moved in? Six months?”
“Seven.”
He knew he should have corrected her, you weren’t his girlfriend, but it felt good. It was just a harmless little lie.
“Does she make you happy?”
“I’m the happiest man on earth,” he replied with a bright smile, then slid his sunglasses back on his face.
His neighbour chuckled quietly. “I can see that!”
When you returned to your seat, his neighbour was gone. You hummed to yourself as you settled into your seat, big droplets of water running down your body. Bucky tilted his head down and peered at you over the top of his sunglasses.
“Where did you get that popsicle?”
“Jealous?” You licked your treat without looking at him. “The kids’ mom gave me one as a thank you for looking after her kids.”
“That looks good.”
“So good.”
“Mind sharing it with me?”
You pursed your lips thoughtfully, then held out your popsicle. As Bucky leaned closer, you pulled it away and jumped to your feet. The look he gave you was one of pure betrayal.
“Oh, angel, you should have never done that.”
He grinned to himself when he saw a shiver run through you. When he stood up, you took a step back. He strutted toward you, his grin predatory. The floor was slippery so you couldn’t go very far.
“Are you ready to share now?”
“No!”
The popsicle melted down your hand, creating a mess. You turned your arm and licked the drops of popsicle juice from the inside of your wrist. It distracted you long enough for Bucky to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. You squealed and grabbed him around the neck to keep from falling while also trying not to smush the popsicle against his chest.
You waved the treat in front of his face and he tried to bite off the tip of your popsicle. It made you laugh, your body sagging against him. His face was close to yours. He was so close he could smell the artificial orange scent of your popsicle.
Your laughter died down and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you. Without thinking, he went for it. He felt your fingers flex against his skin, urging him closer.
His lips were barely a breath away from yours when one of the kids repeatedly slapped your thigh, obviously oblivious to what the two grownups were about to do.
“Come back! We haven’t finished the game,” the kid whined. “Come on!”
Reluctantly, you let go of Bucky and took a step back. Your exhale came out shaky, and in your almost-kiss-induced trance you handed him the popsicle without saying anything before you followed the kid.
You turned back to look at him, one hand sprawled across your stomach, the other across your chest. He knew you were feeling it too: the butterflies, the racing heartbeat, that pleasant heat going through your body.
The difference between like and love.
A week later, he came home to an empty apartment. He climbed the stairs to your studio but you weren’t there. Instead, he found a canvas stretched out smooth and tight on the floor, and several bowls of paint arranged in a semi-circle around it.
He knew you were home, you wouldn’t leave without your phone or bag. Out of curiosity, he went up on the roof and let out a relieved breath when he found you.
You were sitting on the edge of the rooftop with your knees up to your chin and your arms wrapped loosely around your shins. You looked so beautiful in the golden hue of the setting sun.
He stood there, watching you as if he was looking at a painting in a museum. Entranced. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and a quick glance around the roof told him you were alone.
Slowly, he made his way to you and took in your appearance: a short sleeve white shirt and a pair of denim overalls. The shirt was surprisingly spotless but the overalls were covered in dried paint splatters of different colours.
“I looked everywhere for you,” he spoke softly, trying not to disturb you.
“Did you?”
You straightened up a little but kept your eyes trained on the horizon. Bucky sat close to your feet and let his hand slip under the hem of your jeans to close around your ankle. A sigh slipped past your lips, and he let his fingertips linger for a moment on your smooth skin.
He knew you had a meeting today, and judging by the resigned look on your face, it didn’t go well.
“What’s on your mind, angel?” he said, caressing the top of your foot.
“I was thinking about the night we met. God, I was so nervous,” you said, laughing softly. “I told you that agreeing to meet you was like choosing between a pack of wolves and jumping off a cliff.”
“I remember,” he chuckled.
“I never told you how glad I am that I jumped off that cliff,” you said. “I’d never jumped head first into something, not knowing what was going to happen. Now I think I’m addicted to it. Before I met you, I was living for others. Everything single decision was thoroughly analysed. There was no mystery, fun, or impulsiveness. I put my entire life on hold, and now I see that I can’t do that anymore.”
“What are you going to do?”
You paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t know if I want to turn my passion into a career. Painting is my safe-place, and right now it’s giving me so much anxiety. I haven’t had the inspiration to paint in weeks.” You looked at him and pressed your lips together tightly. “And, if I don’t want to become a full time artist, then I guess our deal is off.”
Bucky stared at you, mouth agape. He really hadn’t seen it coming.
“Please, don’t be angry,” you pleaded. “I don’t want to stop seeing you. When he didn’t answer, you leaned forward and touched his face.
“I could never be angry with you, angel,” he said, kissing the inside of your palm. “I understand, and I’ll help you however I can.”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m still thinking about it.” You looked away from him and stared at the sky. “Do you know that feeling when you stand in a high place and you think about jumping? You don’t want to jump and you don’t do it, but there’s that urge.”
“I think I do.”
“It’s called ‘call of the void’. People say that it’s an affirmation of our will to live. That knowing we’re going to die one day makes us appreciate life even more.” You looked at him. “I want to jump but I can’t. I’m scared.” You lowered your voice. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”
“You’re scaring me a little. You can’t talk about jumping when we’re sitting on the edge of the roof.”
