Coulrophobia—the fear of clowns—was one of the most common fears in the world. It was a strange fear, clowns were supposed to make people laugh, cheer them up, make a smile appear on their faces. So why were so many people terrified of clowns?
The reason was so simple that it had escaped people’s notice for the longest time. Clowns looked almost human…but not entirely. Their exaggerated features, the wide smile, the red nose…it was like looking at a warped version of one’s own face.
The human brain was equipped with a strange, unnamed talent for realising when things were off, when they weren’t quite exactly how they were supposed to be.
Staring at the blood dripping from the shield ignited the same instinct in you.
This was wrong. The way the thick blood was drying on the shield, a few drops splashing onto the floor of the compound was simply wrong. For that matter, the man who was holding the shield was wrong too.
“It’s all over the internet,” Sam stared at his phone worriedly, “BBC, CNN, everyone.”
Nobody said anything in response. Walker was still panting, staring at the droplets of blood on the dusty floor. Bucky was leaning against the wall, a horrified expression plastered on his face. As for you, you were swiftly losing the fragile control you had over your temper.
“Dude, Walker, why…” Sam struggled to find the right arrangement of words but ultimately settled for, “What the hell were you thinking?”
“He wasn’t,” You snapped, twisting your ring around your finger, “Isn’t that obvious?”
Walker glared at you but didn’t say anything. He pulled the helmet off, his hair sticking to his forehead. The look in his eyes was feral and it looked far too familiar to the glint in the eyes of seasoned criminals.
“The Flag Smashers killed Lemar,” He said through gritted teeth, “I was avenging him. Isn’t that what you people do? Avenging?”
“Not like this!” Sam shouted, “You straight up murdered that dude in the middle of the town square!”
The sight of the bloodied shield was making your stomach turn. You looked away, sure that you would throw up if you continued to look at it. You turned your gaze to Bucky, who was still staring at the floor, shocked. Morbid fascination took over and you looked back at the shield, immediately regretting your decision.
“Really? Are you saying Steve fought the Nazis through negotiation?” Walker scoffed, “Or Tony stopped the Mandarin by inviting him to tea?”
“God, shut up!” Your scream echoed around the empty building, “Shut the fuck up! Stop saying Steve and Tony as if they were your friends! Just shut your fucking mouth!”
Your voice broke, revealing the extent of the emotional turmoil you were experiencing. All three men stared at you—wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“You know what, Stark—” Walker began but you cut him off quickly.
“Do you realise what you’ve done, Walker? You’ve revealed US involvement in stopping Karli Morgenthau, and you’ve garnered more support for the Flag Smashers by making us look like tyrants! There is absolutely nothing up there, is there, you fucking dumbass?” You asked, tapping your temple.
“Don’t engage with him,” Sam stepped forward, hesitant, “Forget it.”
“Forget it? How do I forget it?” You gaped at your fellow comrade, “He’s going against everything Steve stood for! He’s a—he’s a fucking murderer!”
“I killed a killer!” Walker yelled, stepping closer to you.
“No,” You shook your head, a sarcastic laugh bubbling up in your chest, “No. I’m not talking about the Flag Smasher. I’m talking about Lemar. We wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t interrupted Sam when he was talking to Karli. You killed your fucking partner. Congratulations, Walker.”
The words were cruel and caustic. You recognised that even as they came tumbling out of your mouth. But the sight of that shield dripping with blood had churned up every turbulent emotion in you, even the ones which had set in long before Walker took up the mantle of Captain America. The disillusionment you felt within your soul, which you had tried to mask so hard for the past few months, everything was threatening to pour out.
The shield, the arc reactor, Mjolnir—these represented hope to you, they always had. But now the men who carried them were gone. The world was in turmoil and the sight of Walker murdering a man with the shield which had protected thousands was your last straw.
That horrible feeling echoed in your brain every waking moment and even in your sleep. If you could have one last conversation with your father you’d ask him what the hell he saw in the world that was so worth saving that he gave up his life for it.
Because you sure as hell couldn’t see it.
Walker failed to respond. His eyes shifted to the tainted shield.
“Do you know how important that shield is?” You asked, swallowing around the lump of hurt that had started to form in your throat, “Not just historically, but to us as people? My grandfather built that fucking shield. Knowing that Steve carried that shield helped people sleep at night. My Dad remodelled that shield after the Avengers disbanded in 2016. That shield getting separated from Steve was what caused the fucking Blip. And it was only when my Dad and Steve reunited—with the help of that shield, mind you—that we were able to bring everyone back.”
