Untitled

The plastic laundry basket rattles and creaks against your hip. Tapping your finger on the handle without a real rhythm, humming inquisitively and melodically, floorboards groaning under your feet as you pass down the hallway, and into the sun-warmed bedroom where stickers plastered yay high on the door, just below the painted calligraphy of dusty green you had tasked yourself on, even though you'd started waddling and huffing at every sprig of movement at the time. Winnie.

It's oddly quiet, not too unusual for a school day, but even so the padding of socked feet thumping around, excited squeals and giggles and tight little arms latched around your calf fill your days up so full and bright, the few hours of emptiness never fail to have you staring at the unmade bed and sigh with a smile.

Placing the basket down to your feet, you lean down to straighten the linens. Uncurling the stripes of red, tucking them in at the corners, folding at the pillows before starting on those next. Fluffing and placing them carefully to the wall, gathering her favourite blanket she'd pulled to the centre of the room for a late night reading session by the bonfire (her bedside lamp she had also moved) to drape across the foot of the bed.

Once done, straightening up only to stretch out the achy kinks in your muscles, you turn for the finishing touch. Dusty, Winnie's companion. The kind of teddy you must pry out of a child's hand — or at least try and swap it out with a similar weight like a Mission Impossible movie — but your little Win had a sixth sense for her darling dog. Matted fur from bone crushing (or pellet crushing, in Dusty's case) hugs, colour dulled from the years, and eyes wobbled from the thread. He may have been living up to his name, but he carries her love like no other.

But in recent days, you've noticed a difference in Dusty's appearance. His front left leg was simply… missing.

It wasn't hard to put two and two together. Your husband, brooding eyes and tired sighs, Bucky Barnes, had spent the good part of Winnie's first years acclimatising both Win, and himself, to his arm.

Holding her comfortably against his chest, in the crook of his right arm, as so his left — all shiny vibranium and gold veins — could pat and caress. Holding it up, wiggling his fingers while cooing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star just to see her chubby cheeks round out and gargle a laugh through a gummy smile. Bucky had even found himself soothing her by gently wiping the bridge of her nose with the smooth tip of his index finger, shushing down her cries, murmuring praises into the air, smiling softly as her eyes droop shut and soft croons from the back of her throat quieted into yawns, dribble on ironed work shirts and sweet, even breaths.

But Dusty and his three limbs were nowhere to be seen.

Not on the bedside table, or made as a suspicious lump underneath your neat origami of bed sheets. Not using the bunting hung from the corners as a makeshift swing set, or gathered around the lamp-made bonfire.

The laundry sat forgotten as your feet darted down the hall and down the flight of stairs, all to have been halted once you found yourself in the dining room. Your hair flew back as you caught yourself, hand holding the doorway.

Bucky sat at the table, button up shirt open at the collar, sleeves shoved to his elbow, hair the same colour as his daughters mussed back from fingers, and glasses slipping to the tip of his nose. Before you could fully appreciate the sight before you, you realised the scene. A sewing needle poked out the corner of his lip, held in place by his teeth, a large enough sheet of fabric, black with soft gold accents, laid out on the surface next to the project, cut in meticulous patterns, chalk lines fading off. And the main event was Dusty himself, and the appendage of dark cloth, sewn haphazardly with the kind of skill a boy on a mission would have, into a similar shape to the dog's right leg.

"Jesus," you exhale, holding your chest. "I thought you had work today?"

"I—Uh," He glances up at you over the top of his glasses where they perch low on the tip of his nose. Muffled by the needle in his mouth, he takes it out, leaning both elbows to the table, inhaling as if finding the correct answer. "I did. Have work."

You lean against the frame now. Arms crossed over your chest, smiling in amusement.

"But?"

"But," he imitates, looking back down at the work he's doing, holding the needle between two fingers and waving it slightly. "I have more pressing matters to attend to."

"Oh yeah?" You push off and walk your way over, sliding into the chair adjacent to his, leaning your chin on the palm of your hand. "More pressing than paperwork and board meetings? Pressing matters meaning Dusty?"

He laughs once, an exhales huff paired with an easy smile, but he keeps working. His phone was still open, propped up on a vase of cosmos and baby's breath, a paused video tutorial on sewing. You pretend not to have noticed, pretend like your heart didn't swell ten times the size in that one millisecond your eyes flittered.

"I—ah… I may have hold Win, while tucking her in last night, that I'd take Dusty to the 'hospital' today while she was at school," he shrugged, momentarily pausing to run a hand through his hair to keep it back, only for the strands to fall back over his face. "Was tired of finding stuffing on the floor."

"Tired of stuffing on the floor?"

"Mhm," he drags out, tight lipped, looping the needle through the two meeting points of the inside out fabric, pulling until slight resistance, before going again. "I also wanted to surprise her. Got up early to go out lookin' for some stuff, just to close up the hole, but I… saw the fabric, and… I mean, I understand why she—she'd take the arm off," he sighed again, looking back up at you over his glasses. When he sees you already smiling, he loosens up, smiling too, cheeks pinkening under the dusting from his beard.

"I think she'd like it."

"She'll love it, Buck," you reassure, reaching out to draw a knuckle over the back of his hand. "Didn't know you could sew, though."

The chair groans under his weight, stretching out, leaning back. "It's been a long, long time, sweetheart. Used to watch my momma when I had nothing better to do, sometimes she'd make me help her out until my fingers were all sore and poked raw, and, uh, you pick up some shit out in the field. Clothes get ripped, you know the gist," you do. He waves a dismissive hand. "Did have to remind myself though, but don't tell Winnie, I wanna look smart."

You giggle, easing up from the seat to make your way over. "You are smart, and Win already thinks the world of you,"

Leaning over, you drape your arms over his shoulders and rest your chin to his head, pausing the dismissive shake to your statement.

"It looks good. You're really good at this." You murmur into his hair with a kiss.

Bucky hums, pushing his glasses back up with a knuckle. "M'not."

"Hm, you are. And Winnie loves you, and I love you, and she's gonna love you more after this," you peck his head again.

"You know, everyday I think that theres no way I could love you more? You do all of these amazing things, you've done amazing things — things I can't even fathom — and yet you keep going above and beyond," before you could finish your words, Bucky tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, and you move. Legs walking, mind filing through memories, to the comfortable, organised mess of the living room.

When you come back, standing behind your husband, you clip the strands of hair that have been bothering him back with two tiny butterfly clips, one pink, the other green. He makes no protest, only smiling down at his work, already understanding and thankful when he heard the little snap.

You kiss his head again, in the space between the clips and stay there a little longer. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, massaging your thumbs into the muscle and to the base of his neck.

"You're amazing. I dunno how I could keep up."

He makes a noise, humorous, slightly dismissive. "You don't need to keep up. Don't need to do anything," leaning his head back to your chest, he sighs again. "I fell for you the way you are. Beautiful, talented, funny, witty in a way I have always been kinda jealous of, and so terrifying sometimes, even I get nervous at parent teacher conferences."

You scoff, running your hands down to drape across his chest.

"I'm not that scary—"

"Oh, you are," he leans to the side and kisses your forearm, lingering his lips for a few seconds, rubbing the soft skin and the coarse hairs of his beard across the inside of your arm, before pressing another kiss and mumbling into you. "I remember years ago when you ripped Tony a new one. Dunno what, somethin' about a mission being sent out too early bein' dangerous. God, I remember walkin' in and I don't think I blinked,"

A laugh rumbled through your chest, pushing at the back of Bucky's head. He pauses for a moment, holding up the black and gold cushioned paw in his left hand. The plates whir as if smiling at his work.

"That was when I knew I wanted to marry you."

"Sap," You press another kiss to his scalp, and another, then another. "If I'm remembering correctly, cause Tony just loves to piss me off, we weren't even together at that time."

Shaking his head, you can feel the apples of his cheeks fill with a smile. "Nope. Had it all planned out from there on out. Even Steve could tell I was whipped after we left the room."

You tut, straightening up. "And it took you like, what, three years to actually ask me out?"

Before he could retort, already stuttering on an answer, pushing his glasses atop his head, hands curled on the edge of the table. You walk with a bounce in your step back towards the doorway.

"Okay, you've got about an hour or so til pick up so, it might be best to get that leg on. Meanwhile, I've got laundry to do and dinner to start."

As your footsteps thump up the stairs, Bucky calls up to you.

"It was a year!"

"If you say so!" You shout back, already passing back into the colourful, warm mess of your daughter's bedroom to stifle through the little clothes on the floor.

After tossing a pink pyjama set, two pairs of dirt stained socks and a pair of cherry red jeans stained green at the knees, his voice calls out again.

"I love you!"

You giggle. Big and bright, staring down at the messy clothes of your child's, stained with inquisitive wonder and whimsy. Pens thrown on the ground next to an opened colouring book, handmade crochet blankets in a box by the bed, pre-loved books on the shelf, fairy lights and garlands draped across corners.

"I know!"