You chuckled under your breath. “It’s a metaphor.”
“Let’s go home. We’ll make dinner together, put on some music and pretend we’re in a movie.” He got to his feet and held out his hand to you. “Please.”
You took his hand and let him lead you to the staircase.
Once you were inside the apartment, he removed his shoes and you removed yours. Silence settled between the two of you as you entered the kitchen. Bucky moved behind the counter while you stood close to the dining table.
When he chanced a glance at you, he saw you staring into nothing while you played with the charm on your necklace, rolling it back and forth on its chain. You often did that when you were daydreaming.
Bucky walked over to you and placed his hand on top of yours, halting your movements. You let go of the pendant and held his hand instead. He ran his thumb soothingly over your fingers.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he spoke softly.
“If I say it, it’s going to change everything.”
He pressed your joined hands against his chest, over his heart. “No, it’ll make it real.”
He let go of your hand and cupped the side of your face. You leaned closer until you were only inches apart. His thumb traced your cheekbone, then moved to trace the outline of your bottom lip.
He let you come to him, let you take that first step, and when your lips brushed against his, he closed his eyes and sighed. He kissed your parted lips; once, twice, three times, tiny little kisses against your trembling lips.
His kiss grew bolder, turning into something so intimate, so passionate and intense that tears gathered in his eyes. He pressed his mouth more firmly against yours, his large hand still cupping the side of your face. His bad shoulder jutted forward as if his missing arm wanted to touch you.
He let out a groan, frustrated that he only had one hand to finally explore your skin. Sensing his inner turmoil, you held onto his bad shoulder and pulled him against you.
His tongue swept into your mouth, moving in a slow and deliberate rhythm. A growl escaped him and he deepened the kiss, tasting, sliding, retreating and entering again. He poured everything he had into the kiss.
“Bucky,” you moaned after your broke the kiss, breathless.
Hearing his name fall from your lips, your voice hoarse with desire, sparked something inside him. He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, feeling the softness and collecting the moisture that had gathered there.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, looking positively entranced. “My pretty angel.”
You pulled him in for another kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck, your slightly cold hands felt amazing against his heated skin. He pressed himself against you, letting you feel the rise and fall of his chest, the desperation in the jerky thrust of his hips.
He needed more but he wasn’t going to force you into anything. He was more than happy to stand here and kiss you for hours. He cupped the back of your neck and rubbed the sensitive skin behind your ear with his thumb.
“I’m yours,” he spoke against your lips, his eyes screwed shut.
You pulled back to look him in the eye, searching his face. He opened his eyes and you saw nothing but honesty in the depth of his eyes.
You untangled yourself from him and took his hand. Slowly, you took a step back, then another, his hand still in yours. His eyebrows lifted slightly when you bit your bottom lip and gave him a coy look.
He nearly growled again, the wolf inside him eager to touch you, feel you, claim you. He stood taller, his chest puffed out and breathing fast.
You led him up the stairs to the second floor and turned on the light in the corridor. You slowly made your way down the corridor with him behind you.
But instead of turning left towards his bedroom, you turned right into your studio, and it changed everything. Your studio was your sanctuary, your safe place, and knowing that you were about to bare your soul and body to him tamed his inner wolf.
You hesitated at the threshold of the room and glanced over your shoulder to look at him. Bucky squeezed your hand to encourage you.
“I bought some body paint on my way home,” you said, letting go of his hand to step into the room. “I wanted to try something different, something more personal. I wanted to use my body to express my emotions, to create something raw and messy. My interpretation of somatic art therapy.”
You moved around the darkened room; bent down to adjust the canvas on the floor and made sure the bowls of paint were still full.
“I sat there and thought of my mom and Pietro,” you continued, barefoot on the canvas. “I only feel sadness and anger, and I don’t want to create something that makes me feel sad. And I realized the only thing that keeps me inspired is hope.”
Turning to face him, you held your hand out, palm up, and his eyes widened at your silent request. Without thinking twice, he joined you on the canvas. It was both soft and scratchy under his feet.
Bucky watched as you unbuckled the right strap of your overalls and slipped the second strap off your shoulder. You tugged your jeans down your legs and tossed them aside, leaving you in your underwear and white shirt.
Swallowing thickly, Bucky let his eyes travel up and down your body. He had seen you in your bathing suit before but this was different. Then he reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt over his head, baring his strong chest, hard abdomen and marred skin.
The room was dark; the pastel sky, visible from your studio thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, didn’t provide much light. The light was still on in the corridor, casting a faint golden glow over the room.
You took a step forward to examine his scars more carefully and Bucky took that opportunity to kiss you again, slowly, intimately. He peppered kisses along your jaw and down your neck, then went down on his knees in front of you and continued his journey down your body, pressing soft kisses to your stomach.
He accidentally knocked over two bowls of paint; the dark colours spilled out onto the canvas, chasing each other. His kisses made you light up with desire, your moans music to his ears as your hands came down on the back of his head.