If someone like Walker was assigned to carry that shield, what in this world was worth saving anymore? Nothing, that’s what, but you’d never reveal that to anyone. It felt like a disservice to your father’s memory to not take up the work he’d done.
“Not everyone who has the serum running in their veins is Captain America, Walker.” Bucky spoke for the first time. The words were a few decibels above a whisper, but perhaps the low tone was why they were so effective.
Walker looked up, an affronted expression marred across his face.
“You know what Erskine told Steve the night before he got injected with the serum?” Bucky asked, straightening up, “He said the serum only enhances the kind of person you are. It makes a good man better and an evil man…”
“By that logic, what are you?”
Walker’s question made Bucky’s face fall and the anger in you rise monumentally.
“Hey, dickhead, he was held prisoner!” You frowned, “He was literally brainwashed! What’s your excuse?”
“You shouldn’t even open your mouth,” Walker scoffed, stepping close enough that both Sam and Bucky took a step forward, clearly seeing him as a threat, “What have you done except spend Daddy’s money?”
“Excuse me?” Your voice rose several octaves, surprised at his sheer audacity, “Last time I checked, only one of us was trying to stop an international terrorist group!”
“Man, shouldn’t you be heading back to D.C.?” Sam asked, looking between you and Walker with concern, “I’m pretty sure by now someone’s asking why Captain America murdered a man.”
“Yeah, go back to D.C. and suck whoever’s dick you have to, asshole.” You seethed, stepping away from him and turning towards the exit.
The whole slew of terrible ex-boyfriends that you’d had in the past had made you aware of exactly the kind of man Walker was. He was the kind of guy who insulted his ex-girlfriends and called them “crazy” after the break up. Or the kind of guy who didn’t call out his friends’ problematic behaviour. All in all, the man was a coward.
“Yeah, walk away, Stark,” He called out, and then muttered under his breath, “Fucking bitch.”
Even if the words were murmured, you heard them loud and clear. You whirled around at the speed of light, hand outstretched in front of you, armour already covering your palm. Walker had also lifted the shield over his chest, covering his body against the imminent attack of your repulsor.
“Let’s go, Walker,” You challenged, “You wanna fucking fight?”
Your father had managed to contain the entire Iron Man armour in a wrist watch, you’d gone a step ahead and contained it in your ring. The ring itself was made out of fragments of the arc reactor. The shiny metal now enveloped your hand, a mere foot away from the shield.
“Okay, guys, no—”
“If you hit the shield, the blast will just bounce back. You wanna take that risk?” Walker replied.
“You sure you wanna take that risk?” A mirthless laugh escaped your lips, “Killing a Flag Smasher is one thing. No one’s pardoning you if you kill Tony Stark’s daughter.”
“That’s it, enough,” Bucky stepped forward, pulling you away with his bionic arm, “Stop. Walker go to D.C. or wherever, and we’re going back to the safehouse. Let’s go.”
Your glare shifted from Walker to Bucky, annoyed that he’d stopped you from picking a fight. Bucky simply shook his head, silently talking you down from the adrenaline high you were on. Still angry, you shook his hand off, forcefully brushing past Walker as you left.
The rest of the day was spent trying to track down Zemo and Karli but ultimately everything came to a dead end. Zemo had presented himself as benign and subservient but the man was a baron. He probably had an underground system of associates who could have him halfway across Russia by now.
A call from the government hadn’t arrived yet, but that was probably because they were pre-occupied cleaning up Walker’s mess. You hadn’t logged onto Twitter since the fiasco so you had no clue how the fuck the government was planning to explain away Walker’s obvious anger issues.
Calling it quits after hours of no leads, the three of you headed to the local diner for dinner. The food tasted like ash in your mouth. Every time you stopped actively focusing on your meal, your mind drifted back to the image of the shield, immediately putting you in a bad mood again.
The boys proposed getting dessert but you turned down the offer. They stayed out and said they would scout around and see if anyone had anymore information about Karli or Mama Donya and was actually willing to cooperate. You wished them luck—after the locals had seen Walker’s treatment of someone they considered to be a saviour, they would need it.
That’s how you found yourself sitting on the carpet of the living room, taking apart the heater as your laptop sat on the coffee table, chatting away with Morgan.
“And then what happened?” You asked, looking up for a brief moment and then turning your gaze back to the dismantled parts in front of you.
