Archive of Our Own

You shouldn’t have let this happen. It’s not going to go anywhere good. You even know exactly how it’s going to end. The same way every other story like it ends. With nothing at all.

But at least, for a time, you will have had something. That’s what got you here in the first place. 

Just needing something.

You might have taken more than you should. You might have gorged yourself on warm skin and metal fingers trailing over your waist, the smell of gunpowder and pine trees, and tiny marks littering your neck. 

Proof.

They’re proof that this happened. Whether it was a good idea or not, it happened. And—because you’re a fucking fool—it’s going to happen again. 

You keep playing it back in your head. All the times you could’ve just kept it down, and not walked right into this beautiful, horrible, perfectly laid trap. 

When Nat texted you to go out for drinks, and you said yes. You could’ve just told her you were tired. Then you’d just be in your own bed, playing out scenarios in your head where this did happen, none the wiser to how it would actually feel. How it would ruin you in the best way, and you’d never be able to go back.

Then after Sam, Nat and Steve turned in for the night, leaving just you and Bucky, you could’ve easily left as well. Just grabbed your bag, pulled Bucky into an awkward hug you’d think about for weeks to come, and walked out into the rain. It had just been rain. It wasn’t going to kill you. But Bucky had said stay, I can drive you back once the storm clears, doll, and it was like he’d strapped you to the booth with only a small grin and smooth voice. 

And when he leaned across the table you could’ve leaned away.

When his hand tangled in your hair—trying to deepen a kiss that was already spreading warmth through your whole body—you could’ve pushed him back, or kept your lips closed.

Then he’d pulled back with a lust-blown expression, and asked if you wanted that ride back to his place. You’d said yes. 

You’d said yes a lot, tonight. 

When he’d asked if you were sure, and you were, because you two hours ago was too drunk on Bucky, his attention and hand on your lower back and lips hovering right over yours for her to understand what this would really mean.

You’d scream yes when he’d double checked you were good with this as he played with your tits, and when his head had been between your thighs, and when he’d been sheathed deep inside of you.

You’d mumbled it after, when he’d kissed your shoulder and asked if you want a shower. 

You could’ve said you’d just go home. Taken the walk of shame with all the spiraling thoughts alone, lost in the night and unsure if it had been just a dream. 

But it wasn’t. You step out of the shower and sway awkwardly in the doorway, and Bucky looks up from his book—of course he reads in bed, he’s a perfect, amazing, beautiful asshole—with a small frown.

“You wanna sit down, doll?”

Doll.

You’re back to being doll. And it’s sweet, it’s always been sweet, and you’ve always loved it because Bucky said it, but God. An hour ago you’d been babydoll. 

It’s sort of like you’re suspended in time. It’s moving around you, but you’re not moving with it. And it’s hitting you like the sky falling or the end of the world, what you just did. You slept with Bucky. And it wasn’t the gentle, sweet sex you’d always fantasized about having with him. It had been a little wild and feral—messy and wet and hot—and the best fucking sex of your life. 

But he hadn’t whispered in your ear that he loved you. Probably because he didn’t. If there had been a time to say it, last night would’ve been the moment.

It’s all in a stasis and it’s a wonderful, technicolor nightmare, because you know what comes next and you’ve never wanted it more than anything, but you know it’s going to be your ruin.

You know.

And you still don’t leave.

Bucky says your name cautiously, and you give him a soft, winning smile. This is fine. 

From where he’s sitting—comfortable, with his heart not fracturing from waiting for the future—everything is fine. 

“You- Uh-“ He clears his throat as you drop at his side. “That was fun.”

You nod, forcing yourself not to stare at his hands. Or your hands. Or anything that had been involved in the night, which means the little bit of dust on the edge of the room. “Really fun.”

“Yeah. And if you’d want it, not that you gotta, I’d…” Bucky sighs, and you can’t look at him. Your heart will break right now, if you look at him and see none of your own turmoil reflected on his features. Then you’ll just fucking do this anyway. “I’d like to do it again. If you’d want that.”

There’s a little tang of blood, on the inside of your cheek. 

Another moment, when you should just kill this. Right here. Again doesn’t mean a date. Doesn’t mean sunlit mornings or late, painful nights that give way to kissing on the floor and heads on shoulders. 

Again means sex. Raw, primal, amazing sex. 

So you should say no. 

But this is worse than an addiction. An addiction you can kick. And when it has you by the neck, you need a hit more than oxygen but it’s still just a hit. One can learn to live without it, and after wading through a storm you come out the other side. 

This is the oxygen. 

You’re not going to crave it, or shuffle through the day just thinking about Bucky’s lips on yours, or his hands angling your hips up hit you deeper. You’re just going to keep breathing it in, because it’s the only way. 

That what you tell yourself, when you nod, and say, “Okay.”

It doesn’t matter than it’s going to end. That it’s going to have a half-life, then die a quiet or explosive death. 

You just have to have it, in anyway you can. 

“Okay.” Bucky echoes, and you finally look at him. He’s got this wide, almost boyish grin, and it’s the one you’ve only ever seen in old black and white photos. 

Maybe your heart does break here.

Maybe Bucky just bumps your shoulder and keeps smiling, and that puts it back together in the same second. 

It doesn’t really matter. 

The type of arrangement you’re talking about never ends well. It’ll break again.

“We should have rules,” you try to keep your voice casual, and it works. Bucky just shrugs.

There’s another break.

“Alright. I’ve never done this thing before, so you’re gonna have to tell me what rules we need. Is it like, fight club?”

You let out a soft laugh. “No, it’s- Who made you watch Fight Club?”

“Guess.”

“Nat?”

“No,” Bucky says your name with a roll of his eyes. “It was you. You said it was a brilliant movie, I just couldn’t get all man about it.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head down, trying to hide the flush of your cheeks. He watched a movie because of you. “Did you? Get all man about it?”

Bucky pauses. “Tried not to. You can be the judge of that.”

God, there’s a tiny shatter. It’s just below your ribcage this time. “I will.”

“I know, doll.” He pauses, and you try to take a deep breath. There might not be enough air in the world. “So? Rules?”

You shrug, flopping onto your back. “There are a few classic ones.”

“Classic ones?”

“Yeah, like- Rules people always follow. When they do the friends with benefits thing.”

There’s a long pause—too long, you almost push up on your elbows to look at him, which would be another thing you’d have fucked up—and then Bucky speaks, his words a little slower than before. “Got it. What’s the first one?”