When it all became too much, you gently pushed him into a lying position and helped him out of his jeans. His belt buckle made a faint clink when you pulled it open, and Bucky swore out loud when you planted a wet open-mouthed kiss right below his navel.
In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t going to survive the night. He let his head fall back against the canvas and closed his eyes shut. Your talented mouth sent sharp jolts of pleasure through him, making it difficult to breathe.
He could feel the paint stick to his back, creating the shape of his upper body on the canvas. It was strangely exciting.
He moaned, arching his back, and slammed his fist down on the canvas. His fist landed in one of the bowls of paint. It splashed paint everywhere. He looked down at you and saw tiny flecks of paint splayed like freckles on one side of your face.
It made you both giggle. As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, Bucky left a print of his forearm on the canvas. You climbed into his lap, straddling him, then removed your shirt and bra. You wrapped your legs around him, one hand on his upper arm, the other hugging his neck.
Bucky was sitting on the canvas with his legs outstretched and slightly bent at the knees. He held you against his chest, rocking back and forth, his arm around the small of your back. You sighed together, sharing the same breath.
“You have the prettiest nose.” You let your index finger run down the length of his nose, your finger wet with paint. “So pretty.”
Laughing softly, he brushed his nose against yours and kissed you. He changed the angle of his thrusts, catching you by surprise.
“Does that feel good, angel?” he asked, lightly biting your jaw. You answered with a short cry. “Look at me.” You slowly opened your eyes, your movements faltered a little. “You’re so beautiful like this. You drive me crazy, y’know that?”
“Bucky,” you cried out.
He felt you shiver when he moved his hand from your back to your face. He cupped the side of your face and you immediately pressed yourself closer to him, craving the warmth of his touch.
He stopped your movements and looked you in the eye. “I’d do anything for you. Anything. You’re my one and only.”
He laid you down as gently and safely as he could, and once you were lying flat on your back, he sprawled between your thighs. He supported his weight on his forearm, careful not to crush you. Your hands slid up his sides, and as your thumb traced over his ribcage, a violent shiver went through his body.
He had never seen anything more beautiful than watching you come apart; your eyebrows furrowed, your lips parted in a silent ‘o’, the way your body shook in little spams. Absolutely stunning.
Exhausted, he collapsed on top of you and hid his face in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around him and slowly caressed his back.
After he kissed his way down the side of your neck, he straightened himself up into a kneeling position and looked down at you. Your naked body was on display, covered in paint and glistening under the moonlight. He wished he could take a picture, immortalize this memory.
*
He helped you up, and after another passionate kiss he led you to his bathroom, the two of you leaving colourful footprints all over the clean floor.
The bathroom's bright fluorescent light was harsh and unforgiving as you looked at each other in the mirror. Yet you were both glowing, streaks and dots of paint covering your bodies. Bucky turned on the water and waited for it to get hot.
He wrapped his arm around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. “We look like we blew up a rainbow,” he said, smiling wide when it made you chuckle.
In the shower, you took turns washing each other, laughing and kissing until the water turned cold. You pushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled sweetly at him.
“We’re going to catch a cold if we stay here.”
“Mhh,” he replied, kissing your temple. “You’re right. There are clean towels on the shelf. Go, I’ll be right behind you, I still need to take care of my scar.”
“Can I help you?”
Asking for help wasn’t something he was comfortable with, especially after years of being babied by his ex-girlfriend, friends and family. After his accident, he couldn’t do anything on his own. He had to rely on others and it made him feel like a burden, like he was incapable of taking care of himself.
He knew it was all in his head but he couldn’t help it.
“It’s not exactly sexy,” he said.
“I don’t care. I want to help. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
Patiently he guided you step by step through the process of cleaning his stump. You inspected his skin thoroughly, looking for irritation or any signs of infection, then washed it with a mild soap.
He had to admit that watching the woman he loved take such good care of his scar made his stomach fill with butterflies. You looked so focused, so attentive, that he could help but smile and try to kiss you.
“Bucky,” you complained, turning your head away, avoiding his kiss. “This is serious business, stop fooling around.”
He almost said it. I love you. But something was holding him back. He didn’t know what would happen next and it scared him. He didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, but he also realized that things were moving too fast.
“Okay, now you’re shivering,” he said, holding you close, trying to share his body heat with you. “Let’s get out of here.”
He wrapped you in a fluffy bathrobe and patted you dry. Then you carefully dried his scar and applied corticosteroid cream to his shoulder, massaging it gently into his skin. He slipped on his robe and you loosely tied the belt at his waist.
“We should talk about what just happened,” you said, playing with the belt. “What does it mean? What are we going to do? Can we-mph”
He cut you off with a kiss, long and hard and filled with passion. You smiled against his lips and finally pulled away.
“Is that how you’re going to shut me up from now on?” you asked with a grin.
“We’ll talk,” he said, pressing his forehead against yours. “But not tonight.”
“When then?”
“Tomorrow, I promise.”
You looked down at your hands on his belt and nodded. He tilted your head up and lowered his mouth to yours.
“Don’t avoid me tomorrow. Please.”