“Well then I told Mommy that I didn’t want to learn the piano,” Morgan replied, swinging her legs back and forth as she lay on her stomach on her bed, “The piano is stupid.”
“No?” You asked, twisting your screwdriver quickly, “What do you wanna learn then?”
“Dancing!” She replied, giggling.
“Dancing,” You smiled, “I can see that. Morgan Stark, prima ballerina.”
The door to the apartment opened, catching you by surprise. The momentary panic which had seized you subsided quickly enough as Sam and Bucky walked in.
Bucky was clutching a bag in his hand which he deposited onto the kitchen island.
“Why is it so cold?” Sam asked, and then his eyes fell on the fractured heater in front of you, “Did you take the heater apart?!”
“It wasn’t heating properly.” You shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll pretend I believe that,” He nodded, “Just…put it back together.”
You saluted him, turning your attention to your sister again.
“We could get you a pink tutu,” You suggested, “A baby pink tutu for a baby.”
“I’m not a baby!” Morgan protested.
“You’re my baby.”
Sam had disappeared into his room by then, probably turning in for the night. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Bucky leaning against the island. It didn’t bother you.
“Are you going to be back for my birthday?”
Your hands stilled their work. You didn’t know for sure. But who would ever tell a child that there was a fair chance that you might not be able to come home for their birthday?
“I’m gonna try my best, babe,” You nodded, smiling widely at her, “Speaking of which, I’m gonna need a list of everything you want. Starting with the tutu.”
Morgan nodded, grinning at you toothily. You forced the smile to remain on your face, though you felt anything but happy. In the background you heard Pepper tell Morgan that it was time for you to go to sleep and she could talk to you again tomorrow. Morgan bid you a quick goodbye before bounding off to play. Pepper’s face came into view.
“Hey,” Her soft voice finally prompted you to drop the false smile, “How are you?”
“Okay?” You answered, unsure, “Tired.”
“You look it,” She assessed grimly, “Not getting enough sleep?”
“Hard to sleep well when there’s a terrorist group on the loose.”
“I saw what happened with Walker,” She said, “I can’t believe he would do something like that. No, wait…I can, actually. It seems exactly like the kind of thing he’d do.”
You chuckled, running a hand through your hair. Screwing back the front panel of the heater, you turned it on. Warm air blasted onto your face. Satisfied, you pushed the machine back into the corner of the room where it had previously sat.
“I wish you’d come home, there’s people to deal with this stuff, you know?” Pepper said.
“I know,” You conceded, “But you know me. I can’t turn away if there’s people in trouble.”
“Just like Dad,” She said fondly, “It’s in your genes. Morgan too. Poor thing tried to revive an injured butterfly the other day. She was so sad when she couldn’t.”
You smiled, the thought of Morgan trying to nurse a butterfly to health with her short, stubby fingers was an adorable image.
“Except that Dad was really good at it,” You drew your knees up to your chest, “And I’m stumbling at best.”
“Oh, he stumbled plenty, honey.”
The joke was intended to make you feel better but it did the opposite. Pepper obviously noticed the dismay on your face because she quickly said, “Go to sleep, now. It’s midnight there, isn’t it?”
You nodded, sighing deeply. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that the only thing awaiting you was an unfamiliar bed and a night of tossing and turning.
“I love you, Pep,” You said, “Tell Morgan I love her too, okay?”
“I will. I love you too,” She nodded, “Stay safe, honey.”
You closed your laptop once the call disconnected. You rested your forehead against your knees, breathing deeply. You wanted more than anything to go home and hug your sister, hug Pepper. You regretted your decision to stay apart from them, in New York. It was anyone’s guess when you’d see them again.
“I got you some ice-cream.”
Your head shot up, surprised. Bucky stood in front of you, extending a bowl of melting ice-cream towards you. He was so quiet you’d forgotten he had been standing there the entire time.
Bucky.
He was nothing short of an enigma. A man out of time who acted and spoke just like you even though he was several decades older than you. You didn’t understand him. Not truly. Your guess was he didn’t quite understand himself either.
“Thanks.” You quietly replied, taking the cold bowl from him. The ice-cream was starting to melt now that the heater was running at full force again.
“They only had vanilla, sorry.” He walked back over to the island, shelling out some ice cream for himself before putting the rest of the tub in the fridge.
“We’re going to have to finish that, you know?” You said, “Before we leave tomorrow.”
“Sam can eat it for breakfast.”
The deadpan way in which he said the words made a laugh escape your lips. It took you by surprise, that you had genuinely laughed despite feeling like shit. It surprised him too, as the astonished look on his face relaxed into a smile.