Fuck. You’re doing this. And you know exactly what rules there are going to have to be, if you want the stretch this and breathe it as long as possible.

“Don’t fall in love.” 

You say it like you haven’t already broken it.

Like you don’t know, deep down, that you’re going to break all the others, too. Right until it all comes crashing down.

Bucky raises his brows at you across the meeting table, and you give him a small nod in return. You’ll be tired after the mission, but it will give you an excuse to pass out in Bucky’s bed. And when you wake up in the morning he may not be there, but it will still smell like him. You’ll still smell like him. Maybe he’ll smell a little like you. 

But you have to get through the mission first.

It’s not a rough one. Just a Hydra cell that put itself on the map, and needs to be cleaned up. Not all hands on deck, not even half hands on deck. Just you, Bucky, and Steve. It was supposed to be Tony instead of you, but then they found out it was deep, deep underground, and suddenly it was a you problem. 

You can get through a mission with Bucky and Steve. It’s just Bucky and Steve. You’re pretty sure they actually moved you onto the unit not because of any powers or logistics shit, but because if it’s Bucky, Steve, and Tony barely anything will happen, but just Bucky and Steve will be worse.

The first time you’d met Bucky had been a just Bucky and Steve mission. He’d sat across from you at a table like this one, Steve standing at the head of the table and trying to sell that it was—really, when you thought about it—a victory. They hadn’t gotten the data, and they’d both almost died twice before trying to throw themselves off a mountain for each other, but that just meant the team hadn’t lost two Avengers, and everyone now knew how dangerous mountains could be.

You hadn’t been paying attention. You’d be folding a little paper bird—you were bored—and you’d felt eyes searing into the back of your head. You’d looked up and found Bucky staring at you with a small frown, and he’d been pretty. He’s always pretty. 

It’s easier to think you didn’t fall for him right there. When you’d given him a smile in return before finishing the bird, and sending it over to land on his head. He’d stared at you like you were insane, then given you an awkward smile when the bird climbed into his hands—already growing tiny, colorful feathers—and you’d been a goner. 

He’d looked like a wet puppy, then. And you’d wanted to keep him warm.

You sort of get to, now. 

It’s amazing, and horrible, and you never want to stop.

“Everyone understand what we’re doing here?” Steve asks, and you sigh, slumping further into your seat.

“There are only two of us, Stevie,” Bucky drawls, and you’re going to have to give him a really good blowjob later. Arguing with Steve is always rough. “Everyone does understand.”

Steve just sighs, standing a little taller in his stupid Captain Posture. “I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. It’s a small cell, but it’s Hydra, and we all have complicated history with that-“

“We do?” You let out a mock gasp, and Bucky snorts. “Gee, when you said Hydra, I didn’t know you meant that Hydra. Bucky, did you know he was talking about that Hydra?”

“Nah. Thought he was talking about the ancient octopus.”

You frown at him. “Lizard.”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

“It’s not an octopus, it’s a lizard.”

“It’s an octopus on their stupid logo-“

“That’s because it’s a stupid logo.” You cross your arms, giving him a pointed look. “It’s like, a lizard monster, right? No octopi?”

“Octopi?”

“Plural of octopus.”

“Right. Course.” Bucky gives you an amused look, and you can feel heat starting to rise to your cheeks. “Any other lessons today, teach?”

You shake your head, ripping your gaze down to the disgustingly big files dossier. “No.”

Bucky grunts, and you can distantly hear Steve talking about movements and plans again, but you can’t really take any of it in. You should’ve pushed back more. You would’ve pushed back more, a month ago. When you didn’t know this mission was going to end with Bucky using that same teasing voice as he asks you what do you want, babydoll. 

Him. You want him. And you can’t have it. 

It won’t get in the way of the mission. It shouldn’t get in the way of this mission.

But you keep seeing it. Whenever you look at him, or hear his voice, it’s all you can think about. How he sounds when he’s praising you or asking you to ride him faster. What those hands, fiddling with the quinjet settings, feel moving so carefully on your breasts or over your clit. How his set, stone-like face feels when it’s contorted in pleasure and grinning at you from above.

You shouldn’t think about it. 

But you love him, and he’s letting you have it, and now you’re going to lose your mind. 

And there’s a cold dread growing in your gut. That something you say will be the thing that makes him stop fucking you. Maybe you’ll do something, and he’ll realize that this isn’t casual for you. That you love him and want him in a way that’s soul-numbing and all consuming. That you’re just killing yourself to be with him for a second.

And Bucky’s a good friend, so he’d let you down easy. But it wouldn’t change that you’re going to be haunted by the touch of him, and you’re forgetting how to act like you don’t love him. It’s like a dam has been slowly crumbling away with every secret look and hidden touch, and it’s far too close to breaking.

You’re always too close to ruining everything. 

You stare at him the whole flight. And when you land. And when he grins at you, you return it, but you also make a strange sound and look away too fast. 

When you get underground—the halls and rooms illuminated by your light—and Bucky and Steve are fighting, you’re distracted. Staring at Bucky though the shimmering bubble you’ve wrapped yourself in, not paying attention to the bullets flying in your direction. They all turn into flower petals when they passed through the barrier anyway.

A Hydra goon runs at him with a knife. And he can handle it, easily. He always fights like it’s a dance and never walks away with more than a scratch, but there’s also the guy fighting Steve,  and he’s raising his gun over Steve’s head, to- 

You don’t think. 

You always think, but this time, you just feel a white-hot fury and dread and- 

Light flares through the room, and when it clears, the men are all frozen in stone, and you’re curled on the floor. 

“Jesus.” Steve mutters, poking the goon with the gun. “That’s a pretty neat trick.”

Bucky grunts an agreement, but his gaze is mostly focused on you. 

Fuck. 

He helps you back to the quinjet. His arm looped around your waist in a way that maybe looks casual, but isn’t. To you, it’s never casual. And when you get to the jet, you just sit in complete silence, staring at him and wondering if he noticed. 

You haven’t lost control like that in a really long time.

Not since Bucky started training with you.  

And you’ve been in the field with him before, and he’s been in danger before, and you’ve reacted rashly but never like that. Something could’ve gone wrong. You could’ve hit Bucky and Steve, you could’ve changed the Hydra goons into something other than stone, or you could’ve missed all together and turned computers into worms. It was stupid and dangerous, and worst of all, you can’t justify it. When Bucky asks if you’re alright, you just give him a small smile and make an awkward joke you can’t even remember. 