Your words felt like a knife in his heart, and it left him momentarily speechless. He took one of your hands and pressed it against his heart. “No matter what we decide to do, you’re my angel and I’m yours.”
You shared a long, silent hug before you both decided to call it a night. Once he saw the footprints in the corridor, Bucky felt the urge to clean them. He tried to resist but he knew if he didn't clean he wouldn't be able to sleep.
You understood –you always understood. That’s why he felt so comfortable with you.
Once it was clean, he joined you in the kitchen and made you breakfast for dinner, opening the cupboard and pulling out a couple boxes of cereal you didn’t even know he had.
He told you that he was keeping them for a special occasion. He remembered you telling him that it was your favourite meal as a kid, watching TV with your siblings every Sunday night, eating cereals.
“I can’t believe you remembered that,” you said, tears in your eyes.
The two of you sat on your bed, sharing random thoughts and spoonfuls of cereal. You giggled as milk dribbled down his chin and stained his robe. You wiped at the spot on his chin with your thumb and gave him a chaste kiss.
Your lips tasted sweet. Bucky pulled you in for another kiss, discarding the dirty dishes on your bedside table. You helped each other undress, then slid under the covers where you laid your head on Bucky’s chest.
“Bucky,” your voice cut through the quiet. “Do you mind-”
“Don’t worry, my angel, I’ll wait until you fall asleep.”
Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.
Word Count: 5,423
Warnings: Nothing really, they don’t do the do.
A/N: Okay this is finally here, I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter. We’re close to the end, two chapters and it’ll be the end of Bucky and Angel. Thank you all so much for reading and for your kind words. I adore you!
Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.
The next morning, you woke up early but the spot beside you on the bed was already empty. You touched it, it was still warm. With a smile on your face, you rolled onto your stomach and hugged your pillow.
You closed your eyes and mumbled to yourself. “Just five more minutes.”
Thirty minutes later, you felt the mattress dip slightly as Bucky climbed in. He pressed his lips to your exposed neck and kissed his way down the curve of your shoulder.
“I love kissing your shoulders. I think I could spend my whole day here, just kissing you.”
You giggled and rolled onto your side, holding the sheet to your naked chest but still giving him full access to your shoulder. He traced a line of playful bites down your shoulder, smiling against your skin when you squealed in pleasure.
You tilted your head to look at him, taking in his appearance. “Why are you already dressed?” you asked with a frown.
He pulled back and sat back on his haunches, his head bent down a little and a guilty look in his eyes. It made your stomach churn. You pulled the sheet higher, watching him the whole time while you tried to figure out if something had gone wrong.
“I have a meeting with my publicist,” he said, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry, angel, I forgot to tell you. I wanted to tell you last night, but then,” he trailed off. “I don’t regret what happened. It was... incredible. I’m not running away from you, believe me. I kinda want to fake my own death so I can stay in bed with you today.”
You chuckled and gently tugged on his hand to bring him closer. He hovered over you, supporting his weight on his forearm, and kissed you. His kiss made your toes curl and your insides melt. You didn’t want him to leave.
“I hate to ask you this,” you said between kisses, “but can you reschedule your meeting?”
“I tried but she’s going on vacation tomorrow.” He frowned and rubbed his nose against yours. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I made you breakfast, your favorite. I’ll be back before dinner.”
“Okay. We’ll talk then.”
He pressed a kiss to your brows and climbed off the bed. He promised to text you later, then he disappeared into the hallway. A few seconds later, you heard the door close.
You knew it was time to get up, but you wanted to spend a few more minutes in bed. You buried your face in his pillow, losing yourself in the memories of the previous night. Your body shivered and you became aware of the pleasant soreness between your legs.
You closed your eyes and started playing with your necklace as you remembered the feel of his hand and lips on your body. You remembered the words he spoke against your skin, the moans and chuckles you shared.
With Bucky you felt safe, respected, treasured. You had never felt so connected to anyone before.
You ate your breakfast with a smile on your face, then got ready for the day. You sent a text to Natasha, asking her to meet you at your apartment in an hour, before you ran a quick errand to the drugstore. You were a little apprehensive as you asked for the morning-after pill but the chemist put you at ease.
When you returned home, you made sure to leave the front door unlocked for Natasha before you made your way upstairs.
Clutching the doorframe, you glanced around your studio. Everything looked the same as you'd left it the night before: rainbow footprints on the hardwood floor, clothes thrown everywhere, and the canvas stretched out in the middle of the room.
Slowly, you ventured in the room. You put away the empty bowls of paint and cleaned the footprints as best you could. When Natasha arrived, you were sitting on the floor looking at the painting you’d made with Bucky. You heard her footsteps as she climbed to the second floor.
“This place is a maze,” she sighed when she finally found you. She sat on the floor next to you, her back against the wall. “What are we looking at?”
“Just... something I made last night,” you said with a dismissive shrug. “What do you think?”
Natasha pursed her lips as she scrutinized the painting for a long moment. “Well, it’s, um, interesting. It’s very different than what you usually do-”
“Interesting and different,” you repeated, nodding your head numbly. “You don’t like it.”
