The Sun and His Moon
“Home sweet home,” Y/n says sardonically as they step back into her apartment after what feels like an ass reaming from hell.
Bucky walks in behind her, dropping her bag next to the couch. He can see her stop next to the kitchen island with one hand resting atop, while the other holds onto the side of her abdomen.
“You okay?” Bucky asks her.
She nods. “Just sore, I guess. Climbing up the stairs didn’t help.” Despite the statement, she makes no effort to sit down.
And look, Bucky knows he isn’t actually angry. He really isn’t. He’s fucking worried. But in the line of work that he is in, he can’t afford to worry. Because worry leads to fear, fear makes you vulnerable, and vulnerability gets you killed. Or worse, gets someone you love killed. And she almost—
Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, he doesn’t allow himself the luxury of fear but he can afford the grandeur of fury. And fury he has in overabundance, courtesy of an excessive amount of worry, for her.
So he chooses fury.
“You finally gonna tell me what you were thinking with the stunt you pulled?” Bucky’s voice is low and cold. It’s laced with so much fury he isn’t sure she could even read the fear it’s inspired by, even if she knew to look for it.
“Do we really have to do this?” Y/n asks, annoyed.
“At some point, yeah. Yeah, we do, so pick a date or deal with it right now,” Bucky bites back.
She just sighs, taking a seat on the stool next to her. “Alright, Sarge. The stage is yours.” She waves the hand not cupping her wound. “Rip me a new one—the non-fun way.”
Her joke just adds to an already raging fire, “You think this is funny?” His head cocks in challenge.
“Absolutely not,” she says simply. “But I do find it entertaining. You look so hot when you’re angry,” she adds with a smug smile.
And usually, this would work. Bucky wouldn’t be able to help himself and crack a smile. Then they’d order Chinese, eat it off each other’s tongues and call it a day. But today it can’t. Because whatever happened wasn’t usual by any stretch of the term.
“For fuck’s sake, Stark, can you be serious for one damn conversation?” Bucky shouts back.
And with that, he crosses the damn line, so much so that Y/n’s whole demeanor changes. But it doesn’t become serious, it just becomes guarded, armored. It’s never easy to break through to her, Bucky knows. He’s heard Sam talk about how easy it had been before… before losing Tony, before losing Natasha, before Siberia, before the accords. Steve had too. The night after the family dinner as they sat around in Bucky’s apartment, he’d told him how different she had been.
“…Granted I didn’t see her much after whatever happened in Siberia, but she was different,” Steve said, taking a sip of the beer in his hand. “She used to be this force of nature. I mean, she still is but… she was just… more.” He paused to chuckle. “I remember the first time I saw her interact with Tony. They were fighting about a post-it note while the rest of us were trying to discuss how we were going to stop Loki… All they did was snark and bicker. But with him around she was louder. Not in a bad way. No. Just brighter, I guess.” He shook his head. “She got quieter after Siberia and even more so after Tony…” He looked at Bucky then. “I saw a hint of it today though, with Morgan… and you guys. Not as bright as she used to be, but somewhere close to that.”
Steve is his best friend, and he’ll always love him no matter what. But that sounded like some utter horseshit to Bucky. Because to him, she was the fucking moon. The moon does not dim; it just shows less of itself from time to time. All you have to do is be patient. And besides, Bucky couldn’t imagine her any brighter, he would’ve probably gone blind if she were. As it was, he could barely take all of her in without his eyes hurting.
But right now, Bucky had just pushed himself out into the abyss of a moonless night.
Maybe making judgments based on fury wasn’t the best idea he’d had. Because she was going to be nothing but snarky now.
“Why, Buck, if you ask so politely however could I deny?” She replied with a dead kind of smile.
He exhales audibly, jaw clenching. “You ever thought about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t found you?”
“I probably would’ve been dragged back to Madripoor, put in a cell—”
“Or killed!” And it burns his throat to even get those words out.
She shakes her head from side to side in half-hearted assent, “Would have been better than the alternative.”
The jovial yet matter-of-fact nature of that statement makes a chill run down his spine. “Do you just not fucking care about what happens to you? Is that it? What, you’ve been feeling self-sacrificial?”
“No,” she answers easily, leaning back. “I was just having a hero moment.”