When he asks if you want to push tonight off, you almost shout no. You’re fine, and you need him, and don’t change anything because you’re fine. He’s fine, so you’re fine. 

But you’re tense and off during the debrief, too. Tony asks you what made you go all bang bang on them, and you just mumble that you’re really passionate about data. 

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Bucky mutters, once everyone else clears the room. “I’m not gonna take it personally if you wanna push tonight off, we live in the same building, doll, we can go again-“

“No.” You shake your head, picking at your nails. “I’m good. I’m so good. Just tired.”

Bucky frowns. “If you’re tired, you should sleep-“

“Not that kinda tired.”

“I-“ He blinks. “What other kinds of tired are there?“

“Sleepy. Emotionally.” You shrug. “You wanna watch a movie? Before we fuck?”

“Uh,” Bucky stares at you for a second, then give a small, tight now. “Sure.” 

You go to leave the room, but Bucky catches your wrist, a concerned look on his face. 

“Promise me you’re okay. With us, y’know- Doing this.”

You frown at him. “What?”

“You’ve just been acting off, and Steve told me you didn’t even write your post-mission reports, and I- I don’t know.” He sighs, squeezing your wrist gently. “I wanna make sure it’s not cause of this. That you’re not gettin’ stressed about it or anything.”

There’s a tension in your heartstrings that snaps.

You’ve been acting off.

Don’t make it weird. The second rule was don’t make it weird, and when you’d said it, you weren’t entirely sure what you meant, but now you do.

This.

You’re making it something Bucky has to double check with you about. Something that’s affecting how you’re talking and behaving, something weird. 

“I’m not stressed about it.” You give Bucky a small smile, and he returns it nervously. “Just tired.”

Bucky lets out a slow breath, and you don’t think he believes you .

It doesn’t seem to matter either way. He still watches the movie with you, then carries you back to his room to fuck you with his hand rubbing and slapping your ass, while you grind down onto his dick with loud, sinful sounds. 

Another rule broken. 

A little bit closer to the end. 

But you don’t stop. Bucky doesn’t either.

One day he’ll want to. 

And that breaks your heart again, the very same moment Bucky kisses you and puts it back together.

This doesn’t mean anything. 

You’re not moving on—you don’t think you know how—but you’re doing damage control. You will be able to recover when Bucky is done with you, because you’re sort of funny and smart and pretty. Bucky Barnes might be the Sun—and the only one that’s ever given you life—but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other stars. 

It’s not a date. There’s no world where this ends with you in a bed that doesn’t smell like pine trees, because you’re still going to cling to Bucky until he pries you away. 

This isn’t anything. 

You can’t even feel anything. 

But you’re still doing it. Either as a sadistic kind of self-masochism—proving that you’re right, nobody is as good as Bucky, and nobody is ever going to be as good after him—or so that when you go back to him tonight, you can tell yourself you tried. 

You are trying. 

Not that hard. 

But with Mark—one of Tony’s more charismatic engineers, who’s been asking you out for a year with no avail and isn’t questioning why you suddenly said yes—you’re trying.

“You know, I’m not an Avenger.” The man across the table from you chuckles to himself, and you force an amused smile. “But I get adventures. Went rock climbing, once. You ever been rock climbing?”

“Yeah, um,” you swallow, and Mark is sweet, so you have to just keep fucking trying. “I was on a mission in- the Alps, I think. It was a few years ago, now. But we had to scale a cliff.”

Mark leans forward with a grin. “How’d that go? I’m scared of heights, so for me, it sucked.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, I didn’t love it. I got freaked out by a bird, and turned a big section of the cliff into ice. It was fine, though, Sam caught me. Then passed me off to-“

“Barnes!” Mark laughs, and you smile like you can’t feel your heart burying itself in your stomach. “Oh, I remember that one! We had to do a bunch of maintenance on Barnes’ arm after, cause some of the wiring had turned into ice but he’d kept using it. The damage was horrible, and Stark yelled at him for ten minutes, but he was super chill about it. Thanked me, after I fixed it. Even if it was just, uh,” Mark frowns into the air. “Kind of a grunt.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Bucky mostly talks in grunts.”

Except when he doesn’t. When he’s above you or has you pinned to a wall, and it’s all soft, smooth, so pretty, babydoll and takin’ me so well, being such a good girl, feel like heaven, sweetheart. Or after, when he asks what you want to eat like he didn’t just devour your pussy, and you didn’t just choke on his cock. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair how he does that, even though he doesn’t know how it breaks you. Not fair that he’s invading your thoughts when you’re supposed to be on a coffee date with sweet Mark, who’s got long eyelashes and is clearly emotionally available, but all you can think of is Bucky-

“It’s so crazy when you do that,” Mark chuckles, and you frown at him.

“Do what?”

“Say Sam and Bucky instead of Falcon or Barnes, and talk about turning mountains into ice.” Mark shakes his head. “You’re like, a goddess. And you’re having coffee with me.”

Oh. You might be the worst person alive. “I’m not a goddess.” You mumble. “I just drank space goo. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Yeah, but you’re also super cool.” Mark shrugs, and this was a horrible idea. “You make everyone brownies.”

“I only know how to make brownies.” 

“Maybe,” Mark leans over the table with a small grin. “But they’re really good brownies.”

You give him a small, nervous smile. “Thanks.”

Maybe you can actually do it. Mark really wouldn’t be a bad boyfriend, and it isn’t all about sex. You might not get over Bucky, but you could see a world where you build Mark up to his height. And you’d try. It would be cruel and unfair, to keep being in love with Bucky while doing this, but there aren’t a lot of other options. And it’s not like Bucky loves you back. Like there’s a future you’d be sabotaging by letting yourself be happy with Mark. 

And you know this makes you a bad person. That it’s the type of thing villains in lifetime movies do—the movies you watch with Bucky, and he always yells at the screen like it’s a sport, and you love him, and you need to stop thinking about that right now—but you’re going to do it anyway. You’ve already made a lot of bad choices to get here. 

One more really isn’t all that much. 

So you don’t kiss Mark goodbye, when the date ends. But you also don’t tell him no when he asks for another date. 

And that’s another fucking rule, broken. You’re supposed to tell Bucky about other relationships, because the agreement had been you weren’t exclusive, but it shouldn’t be made complicated. 