-

Amongst the crowd of parents waiting on their kids — hulking them up and on their hips, taking their little book bags out their tiny hands to help straighten their clothes — Bucky stayed leaning against the far wall.

The sun still dripped down through the clouds, leaving a cool enough breeze to ease off uncomfortable warmth. It nipped up his bare arms, still clad in his 'work' clothes, white shirt still slightly unbuttoned and sleeves still rolled up, and Dusty stayed tucked inside of the pocket in his pants, covered by his hands.

Kids laughed, squealed at times whenever their parent would pick them up or bounce them, maybe even swing them from between the two. He stayed indifferent, watching the double doors swing open to a new wave of tiny heads, watching the teachers he's come to trust (reluctantly) wave enthusiastically or high-five if the kid asked for such. He stifled a growing smile as one child missed twice.

It wasn't until the sound of quick footsteps pitter-pattered against the asphalt his attention turned and was completely swallowed by the small shooting star about to plummet straight into him.

Brown hair tied into two low braids waved behind her as her little body came running the wavering crowd. Adorned in patchwork dungarees, a stripy shirt and little red boots Nat had gotten her for her last birthday because 'kids can be badasses too'.

"Daddy!" She giggled as she ran, smile so wide it looked like it hurt.

Dropping down to one knee, he just about caught the little cannonball of energy as she leapt into his arms. Little hands around his neck, feet barely touching the ground. The force of her impact made Bucky topple back into the wall with a groan, laughing into her hair as they both squeezed.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, muffled into the the crook of her shoulder, easing and patting the back of her head. "Geez, you've got a lot of energy, you had a good day?"

"Uh-huh! I found some caterpillars during recess, they were all fuzzy and climbing up a tree and I was their protector! Other kids kept tryin' to poke at them but me and some friends guarded them!"

"That's nice, Win." Bucky groaned as he pushed himself, and an energetic five year old, and her backpack up from the wall. Easing her to sit on his hip, she dangled her legs excitedly, grasping into the front of his shirt.

"And we got to play heads up seven up, but don't tell but I looked at their shoes whenever they got me so I won extra reading time, but i didn't do it all of the time! I only did it once in a while so I didn't look sus… suspi—shuss."

"It's 'suspicious', sweetpea, 'sus-pi-shush', and did Auntie Nat teach you that?"

Winnie shakes her head, still smiling, braids whipping to and fro. "Uncle Sam!"

His brows lower in defeat. "Of course he did."

Pebbles crunch beneath the soles of his dress shoes, bumping Winnie up higher on his side, she hums.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Is Dusty okay at the hospital?" She fiddles at the collar of his shirt, voice low as she asks.

"Oh, yeah. Hey, you just reminded me, I gotta… got a little surprise for you." he places her back to the ground, following her down to squat in front of her. Rummaging through his pocket, he kept one hand on her bicep to keep her close.

"A surprise?"

Once out, bucky holds out the old dog in his hands, elbows to his knees, cupping around his floppy torso carefully. At this angle, both Dusty and Bucky adorn the arms, and little Winnie watches bright-eyed as Bucky moved his fingers with a whir under Dusty's to greet with a little wave.

"You match!" She gasps before her dad could explain. "Daddy, you and Dusty match!"

He chuckles, "yeah, we do, don't we?" Holding the teddy up, he points out the new leg, nodding and playing along. "Took a little while, but he's good as new. Missed you terribly while you were out here — conning your way into more reading time," he murmurs under his breath as Winnie takes her companion from his hand to smother him in the tightest hug. "Wouldn't stop askin' for you after the procedure, he wanted to show you ASAP."

"He looks exactly just like you, daddy!"

He straightens up, taking her hand in his, making a slight face. "Well, I wouldn't say exactly just like me—"

"You both look so cool!" She exclaims, jumping in his hold excitedly, "Dusty has a cool arm like daddy now!"

His head knocks back in a soft flinch. Despite the slight tingle in his sinuses, the soft smile on his lips and the adoring look he glances down at his daughter, he doesn't cry — not yet, at least, he wont allow it. And while he wants to ask if she really means it, if his arm really is cool, if she did rip it off Dusty to be like him, if she really did love him, adore him, like you said she does; instead he keeps smiling and guiding her back to the car with his chest full of something akin to the cloudy, cotton feeling he got when he held her for the first time.

And he really did match Dusty.

"C'mon, Pea," he clears his throat, trying to hide the bundles of emotion, golden and honey thick in his chest. "Momma's probably wondering where we are."

With one last skip, she giggles, holding the dog up to her face. "Thank you for making him better, daddy."

Comically, his eyes twitch and his bottom lip just about juts out into a pout. Inhaling, exhaling, grounding himself — trying to, at least — he squeezes the little hand in his own once.

"Of course, baby."

And she squeezes back. Once around his hand, small yet mighty, and another around his heart.

-

"Momma!"

The door's barely open before the loud rapt of Winnie comes bounding over.

"In here!" You reply, voice echoing from the kitchen, stirring the pot one last time and easing the flame low on the stove.

"Ah-ah," Bucky tuts, clicking his fingers, whistling once, catching her just in the nick of time. "Shoes off and bag at the door, you know what momma's like."

With a dramatic groan — wonder where she gets that from — she copies Bucky. Toeing off her boots clumsily, before plopping her butt down on the floor to impatiently untangle the knots you had tied that morning, ultimately letting her dad pull them off her feet and place them neatly on the shoe rack.

As Bucky slipped off the last shoe, Winnie made a run for it.

"Momma!" She calls again. Bounding down the hallway, socked feet thumping off the floor. As he follows behind, Bucky wonders how such a small being can make so much noise.

"Hey, babygirl!" you beam, listening to the excited racket thud closer and closer, propping a lid on top of the pan.

A blow hits your legs, catching your breath as you laugh at her dramatics. Stroking the frizzy hairs down from her plaits.

"C'mere," you beckon, pulling her up for a hug, air constricting and tight as it might be, you reciprocate with wiggling from side to side and groaning with playful aggression. You believe you could photosynthesise on her giggles alone. "What did you get up to today, anything fun? Make friends? Change the world?"

"Look, look, look!"

Plastic beading rattles as she holds Dusty up in front of her for you to behold, pressing her little mouth to his head, copying the wave Dusty had greeted her with.

With a gasp, you wobble her happily. "Oh my goodness, Dusty's back!"

"His arm, momma, look at his arm!" She exclaims, kicking her legs happily.

"He had the best surgeon looking out for him, baby," glancing up at your husband's simper, you kiss her forehead. "Doesn't it look great?"

"It's amazing!"

Jumping her up a couple times on your hip, you hum. "Yeah? Did you thank daddy?"

Nodding her head with a beam, a smile bucky can only compare to yours with the way rooms seem to brighten when shown, she pulls her hands up for him to hold her next. "Thank you, daddy!"

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, holding her without a complaint, "you said that fifteen times in the car already, Pea."

The room settles easily, with the quiet simmer of food bubbling and stove searing, birds whistling in the garden and traffic humming, it's familiar and easy, and it's home.

It isn't long until Winnie's restless little body squirms in Bucky's arms, and he sets her free with a quiet 'go on', sprinting back up to her room with a chorus of high pitched giggles.

Propping himself against the worksurface, arms crossed over his chest, head on the cabinets, Bucky sighs. It's a sigh of ease, contentment. The kind he would let out once the streets filled with the orange of lampposts, and he got home to find you, warm and sleepy, tucked in bed as he stripped himself of button ups and tailored suits, and swapped it out with a bare chest and sweatpants — the sigh would only come once his arms wrapped around you and his nose buried into your hair.

A smile creeps on your lips, moving to take a place next to him.

"You know, apparently she cheated at heads up seven up today. For extra reading time. But only did it enough times not to look 'suspicious'." He squints his eyes, following the word with quotation marks.

Sucking in a breath, you click your tongue against the backs of your teeth. "Ooh, don't tell me," you whisper, patting a finger on your chin in thought. "Nat?"

He shakes his head, tight lipped, "Sam."

"So we're crossing him off the babysitting list."

"Hm, I think he's doin' it on purpose," he hums, tipping his chin up, moving his hands down to find the small of your back. "Keep him on, he's doing the next gig."

Pulling you closer until you stand between his open legs. He holds your hips, rubbing small circles through your pants, holding eye contact.

"I meant what I said today." You murmur, keeping your eyes on his, holding authority. To which Bucky loses with great pleasure, sneaking glances to your lips.

"I know."

"You're amazing," you mumble again, basking in the tiny looks he holds to your mouth, how he licks his own lips and the soft, humming feeling of his thumbs making patterns, and his fingers changing position to subtly bring you closer.

"I mean it. Truly," You rest your hands on his shoulders, squeezing, careful around the soft tissue that bumps around his left. "I love you. We both do. So, so much."

