A/N: This chapter has a lot. meaning, Please take into careful consideration the following. Things will get physical between Bucky and Reader and sensitive topics will be touched. This was probably one of the hardest chapters I've ever written. Song for this chapter is Code Blue by The-Dream.
No Longer Laid Bare

WHEN YOU eventually pulled away from each other, you could feel your fury emanating outwards and into the air around you. The air was dense and thick with tension, an obvious, but silent, declaration that you wanted to get away.

From what? You weren't sure.

You weren't sure if you wanted to get away because you needed room to breathe and think or because you felt like you were going to hit something. More specifically, hit him.

You've never in your life felt this kind of rage, ever. You were furious.

You both let go of Ashens, and you walked off to the side, running both your hands up your face and into your hair.

You could still feel Bucky's eyes digging into your back as you tried to think of what do next and that, him looking at you, itself wasn't helping you.

You felt lost and yet so aware at the same exact time. You didn't know how that was possible.

For the first time in your life, you never wanted to shout at someone so badly before.

Shout, scream, and yell.

You open and close your left hand, stretching the fingers meticulously until you felt them bend and unbend repeatedly.

You wanted to hurt him the way he made you feel hurt for so long.

You could hear him say your name softly, but you don't turn around.

You couldn't look at him right now.

Bucky swallows thickly, gaze drifting back to the little boy in the center of the room.

You don't know what he tells him, but you can hear the unmistakable whispering, followed by Ashen's small sniffles.

You didn't like how well they both got along. You didn't like how it made your heart flutter when you watched them interact.

Everything about this angered you. The flutter in your heart angered you.

Him making you look and feel crazy all these months when you had actually been right angered you.

It didn't take much longer than a few minutes for you both to say your goodbyes to Ashens.

You needed to get out out here.

You feel Bucky's hand on your arm as he comes up around you, his intense stare on the side of your face. You can literally feel his eyes on you.

"Hey, you okay?" He asks sincerely. His voice was like melted butter but you feel anything but soothed by it.

How could you? You want to shout in his face. You don't look at him, instead just giving him a slight nod. You can feel his hot touch on you, sinking into your bones as he pulls you aside.

"We'll plan our escape, run it by him when it's time. We still have a few weeks," he continues and then pauses, waiting for you to say something. You can feel your teeth clenching and you jaw tightening, hair fanning over the side of your face to hide it. Your face was burning from the anger you were feeling. It was burning from the embarrassment he put you through, "and now with the search party after us, it's best I lay low until then," you still don't say anything. Was this a joke to him? Was this all a joke? Bucky reaches up and pulls your hair to the side, revealing your neck and side of your face. You hated this.

You want to pull your arm away from him but you feel frozen.

He says your name one more time.

That's when you finally snatch your arm away from him. It's harsh and it has Bucky's hand dropping off you like it's on fire.

You spin around until your faces are inches apart. He swallows hard, and you watch him as he does so. His eyes follow the curve of your nose, right down to your lips, and then back up to your eyes.

You stay like that for a few seconds before your jaw tightens again.

"We should go home." You say roughly.

His eyes squint at you. He immediately knows something happened and that something is off.

Bucky is too worried to ask you what's wrong and you're still trying to contain all your anger, fearful that if you were to open your mouth, you would no longer be able to stop.

You were scared of what would happen the next time you ever opened your mouth to him. You feared the worst would finally happen.

When you come home from work, he wants to ask you how your day was. When you're eating dinner, he wants to tell you you've got some on your face, and he wants to ask you what's wrong.

He misses talking to you.

The biggest need that he has to talk to you comes is when he's rewatching season 3 of Friends and that one song comes on. He looks up the song after the episode is over - with or without you, it's called - and he wants to tell you it's his new favorite song. Ross dedicated that song to Rachel, and Bucky wants to dedicate it to you, he realizes.

But he never tells you, because you won't even look at him.

He doesn't know why things have changed.

The next few days pass slowly. You don't speak to him, but he does attempt to pull conversations with you twice.

You're in a mixture state of numb and shock to know what you even want to say to him.