“No, I do,” she said, biting her lower lip. “It’s just... I feel like I’m looking at something private. All these colors together, it looks like an explosion, an epiphany.” She tilted her head to look at you. “It looks like love.”
You buried your face in your hands and made a little sound that was half sob, half chuckle. “I had sex with Bucky last night.” Natasha’s eyes widened. “On that canvas,” you continued, gesturing at the painting. “We made it together.”
The shock on Natasha’s face morphed into a comical grimace. She leaned forward and examined the painting. You watched her with a frown.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for butt prints.” She laughed when you shoved her shoulder. “Seriously, I’m happy for you. It was about time. A bed would have been more comfortable but whatever floats your boat.”
“It just happened, y’know,” you said. “I was... in the moment. He was so sweet, Nat, so gentle. We showered together and it wasn’t weird at all. He let me touch his scar,” you said, lowering your voice even though you were alone.
“Mhhh,” Natasha said with a smile. “You look happy. So what happens now? Where is he?”
“He had a meeting. He said we’d talk tonight.” You sighed. “I thought a lot about my life, who I am, who I want to be, and I think it’s time for me to get my own place, to step out of my comfort zone.”
“I think it’s a good plan.”
“Yeah, I know he cares deeply for me.” You pressed the tip of your finger to your pendant. “There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make me happy. But I need to know he’ll be okay. I need to know he won’t put on a brave face to make me happy. I hate the thought of him being alone, especially now that Sam is in D.C.”
You felt, more than heard, Natasha take a deep breath. You turned to look at her. She was staring straight ahead, a pinch between her brows.
“Is everything okay?” you asked.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she said after a moment. “I got a job.”
You visibly perked up at that. “Nat, that’s amazing!”
“It’s not in New York,” she said with a sad smile. “It’s in D.C.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” she let out a humourless chuckle. “Remember that day when you told me Sam had been asking about me?”
“I do.”
“I called him that night and we talked for hours. He said he'd been meaning to call me but he didn’t want to impose himself on me. He said he missed me.” She paused to look at you. “He calls me every day.”
You were not really surprised. Bucky had mentioned that Sam’s mood had improved over the past several weeks. In retrospect, you should have figured it out sooner.
“One night, on a whim, I applied for a job in D.C. I figured, if I can’t find anything in New York, I might as well try somewhere else. I didn’t think they’d call me back but... here we are.”
“You don’t look very excited,” you remarked. “I mean, you and Sam are practically reunited, and everyone at your new job is going to be terrified of you. You’re going to be the King and Queen of D.C. Isn’t that what you've always wanted?”
She chuckled while she stared at her perfectly manicured nails, unable to hold your gaze any longer. “I can’t leave you.” She shook her head. “I’ve known you since we were kids. You’re like a sister to me, I love you. It feels like I’m abandoning you.” She looked at you with a sad smile. “And you’ve had enough of that.”
It was true.
You were used to people leaving you, abandoning you. Some left as soon as they got a chance, some didn’t have a choice. But Natasha had always been there for you, and you liked to think you'd been there for her, too, which is why you had to let her go.
“You have to go.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re not abandoning me, Nat. Everything’s fine. I’m not alone and I’m going to be okay. We’ve been through so much together, our bond is unbreakable. I want you to be happy and successful. I can take care of myself now, you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
“Pff,” she snorted, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I’ll worry about you until the day I die.”
“I’ll call you every day, multiple times a day,” you continued. “I’ll call you so much that Sam will try to block my number. And I’ll send you stuff; pictures of my face so you don’t forget what I look like and chocolate from the bakery near your apartment.”
“You sure?”
“Of course,” you said. “If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same.”
As you hugged each other, you felt waves of anxiety rise up from your belly. Everything was changing so fast and it was a little frightening. You hugged Natasha a little tighter as you realized you would need some time to adjust to this new life.
“Okay, enough sappy crap,” she said, dabbing her fingers under her eyes to get rid of her tears and not ruin her makeup. “C’mon, tell me,” she asked with a curious twinkle in her eyes.
“Tell you what?”
“How big is he?”
“Natasha,” you sighed, flustered, knowing what she was talking about.
You weren’t used to discussing your love life with anyone, not even Natasha. Mostly because you had very little to talk about.
You bit your bottom lip and looked away from her, trying hard not to conjure up images from the night before. Unfortunately, Natasha was still staring at you, analysing every twitch of your mouth, every crease of your brows, every flicker of your eyes.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, “your face is an open book. The man is probably hung like a fucking horse.”
“Natasha!”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” she challenged.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m conducting a survey.”
“Yeah, right,” you scoffed.
“That’s not fair. I told you Sam was big.”
You rolled your eyes. “And now I can’t even look him in the eye.”
“It’s a shame, he has nice eyes,” Natasha replied with a smirk. You levelled a deadpan look at her, and she threw her hands in the air, giving up. “Okay, fine. Keep your secrets.”
A grin tugged at your lips as you cast her a sideway glance. Quietly, you picked up one of your paint brushes and inspected it before you handed it to her. She looked down at the paint brush with a frown before her brain caught up.