Your eyes hold his, and this time he doesn't sneak away, and he doesn't try to hide with a bashful look or a glimpse at your lips, right there. Though his eyes redden at the edges, the whites of his eyes glisten off the stovetop light, and you can just about see your reflection pool inside of his pupils.

"I know." He replies, quieter than the last, and he finally leans the rest of the way and kisses you. Because it hits, not like a blow but a final blossom. He does know, and he thinks he has known this whole time. From the moment the nurse placed a whaling, sticky, tiny thing in his arms and his body tightened and loosened all at once, his lungs stuttering, and mouth instinctively formed the awkward whispers of 'you're alright, I got you, I know, it must be so cold'.

It's just only now, in the soft warmth of a kitchen, being used and not feeling like mere decoration with takeout in the fridge, the love of his life in front of him, pecking at his lips until laughter gets in the way and dinner sizzles from next to them. With a daughter, who loves to guard critters and create extravagant blanket forts, who reads to her bears and kisses them goodnight, one by one. Who ripped off her favourite teddy's left arm so he can be 'just exactly like daddy' — he's finally let himself realise just how adored he really is.

taglist: @devililithh @buck-star @buckyfmd @nikkitabarnes @miraclediviner @barnes-babydoll @kqtholins @wint3rbarnes @swimmingnightcolor @ilovestizzy @chronic-fangirl-222 @ornateglass @bucklesby-barnes @avgdestitute @demiebarnes @sunkissedspell @stanmarvelous @castielscaplan @ladymiseryy @phoenix-in-writing @layaflores @wherewinterblooms @sunday-bug @buckybunni @filthgf @angelryex @megsavengersslut @sassandscribbles @amidnightwish21 @goobers-mcgee @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelryex @iloveotters101 @venigrantrogers

marvel taglist: @colettebarnes @marvel--obsessed @pughsbelova @quantumbarnes @my-drvidess

seb taglist: @slutdier @clover1004 @colettebarnes @metal-armed-muse @68ep @herejustforbuckybarnes @quantumbarnes @buckysdecaflove @erina00 @onyx8514

“No! We should go. I’m sorry for interrupting.” You hiccupped, nervously staring at your hands.  Sorry…uh...sometimes my brain is slower than my mouth!” You exclaimed, springing to your feet. Ready to go for a sprint.

Bucky grinned wolfishly. His voice was a little rougher when he said, “That so? We never met, and you still came to my rescue. How did you know I was bored to death?”

“She was joking,” Nia jumped in. You were staring at Bucky, and she feared you’d end up being his next meal if you looked at him for a little longer. “We are leaving. Sorry for the trouble.”

Your friend tried to drag you away, but two bulky guys blocked your path. “She stays,” Bucky said, leaving you trembling. “A woman saving me from a boring life deserves a reward."

Nia froze at Bucky’s commanding tone. “Excuse me?” She managed to say. “She will come with me.”

Bucky laughed at the way Nia protected you. “You’re a cocky one, I see.” He gave a curt nod, and the men stepped aside.

You still didn’t dare to breathe wrong. This man was staring you down after your mishap, and you didn’t know how to talk yourself out of the situation.

“Let’s go,” Nia said, but you remained rooted to the spot. Bucky’s gaze was still on you, and his eyes told you not to move an inch.

“You look like you're planning an escape route.” He joked, his mouth curving upward. “Maybe I should call security back. What do you say?”

“Maybe I’m planning to escape,” you admitted. “I just ruined your wedding ceremony, and you look like someone hiding a gun in their pants.”

He laughed, following your eyes. You were shamelessly staring at his crotch, and he couldn’t hide the glint in his eyes.

“There she is. I feared we lost here.”

You blinked. “What?”

“The cocky woman who told me I could do better.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He recalled your words and hummed. “You’re the only person who told me the truth about the bride and this wedding.”

“That wasn't honesty; it was more like random thoughts escaping my mouth without permission."

“That wasn’t an accident nor random. You wanted to save me from an awful, boring marriage. You’re my savior.”

Nia crossed her arms, trying to look tough. She hid the chill running down her spine when looking at Bucky. “Sir, she apologized. Can we pretend this never happened? Y/N can be impulsive; sometimes she speaks before she thinks. We love her for it.”

Bucky ignored her completely. He set his eyes on you and wouldn’t back down now. How could he? He stopped the ceremony for another woman.

“What did you mean?”

You really didn’t know. “I was thinking you looked stunning in that suit. My brain short-circuited, and then I said what I said. No offense. You looked like you wanted to swallow glass before marrying that woman.”

“That so?” He cocked his head, searching your face.

“Fine!” You said, throwing your hands up. “You looked miserable. A handsome man like you should look happy on his wedding day, not like someone twisted your balls.

Bucky laughed. “No one twisted my balls, doll. No one would dare try.”

“You looked like you wanted to be somewhere else. I know that feeling. Sometimes you must do things that make you miserable. Your wedding shouldn’t be one of these things,” you murmured. “I’d understand if the bride looked miserable. Her dress was a mess.”

“Y/N, don’t.” Nia winced. She was wringing her hands, silently praying to get out of the church alive.

“She’s flashy but pretty. Maybe you’re more into…uh…men?”

“Wow,” Bucky said.

“What?”

“No one's ever said that to me before.”

“Really?”

“Not to my face.”

You giggled. “So…is it true?”

Bucky laughed. “No.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. I have a cute cousin. He’d be your type,” you said.

“I already found someone who’s my type,” he replied, earning a disappointed whine from you.

Nia looked between the two of you suspiciously. “Oh no.” She muttered under her breath.

“What?” You asked, looking at her.

“He likes you...”

You worked at Hydra Enterprises and you were the CEO's personal assistant. You're recovering from a recent cyber attack on the company, but you weren't given too many specifics on why you were targeted, or what the result was. Your boss has kept quiet to most employees, even you. 

All you knew what that someone targeted Hydra Enterprises, large sums of money were lost, account information was leaked, clients and investors bailed, and it was bad. 

"I just finished re-confirming all of Mr. Rumlow's appointments for next week." 

"Sounds fun."

 "You know it. I'll catch you next week. Have a good weekend," you waved and grabbed a handful of files to bring down to accounting.

Mr. Rumlow had left a few hours ago for a meeting with his lawyer, and his parting instructions to you were to help accounting with re-entering information into the new system since they were short on staff from the mass firings he did since the attack. 

You thought he was being a little paranoid but understood seeing as how you lost a huge chunk of money and business. He assured you he was on top of it and had wanted you to schedule as many meetings as possible so he could assure the investors all was well and secure as ever. 

The job was easy enough and he paid you a metric ton of overtime in cash to do it, so you didn't mind. You huffed out a breath as you watched everyone else leave for the night, going home to their families and lives while you made your way to the drab accounting floor. 

Whatever. You didn't mind working late since you were kind of a loner with the few friends you had. Growing up in the foster system was hard enough, being shuffled from family to family took its toll, but you somehow survived.

You got to your temporary desk and started inputting data and figures, making sure to set your alarm so you were done at 9pm. You're pretty sure you were the only one in the building seeing as how what remained of the accounting team left an hour ago, but you didn't mind. 

You somehow always got more work done in a quiet place rather than a bustling office. You often worked late and alone regardless of this issue, and you knew the building was safe because of all the security passes and codes you were made to memorize, enter, and swipe since your boss was paranoid well before the attack. 

You thought it was overkill, but Mr. Rumlow insisted. Finger ID, facial recognition, hand scanners, and regular old key fobs were the norm you just dealt with but almost understood seeing as how there were a lot of files he had on his investors, he needed to keep secure, until they weren't. 

You're certain Mr. Rumlow outed the cyber company in charge of your company files and data and had them go bankrupt from their lack of privacy, so you're now working with a new one.

Your alarm broke your concentration and snapped you out of your work. You took your phone and tapped the screen to stop the noise, stretching and yawning from the day's work. "Alright, alright, I'm going home," you muttered. You took your files and filed them into the completed cabinets and went to grab your purse but grumbled to yourself. 

"Of course I forgot it," you sighed. 

Your mind was like a sieve sometimes. You left your purse in your desk outside of Mr. Rumlow's office. 

"Ugh," you turned off the computer and headed back up to your regular floor.

The elevator doors opened revealing your floor, so you stepped off and made your way down the hall. The office was eerily dark, with a few blinking lights from the computer equipment as the blinds were all closed. It was unusual for all the blinds to be closed, but the cleaning crew was supposed to come through, so you figured they were the ones to close them. You walked towards your desk, bent down and opened the drawer, and got your purse when you heard a loud crash and some muffled shuffling. 

"What the?" 

You took a few steps towards your boss' office and opened the door since you saw there was a light coming from the room. 

"Hello? Mr. Rumlow?" 

You walked into the office, and your hands flew to your mouth in shock at what you saw, so you let out a scream.

---

"I'm only asking you one last time, where are the containers?" 

Steve Rogers held Brock Rumlow by the collar. He was bent over his desk and struggling, flailing his arms. 

"Fuck you and fuck the Barnes mafia," Rumlow spat in Steve's face. 