This woman is gonna be the death of him.
“A hero moment?” He cocks his head to the side. When she nods in response, he almost shits a fucking brick. “You were ready to get yourself killed, for a fucking hero moment?”
“Mal was stealing all the attention by being the damn target.” She finally lets go of her abdomen, bringing her elbow to rest on the back of the chair. “Blame him for hogging the spotlight.”
“So you decided to get tortured?” He balks.
“I’d never have to go through such drastic measures if it wasn’t for—”
He cuts her off. “You were tortured for hours!” He reiterates because what the fuck is not clicking here?
Her face contorts in reluctant agreement as she gives a half nod. “I’ve had worse.”
Oh, Bucky knows. Bucky knows because he was the one inflicting it. And watching her like that, beaten, broken and bruised felt like punishment for his crimes. However, he wishes the punishment was pain inflicted on him, not her. But he knows he wouldn’t know a greater pain than watching her suffer through hers.
“I had your blood on my hands,” he shouts. He’s losing all control at the thought of it.
He held it in all he could. He held it in while they flew back, held it in as Dr. Helen Cho patched her up. He even held it in through the ride back home. But he can’t anymore.
So he continues, “You jumped in to save me. You stayed back to save us. I had to leave you behind. And all I had left of you was your blood on my hands.” He runs his hands through his hair in frustration, gripping on tight for a second before letting go with a groan. “You ever thought about that? You clearly don’t give a flying fuck about what happens to you. But can you pretend to give a shit about what happens to me? About what would’ve happened to me if I’d lost you? You think I would’ve been able to live through that?” He looks right at her then. “You think I’d want to?”
And now he can spot a soft crescent moon peak out of the clouds.
She gets on her feet, giving him a poignant look. And for whatever reason, the sharpness of it just shuts him right up.
“I live longer. I age slower. I watched Maria give birth to Tony and then five decades later I watched him sacrifice himself to save the world. But even if he hadn’t, I still probably would’ve outlived him. And I was okay with that idea; with the idea of watching my favorite person grow old and die peacefully.” Her voice cracks a bit. She shakes her head and then adds, “All that is to say, I have never been afraid of outliving people. I’ve been upset with the lengthy nature of my lifespan, yes, of course. But never, afraid.” She takes a step towards him. “But I’m fucking scared shitless of the idea of having to outlive you.”
Well, fuck.
It’s a half-moon now.
She runs a hand through her hair, gathering herself back up. “So, yeah. I’m sorry I left you behind, but picking between your life and mine isn’t really a fucking choice at all. It’s you, Jamie. It’ll always be you.” She looks away. “I’d like to keep you with me for however long possible. Fuck,” she lets out a wet chuckle, “You don’t even have to be with me if you don’t want. As long as you live, I don’t much care about anything else.”
“So you don’t care that I’d be fucking lost without you?” He asks, taking a step towards her. “You—you think whatever it is I do without you would even fucking qualify as living?” He waits for her to look at him. She’s got tears in her eyes. And watching her break makes him realize so has he.
With a blurry vision, clouded by tears of his own, he says, “I don’t even want to imagine a world without you, Y/n. I don’t even know if I can, because I’d rather burn it all down than even try… H—how am I supposed to live without your constant sarcasm, your passive-aggressive snark? Huh?” He steps towards her. “How will I get by in this world if I don’t have you to buy me plums every time you go to the farmer’s market?” He takes another step. “I’d have to eat my own shitty cooking without you secretly fixing it behind my back.” Another step. “I’d never know what movies to watch. I still don’t get how Netflix knows what I’d like to watch next.” She lets out another wet chuckle as he takes another step. “I’d never know what to order at restaurants. Or what clothes to buy, cause I don’t have a fucking clue what color suits me.” And with one last step, he’s standing in front of her. Their feet touching. “I’d be lost without you, sweetheart.” He cups her jaw, gently nudging her to meet his eyes. He wipes away her tears with his thumb. “I’ve been lost before. Please don’t let me get lost again,” he pleads, voice cracking.
Her hands are instantly on him. Holding his face in her hands, she begins kissing away his tears with soft, small pecks. “Never, sunshine.” Kiss. “Never gonna leave you.” Kiss. “I’m here.” Kiss. “For however long you want.” Kiss.