Without that perpetual tight-knit frown on his face, he looked so boyish under the dim golden lights. Steve had told you Bucky was quite the ladies’ man back in the day. You could see why.
In the beginning, especially after Siberia, all you’d felt towards him was anger and hatred. In the back of your mind you knew he was as much of a victim of the Winter Soldier program as the people he’d killed but it was hard to be objective when one’s own was involved.
But just like a fire diminishes in the absence of fuel, time had worked its magic over your anger, diluting it. Now you felt nothing but the utmost sadness when you thought about what he’d had to suffer.
“Can you—” You swallowed, “Can you sit with me?”
Bucky wore his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face. It was clear that he wasn’t expecting your invitation but he complied anyway, dropping down onto the carpet next to you. You didn’t know what to say now that you had invited him over though. He placed his bowl on the table, taking off his jacket to probably fill the awkward silence.
“Dude, you’re like a furnace!” You remarked when his right arm brushed against yours. The heat was almost radiating from him in waves.
“Serum,” He explained, “Also you’re freezing.”
“Why is it so cold in spring?” You grumbled, resisting the urge to lean against him. The overwhelming urge to press your face into his chest hit you like a freight train.
“That’s Eastern Europe for you.”
“And you’re feeding me ice-cream?”
“Ice-cream isn’t dependent on the weather.”
You silently put the spoon in your mouth, the aromatic and sweet vanilla flavour bursting onto your taste buds, instantly making you feel better. It was almost like he’d known you needed comfort food.
Your feelings for Bucky had been gaining traction. You’d ignored it thus far, quite successfully too. There was no time to fuck around while people were dying.
He was sweet and respectful and kind and funny. He made you laugh without realising that what he’d said was hilarious. He never coddled you because he knew you were more than capable of dealing with threats, but he still kept an eye out for you.
He picked up on your emotions and brought you ice-cream. Sure, it didn’t seem like a big deal but you were feeling terribly anxious and homesick. Even having Bucky close to you was quelling the fears in your brain. But his sweetness also made you want to jump his bones.
You dispelled the thought immediately. Even if he felt the same way towards you, he was still adjusting to the world. He didn’t need you to create another complication in his life by confessing your feelings.
“There was nothing wrong with the heater, was there?”
You shook your head.
“I just…needed something to fix. It calms me. I’m failing spectacularly at fixing the world so the poor heater became my guinea pig.”
“Doll, you’re doing fine,” He replied, “A block in the road is not the end of it.”
You looked up at him, only to find him already looking at you. Only your arm was brushing up against his but it felt so much more intimate. The apartment was mostly dark, one measly light shining dully over the both of you. You wondered how it would feel when his stubble rubbed against your skin.
Neither did you know how to deal with the implications of that less than innocent thought, nor did you want to. So you changed the subject.
“Isn’t it weird that we were living in the same city for six months and I didn’t even know?” You asked.
“Not really,” Bucky shrugged, “I was living in a shitty apartment complex in Brooklyn. You were living in a penthouse on the Upper East Side.”
“I didn’t see you after Dad’s funeral,” You said quietly, “I thought you were going to come to Steve’s funeral.”
“I…couldn’t.” Bucky replied, every syllable sounding pained.
Mustering up some courage, you took his flesh hand into yours, squeezing it. His hand was rough and textured, betraying the years of trauma he’d undergone. He gazed down at your conjoined hands and you wondered if he thought it was weird that you’d reached out for him. Chiding yourself mentally, you tried to retract your hand but he tightened his grip, lacing his fingers through yours. Trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach, you settled down again.
The silence which had started out as awkward was now comfortable. The whole world outside was silent and so was the apartment. His body warmth was doing a much better job at warming you up than the stupid heater.
“What are you thinking?” He asked, nudging you gently with his shoulder.
“That you should’ve at least let me punch Walker in the face.”
He chuckled, the sound making your heart soar. He showed any semblance of happiness so rarely that making him smile felt like a huge achievement.
“He’s just another bastard.” Bucky sighed.
“But he’s not though,” You shook your head, “There’s a lot of political big-wigs backing him, the same people who represent our country on the world forum. The same people who run the GRC. Karli Morgenthau’s methods may be wrong, but she isn’t. She’s looking out for people who no one is looking out for.”
“I know.” Bucky simply said.