Steve rolled his eyes and managed to wipe his face letting go of Brock's shirt, violently shoving him aside. Sam Wilson stepped in and landed a punch to Brock's jaw making his head jerk back with force. 

Brock Rumlow's right hand man Jasper Sitwell lay on the floor next to his desk bleeding out. Steve made sure to get to him first since he's well known as a slippery rat.

James Barnes has had enough of Brock Rumlow creeping in on his territory. The odd arms deal or drug deal he could tolerate, but with the news of him trafficking women on his turf, James had enough and sent his men to dispose of Rumlow once and for all. 

Rumlow's mob wasn't nearly as powerful as the Barnes mafia, but he had done some shady dealings and when word got out, he was trafficking women, some underage, that made James see red. He had to put a stop to it and fast plus by taking over Brock's fledgling mob, it will help James grow his connections to the piers. Something Rumlow controlled.

The cyber attack James ordered to take out Rumlow's company only stalled him, so James decided enough was enough, so his main men were paying one final visit to him once and for all.

Rumlow struggled to get his balance righted since Steve took out one of his kneecaps already. 

"This is your last chance. Tell us where the containers are." Sam glared at Brock. 

Brock was bent over and leaning against his desk, struggling to breathe. He looked around his office and snorted. He knew he was done for; he just wanted to prolong the inevitable. Steve rolled his eyes and took out his gun from his holster, cocking it as he raised it up to aim at him, waiting for a reply. 

Just as Brock was going to speak, Sitwell stirred making both Steve and Sam look towards him. 

"Warehouse, by the docks. Pier 57," then he slumped over, and his eyes rolled in the back of his head. 

"Fuckin' rat," Brock muttered. 

Their info matched what Sitwell said. Sam smiled at Steve who turned and in one quick motion, fired a bullet in-between Brock's eyes making him immediately slump down at his desk.

Then they heard a scream.

---

You saw the dark-skinned man's eyes shoot towards the one who fired the gun, and they both looked at each other. 

"I thought you said the office was clear!" The shooter growled. 

"I did. No one was here when we scanned it earlier." The shooter put his gun away then they both looked at you standing in the doorway to the office. 

You were holding your mouth in shock, legs trembling at the bloody scene in front of you. The two large heavily tatted men seemed to stare at you while also panicking.

You saw Jasper Sitwell, Brock's lawyer lying in a pool of what was probably his own blood, then you looked towards your boss' desk and saw him slumped over it with a bullet hole in his forehead, eyes glazed over and blank. Your heart was racing. 

"Oh my god! I have-I-I have to call someone," but you were frozen on the spot. 

Your brain was racing a mile a minute with what to do. 

"Woah woah, now," the dark-skinned man took a few steps towards you. 

You managed to unfreeze yourself from the doorway. 

"Back away..." Your voice trembled. 

You looked around you and all there was to grab was your desk phone, so you yanked it from the outlet and held it up. Both men smirked at you. 

"What are you gonna do with that sweetheart?" The shooter calmly asked. 

"I-I..." 

He was right. What the hell were you going to do with an office phone? Chuck it at him? He's got a gun and probably a bunch of other weapons you idiot.

"Put it down," he calmly held out his hands. 

You were going to drop it and run, but you heard footsteps behind you. You were trapped. The dark-skinned man took out his phone and was calling someone. You shook where you stood, breathing heavily. 

"Come on now, nice and easy. We aren't going to hurt ya," The shooter took a step towards you. 

You heard the dark skin man talking to someone on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, we need a clean up crew. Rumlow's office." Then he hung up. "What are we going to do with her?" he asked the shooter. 

The shooter looked around and he sighed. 

"Let's bring her with us. The boss will want to see for himself. Probably has questions and she may be of use to him." 

You shook while listening to them.

"Wh-where am I going?" 

Both men looked at you and smiled.

 "To see the boss." 

You trembled. "Who's that?" 

The shooter smirked. "You'll see. I'm Steve and that's Sam." 

Sam gave you a slight nod as he stepped towards you. 

"You gonna take that phone with you as a parting gift sweets?" 

You looked down at the grey office phone you still held, then dropped it. 

"I'm not going anywhere with you." You stood tall. 

No way were these guys taking you anywhere. 

"Oh, but you are. You're coming with us." 

"You think it's a good idea?" Sam asked. 

"Don't care. She wasn't on our list tonight and we can't let her leave with what she saw, she'll go to the cops. Buck will probably want to question her." 

"Then what?"

 Steve shrugged. 

"Not our concern what he does with her after he gets his information." 

Sam huffed at his cryptic reply, and the two men proceeded to leave Brock's office. Sam grabbed your arm tight and walked you to the elevator. You were ushered into a large blacked out SUV; Sam and Steve sat on either side of you while you weaved through the darkened city streets.

"So, what are you?" 

Sam looked over at Steve, seeming unsure of what to tell you. 

"All you need to know right now is, your boss wasn't a good man, and his company is being taken over." Sam shrugged his shoulder making you snort. 

"Like you two are any better..." You grumbled. These two men were some shady people, especially the shooter. 

"We did what we were ordered to do. We took out a problem, plain and simple," Steve added. 

"So, someone told you to do...all that?" 

You couldn't say the word murder; you were still processing everything you saw. 

"Something like that," Steve smirked. 

The SUV finally turned off the main road and was in front of a gate that surrounded what looked like a large compound with armed guards patrolling the perimeter. The security team waved you in as the heavy ornate iron gates closed behind you. 

The drive was impressive with its tree-lined path, bright lighting, and large working fountain that sat in the middle of the driveway.

You came to a stop outside a large sprawling two-storey mansion, and you had to close your mouth in awe. You've seen places like this, but only on TV, or in those fancy overpriced home and architecture magazines at the grocery store. 

"Woah," you breathed out. 

"Come along then." 

Sam got out of the car and ushered you inside, with Steve following. 

"Word of advice don't piss off the big guy in charge," Sam whispered. 

Just as you blurted out the word "Who?", you heard determined footsteps walk down a marble tiled hallway before you could ask anything else. 

The foyer of the mansion was impressive as you looked around. 

"Who the hell is this?" Came the deep voice that belonged to the man now standing in front of you.

Your mouth popped open in shock as the man pulled out a black handgun from his side holster and pointed it at you. 

The metal of the gun matched his intricate dark hand and knuckle tattoos. 

"What the hell?" 

You shook in terror, rooted in place that there was a gun being pointed at you. You were beginning to feel like everyone had a gun they were all too happy to show off. Steve stepped in front of you and held his arms up in surrender. 

"Easy Buck. She's Rumlow's assistant."

"I don't give a shit if she's his fuck toy, what the hell is she doing here inside my home?" 

You were taken aback by his brash comment. No way in hell did you ever harbour any sort of romantic feelings for Brock. Sure, he was nice to look at, but you were his assistant, nothing more. Every interaction between you two had always been professional and respectful considering what you had recently learned of your former boss. Never once had your thoughts strayed to being romantic. 

"Ugh, rude," you blurted out. 

You saw Sam slap his forehead and wince at your comment. 

"What was that?" The trigger-happy man cocked his gun at you. 

"Easy Buck. She may have information and company access seeing as she worked directly with Rumlow everyday. She can help with the transition, computer logins, contracts, and files." Steve tried calming down the man and it may have worked. 

The man stood glaring at you, but he eventually put his gun down and held it at his side.

The man known as 'Buck' stood tall in his perfectly tailored all black suit with the top button of his crisp white shirt unbuttoned. His dark hair was slicked back, and his blue eyes were laser focused on you. 

He scanned you from head to toe then he turned to Sam, placing his gun back in his side holster. 

"You had cleared the floor before you got there, right?" 

You saw Sam take a gulp and nod. 

This 'Buck' nodded and thought about it.

 "No one was there when we entered." Sam whispered. 

Steve shuffled a little but still stood almost blocking you, seeming to know what was about to come. 

 "So, explain her then," he pointed back at you and Sam looked at Steve for help. 

Steve stood still like a statue and watched. Clearly, he wasn't getting involved. 

"Well, we..." Just as Sam went to speak, 'Buck' leaned in and punched his jaw making Sam take a few steps back. 

"What the hell Bucky?" Steve groaned. 

Bucky turned back to Steve and glared at him. 

"You assholes had one job tonight. Take out Sitwell and Rumlow." 

"We did." Sam winced and rubbed his jaw. Bucky snorted. 

"Then why did you pick up a fucking stray?" Bucky pointed at you. 

Sam and Steve looked at each other. 

"She witnessed everything. We didn't know what to do with her since she wasn't on our list," they admitted. 

"How about kill her too?" Bucky spat at them. 

They looked at you, then back at 'Buck'. 

You still shook and trembled at what your fate was. Were you going to die in this mafia guy's foyer? Probably...but what a beautiful foyer it was. It was late and even though you were exhausted, you were on high alert. 