He brings her closer, with his vibranium arm pulling at her waist. “Till the end of my days, then?” he asks in a whisper.
“Till the end of mine,” she promises.
“God, I love you,” and with that, he crashes his lips into hers. The kiss tastes salty, their tears mixing in but he’s never tasted anything sweeter than this. He doesn’t think he ever will. “I love you so much, so much,” he says in between devouring her. The softness of the kiss is swallowing him whole. He’s fucking consumed in the feel of her lips slotted against his. He pulls her closer still, with his right hand behind her neck. He hates the distance, however minuscule it may be.
He hates it further when she pulls back. Only an inch, but it’s an inch too much. He whines.
But she just chuckles softly, “At least let me say it back.”
He pauses for a second but then pounces at her throat, sucking and kissing. Her head falls back as she gasps. “You already said it,” he says in between the licking. “And you didn’t even let me say it back.”
“Yes but—”
“I thought I’d lost you, and I didn’t even get to say it back,” his voice breaks again.
She guides his face back in front of her, “Then say it now.” She slowly kisses the corner of his mouth. His eyes fall shut. “Say it again,” another kiss closer to his lips. “And again.” Closer, their lips are almost touching. “And again.” Her lips hover over his, brushing them as she adds, “I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”
His tongue darts out onto hers, taking a slow taste of her lips. She mewls at the sensation. And then he says, “I love you, sweetheart… I’ll always love you.” And with that, he kisses her again.
His hands travel down to her thighs, and she obviously knows what’s coming. She loves this. He picks her up, palming her perfect ass as her legs wrap around his waist and hands grip onto his hair a little harder.
Fuck she always drives him wild.
But then she pulls back, again. He whines, again.
“Come on,” she chides. “You gotta let me say it back.”
“Then say it back,” he says as he begins sucking a mark on her collarbone. She pants.
“You’re not making this easy.”
“It’s just three words.”
“But I want it to be poetic. Ah, fuck—I need a minute.”
“In that case, you’re gonna have to wait,” he says as he begins making his way over to the bedroom with her in his arms. He doesn’t need to look anymore, the motion has now become second nature. He focuses instead on sucking more marks along her cleavage, and despite her protests, she only grips onto his hair tighter.
He drops her on the bed, ridding himself of his black henley immediately. He jumps back on her, ripping her shirt open, buttons flying everywhere.
“Bucky!” She exclaims.
He pushes her bra lower, letting her breasts out. He begins sucking on her nipples. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
She whines as he bites at them. He knows exactly how she likes it, rough enough to hurt, soft enough to not be painful. “It was yours,” she tells him.
And he chuckles, as she pushes herself up to get rid of both the shirt and the bra quickly. He says, “Then I’ll buy myself a new one—”
With hands on his chest, she pushes him down onto the bed. She gets on top of him, straddling him with legs on each side. “And then let me borrow it,” she states, cutting him off.
The sight of her on top of him is too enticing for him to remember how words work.
Until she grinds herself over his now, painfully hard cock. He groans. “And then let me borrow it,” she repeats.
“And then let you steal it,” he recites back, hands coming up to grab onto her ass.
She chuckles on top of him, and fuck him, he’s a goner.
She leans down, kissing him softly and slowly. His vibranium hand travels up her back. Meanwhile, hers come to rest on either side of him, fingers still playing with his hair. She loves his hair. He loves that she loves it.
When she pulls back to rest her forehead on his, his eyes fall on her shoulder. Though—now after their visit to Dr. Cho—the smiley face the bitch had carved onto her shoulder is gone, Bucky can’t help but kiss the area with a guilt-laced tenderness.
“Promise me you won’t put me through that shit again, please,” he begs with his lips on her skin.
“I can’t,” she says and his eyes fall shut at the admission. Because even though it’s the truth, he hates it fervently. “But,” she adds after a short pause, looking at him. “I can promise you I’ll always come back to you.”
And yeah, Bucky can live with that.
He nods and they’re kissing again.
They undress each other, throwing away the offensive pieces of clothing with absolute disregard for where they end up.