You go to the tower during the days, two days a week, and during the nights you eat together in silence until he eventually says something.

Bucky tries to speak with you, eyes never leaving you, and still always giving you that look.

There's been instances where you almost snapped at him, almost gave in to interrogating him, but you never went through with it. You didn't care how much it hurt him when he would try to talk to you about your day or Friends and instead you would ignore him.

You're still angry and you now know what you need to do. It's a week before you finally say something.

It catches him completely off guard.

You're pulling on your shoes before heading out to the tower.

"I'm killing him," you say under your breath, voice dry from staying quiet in the apartment for so long. It almost sounds completely foreign, "Ashen," you clarify, "I haven't changed my mind. You haven't changed my mind. Nothing that happened here changed anything," you say it so bitterly you almost feel your own tears in your throat. The silence from him is deafening, "And then I'm going back to camp. And then this will be over." Bucky doesn't say anything after you say the words. For the first time since you've mentioned wanting to kill Ashen, he doesn't say anything to go against your idea. This makes your nose flare and you turn around to look at him. You stare at him, unmoved. He's sitting on the side of the bed, looking straight up at you. His eyes are soft and he looks sympathetic, "You have nothing to say to that?" His eyes drop down to the floor next to your feet, "Of course you don't."

He opens his mouth to tell you everything, but then he shuts it right away, gulping.

5 months, 2 weeks into mission

He misses you. You don't talk to him anymore and now, whenever you get the chance to, you run off to him. Pietro.

Bucky's teeth clenched as he watched you get ready to leave for the day.

He knows he needed to do it.

He needed to do it.

He needed to do it.

His eyes go to your face one more time.

He was going to do it.

You couldn't go.

You felt him approach you from your peripheral as you finished putting on the other shoe.

You feel your heart skip a beat and you let out a sigh.

You weren't in the mood to deal with this.

Whatever this was.

He says your name softly and you look up to meet his eyes.

His eyes are sad but you don't give him the benefit of making him think you care.

There was no point and if he wanted to do this now, make you the bad guy again, he wasn't even nearly prepared for the fury that was brewing within you.

You make your face raw and free of emotions, standing up on your feet before he can get any closer.

You walk passed him to grab a light jacket off the lounge chair.

"I'll see you later." You grumble, walking back towards the direction of the chair.

"Wait."

You don't know if it was your temper, maybe it was your hormones, you weren't sure, but you took a deep breath and let out a loud groan.

"What, Bucky?"

There's a long pause. You look at him and you've never seen him look so torn. His brows were furrowed together and he looked uneasy.

You couldn't stand this. You were so sick of his silence.

You snap at him; finally.

"What?" Your voice is many decimals higher than before and it leaves you both stunned.

But you couldn't help it. It was time.

"Just—" he says quietly. He had the audacity to stand there looking timid, like a puppy.

How dare he.

"Just what?" You say again, just as harshly.

You don't care how harsh you're being anymore. He deserved this.

"Just wait a second, okay?" He says, still with that same quiet voice.

He need to do this. He could feel his palms sweating and his heart racing. Even if you looked at him like he was the most evil thing on the planet. It was his doing anyway. It's his fault you're reacting this way and he knows that.

"I'm waiting, Bucky." You say impatiently.

He was scared. Nervous. Shaking. Quaking.

He wasn't sure he had the guts anymore.

Who had he become?

Who had you become?

There's so much he wants to say and needs to say.

"I—" his voice breaks off and he swallows again, "I don't think you should go." He manages to say. His request shocks you and you find yourself sucking in a sharp breath and taking a step back. He gets up slowly and starts to make his way closer to you, "Don't go to him." His voice wavers.

You were close to losing it, you knew you were. You could feel your heart hammering away and your breathing picking up.

You blood was beginning to feel hot, so close to boiling.

"What are you talking about?" You ask carefully as you turn around to fully face him now.

His eyes hold yours, and they are filled with so many emotions.

"Stay." One small word was your undoing.

How could he?

You feel your breathing pick up and you feel yourself taking another step back.