You’d made that rule. For your own sanity. You’d made it because if Bucky was going to maybe end it, you wanted a warning. 

But now you’re breaking it, and this is so fucking unhealthy, but the entire team had voted against mandatory therapy sessions last month, so you’re stuck figuring this out alone.

You’ll tell Bucky. You’re going to tell him after the mission briefing, but then he walks out of the room without looking at you. Then you’re going to tell him on the mission, but the moment he sees your refracting off the walls, he seems to vanish into the shadows. 

You have to tell him. He’s not giving you the chance to. 

He could be about to end it. You could’ve made the right call, going on that date with Mark, because you’re about to lose Bucky. And given how he won’t even look you in the eyes, your friendship might be over too. 

You don’t know what you did. Why he’d just suddenly flip and decide that he hates you, because you can suck—the Mark thing is blatant, painful proof of that—but he’s not perfect either. And most of your friendship has been about being not perfect together. Bucky gets angry, and you let him rant about it until you shove back with reasons he might be wrong. You get snarky or haughty, and Bucky lets you tire yourself out before reminding you that you can’t control everything. That you hate trying to control everything, you just hate incompetence more. 

And he has nightmares, and you watch a movie with him.

And you get anxiety attacks, and he sits with you until you come back down. 

You don’t know how you’re going to go without that. You know you’re not easy, but Bucky’s never cared. He’s always been there. And that’s why you didn’t want to fucking do it, why you knew it was a bad idea, why the moment you lose him forever you’re going to shatter on the floor. He’s your friend, and months of the most mind-blowing sex isn’t worth paying the price of your friend, but it might be too late-

“We need to talk.” Bucky grunts in your ear, walking a pace behind you to the mission debrief. 

And you nod, but your heart breaks again. On the floor of the hanger, and in the debrief, and splattered behind you as you walk to Bucky’s room. You’ll be fine. His face is unreadable as he opens the door but you’ll be fine.

Bucky’s closing the door and pinning you against it, his arms caged over your head and his eyes narrowed, but this is something you’ll survive. It’s going to kill you, and bury you, and maybe your heart will turn into a flower that can grow on Bucky’s windowsill, but you’ll survive. 

“You got something to tell me, doll?”

You blink at him. “I- You asked me to talk.”

His jaw ticks. “Answer my question.”

“Bucky-“

“I saw you.” He spits the words out like they’re venom, and you feel the blood drain from your face. “And I know I don’t have any sort of- You can do whatever you want. But you’re supposed to tell me.”

“It just happened.” You whisper. “Like, yesterday.”

“When did he ask you out.”

Shit. “Last week.”

“Yeah.” Bucky lets out a dry laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

That’s not fair. He can’t hold this over you like it’s some great crime, when you did break a rule, but it doesn’t mean anything to him. When your heart breaks every day, and he puts it back together, and you watch women throw themselves at him during parties, but you go on one coffee date and suddenly it’s like you cheated on him. 

“I was going to tell you, Buck, but you were avoiding me- And-“ You take a shaking breath. You don’t want to fight. But you don’t know how to back down either. “I’m sorry. I promise I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t want it to be a thing, and I’m really sorry-“

“You love him?”

You blink at him, the world a little blurry. 

But not Bucky. 

Bucky’s never blurry. He’s all shining blue eyes and sharp features you want to trace with your lips, and so much care you can sometimes feel it around you like a shield.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world. It’s making you a little dizzy, and your words far too soft.

“No.” I love you. “We- It was just coffee.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “You gonna get more coffee with him?”

Not worth lying. “Maybe.”

You can’t read his expression. You don’t really want to. Nothing it tells you will make this better.

And Bucky’s just hanging over you, his metal hand tracing over your face before carefully grabbing your neck, and you let out a soft, needy sound. 

“You still wanna do this?” He rasps, and you nod. You’ve never wanted anything more. 

This rule break wasn’t the worst one, maybe. Not when it’s making Bucky kiss you like this. His tongue down your throat, his body pressed right against yours, and everything feeling a little different. His lips are molded over yours that same way as always, but he’s kissing you like he’s trying to eat you alive. Touching you like he wants to leave a mark. And when he carries you to the bed, you don’t even get a chance to palm him over his jeans before he’s all over you. 

You’re drowning in him. Everywhere, it’s just Bucky touching you, it’s almost feral. Teeth almost biting your clit, a bruising grip with tight hands, powerful arms holding you to his chest like you’re going to vanish. He cums all over your chest, and smears it around with a satisfied look, before diving back between your legs. 

And when he’s done, you’re a mess. You’re always a mess, but Bucky usually helps clean you up. 

This time, it feels like he’s trying to pull you all the way apart. And it feels so good, but when the daze of sex clears, your head is still a little clouded. 

It’s not fucking fair. None of this is fucking fair, and you have no one to blame but yourself. 

You wish you could blame Bucky, but you’d broken the rule. 

And he’s so soft, after. Cleaning you up and bringing you a cookie. 

“You don’t even like cookies,” you mumble, and Bucky shrugs.

“Yeah. ’S why I got them for you.”

This sucks. It sucks so much. It’s turning you into someone you hate and someone you’ve always wanted to be at the same time. 

You don’t like lying. Sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, and telling Bucky you’re fine when he seems to understand that you’re not.

You’d called of the second date with Mark because you’re busy, and not ready for a relationship. And it fucking sucks how this has made you someone who says that kind of shit. Someone who looks a perfectly good man in the eyes and gives him a sad smile when he says, if you change your mind, he’ll be there.

Of course he will be. 

But that’s not what you want, and you’ve never hated yourself more for it. 

You’re driving yourself out of your mind. Beating yourself up in the dead of night with all the ways you could’ve done this differently, all the ways you could’ve avoided this, and all the ways you’d let it happen. You’ve been playing that game from the very start, and you never fucking learn your lesson. 

You don’t want to. 

Because the parts you want—the parts that make this worth it—are perfect. 

“I’ve never had a meringue.” Bucky mutters, his chin propped on your shoulder in the kitchen, and you hum.

“I’ve never made a meringue. So we’re experimenting together.” You shoot him a glare, before his mouth can even open. “Don’t.”