“I mean, think about it,” You continued, gesturing aimlessly with your hands, “What are we fighting here? Karli’s no villain. She’s a kid who feels like it’s her duty to protect people. She should definitely be punished for her methods—I’m not excusing her behaviour—but we should also be fighting those asshole politicians who make people like Karli feel like they have no choice except to revolt violently.”
Bucky didn’t say anything, gauging correctly that your rant wasn’t quite over yet.
“And I know, I know none of this is about me,” Your voice was strained with the effort of holding back tears, “I recognise my privilege. But I feel so lost and I…I really, really need my Dad.”
The tears spilled over the edge of your eyes, running down your cheeks in a warm, silent stream. It felt good to cry, but also incredibly humiliating. It made you feel like a kid. Bucky and Sam had been through enough and they were holding their shit together, so why couldn’t you?
“I came here, on this mission I mean, just to feel useful again. Because if I don’t save people then it feels like I’m dishonouring my Dad and that’s the last thing I want. But I am so exhausted and nothing in this world feels worth saving anymore.”
“Doll.” Bucky sounded as though all the air had been punched out of his lungs.
“Sorry,” You huffed out a laugh, rubbing away the tears roughly, “I didn’t mean to have a meltdown.”
Resting your head against your palm, you took in a deep breath to calm yourself. It didn’t work. Now that the memory of what it had felt like to have your father breathe his last in front of you while you stood by helpless had started playing in your head, it wouldn’t stop.
You felt Bucky raise his arm and put it around you, shuffling closer. A shuddering sob left your lips. You hadn’t felt another’s comforting touch in a long time. The fact that Bucky never initiated contact with anyone made it even more special.
You twisted your body swiftly, pressing your face into his chest. He didn’t need to see you crying like a baby. You could feel the warmth of his skin through his thin t-shirt. He raised his bionic arm to your head, cradling it gently.
“You’re okay,” He murmured, “You’re alright.”
But you weren’t. You really weren’t alright. You missed walking into your Dad’s workshop and catching him tinkering away with the suits, you missed his warm hugs and the way he flicked your nose in silent reprimand sometimes. You missed movie nights with him and Peter and the way he’d inevitably end up falling asleep within the first thirty minutes of the film.
It had been just you and your Dad for so long. And then suddenly…it wasn’t.
The small, childish part of you never stopped asking why it was more important for him to be Tony Stark, the hero than to be Tony Stark, the father.
The more mature part of you knew why that ultimate sacrifice had been so important for him. Managing to save the world was an added benefit. His real aim had been to protect his children.
Every time someone asked you if you were okay, you wanted to scream yourself hoarse, ask them how you could ever be okay without your father. Or worse, plead with them to bring him back.
“I don’t know how to do this without Dad,” The words came out muffled against the fabric of Bucky’s shirt, “I need Dad.”
“I know,” Bucky replied, holding you closer, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
His words fell flat. You knew it wasn’t his fault. What the hell was he supposed to say to a sobbing girl who was clinging to him and asking for her dead father?
You had no idea how long the both of you sat like that but by the end of it, his shirt was soaked and your eyes were red and puffy. When you pulled away from him, your cheeks were thoroughly burning from embarrassment and thoughts of how you were going to face him the following morning were running through your head.
What he did took you by surprise.
He held your face gently in his hands, wiping away the tears that still clung to your bottom lashes. The cold, smooth plates of his bionic arm felt like heaven against your heated skin. He was giving you the affection you needed, and you were lapping it up obediently.
The urge to lean forward and kiss him reared its head again. His face was so impossibly close to yours, all you had to do was shift your body a couple of inches and your lips would meet his. And judging by the way his eyes flickered down to your lips momentarily before jerking up, he wouldn’t mind if you did exactly that.
“I need to tell you something.” He said softly, removing his hands from your face and leaving desire in their wake.
A confession of love would be nice, you thought, tell me you want to kiss me.
“You know my therapist, right? Dr. Raynor?”
Out of all the things in the world, you were not expecting that.
“Yeah?” You replied, mighty confused.
“She thought it would be a good idea for me to, uh…make amends? To people who were hurt by my actions as the Winter Soldier?” He rubbed the back of his neck, “And I’ve been making amends to a lot of people. I have a list.”
“The notebook.” You said slowly, realisation dawning.
“Yeah,” He nodded, “The notebook. You’re on that list.”
“What? Why?”
“I never got to apologise to Tony. For…killing his parents. You’re next of kin. I thought I should apologise to you for killing your grandparents.”
Bucky was as stiff as a board. You felt your heart physically hurt.