“Sit on my face, sweetheart,” he asks. He loves her taste. He loves being surrounded by her. He loves her. “Come ride my face,” he urges. “Make a mess.”
“Whatever you want, babyboy,” she coos at him and the nickname makes his dick perk up. God, she can work him like no one’s business. She mounts herself on his face, knees on either side. She doesn’t sit fully, hovering; she holds onto the headboard for support. She knows he likes to start off slow, building up to her peak. And so he starts. With soft kitten licks over her clit, riling her up. His hands make their way onto her waist and he begins to move her in tandem with his tongue.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, more, please. Jamie, more.”
Ah, she knows him too well. She knows he can’t hold back when she calls him by that name. So, he obliges. Pulling her down onto his face with his grip, he begins to lap her up. She tastes like heaven. Nose nudging her clit, he soaks up whatever she gives, licking it all up with reckless abandon. He could do this for days.
His hands move to grab onto her ass, spanking her once. “Jamie!” She whines. And the sound is so sweet, he does it again. “Oh god,” she shouts. He does it again, with his vibranium hand. “Fuck me!”
“After you’re done fucking my face, sure,” he replies.
One hand gripping onto his hair she begins riding his face with reckless abandon. She knows he won’t fuck her with his cock till he can taste her cum at least once. So she rides and he just spanks her whenever her pace stutters, telling her not to stop.
And then she falls apart on his tongue. “Jamie! Oh god. Fuck.” He’s greedy for every single drop of her slick. He doesn’t let any of it go to waste.
He picks her up by her waist, dropping her back on the bed. She looks so fucked out already, he feels like he’s found religion. He pulls her legs apart and spits on his hand to lube up his cock. He teases her entrance with his tip.
“Don’t tease me, pretty boy,” she warns, still panting. “Wanna feel you in me, baby. Need you so bad.” She pulls him closer with her arms around his neck. “Come on. Split me over your cock, sunshine.”
God, this is fucking murderous.
He pushes himself into her and god, if she was heavenly before, she feels downright sinful now. “Fuck me,” he breathes out, kissing her jaw as she moans out loud and long.
“I just did,” she says, “Be a good boy and return the favor, won’t you?”
“God yes,” he answers. “Anything you want.”
“Fuck me, baby.” With that, he thrusts into her hard.
As he fucks into her, chasing her tight warmth, she screams out a litany of swears he’s not even sure he’s creative enough to understand. “You’re so big, Bucky. God. Fuck!”
They’re both coated in sweat, drenched in the sweet bliss of ecstasy. They’re lost to the world, the pair of them. Lost enough to not give two fucks about anything else except the one another and the sickly cloying pleasure they find in each other.
“Harder, Jamie,” she begs. “I’m close.”
And who the fuck is he to deny her anything?
He rams into her harder, with longer strides. The wicked sound of her ass slapping against his crotch prompts him to go harder still.
“You feel so good baby, so fucking tight,” he says. “Ah, god—you feel like you were made for me.”
“I was, Jamie,” she whines out. “Made for you, all for you.”
He kisses her then, heated and wild. Devours her, as best as he possibly can. “Mine,” he growls.
“Yours,” she promises.
And that just brings him that much closer to the edge. But he won’t cum till she does. So he throws caution to the wind and begins pounding into her as he hears her screams go louder and louder as she squeezes him harder and harder.
When he knows she’s close, he says, “Look at me, baby.” Her eyes fly open, looking into his. “I love you,” he confesses all over again.
And with that, she lets go, gasping, whining, and moaning she comes on his cock. But he doesn’t relent. He knows she loves it when he goes harder. So he does. Harder and faster till he’s a mewling mess under him.
Eventually, though, his thrusts begin to stutter, and she pulls on his hair. “Jamie?” He looks at her. She smiles a small smile and says, “Cum for me, babyboy,” she urges, kissing his lips soft and slow. When they break apart she caresses his cheek, and then, “I love you so much, Bucky.”
And then he’s coating her walls with thick white ropes. She gasps at the sensation as he moans, fucking her, riding out his orgasm.
When he falls on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, he whispers, “Say it again.” He’s rubbing a gentle thumb over her cheekbones, while his other hand is still on her waist.
“I love you,” she whispers back.
“Well, fuck,” he remarks with a smile.