He’s grinning. It’s the freest, easiest grin you’ve ever seen, and in these moments everything feels too real. It’s like toeing a very careful, thin line you’re always about to trip over. You and Bucky always did things together, before the arrangement. But he’s never stood this close to you. And he’d been this free, and you’d known how to guess everything he was about to say, but now it’s all jokes and teasing.

It hurts. 

But you really must be a masochist, because you’d never want any other pain.

“I didn’t say anything.” Bucky drawls, squeezing his hand on your hip. “But I got ideas for other experiments, after you done- Shit-“

You’d flung some of the meringue whip, right at his face, and you can’t stop the giggle bubbling up in your throat at the sight of him. Stumbling back and wiping pastel yellow from his face, looking adorable and disgruntled and in the second, like yours. 

“I warned you, Bucky-“

“I didn’t think you’d hit me with a fuckin’ projectile.” He grumbles, rubbing his hand over his face and spreading it everywhere. “Jesus, doll, you’re gonna kill me-“

You snort, setting down the bowl to grab him a washcloth. “You’ve been shot, I think you’ll be fine.“

“It’s an emotional wound.” He grumbles. “You got it in my beard.”

“Oh no. How ever will you survive.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re real bratty for someone who’s about to get what’s coming to her.”

You blink at him for a second, and he’s got this light dancing in his eyes that goes right to your core. It’s another thing only you get to see. Another thing that’s not fair, and makes him twice as beautiful, and makes all the agony of this more than worth it. 

“No comeback, babydoll?” Bucky raises his brows, and you’re screwed. You’d never want to be anything else, with him. “Not even gonna try to defend yourself?”

“I- Um-“ Your knees are already a little weak, and you hold up the cloth pathetically. “I was gonna help you clean.”

“So good to me.” He hums, slowly walking you back against the counter. “You can help me clean, sweetheart. That what you want?”

You nod dumbly, and Bucky tips your chin back, giving you another unreadable expression.

“Open.” His voice is almost a growl, and you obey without a thought. “Good girl.”

Oh. Oh, God. 

This. This is why you’re putting yourself through this. For Bucky’s smooth voice and undivided attention, and the fantasy he keeps feeding that this could, in some slightly shifted universe, be a real thing. You and him. 

That when he slides his fingers between your lips and makes you clean them off, it’s not just a fevered hunger in his gaze. And when he kisses you it’s just because he wants to kiss you. That it’s this deep and passionate because he wants to stay in this moment forever too.

It really feels like he does. 

And then you’re stuck in the cycle. Where you love every single second you spend with him—falling to your knees and taking him in your mouth, before being splayed on the countertop and eaten out until Bucky’s suffocating between your legs, then cleaning up and baking like nothing ever happened at all—and then loathe yourself afterward. 

It’s so fucking confusing. How he’s acting like he is yours, but he’s not. How he fucks you like that then can just pretend it never happened. How he got so fucking pissed when you went for coffee with Mark, then just grunted when you told him you weren’t going on a second date. 

You’re still getting distracted on missions. More distracted. It’s dangerous, and not like you. 

To the point that Steve calls you into his office—the corner of the library nobody ever uses, because it smells like fucking paint—and stares at you with a deep frown, like he’s trying to outlast you into just confessing you’re on drugs or something. 

It’s not working. 

Bucky calls you a stubborn little thing, when he’s trying to make you beg for his cock. And even then, it can take hours. 

You prefer determined. And you’re not in love with Steve, so he’s not going to get you to cave. 

He breaks first. 

“Okay. I know we’re not as close as you and Bucky are.” His words are so careful, and you force your face to remain neutral. “But something’s going on with you. We’re all getting… Sort of worried. Nat said she saw you turn a bo staff into a snake by accident, and last mission you turned a nuclear reactor into tree. It still had radiation,” Steve sighs your name, giving you a sad look. “And it’s going to take months to de-root properly. I’ve been advised to keep you off missions until I’m certain you won’t…” he trails off, and you offer an end to his sentence.

“Go crazy?”

“I don’t want to call it crazy.” Steve mutters. “It’s just not like you. You’ve been more removed and reckless, and I’m more worried that something’s going on.”

You let out a long breath. “Steve-“

“Bucky’s worried, too.” Steve adds quickly, and you have to bite your tongue to stop a reaction. “He asked me if I’ve noticed how you’ve been acting off, or if I’m seeing any changes in your behavior or habits-“

“Bucky doesn’t talk like that.” You mutter, and Steve sighs. 

“I’m sort paraphrasing, but-“

“And we’re fucking. That’s why he asked.”

There’s a long silence, and you don’t fully realize what you said until Steve clears his throat, his eyes almost comically wide on yours. 

“You- Uh- You and Bucky are sleeping together.”

Fuck. 

Fuck.

You’re not supposed to tell anyone. That was another rule, don’t tell anyone, and you told Steve. Of all the people you could’ve slipped up and told, you told Steve, like a fucking idiot, why did you tell Steve-

He says your name cautiously, and it’s too late to go back now. 

“Yeah. We are.”

“Ah.” Steve’s still just staring at you, and your fingers curl in your lap. “Is- Is that what’s going on?”

“No. Yes. I-“ You give him a grimacing smile. “I don’t know. I don’t really want to talk about it-“

“I can’t let you back in the field until we talk about it.”

Your eyes narrow. “That’s not fair-“

“Yeah. It isn’t.” Steve leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “But that’s what’s happening. If I know what’s going on with you guys, I can structure the missions so it doesn’t affect them. But I have to know.” He sighs your name, and at the very least look incredibly guilty about the whole thing. “Did you guys, uh- Have a fight-“

“No.” Your gaze drops to your hands. If you’re doing this, you can’t look him in the eyes. “I- Just- Fuck, dude, you can’t tell Bucky any of this-“

“Wasn’t going to.”

You believe him. Steve isn’t the type to lie about that, even if Bucky’s his best friend. 

And he’s your friend too. 

You’ve come this far. The whole thing is a mess anyway. Might as well bring it home.

“We’re not- Together.” You chose the words carefully, as if that fucking matters. “But I’m getting confused. It’s like we’re right on the edge of together, but we’re still- We’re not.”

Steve hums. “Do you want to be together?”

“I don’t see how that’s important-“

He grunts your name, and you sigh. 

“I don’t want to lose him.”

You can hear the frown in Steve’s voice. “I don’t think you could lose Bucky if you tried-“

“But I’m not trying.” You whisper, digging your nails into your wrist. “And I’m going to lose him anyway.”