This couldn't happen again.

"Bucky—"

"Please, just stay here."

He needed to stop.

You stare at each other quietly and in that moment when your eyes are connected, he's almost certain you've figured it out, and when he sees nothing but anger in your eyes, he knows he messed it all up.

"Why?" You ask through clenched teeth, seething. His eyes drops and now you're curious. How dare he control your love life now but still not communicate? "Seriously?"

"Y/N…"

"—I don't—"

"—I'm trying—-"

"I have a date, Bucky. I have a boyfriend. I have someone," you gave him an incredulously look, "And you're asking me to stay?" He doesn't say anything, "you know I have someone, a man, and you're asking me to stay here. Why?" No he wasn't going to do this to you, "I asked you a question." Your voice is strong and demanding again. He stared at you silently. You could feel your fingers twitching and your lip shaking. You swallow thickly, "I said I asked you a question."

He shakes his head almost disappointed with himself, face falling towards the floor.

How dare he?

The air was dense and thick. So palpable it was borderline painful.

There's a moment before he says anything.

"Stay with me."

You dreamt of something similar like this happening for months.

The emotion going through you should've been happiness.

Undying happiness.

Instead, all you felt was exhaustion and that same anger.

And how dare he coward himself away like how he was now.

How dare he do this. How dare he play with your heart.

"What gives you the right?" Is all you can muster to say. His face falls and he says your name one more time, a plead.

"I know, okay? I know."

This was it. This was your breaking point.

All of it finally came to this moment.

How dare he?

You walk up to him in a blind rage, giving him an aggressive shove, making him stumble back.

Your heart shatters as you watch him fall back against your bed on one arm, a fallen and stricken look on his face.

But you don't care. He didn't deserve your care. You think he says your name one more time before unshed tears fill your eyes.

"What makes you think you have the right!" You scream.

He pushed himself up. You couldn't see properly. Everything in front of you was a blurry fire red.

"I don't know, okay?"

You fumed.

"You don't know?" You shout angrily.

"I don't know!" He finally yells back, "You're right, I don't have a right, I'm not yours and you're not mine, and I know that every single day. I know I don't have a right to ask you to stay."

You tried to breathe in as properly as could, feeling yourself on the brink of hyperventilation from trying to hold in angry tears.

"That's right. I'm not yours. And I never will be," his face looks crestfallen at this point and you snarl, "I will never in my life fall to a man who has ridiculed me, embarrassed me, belittled me, and never respected me or told me the truth about anything—"

"I'm trying!"

"Trying to do what? You're confusing me!" You finally scream. You swipe your fingers under your eye and you look at it. Black smudged mascara. Great. "I don't have time for this anymore. I do not have time for you." You need to get out of here before it got even worst.

"Just please wait, and let me talk to you!"

His shout makes you silent and you both stare at each other. The tension was thick and you touched the wet tips of your fingers to your palm. You took a deep breath, eyeing him up and down.

"What are we doing?"

The look he gives you is pitiful.

"I don't know anymore."

You swallowed the painful lump in your throat.

"You need to stop playing games with my heart," you whimper out, "You think I've been able to handle this? I met you, I saw something good in you, I saw a good man, and you belittled me, but I still liked you for it because I knew that couldn't be the real you. It couldn't be. And then I tell you I like you and you go to using me every day like I'm," the memories hit both of you like a freight train and more tears cloud your vision, some leaking over your cheek bones, "like I'm some kind of fleshlight. Like I'm just some wet hole to make you get off," you growl, thinking about all the times after sex when you had wanted him to hold you and tell you he was lying when he said he didn't feel the same way, but he never did, "Don't you see what that did to me? You said Hydra messed you up? Look at what you did to me! I'm the aftermath of your doing. I was never like this before I met you!"

You let out a painful sob at the end of your little speech. You watch as Bucky's blue orbs fill with liquid, too, but not enough to leak out the corner of his eyes.

"I didn't use you," he says softly, shaking his head back and forth, "You told me you wanted me, at the time, you wanted sex and you told me yourself. We had an agreement. Don't tell me I used you."