“Seriously?” she practically shrieked, examining the length of the paint brush.
“Yeah, pretty much.” You gave a casual shrug.
“That’s definitely above average,” she said. “Though I hope for you he’s thicker than your brush.” You didn’t say anything, but when she glanced at you, she found you grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, I see.”
She threw her arm around your shoulders and hugged you to her side. You laughed quietly as she raised the paint brush above your heads.
“I’m so proud of you,” she exclaimed. “Now I know I’m leaving you in good hands.”
After Natasha left, you checked your phone and saw a text from Bucky. It was a selfie taken at an odd angle, most likely taken surreptitiously during his meeting. He was pouting slightly, looking bored and miserable.
I should have stayed in bed with you.
You typed out a quick message, something that made him reply with a single frowning face emoji. You laughed quietly, shaking your head at his antics.
He came home a little after seven. The sun was starting to set, bathing the skyscrapers in a golden hue. When you heard the rattle of keys in the lock, you stood up from your seat by the window and crossed the living room.
You stood in the archway between the living room and the kitchen, and waited for him to appear. He entered the kitchen barefoot, carrying his messenger bag over his right shoulder and holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Hey, angel.”
You pushed yourself off the wall and approached him slowly. You felt suddenly shy, unable to look him in the eye. He handed you the flowers and gave you a peck on the cheek.
The flowers were absolutely stunning; two-toned roses, orange and red that reminded you of the most gorgeous sunset sky, a few red hypericum berries, pastel pink snapdragons and dark pink alstroemerias.
You touched the silky petal of an over bloomed rose and took a deep breath before you gazed at him, speechless. “No one has ever given me flowers before.”
A sad, almost angry, look flashed across his face but it was gone before you could blink. He cupped your cheek and pressed his lips to yours.
You smiled against his lips and touched his cheek. “Thank you for the flowers. I’ll put them in water.”
While you filled a vase with water and arranged the flowers, Bucky left his bag on the table. He watched you the whole time, unable to tear his eyes off you. He felt his throat get tight and his heart skip a beat. His feelings for you were so raw, so new and warm.
He watched you take care of these fragile blooms, and something inside him completely shattered. How could one person go through so much and still have so much love and compassion in their heart?
“Oops, I think I was supposed to add the food first,” you said as you read the instructions on the packet of flower food.
You heard Bucky cross the room and come to a stop behind you. His breath tickled your neck as he leaned in close to your ear. He kissed the sensitive spot below your ear, then whispered in your ear.
“You make my heart beat funny.” His arm snaked around your midriff, pulling your against his chest. Your body went lax, your head falling onto his shoulder as he continued his ministrations. “My angel. How did I get so lucky?”
You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. He purred against your neck and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of your jaw.
“I know you want to talk, sweetheart, but I’m not good at talking,” he said, his forehead pressed against your collarbone. “I’m not shying away from this, or you. And I want you to know that I don't expect anything from you. I just need a little bit more time.”
He needed time to finish his book. He was nearly done, but after what happened last night, he wanted to make some corrections. During the meeting, his publisher gave him a small extension and he expressed his wish to publish his book as quickly as possible.
She was getting frustrated with him because he didn’t seem to care about anything, least of all her marketing plan, and it was her job to make sure people would want to buy his book.
Bucky had everything planned out. He’d invite you to his reading which would take place at his uncle’s bookstore and he’d read selected passages out loud. He didn’t mind if other people were there but he didn’t want her to turn his love for you into a publicity stunt.
“It’s okay, I understand if you’re not ready to talk,” you said. “But I am. I want you to listen to me.”
He gently turned you around to face him. “You have my full attention.”
You took him to the living room and sat on the sofa with your legs tucked under you. You leaned your right arm on the back of the sofa and rested your closed fist on your cheek while you observed him.
“First, I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable last night. While we kissed, I had these flashes in my mind of the two of us, uh, painting with our bodies and-” you squirmed a little in your seat, “-well I felt really inspired.”
You chanced a glance at him and found him smiling fondly at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and cast your eyes down at your lap.
“So, uh, anyway,” you continued, flustered. “I’m sorry we had sex on the floor.”
He let out a short, surprised laugh. “I’m not.”
“Bucky,” you whined, embarrassed.
“What? It’s true. I’m quite proud of my bruises.”
“You're not making this easy, y'know.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied, though his smile said otherwise.
You took a deep breath before you continued. “As amazing as it was, I’d never, uh, I’d never not used a condom before,” you trailed off, letting the implications of your words sink in.
“Ah,” he cringed, his face turning red. “Yeah, me too. It’s been years since I’ve slept with someone. I’m clean, at least I was at my last check-up, but we can get tested if you want.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Is there any chance-” He cleared his throat. “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
“We had unprotected sex, Bucky, there’s always a chance,” you said, then quickly added. “I took the morning after pill. It should be okay. But we should have been more careful, it can’t happen again.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, now pale as a ghost. “I’m sorry you had to do this on your own. I didn’t really think about the consequences.”