These men killed two people you knew and worked with everyday. Two people who were into some shady shit where the fucking mafia was involved but still. Your whole world was a lie, and you were confused and scared.

Bucky rubbed his eyes with his fingers but stopped and looked at you. You shuffled nervously under his intense gaze. 

His eyes looked you over from top to bottom like he was memorizing a fine piece of art. It should have felt uncomfortable, but for some reason, it turned you on and you wanted to punch yourself for having those thoughts on what you had just been through. 

"Take her to the guest wing. Have Clint watch her tonight. I'll deal with this shit tomorrow." he grumbled then added, "I'm going to the club." 

He looked between Sam and Steve then to you, then he left the foyer and got into a waiting SUV outside to take him to the 'club'.

"Well, that went well." Steve clapped his hands together making Sam snort. 

You looked around, still in a daze. The hell was all that?

"Come along then." 

Steve walked you up a large set of stairs towards one of the many rooms that lined the hallway. 

"Wh-what's going to happen to me?" you asked. 

Steve didn't reply. He showed you to a bedroom and gestured you inside. There was a large bed, chair, window with a built-in bench seat, closet, and what looked to be an ensuite. 

"Clint will keep guard of your room. You're not to leave until you're told to. Bulletproof windows are locked, and security surrounds us 24/7 so you can't escape even if you tried as they're trained to shoot without asking questions. The only one to override the perimeter guards is Bucky, and he's not here. I'll see about getting some food sent up to you when you're settled." Steve gave you a small smile then he left. You heard the door close then the audible 'click' locking you inside.

"Great." You muttered. 

You explored the room and tried looking for ways to escape, but there was no use. You looked out the window and saw the armed guards that patrolled the grounds, the bulletproof glass showed a wonky reflection around the edges, and a man named Clint was supposedly stationed outside your room like a hawk watching its prey. It was no use, you were trapped. 

You looked down at your clothes and sighed. Your dusty black pants and rumpled blue blouse would have to do. 

"Guess I'm living in this for the foreseeable future." 

You sat at the end of the bed and waited. That Steve guy said he was going to drop off some food, but who knows how quick he'll be and what you'll even get. When he did, you were going to ask him for a change of clothes because why not?

You sat and thought about Brock, to see if you missed any warning signs of his alternative life and for the life of you, you couldn't come up with anything. Jasper Sitwell came in and had his weekly meetings but a lawyer meeting with a CEO wasn't unusual. Brock was always respectful towards you considering you just found out he was trafficking women in his spare time. Ew. Guess you didn't meet his 'requirements' you shuddered to yourself. 

Looking back on it now, the extra security codes and passes you had to memorize kind of made sense. 

You scheduled his meetings, transportation, dinners, events, and anything else he needed whenever he asked. You couldn't figure out how he had an entire (and highly illegal) secret life he kept hidden from you, but he did. 

What else was he hiding? 

You thought about the company and it's divisions and couldn't think of anything off the top of your head. You started worrying if you would be held accountable for their deaths or questioned by law enforcement. Would they believe you were innocent? You had scheduled his meetings all over the place and dealt with his personal finances, would they know you had no knowledge of this part of his life? 

There was no way you were going to jail for being a part of something you had no idea existed, especially for a piece of garbage scum like Brock.

A knock sounded on the door snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts and Steve walked in carrying a tray. 

"Here's some food." 

He placed it on the end of the bed. You looked at the sandwich, bag of chips, apple, and bottled water. He walked towards the door, but you stopped him. 

"Wait, are there any clothes I can have? I only have what I'm wearing..." you asked. 

Steve sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. 

"I'll see what I can come up with." He gave you a lame smile and left. 

An hour later, Steve came by with a bag of clothes for you. There were sweatpants, a few shirts, a random pair of flip flops, and shorts all too big for you, but you didn't care. You had no idea where he got any of it from, but you were grateful for a change. 

"Thanks." He took the empty tray from you and left, leaving you alone for the rest of the night, or should you say morning since it was already well past midnight.

🔫👨🏻

You didn't sleep much so the following morning you were awake and ready for whatever greeted you. After a quick shower, you chose a pair of black sweatpants and an oversize grey t-shirt from the bag Steve gave you. 

Your old clothes from the day before were folded and placed on a chair. You made the bed and tidied up the room for something to do when you heard the lock on your door click, then it opened, and a man you probably thought was Clint, stood there watching you. 

He motioned with his head to follow him, so you did and followed him down the long hallway, nerves on high alert. He brought you to a large, darkened office. 

"Sit." Clint gestured to a leather tufted chair that sat in front of an ornate desk. 

You passed a large cream coloured sectional sofa that faced a cozy looking fireplace with bookcases surrounding it. You looked around and noticed there was someone who was sitting in front of you in the shadows of the room. 

It was Bucky. He was glaring at Clint, and you. He wore his usual all black suit and scowl. He seemed completely put together, not a hair out of place or shirt creased or rumpled and was fresh like he got a solid 10 hours of sleep. Damn him. 

You cringed thinking you must look like a gremlin compared to him.

Someone brought a tray of food and plunked it on the desk. 

"Eat." Clint pointed to the tray and walked to the door to leave. 

You watched him leave when Sam and Steve walked in after him. They both were holding what looked to be breakfast wraps. 

"What are my clothes doing on her?" Bucky asked out loud. 

You looked down and your face turned red. You were wearing Bucky's clothes! Your head snapped up to Steve since he was the one who brought you the bag of clothes and he shrugged like it was no big deal you were wearing the mafia leaders' clothes. 

You wanted to melt away since flinging yourself out of the bullet proof windows wasn't an option. 

Sam looked at Steve with amusement in his eyes. 

"Needed something else to change into." Steve replied with a mouthful of wrap. 

"This isn't a fucking shopping mall. She should be dead yet you two are playing fucking dress up with her." Bucky glared at you making your insides shrivel. 

Steve flopped down on the chair that was next to you while Sam stretched out on the sofa. 

"Well, she's not, she's here and you should use her however you need to." Steve shrugged. 

Your face paled and you looked over at Bucky in pure fear who sighed and rubbed his fingers on his brow. 

"Not like that...we don't do that here." He whispered. 

Oh. Thank God. A mafia leader with a conscious. Lovely. 

You pushed your sarcastic thoughts aside and nibbled at your food.

Bucky typed on a laptop then he turned the screen towards you that had your company login page set up. 

"Login," was all he said.

 "How did...?" You blurted out but he only smirked back. 

"Ok..." You took the laptop and remotely logged into the company with your information. 

"Wh-what are you looking for?" 

Bucky rolled his eyes and took the laptop from you and started scrolling on it. Your login was linked to Mr. Rumlow's since you needed unlimited access to his information. Meetings, contacts, real estate, clients, it was all there as Bucky perused it. 

"Financials?" 

You hesitated to respond to Bucky. 

"There's another login for that. I don't think you can find..."

 Bucky typed again, and the banking system magically appeared. 

Again, you had access to it since you used the company cards a lot for Brock when he went out and needed to reconcile them. 

"I don't know what else I can give you" you said after logging into the site. 

You watched as Bucky took the laptop and started looking at it. 

"Wait, the cyber attack. That was you?" 

No one said anything but the looks that passed between the men said everything you needed to know.

Bucky scrolled his way around, but he stopped, frowning at the screen. 

"Who is this?" 

Bucky turned the monitor and pointed to a meeting scheduled for that night in the calendar. All it said was 'Pierce' and a time of 7pm. 

"Oh, just one of Mr. Rumlow's newest advisors. I've never met him though."

 You saw the look that passed between the men. According to some employee's gossip, Pierce had moved away to try to start a sister company somewhere in Europe, but was unsuccessful, so he returned. That was the story you were given but who knows what's real after what has transpired in the past 12 hours. Brock was also interested in partnering with him outside of his work, but you weren't sure what he did or how that partnership would look but you now had a better idea of what that would be. 

"Why?" 

Bucky was still scrolling, and Steve cleared his throat. 

"He's part of the trafficking too but we don't know how."

Bucky stopped and glared at Steve. "What? She knows..." 

"Too much." Bucky interrupted and looked at you, then went back to his computer.

"Are you going to that meeting with Pierce?" Sam asked from the couch. 

"More than likely." Bucky replied. 

You looked between the men. 

"She coming too?" Sam asked. 

Bucky didn't say anything, but he looked at Steve who you saw give him a slight nod. 

"We'll see. Take her back, I don't need her anymore." 

Bucky kept his eyes focused on the screen. You scowled at him and wanted to say something sassy, but you held your tongue. 

"Let's go." Sam got up from the couch and nodded towards the door with you following. 

You didn't notice Bucky's eyes move from the laptop to follow you when you left the room.

🔫👨🏻

"She's proving to be a valuable asset." Steve took out his knife and studied the blade in the dim light. 

Bucky grumbled something but kept scrolling. 

"With her access, we can take the rest of this shit down and take over the piers like we had planned." 