"I told you I wanted you after I told you I had feelings for you—"

"And then you said you didn't anymore. You said it was just physical and that you were wrong. If there's one don't get to call me here it's someone who used you, because you know that's not true. Unless you lied."

You took a step back and eyes him up and down, disgustedly.

"It was you," you say through clenched teeth, "You were the one who changed. I told you I liked you, and then told you it was just physical, you saw a gateway, took advantage of that fact, and slept with me hoping that's all it would be for you, always just physical. I got it didn't I? You know very well that the one who changed was you. It took you twenty times and twenty positions to catch feelings for me." Bucky gapes at you. You sniff, "I knew it. I knew you were a fucking coward."

"Jesus, Y/N, I can't—"

"I'm so sick of these games with you. I am sick of you not communicating with me. You gaslighted me. Which is a form of abuse, by the way. You made me think I was all these terrible things and that I made it all up in my head, but I was always right. I was right the entire time." Your voice feels pained.

"I didn't do it to hurt you! I wasn't trying to hurt you. I wasn't trying to do all these things that you think. I said those things to you, but it wasn't with the intention you're thinking."

"Then tell me. Tell me everything right now, Bucky," he looks at you exhausted and your face is still angry, "Tell me!"

"I can't handle this anymore." He cries, running a hand through his hair as he gets up and starts walking the other way and back again.

"You?!" You let out an incredulous laugh, "you?"

"I can't — I —"

"Give up so easily like you always do. You always run away like the fucking coward I know you are. What was even the point of this? To make me feel hurt again? To abuse me even farther" He says nothing, several tears leaking out of his eyes - that was never my intention - and you take advantage of him turned away from you to give him another angry shove, making him stumble forward about an inch. Now you knew you really were crying. "Just fucking leave!" You sob, "Fucking stop torturing me, stop putting me through this! You're a horrible man. Go die for all I care," you're hurt too much and too far pass the point of no return to even think rationally anymore about what you're saying. At this point, you just want him to hurt as much as you're hurting right now, "Go obsess over the woman who's been dead for nearly a century. Go live in the fuckin' past. We both know I could never hold a handle to the woman that's been dead for over half a century anyway," you know these are horrible things to say and you know they're affecting him, " he's still turned away from you, though, "You can't even look at me and tell me one ounce of damn truth. Go lust over a dead fucking woman instead of playing with my heart and killing me, you goddamn bastard."

There you were, triggering him where it hurt the most. He felt that fear again, that anger. Now he was the angry one, but not for the reason you probably thought.

You wanted to play rough?

"Well, you're not even half the woman she ever was. How about that? Huh?" His voice breaks, "You want me to go fucking die," his voice breaks in a way that leaves you even more shattered if possible, "just like I've always wanted? Maybe i'll tell you how worthless you are in comparison to her. Maybe I'll tell you how loving she was. How sweet. Does that hurt enough for you? Does that hurt us enough?"

"I fucking hate you!" You scream, pushing him again, causing his back to hit the wall behind him, and some clothes to fall off the hanger and onto the floor.

It hurt. He was hurting.

"Then hate me!" He yells in your face, his face red and contorting as he lets out a sob, "Make this easier for me! You want to keep hurting me? Telling me to go die. I'll tell them right back if that's what will make it easier."

"Make what easier for you?"

"This!"

"What? Tell me!"

"Me fucking pushing you away when all I want—" he finds himself sobbing now, too, "all I want—" he's reaching for you and you don't want him to. Not right now. Not when he just hurt you the same way you just hurt him.

"—Tell me what do you want," you could feel him pulling on you by your arm making you stumble on top of him and for some reason you hate this, "Let go of me!" You push him back again and he stumbles even farther this time, stunned. More hangers fall of the rack and you had caught yourself on his chest. You take his shirt in your hands and shove him to the side, "Don't you ever do that again. Don't lay a hand on me again." You snatch your hands away from his body and rub it under your nose, trying to wipe it clean. "Any ounce of respect I ever had for you is gone. Gone. You've done nothing since the moment I met you except told me how horrible I am, how pathetic, worthless, stupid, you've knocked me constantly down. I am none of those things. You think I'm so horrible? Especially compared to her?" You knew you were leading into dangerous territory now, "Let me remind you of everything you've done."