She laughs.
God, he’s so in love.
After a while of just staying there inside of her, in the afterglow of their bliss, Bucky does get up. He walks over to the washroom, bringing a warm washcloth with him to clean her up and then himself. He discards it on the floor and makes his way under the sheets with her next to him.
She situates herself in his arms, lying down on her left side to face him, noses touching. He holds her close, with his arms encasing her whole body and slotting their legs together. Her right hand makes its way to rest on his jaw while her left one traces the scar tissue on his vibranium arm with a gentle touch.
When all of this began, she didn’t touch him in that general area. And her avoidance of it had made him worry. So one day—post an orgasm so great that his mind must’ve blown a fuse hard enough for him to forget the walls he’d been trying to keep—he’d asked her about it.
“Do you find it disgusting? Is it—is that why you don’t touch it?” His voice was small. “Cause I can cover it up if—”
She’d cut him off with a soft kiss to his left shoulder. And then another, and then another. “I thought you wouldn’t want me to touch it. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she said, planting another kiss. “There isn’t a single part of you, body or soul that I could ever find disgusting.”
He had a general idea of the fact that he’d been falling in love even before that, but that was the moment he knew he was a besotted fool.
And maybe right now is another one of those brain-melting post-orgasm moments cause he breaks the silence to ask, “What did you mean by the Apollo thing?”
Her nose scrunches up in confusion.
“At the warehouse,” he supplies.
“You’ve gotta be more specific, sunshine,” she says, kissing his nose. “There was a lot of blood loss.”
“You—you—ugh—said I looked like Apollo.” Her eyes narrow in… disagreement? “But prettier,” he adds in a smaller voice.
And then her face breaks into a smile of recognition mixed with some pride, “Ah, yeah. That makes sense.”
“What did you mean?”
She pulls her lower lip between her teeth. She’s nervous. Fuck, this is gonna be good.
“Uh, well, I needed something to focus on, like an end goal in mind, to stay conscious?” She asks rhetorically, but he nods regardless. “So, um… I just, I don’t know. I decided I had to tell you that I love you at least once. I needed you to know that you’d always be loved.”
Besotted fool.
“But you already had,” he says, “told me, I mean.”
She slaps his chest gently, chuckling. “It wasn’t romantic enough,” she whines. “I wanted it to be dramatic enough for you to write poems about me.”
He laughs. She hits him again. But he keeps laughing. When she raises her hand again, he catches it, “Okay, okay,” he surrenders. “I have to warn you though, I cannot write poetry for shit.” He interlaces their fingers and then brings it to his lips, planting a kiss. “But for you, I’ll try,” he says looking into her eyes.
And by god, she fucking blushes.
Ah, an utterly completely besotted fool.
“Still doesn’t explain the Apollo thing though,” he says after a brief pause.
She sighs audibly and then, “Apollo is a God associated with the Sun, and you’ve always been my sunshine.” She pecks his lips. “He’s also the God of healing and beauty, and you’ve healed so much it’s fucking beautiful.” Another peck. “He’s also considered to be a perfect encapsulation of harmony and reason and moderation.” Another peck. “Basically he’s as close to concord as you can get, and—” she groans, cutting herself off. “God this is so cheesy,” she pauses to take a breath, gathering her courage. “With everything I’ve been through, with all that I’ve lost, being here, with you, like this, it’s all the harmony I can hope for.” She scrunches her nose then, “But you’re far prettier than him, and you look fucking dashing in a beard.”
Come back later for the inner monologue. Bucky’s brain function has left the fucking building.
“Bucky?” she calls out sweetly.
And Bucky’s never been able to deny her anything so he turns the house lights back on in his head. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times and then finally gathering up the courage he says, “Roses are red, violets are blue, Y/n, sweetheart, my love, I’m a fucking besotted fool for you.”
She stares at him for a second.
And then begins laughing. No seriously, the woman is cackling at his damn face. She’s short of breath at this point, panting. Holding onto her stomach, cause she’s laughing hard enough for it to hurt.
“Told you it wasn’t gonna be good,” he defends, laughing himself.
She kisses him deep and soft then. “No, no. It was perfect,” she says, still a smile on her lips. “I love it… I love you.”
Well, fuck.