"She doesn't know anything about this life..." Bucky growled.

 "True, but she knows Rumlow's contacts, meetings, what his coming and goings were and company information. We may be closer to figuring out who his buyers are by using her. She doesn't have to know ALL the details, only what she knows now, and we can piece it altogether ourselves. I can tell you already found something with her logins." 

Steve played with his knife while Bucky shrugged and looked at his screen. 

Of course he found information. Contacts and addresses of the scum involved. He had Parker remote into his laptop and was working on it as they sat there. 

He paid Peter Parker a fuck ton of money to have the very best surveillance, and access to cameras, microphones, and any tech gear he needed. If something wasn't out they needed, Parker could make it himself. Bucky will more than likely have his men branch off and eliminate the buyers within 24-hours with confirmation from his tech team.

Sam walked back into the office and sat in the seat you were just in. 

"Buck here still wants to off his pretty house guest after he gets the info he needs from her." 

Bucky glared at his second in command. 

"Cool, cool, so when do you want to do that?" Sam asked. 

"We can take her out back at the gun range and shoot her execution style. Drown her in the pool? Slip some poison in her food? I'm sure Loki can come up with something more creative if you want..." Sam shrugged. 

"For fuck sakes Sam!" Bucky yelled. 

"Having second thoughts?" 

"Shut up!" 

Bucky scrolled through his computer. 

"Can we focus here? I'm having Parker trace some of these accounts and holding companies. In the meantime, I need to get her to come with me to the meeting with this Pierce person. No one knows Sitwell and Rumlow are dead or that I'm taking over." 

"Pierce know who you are?" 

"Who cares but he will soon." 

"You gotta get her some clothes Buck. She can't go to that dinner wearing your clothes." 

Bucky glared at Steve. He knows that. He didn't want to admit seeing you in his clothes stirred some things in him. 

"Get her whatever." Bucky waved to Steve. 

Steve looked at Sam who smirked. 

"Now, get the fuck out of here I'm done lookin' at you." Bucky sighed and typed away on his laptop.

🔫👨🏻

"What is all this?" You asked as Sam and Steve dropped off garment bags and boxes of clothes and shoes along with a full bag from Sephora. 

"Bossman says you're staying here until we no longer need you. Thought it be best to give you some clothes of your own." They both looked at you.

  No longer needed me. You gulped. 

"Did you go shopping for me?" 

You could have sworn both men blushed but all they did was shrug and leave, locking you in with your guard hawk on the other side.

"Fuckers." You mumbled and went to look at the clothes.

"Woah." You unzipped the garment bags and dug through them. Designer dresses, shirts, pants, shoes, and fancy accessories were strewn across your bed while you went through the pieces and held them up to examine. 

"How did they know my size?" You shuddered to think how. 

You carefully hung the clothes and put them away in the closet. The way you looked at it, if you were given clothes and the longer you helped them, they couldn't kill you. You had no idea how you could help them, but you were going to try since that meant staying alive. No way you going to die because of your deceased sketchy as hell boss. 

You shuddered thinking you were part of all this in someway but then you started to panic to your thoughts from the previous night. What if the authorities arrest you for aiding Brock? Your mind started whirling on the possibilities when a knock sounded at the door. 

It opened and you peeked your head out of the closet to see who it was.

"Be ready for 6pm. Dinner with Pierce. You're my new executive assistant. Congratulations on the promotion." Bucky stood in the doorframe of the bedroom. 

Was that a joke?

You were confused and shocked he was there and didn't send one of his goons to tell you this information and wondered why. He glanced at the pile of clothes on the bed and rolled his eyes. 

"Clean up that mess while you're at it. This isn't a pig sty." Then he turned to leave, with Clint locking the door after it shut.

🔫👨🏻

Bucky wandered the estate and came to the kitchen where he found Steve and Sam. 

"What the hell did you both do?" 

"What?" Sam looked over at him. 

"I said a few clothes, not the entire god damn store." 

Steve chuckled at his boss. 

"Who knows how long you plan on keeping her Buck. She's a chick and chicks need things." Steve shrugged. 

"How did you get her sizes?" 

"Had Loki break into her apartment and go through her things after Parker ran the background check on her. He said she's kind of a hermit; only ever had one overdue library book with a late fee she paid immediately. Minimal friends, no family, solid executive assistant too. Loki noticed some things and told us. He probably took some of her stuff for himself, you know how tricky Loki is." Steve shrugged and handed Bucky the file on you. 

Bucky snatched it, glaring at Sam and Steve before leaving to head to his office to learn all about his new assistant.

🔫👨🏻

"ClEaN uP tHaT MeSs." You mocked while hanging the rest of your new things. "Pompous asshole. Joke's on him, I wasn't even done." You muttered. 

The bed was now clear, and your new clothes were put away, not because he told you to, but because you wanted to. You still had Bucky's clothes, and you made sure to keep those separate, preferring to sleep and lounge in them since there wasn't anything comfortable in your new wardrobe. 

Do men still think women prance around in lingerie when they're at home alone? 

Ugh, men.

Bucky wouldn't mind though...not that he would find out what you sleep in... 

He would probably want that in a partner; someone to wear slinky lingerie for him and sit on his lap whenever he demanded it. Did he have a partner? Wife? A situationship? He seems single as do the other guys then you scolded yourself for thinking about their personal lives. You didn't want to befriend them if you were only a temporary situation.

You were grateful you had new clothes but were a little weirded out they had your exact measurements. While you were thinking about it, you were a lot weirded out since you were wondering who went shopping for your bras and underwear? 

Weird. 

The few times you've been out of your room, all you've seen are dudes, not a woman in sight. 

You had no idea how you could help seeing as how Pierce was new to Brock, but you will try your best if it means surviving.

🔫👨🏻

"We haven't got all night. Where is she?" Bucky grumbled. 

He stood waiting in the foyer with Sam and Steve on either side of him. Just as Sam was going to come and get you, you appeared on the staircase in front of Clint and walked down to meet them. Steve nudged Sam and they both looked up at you. 

Bucky looked to see what his men were watching at and he turned, looking at the stairs seeing you descend them. Bucky forced himself to look away and not watch your legs in those heels descend the staircase. 

He glanced at Sam and Steve who were gawking and he cleared his throat, glaring at his men who quicky averted their eyes from their unexpected house guest.

🔫👨🏻

Don't trip, don't trip, don't trip you thought while you descended the stairs. You wore heels and a black cocktail dress for this dinner meeting. Knowing where it was, you had to class yourself up for it, grateful you had a bag of goodies from Sephora. Your stomach was in knots with this dinner. You had no idea why you were going but you figured it was because of what you knew about Brock, but you were glad to get out of the mansion. 

"About time." Bucky mumbled. 

You glared at him and shrugged. Bucky's jaw ticked before he turned and took off out the door to the waiting SUV.

🔫👨🏻

You sat in the blacked-out SUV and fiddled with your fingers while you were driven to the restaurant. 

"Stop fidgeting." Came the deep voice of Bucky. He was on his phone and didn't look up from it. 

"I'm not." You boldly snarked back. You made a show of spreading your hands out on your thighs so he could see them. 

Damn, it was hard not to fiddle with your fingers, another habit you did when you were nervous.

He needed you for this meeting more than you needed him so you felt you could give him sass right back.

He looked over from his phone and grunted, then returned to it. 

Lovely. 

The SUV made its way into the city. 

"So, what are you having to eat?" You broke the awkward silence. 

Bucky didn't answer your question. You tended to ramble if you were nervous. 

"I'm torn between the steak or chicken myself, but I saw they had a cod dish people online have raved about." 

James sighed and whispered 'Jesus Christ' to himself before he shoved his phone in his suit jacket pocket, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. 

"What? You don't peruse restaurant menus online before visiting?" You gave him a side eye. 

"I don't have to." Came his reply. "Wait, where did you look at the menu? You don't have a phone." 

"I KNOW. Steve lent me his phone so I could plan my meal. i like to be prepared." 

"Of course he did." James sighed, leaning back against the head rest. 

"Well then Mr. Scary Fancypants. You're going to look like a dork when you can't figure out what you're going to have and we're all waiting for you to decide."

 "I think I can manage just fine." James snapped at you. 

You went to reply, but he held his hand up and said, "We're almost there so I need quiet to concentrate if you please." 

"Fine then." You huffed. 

You fiddled with your dress, not noticing the way James' eyes scanned your exposed legs and thighs.

James' jaw ticked at seeing the fabric rise, exposing your upper bare thighs when you moved. A part of his brain urged him to place his hand on your thigh and feel how warm and soft it was, but he held himself back. 

You were his hostage and when he was done with the information you could give him, well, he would have you eliminated. There was no room in his life for a fling with the informant, regardless of how pretty he thinks you are or how convenient it would be with your room down the hall from his own. 

He made a mental note to visit his club after this dinner. 

He was about to tell you to stop fidgeting when the SUV came to a stop outside the restaurant.