You don't want to do this.

His face falls even more if possible and his breathing picks up.

"You murdered hundreds of innocent people. You trained little girls to kill. You are the reason girls like Romanoof turned out the way they did. You killed good people, cold blooded. You you were the one that pulled that trigger. You were Hydra. You saw people suffering and getting killed and you never did anything to save them. You were so weak you couldn't stop yourself from being controlled. You're emotionally abusive. You still want to talk about how I'm so horrible?" Tears are now running down your face. "How does that feel?" Bucky looks away from you, "Maybe you really always have been the bad guy this entire time." Bucky walks around you and you're swallowing your hiccups from your sobs. You know he's crying, too.

Hell, you both were at this point.

Your eyes suddenly go down to the black box on the floor in the closet.

You kneel down quickly and snap it open.

He surprisingly doesn't say anything as he watches you.

This was the breaking point in your relationship. As you bring the gun to your eye level and pointed to his face, not one ounce of fear or hesitation flickers across his face and you hate it.

You hate it.

Your hands as shaking just as much as your voice. You sniff harshly, trying to stop your tears.

"Give me a reason not to shoot. Why you don't deserve it."

Instead he looks at that barrel of the gun, not even flinching.

"Do it."

You feel another tear run down your face and you swallow again.

"Fucking do it," he says again, "I've given you every reason to. You even said so yourself that I should die."

Tears were still running down your face.

"Do it, y/n! I've been giving you every reason to do it. That's all I've been doing this entire time."

That's what did it for you as you break down into sobs. You slowly sink down to your knees, dropping the gun next to you, shaking and crying.

Of course you didn't mean any of what you both said. But it was all still painful.

Both of you were in pain because of each other.

You took a deep and got up off your wobbly knees.

You turned to walk away when you felt the hand on your arm again.

You didn't even think. You spun around, and slapped him across the face.

He stumbled back, and his hand went to his cheek.

You both stared at each other, breathing hard.

And that's how you both ended up broken into pieces, silently crying as your simply stared at each other.

You walked up closer to him and placed your hands softly on his chest. He looked down at as you walked him, back up against the wall.

He looks away from your eyes and he knows you can feel his heart under your small hand.

His voice is strained and filled with emotions.

"I can't do this anymore."

"Me either. This is over."

You don't talk for the rest of the night. You've both done enough hurt and it still feels raw. It took hours just for Bucky to gather the courage to grab the gun off the floor and place it back in the box.

You had just gotten change in the bathroom and you wore a white dress this time.

It was strapless and the hem fell just above the skin on your knees.

What happened earlier had a long time coming and you both said things that hurt each other.

You both said so much, yet he wasn't able to say what he had wanted to all along.

He continues to look at you. You haven't spoken to each other since your fight.

He knows what you are planning tonight and it's got him all tensed up and wanting to reach for you.

You took exceptionally longer in the shower this time and you went out of your way to buy a new outfit.

His heart breaks as he watches you brush your hair. He wants his love for you to become greater than his fear of losing you. He knows it needs to be.

He knows he needs to stop this. He knows he needs to tell you, he does know that.

He misses you.

He wonders if you miss him, too. He wonders if you ever think about those nights after you've both had sex and he would find the need to trail his fingers up your skin because he cared more than you realized.

The thought of losing you scared him.

But he loved you more.

He didn't want you going to him.

He continued staring at you. He had to do this now.

Out of all the chances he had to do this, this was by far the worst one.

He watches you as you clasp on your heels, telling him that you were going to be spending the night with Pietro. Making sure he knows what that means.

He knows you two hadn't slept together yet. This implied something was going to happen tonight.

You needed it.

It was simple.

You needed room to breathe and you needed another man's hands on you. Whatever it was that started between you and Bucky, whatever it turned into, and now was, you didn't have the patience for it any longer. If you stayed even a second longer within his glooming presence, where you couldn't tell if he was holding himself down from telling you what your gut was telling you, you were sure to lose everything.