“I knew you were a train ride away,” He shook his head, “I knew your exact address. But I just…I couldn’t. It’s different apologising to someone who you never knew personally. But I know you. I saw you. I never knew how I would look you in the eye and make amends. And I know it’s never going to be enough but—”
“Bucky, you don’t have to do this,” You shook your head, “It’s alright. It’s in the past.”
“No,” He said firmly, “I have to. I have to get it off my chest.”
Not knowing what else to say, you nodded. It wasn’t necessary. You never knew your grandparents so it didn’t even feel like it was your place to accept the apology. It was your father’s and he had forgiven Bucky. He had understood that Bucky was helpless. That it wasn’t his fault.
Bucky rubbed a hand over his face, taking in a deep breath. Then he looked you straight in the eye, steady and unfaltering.
“I am no longer the Winter Soldier,” He spoke clearly, the words enunciated perfectly, “I am James Bucky Barnes and you’re part of my efforts to make amends.”
You wanted to shut him up, throw your arms around him, pull him close to you. You didn’t want his apology, you didn’t need it. He had been forgiven a long time ago. But this was important to him. So you sat quietly and let him continue.
“I killed your grandparents as the Winter Soldier in 1991. I am sorry for all the hurt my actions have caused to you and your family. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me.”
Your heart was breaking from the combined loss of your father and the absolutely tormented look on Bucky’s face.
You didn’t dare imagine what it felt like, having to apologise to families whose loved ones he had killed while being under the control of HYDRA. They handed him the gun but it was his hands that had pulled the trigger. Consequently, a victim became the perpetrator.
You raised yourself up on your knees, hugging him tightly in a clumsy, haphazard embrace. The stiffness in his shoulders bled away as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck.
“I forgive you,” You said with furious conviction, “And I know that Dad forgave you too.”
His arms tightened around you, holding you close as though both you and your forgiveness would float away any second. You let him, glad that you could return the favour by comforting him, just as he’d done for you.
“Not a perfect soldier,” You murmured, softly rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone, “But a good man.”
The thin sheen of tears which had gathered in his eyes intensified as he looked at you, drinking in your words. A small, shy smile spread across his face, one which said that he was grateful. Grateful for your forgiveness, grateful for your affection, grateful for your love.
You had no doubt now that everything was supposed to culminate to this. Two people looking for answers that resisted discovery, lost and worn out by life but still persevering. You weren’t a big believer in fate before but wasn’t that what your father’s death had taught you? That destinies were pre-written? And when fate came knocking at one’s door, asking them to do something, it was in one’s best interest to follow along. The wheels of fortune favoured the brave.
So you leaned forward and kissed him.
His lips were warm, just like the rest of him. The gentle caress of his fingers as they ran up the expanse of your back made you shiver. His breath was hot and unsteady when you pulled away, wanting to witness his reaction.
His eyes were still closed when you gazed upon him, lips parted in the slightest. When he opened them, looking at you as if you were the only woman to ever walk the planet, your breath hitched in your throat.
“Doll…” His voice was hoarse as he raised a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.
“Kiss me,” You shushed him, “Please.”
The taste of vanilla clung to his tongue. You whimpered into his mouth, chasing the flavour that was so distinctly him. The coldness of the bionic arm came as a shock when it slid under your shirt, coming into contact with your overheated skin. In a few seconds, thermal equilibrium would set in, taking away the initial sting of the metal. You craved it though. It made you feel something.
Half a year of nothing but waking up every morning and somehow dragging yourself through the day was a pain you wouldn’t wish on anyone. It had started to feel like you’d never feel genuine joy or excitement again.
Yet here you were, feeling cherished and adored in his arms.
Your absolution had saved Bucky Barnes, but Bucky’s touch had saved you right back.
The both of you were taking advantage of Sam’s deep sleep, clinging to each other in ways “co-workers” should definitely not be clinging to each other. “Co-workers” certainly didn’t shove their tongues down each other’s throats as they grinded up against each other.
Bucky’s hand descended down to the waistband of your pajamas, gently tracing patterns over the soft skin of your stomach before slipping inside. You stifled a moan into his neck when his fingers found your clit, rubbing over the sensitive nub gently.
“Sweetheart,” He crooned into your ear, “You’re so wet.”
His words were like music to your ears and he was playing you like an instrument too. The roughness of the callouses on the sides of his fingers contrasted beautifully with the gentleness with which he was touching you.