🔫👨🏻

Bucky placed his large hand on your lower back, guiding you to the table and a part of you wanted to curl into his warmth and the other part of you wanted to turn around and slap him. 

You made it to a table where an older man sat sipping an amber liquid in a short crystal glass. He looked up and his eyebrows rose, but he quickly composed himself. 

"Yes?" 

Bucky stood towering over the man. 

"Pierce." 

"Am I supposed to know you? Where's Brock?" He looked around for your deceased boss. 

Bucky pulled out your chair and helped you sit. 

"I'm James Barnes. Brock is no longer CEO. I've taken over." Bucky said. 

Pierce's eyes widened and he went to stand, but Bucky flashed his loaded holster in his jacket before he sat, making Pierce swallow and still. 

"Please, stay. I've heard the cod is good here." Bucky picked up the menu and looked it over. 

You had to hide a snort and did the same thing to keep yourself busy.

A waiter came by and Bucky ordered wine for you and water for himself. 

"And, who's this? Your woman?" Pierce pointed to you. 

You made a snort sound and saw Bucky's eyes flash at you before he calmly answered.

"She's here to take notes. You may remember seeing her copied in on emails from Brock since she was his assistant. She's mine now." 

Something about that statement made you fumble when you went to reach your wine glass and were thankful either men didn't notice.

Bucky placed the menu down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. You were handed a small tablet in the SUV, so you took it out and placed it on the table, looking like you were ready to record the meeting. 

"Now, what business do you have with Hydra Enterprises?" Bucky asked. 

Pierce shifted in his chair slightly. 

"I don't have to tell you anything. I answer to Brock..." 

"He's no longer here. I am. As the new CEO, it's my right to meet with all our associates and contractors. I'm sure Brock would agree." 

Pierce looked Bucky up and down but didn't say anything. He must have clued in to what Bucky had said.

The waiter came back to take your orders, so you ordered the chicken while Bucky ordered the cod and Pierce didn't order anything. 

You could tell he wanted to leave as soon as possible. 

"From my understanding, you were recently in Europe? Hydra doesn't have any offices there nor are they going to in the future. What were you really doing over there?" 

Pierce cleared his throat and shrugged at the question. 

The two men seeming to be in a standoff. You sat around and stared at each other. 

This was a pointless waste of time. 

"Um, from what I heard, Mr. Pierce, you were assisting Mr. Rumlow with expanding Hydra Enterprises by forming new divisions. Mr. Rumlow had told me a few weeks ago that your efforts were focused elsewhere and you should focus them here, at the Pier for the new shipping division of Hydra Enterprises." 

God, you felt like an idiot knowing NOW what that new 'shipping division' really is but you managed to stay composed. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow at you while Pierce scowled at you from across the table. 

"You know nothing, silly girl." 

"Watch it Pierce." Bucky growled. 

"From my understanding from being copied in on your last email correspondence, you had wanted to demolish the warehouses only to build new ones in their place. Mr. Rumlow reminded you those warehouses were perfectly fine in his last email. Why would you do that knowing it would cost the company millions and add construction time creating more delays?" You asked. 

The waiter came back and placed your plates down. Bucky slowly turned his head and watched you. 

"And for that matter, why would you insist on the sale be sped up at the site of the new pier, costing more in lawyer fees, building permits, and land transactions when Mr. Rumlow didn't approve of them in the first place? He had given you the money and approved the new build for a separate warehouse, but from what I saw in the last financial statement, no ground has been broken or permits filed, so where are those funds Brock gave you to manage?" 

Pierce was uncomfortable when he said, "This dinner is over. Congratulations on your promotion Barnes. I'm sure we'll see each other again." 

Pierce rose and buttoned his suit jacket. He turned and looked at you and said, "Give my regards to Brock." He smirked, then turned and left. 

Your heart was hammering wildly in your chest. 

The hell? 

Bucky picked up his cutlery and started eating.

 "The cod is good." He said, reaching for his water. 

This was the weirdest dinner you have ever been at. 

"So, that's it?" 

Bucky took a bite of the white fish and placed his cutlery down, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin. 

He looked over at you and said, "Yes." 

Then he proceeded to finish his dinner like nothing happened. 

Ok...

🔫👨🏻

"So, did you find anything new out?" Steve asked Bucky in his office. 

After you finished eating, you headed back to the mansion. You were escorted to your room and locked in with Clint guarding your door. 

Bucky, Sam, and Steve sat in the office. 

"Not really. Pierce seems like he was in on Brock's warehouse storage for the trafficking, but he's not connected directly to it, just for the land sale and new build at the pier. We've found out, he's just an associate. I've got guys trailing him and will inform me if he does anything. He'll be instantly eliminated if he steps out of line. I don't need to be associated to him."

 "How was Y/n?" Sam asked. 

Bucky's eyes darted to Sam. 

"She's fine." 

He didn't want to elaborate any further. He was surprised at your knowledge and the directness of your questions to a man like Pierce. He was pleased you didn't cower and clam up. 

Perhaps you would be useful to him throughout this process.

Steve watched his boss, then he looked over at Sam who was smirking from his chair, but they didn't dare say anything. 

"Cool. Good to know." Sam nodded, pleased with himself for following his gut feeling about you. 

"Well, I'm headed out." Sam rose and Steve followed.

 "I've got eyes on the pier. You may want to check-in with Parker tomorrow and get the blueprints and security logs. According to the documents, a shipment is scheduled in a few days. I'll need you both down there observing." 

"You don't want us to go in and dismantle the operation? I can have a team ready in half an hour." 

"Not yet. I need to learn a little about the people involved first. From the financials Parker found with Y/n's login, there are a lot of investigations to do but Parker and his team is on it. When word gets out soon that Brock and Sitwell have been eliminated, then it's go-time for us." 

"Fair enough." Steve shrugged before they left the office.

Bucky rocked back in his chair and sighed, running a hand over his neck. 

He was in for a long night forgoing his earlier plan to visit his club. He wanted to work on formulating a plan and learn everything he can about his new personal assistant. 

Something tells him, you're going to be his biggest asset, but he's not yet sure how.

"the hell is that?" his book dropped into his lap as he watched you walk back in like you weren't carrying a plate of whatever that was. you shrugged as you sat down next to him and balanced the plate on your lap. "okay, so… the last of the cake we got from the farmers market, string cheese times two, goldfish crackers, and some strawberries." you pointed out each thing, perfectly arranged so none of it would touch and contaminate anything else because god forbid. "girl dinner." you smiled as picked up a strawberry and took a bite, the juices staining the corner of your lips.

he blinked at you once before he looked down as your plate and then back up at you. "girl dinner… that's not—none of that goes together." he thought that he'd seen everything the modern world had to offer at this point, every tiktok, every trend—until this one sneaked up on him in his own living room. "is that even legal?" you snorted as you fed him a cracker, shaking your head. "you lived through the great depression, bucky, you've probably seen worse than this." he just shook his head as he watched you explain it all completely seriously.

"this is like girl math all over again." he was still minorly traumatised by the fact you confidently believed that things were free if you used cash instead of your card or the fact you were actually saving money by buying more things to get free delivery. "eh, not really. this is better than girl math because you get whatever you want for dinner. you should try it sometime, it's not that hard. dinner is just a concept made up society anyway."

he laughed at that, properly laughed as he bumped his shoulder against his. "hey!" you protested, looking utterly offended which was diminished by grin spreading across your face. "it's true! why should we stand around for hours to make something that we're going to eat in like ten minutes, when this does exactly the same thing, y'know?" he nodded solemnly like you'd just handed him state secrets instead of an opinion. "you say the same thing about matcha." you rolled your eyes as you shuffled closer, worming your way under his blanket and curling yourself against his side. "matcha is different. matcha tastes like grass and i'm convinced that it's some kind of brainwash of the masses thing. no offence." you were guilty of having opinions on a lot of things—one of the things he loved the most about you— but matcha was high up on that list because it made no sense at all.

"none taken." he huffed as he snaked his arm around you shoulders, metal hand rubbing circles against your shoulder as you carried on eating. "you do have a point, though. it's like blended up grass that people pay for the privilege of. what's wrong with a normal cup of coffee, huh? kids these days. but…" he reached over and plucked the plate from your hands despite your protests, setting it down on the coffee table.