You were sick of him. You were defeated and calling truce. Tonight was evidence of that. It was over.

You're just about to leave when he gathers what's left of his balls to walk up to you just before you decide to walk into the dining area.

His soft touch stuns you.

He delicately grabs your hand and you turn around slowly to look at him. It was too quiet.

His eyes stay on your face as he drags his hand up the side of your arm and then eventually up the side of your face.

You can't breathe when his flesh hands cups your face, finger tips reaching just behind your ear. His rubs his thumb over the top of your ear, watching you.

You want to say his name, but before you have a chance to he's already leaning down, letting the side of his nose hits yours.

The moment his lips touch yours you feel a hundred butterflies escape inside of you.

He tightens his hold on your head and you kiss him back. You let out a soft moan as his metal hand now holds your neck and he tilts his head even further, deepening the kiss.

You taste just like he's always imagined, sweet and perfect. His kiss is intoxicating and it ignites something within you and you never knew you needed.

He kisses you for a few more seconds until he finally pulls away, and when you pull away, he's got a far away look in his eyes. He continues to stare at you. His thumb trails over your plump bottom lip.

"First kisses should be special. I'm sorry I made your first time the way I did, and I know I wasn't deserving of your first kiss," his thumb is still touching you lip, "I've thought you were beautiful since the very first moment I saw you. I never should have done what I did and I never should have said the things I did. There comes a point where a man must chose between being selfish or giving into love. I'm tired of being selfish. I don't want to be afraid anymore."

There it was.

He finally pulls his hand off your face and his eyes leave them to meet yours. He takes a step back and waits for your next move.

What you do next should be expected, but for some reason it surprises him and he's not at all ready for it.

You continue to stare at him for a few seconds longer. You look away and then turn around, walking out the front door.

He watches you leave him, his heart shattering and then disappearing.

You took his heart with you and you didn't even know it.

Your mind was swirling on the walk to Pietro's place.

There were too many different things and thoughts going through it.

Bucky's kiss was everything you dreamed of and more. It was sweet and gentle, but also so deep and meaningful. He kissed you.

What he said afterwards is what made you turn around and leave.

You needed to think about what he had just told you.

With so many little words he told you so much. He gave you forgiveness and hope.

He told you he wished your first time together would've been done right, he was disappointed that your first kiss wasn't special, he's liked you since the moment he saw you, and then he used the L word.

He said he chose love over being selfish and that he wasn't afraid anymore. You still don't know what exactly he meant by that, but he said he was choosing love.

Your heart was hammering away and you needed to decide your next move carefully.

You were afraid this was just another one of his games. But what if he was being serious? What if him saying he was no longer afraid meant he was no longer going to be playing around? What did any of it mean?

He kissed you. Bucky kissed you.

During your dinner with Pietro, you're distracted.

You're not even fully in the moment when he sits you fully clothed up on his lap, hands curling around your hips as he looks up at you, getting ready to finally give you more.

Bucky feels like an idiot.

Not for kissing you, but for every choice he ever made leading up to it.

Of course you didn't stay. Of course you didn't chose him. How could you after the way he treated you the last few months?

He stares up at the ceiling and then he turns to the window. It was raining again.

An early spring thunderstorm.

You always loved the storms. During your fight, you had both said so many lies to tear each other down as much as you could. Maybe he finally did it. Maybe he finally made you hate him.

He waited so long to give you a kiss, and he couldn't have chosen a worst time.

He wants you here, but you were gone. You weren't his and you never would be, just like you said.

How could he have been so stupid? He's envisioning Pietro's hands on you and Bucky hates it. He closes his eyes tightly together and he knows he needs to try to get to sleep.

He needs to leave reality for a moment. Anything was better than you not being here.

A calm finally envelops him when he hears the undeniable sound of the front door unlocking. His eyes slowly open and he listens intently. There's a click of the door closing shut. He feels his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

He swallows hard.