“You’re sure of that?”

You shake your head, and Steve sighs again. 

“So just- Talk to him-“

“I don’t want to.” 

“Nothing’s going to get better if you don’t talk to him-“

“Steve.” You give him a firm glare, and he’s looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “I told you I don’t want to talk about it. Please.”

He frowns at you for another second, before he speaks. “I still think you should talk to him.”

“I’ll talk to Bucky if he talks to me.” You shrug. “But I- I don’t want to ruin things.”

Steve just stares at you for a second, and he doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he’s thinking.

You don’t have to talk to Bucky to ruin things.

You already have.

Bucky had heard about Her, before he met Her. 

All light, is what Nat had called Her. All light and a lot of quiet anger. So much it makes everything around her harsher, sometimes. Like staring at the sun.

And that hadn’t been entirely wrong.

But the Sun would burn your eyes out, and then you’d never be able to see again. 

When Bucky had looked at Her, it had been like seeing the stars for the first time. Out of reach and entirely indifferent to him, spinning in a chair in a meeting room and transfixed with the paper in Her hands. Beautiful, and made of light, but more made of wonder. Made of watching and wondering if he’d even be big enough to grab one is his hand, like his ma had told him. 

He’d asked Steve, after that first meeting. 

And he liked to think he’d been casual about it. But he hadn’t been casual in eighty years. He’d forgotten how. If Steve had seen it, he hadn’t said anything. He’d just raised a brow and shrugged.

“Bruce and Tony calls is transmutation.” He’d shrugged. “Way they put it, that light in her body can sort of give things life, or take them away. She’s one of Hydra’s questionable experiments, so she’s never worked combat.’

Bucky had grunted. He could help with that.

He’d trained people before.

“What does she do, if she can’t do the field?”

Steve had shaken his head. “She does the field. Just get panic attacks, and it can get out of a hand. We try to keep her out of stressful situations. She mostly works recon missions.”

Bucky could work recon. 

He liked to keep out of stressful situations. 

He mostly liked Her. 

A lot.

The more they spoke, and She warmed up to him, the more Bucky liked Her. He help Her with combat, and it seemed to give her more control over her magic shit. Then they were partners, then they were friends, then they were close.

She’d run a hand casually through Bucky’s hair like touching him was something easy for Her to do, and it had hit him there.

He loved Her. 

He’d forgotten how to love things, too. Not without breaking them. 

But he’d been trying to learn. He took care of Her the best their relationship would allow, and he’d tried to be a good friend, but there were still nights. Where he didn’t have nightmares She came to his aide for, but rather dreams. 

Her voice in his ear and hands on his body. Lazy morning and a long, normal life where She made him a million more paper birds, and he caught Her when she stumbled over any sort of cliff. A real one on a mission, or a metaphorical one. Stress or harder times or anything She wanted to hold Bucky through. Anything at all. 

He never should’ve asked Her back to his place. He’d known, that very first night, that whatever casual sex people did these days wouldn’t work for him. That She deserved something better than a beaten, broken man, and he still didn’t know how to love enough to love Her well. That is that was all She asked of him, he’d give it until he was clawing at his organs and bones to give Her something a little more, and She turned all that life giving light to someone who could offer Her more than shadows.

She’d asked for rules.

Bucky would’ve given Her the Moon.

And he’d made a real damn effort to follow those rules. There had been no hope for that first one, because it hadn’t even been falling in love. That implied a drop. Some sort of ruin at the end. Bucky had climbed into loving Her. Long and rough and painful and ending high enough to catch a star. 

But there was nowhere to go but down. 

It had taken barely a day for him to break another rule. Steve had asked how his night was, and Bucky had frozen. 

“Uh, Buck-“

“I fucked her, Stevie.” He’d whispered, his voice hoarse. “And she- She doesn’t know.”

Steve had frowned and said Her name, letting out a long sigh when Bucky had nodded. “Does she not know because you didn’t tell her?”

“Tried to. She wants a friends with benefits thing. Like, we fuck and nothing else.”

“Yeah, I already got that one explained to me.” Steve had given him a pitiful look. “What’d you-“

“Told her yes.”

“Bucky-“

“I don’t wanna hear it.” He’d muttered, and Steve had dropped it. 

And Bucky had just kept breaking more rules.

He’d made it weird. His hands had kept fisting to stop himself from touching Her, and kept trying to get Her attention on missions. Making moves he would’ve have otherwise, all just to impress a beautiful woman. 

And he’d been trying it out with a nice girl Nat had set him up with, before that night. Before he’d tasted Her and realized he’d never be hungry for anything else. He’d gone on two more dates with the girl, because he was a lonely asshole who didn’t trust that Her, in his bed, was good enough to be real. And he’d called it off without telling either of them, but still acted like a possessive asshole when She’d gone on one date with the engineer. 

Bucky knew that guy. He was nice. And he’d be good to Her, too, but he’d ruined it for Her. He’d been selfish and tried to claim something that didn’t—and never would—belong to him. Cost Her a chance at normalcy, and never apologized.

He hated who this was making him. Hated how he had to dance around Her and pretend he didn’t want all of Her. And now he couldn’t even get Her to look him in the eyes, and it was going to make him fall apart. He’d been a second from strangling Stevie just a week ago, with his constant suggestions of just talking to Her. 

Bucky didn’t want to talk to Her. Talking meant the end. 

But She already looked a little dimmer than he’d found Her. And She’d shine so bright when She was with him, but then start to flicker the moment she walked away. She’d been taken off all missions, because of it. 

Bucky was ruining Her. Breaking Her. Just like he broke everything else. 

And it wasn’t fair, but life had never been fair. 

At least he’d be able to keep loving Her, even when he didn’t have Her. At least he would’ve had Her for a time. 

It was more than Bucky had ever had anything else.

And if he only ever got to have one thing, even just half in his hands and always slipping through his fingers, he’d always be beyond grateful it got to be Her.

It’s so annoying, when Steve is right. He’s going to hear about it, and give a little shrug like he didn’t mean to be right, but you know better. He’s going to bring it up, casually and airily, for the rest of your lives, and nobody’s ever going to believe you because it’s Steve. 

But he is right. 

You need to talk to Bucky.