Minutes passed and you both remained silent. Bucky was staring off into space, his lips pressed together, while he contemplated what you had just told him.
“I really like you,” you said. “When I met you, I thought you were the loneliest man in the world but you were also so sweet and funny. I was so happy when you showed up at my work. I could tell that you were anxious, and I tried to make you feel at ease because I like taking care of people. It was so easy to become your friend.”
You paused to take a deep breath.
“When you asked me out for coffee, I thought it was a date. In retrospect, I convinced myself that it was a date because I really wanted to go out with you. But then you started talking about money and arrangements, and well...”
He whispered your name, his eyes wide with shock, and it was such a rare occurrence for him to say your name that it brought tears to your eyes.
“I-” he tried, “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”
You shrugged casually. “It’s fine. I just had to remind myself that you weren’t flirting with me, you were just being nice. To be honest with you, I’ve never really had a proper relationship before, just flings. I guess you could say that I was emotionally unavailable in college, y’know, taking care of my mom and all.”
He looked at you as if he was trying to tell you something but you didn’t want him to say anything. It was a little embarrassing to admit it out loud. You wanted to get this over with.
“I really thought that my little crush on you would disappear over time, but it didn’t. It didn’t because we were always together. And I’m not complaining, I love spending time with you but it blurred the line between friendship and... something deeper.”
You knew why he was always so physical. He was touch-starved, struggling, always surrounded by silence, and you were the angel who brought him back to life.
“It took me a long time to realize that something had changed between us. And then I just didn’t know what to do because we live together, we’re friends, and we... have an arrangement.” You took a deep breath. “You taught me to put myself first and that’s what I’m going to do-”
He took your hands in his, and you suddenly realized how badly they were shaking. You blew out a long breath, trying to compose yourself but tears were gathering in your eyes.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “Everything’s okay.”
“I don’t want to be your sugar baby anymore,” you blurted out, unable to hold back your tears.
“I know.” He soothed you with another kiss.
“I don’t want to be your sugar baby because I want more. And if you want more too, then maybe we can make this work, but either way, I can’t stay here anymore. I need my own apartment, I need to figure out who I am and what I want to do with my life.”
Bucky looked deep in thought and you decided to let him process what you had just told him. You felt so vulnerable. You had opened up your heart, not knowing what would happen next but you trusted him completely.
“One night you asked me if things were going to end well between us,” he finally said. “And I told you that I’d always be there for you. I always knew you’d end our arrangement one day, angel, because you have goals and dreams, and you want to make them come true. See, as corny as it sounds, my dreams came true when I met you.”
He let out a small laugh when you stared at him, mouth agape.
“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You’re kind, you’re sweet, you’re talented, you take care of others but you don’t take care of yourself. So I took care of you until you were ready to do it yourself. I’m happy for you, and I want more too. We’ll make it work. I promise.”
He almost lost his balance when you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him. He chuckled quietly, his arm wrapped around your waist, his nose buried in your hair. You leaned back to see his face.
“But are you going to be okay?”
“Of course,” he replied with a small frown as if he was confused.
“It’s just-” you trailed off, looking away while your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I keep picturing you alone in this big apartment, cooking for one, and... it makes me want to stay with you. I don’t want you to be alone again.”
He smiled. “Well, then maybe you can come over for dinner. Or you can invite me over if you prefer.”
“That’d be great.”
Not knowing what else to say, you looked down at the sofa and started playing with your pendant. You remembered the way he had kissed his way down your body, his honest eyes seeking yours in the dark.
I’d do anything for you. Anything. You’re my one and only.
His words echoed in your mind. You hadn’t really paid attention to his words, too lost in the moment, in pleasure, but it all came back to you now.
You raised your gaze to him and what you saw in his eyes rendered you speechless. Despite his efforts not to blurt out his feelings for you, the expression in his eyes gave him away. He looked at you with such adoration and respect, it took your breath away.
No one had ever looked at you the way he was looking at you now. He didn’t have to say it, you knew: Bucky Barnes was in love with you.
You cupped his face and swiped your thumb under his eye, and without taking his eyes off you, he pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse beat fast against his lips. He closed his eyes and sighed; content, relieved.
“My Bucky,” you whispered.
Your words hung in the air between you. His eyes snapped open and you heard his breathing hitch. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, claiming you as his, before he made you straddle his thighs. You smiled against his lips as he cupped your jaw, angling your face towards his.
His kiss was soft, sweet, and so very tender but also passionate and intense. You whimpered, your hips slowly rolling against his. Breaking the kiss, he threw his head back on the sofa and cursed.
“Sorry,” you chuckled, kissing his Adam’s apple.
He pressed his hand against the small of your back, keeping you in place. “You don’t sound sorry at all,” he said with a grin, his eyes closed. “Fuck, I want to touch you so bad.” He opened his eyes. “I’m so turned on,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “But we should take it slow, uh?”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“God, it’s torture but-” he held you steady while he sat up straighter. “I want to show you how much you mean to me. I want to take you out on a date and sweep you off your feet.”