He slowly sits himself up and then looks over to the right.

He practically whines.

There you were under the blue halos in the dark, hair and clothes dripping wet.

When your eyes meet it's when he realizes it. You chose him.

"You came back." You're standing there, shaking. He stands up and meets you halfway, "you're shaking."

"I don't care." You say. You raise your hands up to his chest, laying them there.

He doesn't even ask you anything else. He leans down and gently runs his lips over yours.

You bring your left hand to the back his neck and you open your mouth to him, letting his tongue slide against yours. Your kisses turn into pecks by the times he's got his metal hand in your hair.

He pulls back, eyes half closed as he looks down at you.

"I didn't mean any of what I said about you before. You know that." You closed your eyes at his words, letting his nose hit yours, "you're not pathetic. You're worth so much to me. And you need to stop comparing yourself to her. We said a lot of hurtful stuff but we didn't mean them. It's over. Whatever that was, it's over."

You found yourself holding tightly to his chest as memories from before hit you.

"I don't want you to die. And you're not a bad man," you shake your head back and forth, "I don't want you to die."

"That won't happen, Baby. I promise."

You blindly reach up and kiss him again. Your kisses build up intensity as a thunder clap rumbles in the sky, making the room tremble.

This couldn't be happening. This was a dream.

You pull him along towards the direction of the bed, your lips not separating as you do so. He follows you, letting you guide him.

He wants to do it right this time.

Your hands leave his arms and they go to the bottom of his shirt.

He pulls away for second, helping you pull it off, but then he's back on you again. You toss your soaking wet coat to side and you reach up to pull down your zipper of your dress.

He stops you. Your eyes meet in a heated gaze and you both meet halfway, kissing again.

Your lips were so addicting.

"Let me." He whispers as he pulls away from you.

With a hand on your waist, he turns you around until you're faced front down to the bed. He sits up on his knees and slowly pulls the metal of the zipper down your back and over the hills of your butt. His flesh hand smooths over the revealed skin of your back once it's revealed to him.

He unlatches your bra.

Since your dress it's strapless he only needs to pull it a little bit further down for the fabric to slide down your legs.

His fingers play with the lace of your black underwear before he slides his hand again up your spine and up to your neck.

He brushes your hair away and his fingers trace over your tattoo.

"Fucking sexy." He mumbles. You whine in response. It's the first time he's complimented you in that way and it's one that shocks you. You always thought he hated your tattoo. You never would've thought it was the exact opposite.

He grabs your hips.

"Turn back around for me." He whispers. You do so until you're staring up at him.

He's looking down at you mesmerized.

"You're beautiful. So beautiful."

"Bucky—"

"Shh. You need to hear it from me. You're perfect. Beautiful. Strong. All of you," his hands traces over your neck and chest and boobs, "so perfectly made for me," he runs them over your belly.

"I gained a little weight since last time."

"—You're perfect." His hand stops just over the top of your underwear and your eyes meet. He hooks his fingers on both sides your underwear and begins to pull down. You do the same to his pajama pants and boxers.

With one hand, you grab just over his shoulder, pulling him into you and with the other you reach out for his cock, giving him steady strokes. He groans into your mouth as he captures your lips for more kisses, his own right hand going down to your center, too. Your moans become whimpers as you let him stroke you and you pull away from his mouth, giving him a pleading look.

"Tell me this isn't a dream. Tell me this is real this time and it's not made up in my head." You beg him, twisting your hand into corkscrews over his dick.

You both stare down as you work your hand over him.

"It's not a dream. It's not just you. I'm sorry I lied to you so many times. I'm so fucking sorry." You capture him in another kiss, and Bucky's hand leaves your core to hold himself steady over you, "You're my type. You're so my type." He moans, his left hand going to your ass. He runs it up the inside of your leg until you're wide open for him and he wraps your leg over his ass.

He grabs one of the pillows off the side and helps tuck it underneath your head.

He's looking down at you and you don't even realize you're crying until his thumb drags over your cheeks, swiping the wet liquid over your face.