You spend the week planning it out. Rehearsing it in your head, preparing for any possible response he could have. If he tries to interrupt you, there’s an exact outline for how to shut him up and make him let you finish. If he tells you h doesn’t feel the same way, there’s an elegant exit plan to walk away with your heart in the bottom of your gut, but all your dignity in one, fractured piece. If he feels the same, you’ve practiced a very normal reaction about it in the mirror. 

You’re ready for anything, when you go to knock on his door. 

Anything but Bucky opening it, yanking you forward, and slamming the doors behind you. His arms wrap around you in a second, his lips crashing down to yours in a brutal, unyielding kiss, and you didn’t have a plan for this. You don’t even have the oxygen for it, because Bucky’s inhaling your every sound and pulling out deep moans from your chest, holding you like you’re going to crumble in his hands.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You shove at his chest, just enough for him to pull back. 

He looks desperate. For you. And god, that’s not fair, not right now-

“Sorry,” he mutters, his thumb tracing over your lower lip. “Just- I need you, babydoll. Please.”

A final moment where you should stop this. All of it.

And again, because it might be the last time, you don’t. You give Bucky a small nods, wrapping your arms around his neck, and try not to melt when his eyes soften slightly. 

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to.” You whisper. “Whatever you want, Buck. I’m yours.”

His eyes flash for a second, and you want to analyze it. To pull it apart and figure out what that expression meant, because it’s one that’s going to haunt you. 

But it’s too late. 

Bucky’s moving over you, and now this moment is the only one that’s ever existed. Bucky’s hands holding your face so delicately as he kisses you, and the weight of it evaporating into something light and hot and wet. He’s not kissing you like he’s trying to eat you alive anymore. 

This is like he has time. 

His hands are everywhere, once he has you carefully pressed against the wall. Gliding under your shirt and palming at your breasts, leaving feathery kisses down your neck and toying with the band of your pants until you’re grinding up into his hand. 

“Bucky-“ You mumble, letting one hand glide down to grab him over his own pants, and smiling against his lips when he lets out a low groan. “Just- touch me-“

He laughs against your neck, and you throw your head back as he rolls a nipple between his fingers. “Patience, sweetheart. Heard it’s a virtue or somethin’-“

“Bucky-“

“So needy,” he coos, and you nod, trying to tug at his jaw. To angle it up, so you can leave your own little marks wherever you can. “Think you can spread your legs for me? Let me taste how wet I make you, how good I’m makin’ you feel-“

“I- Want you to fuck me-“ Your words are already coming in soft gasps, and Bucky carefully lifts your arms up guiding you out of your shirt. 

“I will,” he mutters, the metal hand tracing down the curve of your waist, sending shivers up your spine. “So pretty, babydoll. You let anyone else see you like this?”

God, he’s mean tonight. Mean and soft and perfect, kissing that perfect spot on your throat he knows is going to drive you insane before backing away and raising his brows. 

You sway alone, a little stunned from the loss of his warmth, and he pulls his shirt over his head, giving you a stern look. 

“Strip, baby.”

“Oh.” You mumble, sort of dumbly, but that’s something only Bucky does to you. The buzz of what if and how about fades into background noise whenever he looks at you. When he talks you it’s only a hum. 

And when he touches you, it’s really only in him. Just Bucky. Giving you an approving look when you’re bare before him, then sinking to his knees. 

He doesn’t give you any more warning that that easy grin—the one only you ever get to see—before he dives into you cunt. 

Bucky seems to be a man on a mission. He kisses your clit gently before starting to lick you like ice cream, and groans right into your pussy when your hands fly into his hair. 

“Bucky-“ You gasp, and he gives you a gentle squeeze of your ass in response. “God, that feels so good, don’t stop-“

He flicks his tongue rapidly over your clit in response, and you can feel his grin when you let out a high sound, your knees almost buckling down onto his face. You’re grinding against him, and he’s encouraging you. Guiding your movements and kneading on your ass as his beard tickles your thighs.

“Oh- I’m-“ His tongue plunges in and out of your cunt, and you gasp. “Bucky, I can’t- I’m gonna cum-“

He moans again, and your eyes flick down to see him fisting his own cock, pumping it in a steady rhythm with his every kiss and lick on your cunt. The sight, combined with the pull of your clit between his lips, sucking it like candy as his hums send perfect shivers through your body, sends you right over the edge. You cum with a yank of his hair that only makes him groan a muffled sound like your name, and Bucky’s arms shoot to your waist to hold you steady as your knees give out. 

“There you are.” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “Good girl, takin’ what you need.”

He’s still rock hard. Thick. Long and ready for you. 

“Do,” you nod down to his problem. “I can return the favor-“

Bucky shakes his head, moving to his feet. “Want to fuck you, babydoll. You-“

You tug him up in to another long deep kiss, and speak against his lips. “Yes. Please.”

He nods slowly. “Bed?”

“Bed.” You whisper an agreement, and stumble over to the mattress. Crawling onto your hands and knees and presenting you ass for him to take and touch and-

Gentle hands slide of your body, a wet kiss planted on your spine, and-

Bucky flips you over with a squeak, crashing his mouth over yours. Another long, slow kiss as he shifts you around below him, notching himself at your entrance and raising his brows. You give him a tiny nod—you’re on the pill, and you’d both gotten the routine check last month—and he slides in easily with a deep groan. His brow falls to yours as he bottoms out, ragged breaths fanning over your lips. 

He’s acting off. Usually there’s dirty talk and teasing but this is all just feel. He kisses you and starts to slowly but firmly fuck into you, and it’s like he doesn’t want to distract himself. Every sound you make earns you another hot and feverish kiss, every moan of his name gets you a deeper, harsher thrust. 

This is what you’d wanted, that first night. All the pleasure of your other wild sessions, but the feeling like he wants you. Is touching you because it’s all he’s ever wanted. Is going slow because he wants to savor it. 

But still fucking you. 

Still really fucking you. Slow but so deep you can feel him everywhere, kissing you and grabbing anywhere he can reach, pushing a hand between your legs to rub your clit when your breathing start to get shallow, and moaning your name as you start to squeeze around him. 

“Cum for me,” he hums your name over your lips, and you only make a dumb little sound in return. “That’s it, babydoll, just let go-“

It could be stars in your vision, or just the glow of your own light as your second orgasm unravels you entirely. Bucky’s breath is ragged in your ear as he fucks you through it, and you’re sore and boneless, but you need more. Just a little more.