“I went out with you lots of time,” you reminded him. “We even went to several galas.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, and those were nice but I promise you, my angel, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
There was a mischievous look in his eyes and it was making you all tingly inside. You climbed off his lap and he took your hand. He looked up at you and gave you a sweet, almost shy, smile.
“Can I see it?”
“See what?”
“Our painting,” he said, kissing your hand.
Swallowing thickly, you nodded and helped him to his feet. You were a little nervous but you took him upstairs to your studio. You had left the painting in the middle of the room. It was completely dry by now but you didn’t know what to do with it.
You stayed in the doorway, hugging the doorframe, and let Bucky enter the room alone. You heard him take a deep breath before he let out a long, shuddery exhale. He studied the painting carefully, then looked over his shoulder at you.
“It looks like a nebula.”
You tilted your head to one side and studied the painting for some time. The painting was mostly black and dark navy blue, but there were streaks of yellow, purple and turquoise that created firework-like patterns on the canvas.
“It does,” you admitted.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m not sure. It’s not something I feel comfortable selling.”
He turned to fully face you. “Can I keep it?”
You bashfully looked at your feet before you entered the room. Bucky held his hand out to you and you took it with a shy smile.
“I kinda want to keep it too, but I’ll admit it would look nice above your bed.”
“Hmm,” he said, his mouth set in a thoughtful pout. “Yes, it would. And you can come see it anytime.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied with a cheeky grin, matching his playfulness.
The rest of the evening went with the two of you enjoying a good meal, washing the dishes and browsing rental websites. Things got a little awkward when you got ready for bed.
You had both decided to sleep in your own beds to avoid temptation but sleep evaded you as you stared at the ceiling wondering if Bucky was asleep.
You rolled out of bed with a huff and, as you padded into the kitchen, a soft glow coming from the living room caught your eye. Bucky sitting on the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table, the TV playing softly.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked. “C’mere.”
You quickly crossed the room and tucked yourself into the crook of his body, curling yourself against his side and resting your cheek on his chest. He adjusted the blanket and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
It didn’t take you long to find an apartment. Thanks to Bucky you had a very comfortable budget, and he had even called his realtor who, after you’d told her what you were looking for, found you a little studio not far from Okoye’s apartment.
The price was reasonable considering that there was a concierge, a laundry room, a garden and a gym. You knew Bucky wanted you to live in building with a concierge. He wanted you to be safe, that was his only request.
The day you moved out of Bucky’s guest room, W’kabi and Vis came to carry the heavy furniture while your sisters and Natasha took care of the rest. When the last box was loaded, they left with the truck you had rented.
“So,” you sighed, turning to Bucky who was sitting at the kitchen island. “I guess it’s time to say goodbye. You sure you don’t want to come with us? You don’t have to help me unpack.”
He shook his head. “I think I’d rather stay here. Forgive me, angel.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
Bucky looked around his kitchen and gave a nostalgic smile. It had been a difficult day for the both of you, and while you were excited to start this new chapter in your life, it still hurt to leave him.
You had left a few things behind; a few paintings, candles, a mountain of decorative pillows and the magnets on the fridge that still spelled ‘BUCKY FARTS’ –courtesy of Steve.
“Did your landlord change the locks?” he suddenly asked. “And did they install the alarm system? It’s from Stark Industry, it’s supposed to be the best in the world.”
You quickly crossed the room to stand in front of him. You took his head in your hands, and gently, but firmly, turned his head to meet your eyes. His beautiful blue eyes were wide and sad. It broke your heart.
“Bucky, I’m going to be okay.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He smiled weakly and held your gaze as he brushed his lips against the delicate skin of your wrist. “I’m just a little worried but you’re right.” He pressed another kiss then let go of your wrist. “Go, Natasha’s waiting for you downstairs.”
“She knows I need time to say goodbye,” you said. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course,” he replied immediately. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”
“It goes both ways, handsome.”
He chuckled quietly. “Fair enough.”
“Here,” you said, handing him the keys to his apartment. “I’m keeping the angel keychain.”
“It’s yours,” he said with a small smile, setting the keys on the table behind him. “Will you call me when you get there?”
“Of course.”
He stood from his chair and walked you to the door. You looked over your shoulder at his apartment one last time.
“Don’t go looking for another angel,” you said, pressing your lips gently to his bristled cheek.
He watched, frozen, as you walked to the door. Your hand was on the doorknob when he shouted your name, startling you enough to make you turn around. He took three long strides and pressed your back against the front door.
You dropped your bag on the floor and threw your arms around him as he caged you between his body and the door. He kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, until you couldn’t feel anything but him.
Your mind felt fuzzy but you could hear the raw, animalist sounds he made while he kissed you and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. His kiss was bruising and fierce, and you were melting against him.
“I’ll see you soon, my angel.” His voice was hoarse and deep.
He pulled back and it took you a minute to react. You shook your head dreamily and grabbed your bag. You pressed your fingers to your bruised lips and chuckled. “Damn it, Bucky. You’ve completely ruined me.”
“Good,” he replied with a cocky grin. You rolled your eyes at his antics and walked out of his apartment. You stepped backwards into the elevator and waved goodbye, a dumb smile on your lips.