He withdrew his hand, causing you to frown. Before you could question his intentions, he made them abundantly clear by sticking his fingers which were soaked with your arousal into his mouth. The sight of Bucky’s tongue curling around his fingers as he relished the taste of you was enough to make you moan softly.
“You taste divine, baby,” He assessed quietly, “Just like the angel you are.”
He tapped your hip twice, asking you to get off. The moment you stopped straddling him, he pushed the coffee table away, which thankfully moved without making too much of a ruckus. Having made enough space, he gently pushed you back onto the carpet.
His bionic arm grasped your wrists and pulled them over your head. The sudden show of dominance, coupled with the comforting weight of Bucky’s body hovering over you sent arousal flooding to your core.
“Is this okay?” He asked, searching your face for any sign of discomfort.
“More than.” You replied, voice breathy and low.
He gave you a soft smile. You barely had time to acknowledge the way it melted your heart because he attached his mouth to your neck, biting and suckling on the skin with renewed vigor. You knew you should protest against him leaving marks, even if it was simply to avoid the playful taunts from Sam, but you couldn’t. You wanted to be marked. You wanted to be his.
“Such a pretty girl,” He whispered, placing a soft kiss on your sternum, “I hate seeing you cry.”
You swallowed in anticipation, watching Bucky’s hands play with the hem of your shirt before pulling it over your head and dropping it haphazardly on the floor. You propped yourself up on your elbows, reaching behind yourself and opening your bra.
Bucky’s fierce gaze should’ve made you shy away but it only made you feel more attractive. His large hand cradled the side of your breast before he lowered his head and licked a hot stripe over the nipple.
“Bucky…” You whimpered his name out, only egging him on. His other hand came up to pinch and toy with your other nipple. The feeling of his tongue swirling around the peak as he sucked it into his mouth was indescribable.
You carded your fingers through his hair, pushing the dark locks away from his forehead. He hummed in approval, sending the vibrations hurtling up and down your spine.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited to do this?” He asked, his words punctuated by the kisses he trailed down your stomach. His breath was warm against your hips as he looked up at you.
“Tell me.” You urged, voice shaky and trembling like the rest of your body.
“Every single time I saw you fall asleep on the couch, looking like the adorable little girl that you are. Every time you start rambling about technology that I don’t understand,” He paused as you huffed out a laugh at that one, “And when you wore that beautiful fucking dress at Sharon’s party. I wanted to push you up against the wall and fuck you in front of everyone until you were screaming my name.”
Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in his filthy words. It was clear now…this was why the ladies loved him in the forties. Who wouldn’t, with a mouth which uttered those harsh words while his lovable accent enveloped them in softness?
“You should’ve,” You finally said, “I was bored out of my mind at that party.”
He chuckled, hooking his finger into the waistband of your pajamas, dragging them down your legs. He’d scarcely managed to leave the fabric in a heap somewhere on the floor before he parted your legs and ducked his head down to place a kiss over your clothed pussy.
You were sure he could feel just how damp your panties were, the thought of his tongue so close to your throbbing core almost too much to bear.
You lifted your hips, helping him to remove the offending garment which formed the last barrier between you and him.
Your face coloured when he groaned lowly, admiring your glistening cunt as if it was an exhibition at the Met. He circled a hand around your thigh, pulling it up on his shoulder.
“Bucky,” You whispered, “Please…”
He smiled, lowering his mouth to your core, maintaining eye contact with you. You watched, mesmerised.
But the first broad swipe of his tongue over your slit had your eyes rolling back into your head, a ragged moan escaping your mouth.
“Shh, sweetheart,” He tapped your hip in reprimand, “You gotta be quiet. Unless you want Sam to wake up and catch us while my tongue is buried in your sweet cunt.”
God, now he was doing it on purpose.
You nodded obediently, if only to hasten the process of actually feeling his tongue. It did the trick. He lowered his mouth to your dripping pussy, flicking his tongue over your clit. His tongue traced lazy figure eights around your clit, lavishing your body with the attention it had been craving.
It was a sight for sore eyes. Bucky’s face cradled between your thighs, his hair brushing against your lower stomach. His stubble rubbed against your inner thighs when you tried to close your legs but to no avail. For a man who shouldn’t have logically gotten much action in a long time, he was suspiciously good at this.
“Taste like fuckin’ heaven, doll,” He moaned against your clit, his accent coming on much stronger, “Such a good girl.”
You wound one hand into his hair and slapped the other one over your mouth, muffling your moans when he pushed a finger into you. His digit was long and thick and nothing short of perfect. He thrust his finger in and out of you, pushing in another one after a moment.