“Where-“

“Inside,” you gasp, your back arching off the bed as he hits that spot again. “Please, Bucky, I can take it, just wanna feel you-“

He kisses you, his hips starting to piston into you, and a tiny, shuddering orgasm rips up your spine as he paints your cunt with his release.

There’s another moment, just like the first night. Where you’re suspended in time, and it’s like you’re floating and falling all at once. The only thing keeping you tethered to reality being Bucky’s warmth over your body, and the sound of his heartbeat near your ear.

You could stay here forever. 

But just like that moment, this one has to come to an end. 

Bucky cleans you up. He always cleans you up. While you’re still a mess on the bed he pulls away—giving you one last, almost painfully soft kiss—and going to get a warm cloth, a snack, and your clothing off the floor. And he doesn’t rush you, but he’s not speaking, either. Usually he tries to talk to you, about a movie or something annoying Sam did or how he thinks Tony is going to try and steal his arm to test on again.

Tonight, though, is dead quiet. 

It’s making something twist in your gut, and when Bucky mutters your name, you want to go back. 

You’ve never heard him say it like he doesn’t want to, before. 

It breaks your heart before he even says what you know is coming next. 

“I think that had to be the last time.”

You dig your nails into your palm, forcing the tears not to fall. “Last time?”

He lets out a deep sigh. “Of this. Our whole- Thing. We’re done. You’re free.”

You blink, the world getting blurry, and his words ring in your head. 

Free. 

You’re free.

He’s saying it like he’s opening a door to let out of a cage, rather than locking you out of the safest place you’ve ever dared to wander. Like he’s been keeping you hostage, when you’d made the choice to trip and stumble and collapse right into his arms when you fucking knew better. And if he’s done, he’s done. You can’t keep him longer than he wants you, and you’ve always known that, but-

“We’re- I still wanna be friends.” He mutters, and you might be drawing blood. You can see little bits of your light, leaking out from under your finger nails, and there’s a heavy lump in your throat that’s going to strangle you.

But, though all the hurt, you still manage to push out words. “You still want to be friends?”

“Yeah.” 

You look up at him, the movement sharp, and he seems to flinch. “You’re just fucking ending it, without a warning or reason, and you want to be friends?”

He frowns. “We said we could end it whenever.”

“I- I know-“ Fuck. Another rule, broken. “But I just want a reason, Bucky.”

“I-“

“God, you were balls deep in me twenty minutes ago and you’re just done? Just- I-“ You’re going to cry. You’ve been promising yourself you wouldn’t cry. “I- don’t understand, Buck-“

“We said we wouldn’t let it change things.” He snaps, his hand flexing at his sides. “That was the most important rule, you said it was the most important rule. But it has.“

“No, it-“

“It has.” He sighs your name, giving you a defeated look. “We both knew it would, doll. I sure as shit knew.”

You sniff, wiping at your cheeks, and Bucky looks like it’s physically straining to not touch you.

This isn’t fucking fair. You really have no one to blame but yourself.

“Why’d you agree to it, then.” Your voice is barely a mumble, but Bucky tenses. He can hear you. “If you knew it was going to end so bad, why ever bother.”

He stares at you for a long, tight moment, and you can feel the pressure of his gaze. Right on your heart. Pressing on all those fracture, making them start to snap in a way that’s going to take so long to repair-

“Because I wanted you.” He mutters. “And I didn’t care how.”

The room is sort of spinning. “You- You wanted me?”

He lets out a dry chuckle, hanging his head. “Yeah. Loved you, too. Got selfish about it, and I- I’m sorry. You should date the engineer guy. He’ll treat you well.”

You stare at him, and he looks like a painting. Shining metal and shadows, and you- you can’t-

“Do you love me now?”

Bucky frowns at you like you’re insane. “‘Course I love you now-“

“But you’re ending it-“

“You’re not happy, doll.” He says it like he’s pleading with you. “I can see it, everyone can see it, and I know it’s my fault. I’ll give you space, if that’s what you want-“

You shake your head, cutting him off with soft words. “I don’t want space, Bucky. I want you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do-“

“You like the sex, sweetheart. That’s not wanting me-“

“Stop arguing with me about what I want!” Your voice raises slightly, and Bucky’s mouth snaps shut. “I- I want you, Bucky! And there’s no fucking reason for me to lie, and I- I said yes because I love you. I never wanted to just fuck, I thought it was the only way I get to have you.”

Bucky blinks at you, your words hanging in the hair for a long moment before he says, “You said you wanted friends with benefits. It was your idea.”

You shrug weakly. “I thought you didn’t want anything else. And you agreed to it.”

He huffs a weak laugh. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, doll, but I have a real hard time tellin’ you no.”

“You’re telling me no right now.”

His eyes flash, and when he leans a little bit forward, it’s gravitational, and you lean with him. You can feel the warmth from his body. Light is leaking from your fingers, and little flowers are blooming as they curl on the sheets. 

“You want me to tell you yes?” He asks cautiously, and you give him a tiny nod. “Can you-“

“I do.” You whisper. “I want you to tell me yes.”

He nods slowly, and reaches carefully for your hand. He doesn’t turn to flowers or stone when he takes it, but you don’t think you’ve ever come in danger of that. 

You like him just the way he is. 

And you’d never, ever want to change it. 

So instead, you just glow as Bucky pulls you into his lap and holds you in a gentle, tender kiss. It’s as if he’s never kissed you before, and he’s afraid he could possibly do it wrong. He’s holding you the same way. And all it takes is nip of his lower lip and sigh of his name, and you’re being pulled closer, the kiss deepening without speeding up. 

Bucky pulls away, when he starts to get hard against you, and you start to tug at his hair. Watches you with an awestruck look before muttering your name, and taking your hand into his, holding it between your chests.

“Bucky.” You repeat in a similar tone, and he gives you that smile. It’s perfect. 

“Can we try again?” He says carefully, playing with your fingers between his. “Start over? Go on dates and out to dinner with no rules, just-“

“Me and you?” You offer, and he nods.

“Yeah. Me and you.”

“I’d like that.” You lean down, your lips hovering over his, and you’re going to do this right. “I’d like that a lot.”

It won’t hurt. There won’t be an end, or a dread of it, because this can, really, only get better. And as Bucky tugs you back into a kiss and high giggle leaves your lips, you feel high and soft and light. 

“Good.” Bucky mutters, grinning against your lips, and you’re never going to let him frown again. “Me too.”