"You've always deserved so much better than what I gave you," you continue to cry, nodding, "I'm going to give you better."

"Fuck." You moan as you feel him dragging his cock up and down over your soaking slit. He plays with your clit using his length and it feels amazing. It always felt amazing with him, but this time it was a different kind of amazing.

"Beautiful." He whimpers, flicking your clit almost harshly with his cock head. You find yourself sticking your pointer and middle finger in your mouth and then bringing them to the top of your clit. His eyes follow your movements and he slides just his tip inside of you before pulling out again.

"Please." You beg. He moans in response and pulls away for a few seconds. You're cold and you wonder what he's doing until you hear the drawer of the night stand shut close, followed by the sound of the foil wrapper.

"I got you, doll." He says after he's got the condom on, taking your hips in his hands. When he slides into you, you both let out a loud groan at the same exact time, "God." He slides in and out of you gently and slowly. His thumb rubs your clit in motion with his hips.

The sounds you make are beautiful to his ears.

You tighten your legs around him and this makes Bucky tighten his grip on your hips and quicken his thrusts.

His gaze leaves your pussy and raises up to meet yours. There's a moment of understanding between the both of you as he fucks you. You already looked utterly fucked and he definitely looks like he's on a mission to make you both cum.

"Please." You beg again, shutting your eyes. He slams hard into you, and you raise yourself on your left arm as much as you could with him still being able to slide into you, and your right arm goes around his neck. You pull him in tighter to you, and you find his lips in a sloppy kiss that is all tongue. You pull away and look down at where you both me, "make me cum, make me cum."

Bucky moans, sitting up. He brings you with him as he flips around so he's sideways. You're confused by this change in position, one you hadn't tried before. You're back is to his front and you're also sideways on the bed. Bucky runs his right hand up the inside of your thigh and spreads your legs. He tucks holds it up in the corner of his elbow and he starts fucking into you again.

You both wanted to take it slow tonight, but truth was, you never did slow. The both of you were too sexual, to animalistic in bed to do slow. This was more your style.

"Fuck!" You yell out as he continues to thrust into you, his left hand tucking under you and finding your core. He starts to rub you until his fingers meet his dick.

"Oh, shit baby." He whimpers, looking over your shoulder at where he sees his hand playing with you.

You feel your end approaching fast, and your face falls forward, making the back of your neck in direct line with his face.

He leans forward and licks a wet strip up your snake tattoo, making you shiver. Your walls squeeze around him as he nibbles and sucks on it.

He gasps as he looks back at his hand.

"I'm gonna cum." He says. You moan in response, feeling your own peek approaching. It's take about seven more thrusts for him to grunt out, your own walls squeezing around him not much long after.

Even after you've both cum, he's still sheathed inside of 're both trembling as he places a kiss on your shoulder. He runs a hand down your arm soothingly and you turn your head up to the side until your face is facing his.

He kisses you passionately this time. There's nothing dirty or sloppy about this kiss. It's a declaration and it's an action he's using to show you how much he cares. His lips continue to move over yours until he travels up your nose and to your forehead.

You run your hands over his face.

"What were you afraid of?"

He runs a hand up the side of your head.

"Last time I loved someone, I lost them. To me, having feeling for you would've been a risk I didn't want to take."

"But how did you even know you would have feelings for me?"

"I just knew." He runs his hand over your forehead, "And I know that still doesn't justify how horrible I treated you, and I'm so sorry for that. I wanted to make you hate me. If you hated me, I thought it would've made it easier for us."

You take his face in your hands, your own fingers running up the side of his pretty face.

"Please don't die." You say so quietly, and with pain in your eyes. Bucky is surprised at what you're asking of him. Not because he wouldn't comply, but because he didn't expect it, "Please, promise me." He says your name softly still caressing you, "you had that gun, I don't know why and part of me doesn't want to know why, but if it's what I think, please don't do it. I need to you here with me."

Suddenly your words make sense to him and Bucky leans now, giving you another eskimo kiss.

"Oh, baby, that won't happen. I promise."

"I leave, you leave?"

"I leave, you leave."

He kisses you again.