How had you even ended up here? Getting eaten out by Bucky Barnes on the floor of a Latvian safehouse? If someone had told you this morning that that’s how your night was going to go, you’d have burst out laughing in their face.
“Bucky—fuck—oh my god!” You gasped, when he pressed your hips down with the bionic arm, using his thumb to rub circles over your clit. It was different from being touched by a human arm but not altogether unpleasant. If anything, it was pushing you real close to the edge.
“I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered, tugging roughly at Bucky’s cropped locks.
“Cum all over my tongue, sweetheart,” He urged, his tone something akin to a plea, “Let me taste you.”
He lifted his eyes to your face, now guiding your pleasure with determined ministrations in order to see your face screw up in pleasure as you fell apart.
You did not disappoint. Your hand concealed most of your moans, making your cry of Bucky’s name come out as a garbled mess. He groaned softly, relishing the taste of you on his tongue. Ensuring that he’d consumed every last drop with a few kitten licks, he sat up, gently lowering your leg from his shoulder.
You reached for him, pulling him down against you. The both of you moaned into the other’s mouth, you on tasting yourself on his tongue and him on realising that you could.
“Fuck me,” You whispered against his lips, “I need to feel you in me.”
You tugged on the back of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head with some help from him. His dog tags fell forward to brush against your collarbones, the cold metal a welcome relief against your hot skin.
His straining erection was pressing against your bare thigh. You inched your leg up, biting back a grin at the groan which fell from Bucky’s lips at the sudden increase in pressure against his neglected cock.
“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat, doll,” He squeezed the side of your thigh in a warning, “I’m gettin’ to it.”
You chuckled, watching him struggle to drag the stiff denim of his jeans off. He got as far as his knees before giving up. You snuck a glance at Sam’s closed door, willing it to stay closed.
“Fuck…” Bucky shuddered, pressing his forehead against yours when you wrapped your hand around his cock. The warm weight of it in your hand was enough to make your mouth water. The tip was flushed, beading with pre-cum.
He looked nothing short of an angel, eyes swimming with emotions you couldn’t fully perceive, hands running up the side of your waist. He seemed entranced at the sight of your hand around his cock, guiding it into you. A breathy moan left both your mouths as he sheathed himself into your warm, wet heat.
“Doll, fuck…” He cursed, sounding out of breath, “Fuckin’ perfect, baby.”
You could only whimper in response, digging your nails into his back, leaving crescent moon indents behind. You knew you’d have to deal with some significant carpet burn tomorrow, judging by the way your back was smarting. Your heels dug into the small of his back, his mouth muffling the whines which left your lips hungrily.
Two messes conjoining to form a masterpiece.
His hand snuck between your bodies, rubbing at your clit, shushing you when your moans increased in pitch. You were forced to press your face into his neck, not wanting to wake Sam. His dog tags hit your lips and chin with every powerful thrust of his hips.
“Gonna cum…” The words sounded slurred as they left your mouth.
“I know,” He spoke through a clenched jaw, “Go ahead, clench around my cock. Cum.”
You followed his instructions, seeing nebulae behind your eyes as you came, legs trembling from the overstimulation. You felt the dull sting of his teeth as he lightly bit down on your shoulder, driving a few more pointed thrusts into you before he came too.
Blinking blankly at the ceiling, you tried to regulate your breathing. Bucky rolled off of you so as to not crush you under him. You despised the empty feeling he left you with, having gotten used to being filled by him.
You turned your head to the side as he did the same, looking at each other intently. You were the first to smile, the edges of your lips curving up into a grin. The serious and almost anxious look on his face melted away, relieved that you didn’t regret what had just transpired between the two of you.
How could you? He was perfect.
“Thank you.” You murmured, brushing a soft kiss against his lips.
“For what?” He questioned, sounding genuinely confused.
“Just being you.”
He gazed at you with a kind smile, the one which people gave each other after a long awaited reunion. Leaning forward, he kissed your forehead.
“Wanna go to bed now?” You asked, sitting up and pulling your faded, well-worn shirt over your head.
“I don’t…” He trailed off, frowning, “I don’t sleep well on the bed.”
“I know,” You nodded, pushing his hair off his forehead, “But I thought you could sleep on the floor in my room,” And then hesitatingly added, “If you want. I just wanted to be close to you.”
The smile on his face widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably. You couldn’t help but think at that moment that Norway wasn’t the only nation with the midnight sun.
“I’d like that.”