"i can think of something else i'd rather have for dinner, for the record." he lay you down against the couch, hands warm against your sides as they slipped under your t-shirt. a whine left the back of your throat as your back arched up off the couch as you tried to chase his touch—heat already brewing between you thighs. "not fair…" you breathed softly as his fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down slowly. he pressed a kiss just above your navel, using his nose to nudge your t-shirt up. "who said anything about fair? life's not fair." he murmured against your skin as his kisses trailed lower and lower until he reached the waistband of you underwear, pulling back just enough to look up at you.

you were wrecked already, an effect that only he'd ever managed to have on you. he put his hands on you and suddenly your brain turned to mush and you'd never had a cohesive thought in your life, and you were okay with that. your hands flew out on instinct, fingers curling around his hair and tugging as your underwear joined your shorts somewhere on the floor. "bucky…" you whined as he nudged your legs apart with his shoulders as he settled between them. "just trying to see my girl, look at her. so wet for me already, you're so easy sometimes."

your hips jumped up as dived in, his tongue flattening against your clit as his way of easing you in before he really started, circling and sucking and teasing as you turned into a trembling mess underneath him, hands still tugging at his hair. the way your thighs tremble around his head feels like a reward, paired with the moans and whines spilling from you freely. it's almost like a game for him, seeing how much he can pull from you. "fuck—you can't—oh god, don't stop, please…" you were vaguely aware of the words that were spewing out from you as his hands come up to your hips, vibranium cool against overheated skin as he pinned you down to try and stop the squirming.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his chin already dripping with your slick as a grin spread across his face. "you want me to stop, baby? you gotta use your words for that, c'mon. you're a big girl, or have you gone all shy on me?" he cooed as one hand slipped down from you hip, brushing past your thigh. "poor baby, dumb already. look at you." his words snapped something inside of you, the last of your restraint crumbling as your hips bucked wildly and he stopped trying to hold them down.

"please. please, fuck—i—" you whimpered as he slipped a finger inside, crooking it just right but it wasn't enough. it was never enough. you needed the stretch, needed to be fuller. "more. you need—i need more." you pleaded, and who was he to deny you? he slipped another finger inside, moving them rhythmically as he hit that spot that had you seeing stars as you repeated his name over and over again like a prayer. you rutted against his hand shamelessly as you chased the friction—anything to get you over the edge.

when you did reach it, it felt like a live wire running straight through you.

every muscle in your body seized up as it burst like dam, your climax washing over you as you saw nothing but white for a couple of seconds as you lost yourself in the pleasure. it tore through you in waves and for a minute, you thought it was never gonna end. "that's it, baby. that's it. you did so well. look at how good you were for me. good girl." he murmured as he guided you through it, sitting back on his heels as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. everything softened as he looked down at you underneath him, panting and writhing—your skin flushed from exertion. "hey, look at me." he reached down and tipped your chin up until your eyes found his. "you good?"

You were sitting with Maggie on a bench near the gates as Daryl walked over. Maggie was pretty much your only main source of 'girl talk' in Alexandria.

The two of you had been friends since the farm. You helped her figure out what to do with Glenn, and she helped you paint your nails.

"So what are you going to do about him?" Maggie gestured to Spencer, who was helping his mother as she talked to Rick.

Daryl froze and hid behind a corner when he heard Maggie's voice talking about a him.

What the hell does that mean? Was there a him in your life that he somehow missed?

"I don't know." Your voice drew out the last syllable. "He's cute, I guess!" Maggie laughed at your apprehension.

"You guess? Look at him, he's got a great smile!" Maggie was fully and completely in love with Glenn, but nobody could deny that Spencer had decent looks.

Daryl had no idea who you were talking about. But you had just called this guy cute.

"I haven't even talked to him! What if he doesn't like all this?" You had zero intention of changing yourself, but after no romantic flings or dates since the start, a nervous pit formed in your stomach.

Daryl frowned at your words. What was not to like?

Sure, you had very specific taste, and you liked to play dumb. Daryl thought it was adorable how unique you were. He'd love to be the one you're calling cute right now.

Any man who gave you a hard time was an asshole in Daryl's mind. Because looking past your pink surface and loud voice, you had a kind heart. Always giving people the benefit of the doubt when everyone else knew damn well that they didn't deserve it.

It had been a long time since Daryl had any romance either. Probably longer than you. But that didn't change the fact that he was completely lost in the love department. Half of the time, he felt like a damn pervert the way he thought about you.

You were just so sweet, so effortlessly teasing him when you'd do little things like brush up against him, get all up in his space to fix something with his clothes.

He thought about those moments a lot.

"But what about other options?" Maggie hinted.

You put down the mascara that you were using, meeting Maggie's wide eyes and smirk.

"No, I'm not talking about him either!" You squeaked.

Leaning in, she smirked at you knowingly. "Ohhh, you mean the man you've been stalking for like 2 years?" She teased you a little louder than you would have liked.

"Stalking?! Please, staring is not stalking!" You and Maggie fell into a fit of laughter.

Daryl clenched his fists as he listened in. Two damn years?

Whoever this lucky asshole was, he hadn't even noticed or acted on it.

Hell, Daryl considers it a good day when you flash him that pretty smile of yours, lips coated in a thick layer of sparkly gloss.

"Besides, I practically throw myself at him, but he doesn't even blink." You thought about all the times you'd shown up at Daryl's door, dressed in your most revealing little dress, or with a fresh new pick-up line that only earned you a quick 'shut up'.

"I should just show up at his door wearin' nothin' but my damn heels and see his reaction." Again, the two of you fell into a loud fit of giggles like a pair of schoolgirls.

"I think you'd break him."

Daryl's face turned a bright red at the thought. Although he could never admit it to anyone, Daryl thought about you often. He thought about kissing you all the damn time. His thoughts always wandered when he was busy with something, focused on how soft your perfumed skin would be against his.

Whatever man you were crushing on had to be dumb as rocks not to give you a date.

You threw your arms around Maggie and said your goodbyes before she left to go on a run, leaving you to walk back to your place alone.

Daryl took that moment to approach. He inhaled a deep breath to expel some nervous jitters. Before he could reach you, a voice called out to you.

His jaw ticked in anger. One moment.

Could he not have one moment alone with you?

Spencer jogged over to you with a wide smile. He practically towered over you, strides matching your own as he walked with you.

Daryl huffed and walked behind the two of you. His house sat right next to yours, so he had no option but to either push past you and Spencer or listen in.

Daryl chose the latter.

"Y'know, there's just something about you that the other people don't have here." Spencer looked down at you as you walked with him. You missed the way his gaze was drifting down your body, specifically towards your chest.

You were always wearing outfits that emphasized what you were working with. A trait of yours that carried on even at the end of the world.

Daryl rolled his eyes at Spencer's obvious ulterior motives. Sure, Daryl stole a glance every now and then, but that was once he had grown to know you!

"Oh? And what is that?" You gave Spencer a friendly smile. You thought of how Daryl had called you unique and special many times; it became a routine.

Daryl knew you were special, and he helped you keep that shine.

"Well, for starters, this little number." Spencer gestured to the dress you had on. "You look good in pink, by the way. Can't say that about everyone here." You ignored the backhanded insult that came at the end of his compliment, completely focusing on the dress.

Daryl was damn near seething, glaring at Spencer's back like he had just murdered someone.

"It's so pretty, right? Daryl got it for me!" You swished the fabric in your hands with a fond smile.

Spencer's bright white smile fell slightly in frustration. "Uh- yeah. That's nice of him." Spencer knew he'd have to kick it up a notch if he wanted to get you away from Daryl. "Why do you wear pretty little things like this anyway?"

Daryl felt offended for you. That was just how you were, what you liked. Who was Spencer to question that?

"Makes me feel normal. And gives me a hobby, too! Whenever I'm out with Daryl, we always stop by little boutiques, and he lets me shop for like an hour!" You spoke excitedly, eyes drifting off to the side in thought.

Your shoulder brushed against Spencer's absentmindedly, making Spencer smile and wrap an arm around you. Daryl bit his lip so hard that he was sure that blood had formed.

That was supposed to be him. He was supposed to be wrapping an arm around you, showering you in compliments.

He was supposed to be the one that made your eyes light up. But instead, Spencer's hands were on you, right where Daryl's should be.

Spencer had walked you back to your house without you even realizing.

"Thank you for walking with me! I enjoyed our little talk!" Your smile faltered a little when you looked up at him, feeling a little exposed under his intense eyes.

It felt a little intense for a friendly conversation, you thought. Maybe he just had a really intense stare, who were you to judge?

"You just look for me whenever you need someone to talk to, sweetheart. I'll be here." Spencer held your hand in his as he spoke.

"Oh, okay!" You cringed at your own squeakiness, your awkward habits pushing through the moment a man spoke with you about a topic that wasn't fashion or Daryl.

Standing a stair below you on your porch, Spencer pressed a kiss to your hand, his eyes glancing up at you.

There was something there that made you second-guess whether Spencer walked you home with neighborly intent.

If there was ever a moment where Daryl felt anger take over, it was now. He was sure that steam was coming out of his ears the moment Spencer's lips came down to kiss your hand like he was some kind of Prince Charming.

Without thought, Daryl decided to step in. "Hey, you said you needed help with somethin' earlier?" Daryl interrupted Spencer's kiss on your hand unceremoniously. His gruff voice quickly cut through Spencer's.

It was actually true, he had offered to help you with fixing the kitchen sink earlier.

You immediately pounced on his offer, especially given the fact that Spencer was too close for your own liking.

Not a big deal; he probably didn't mean anything by it!

But it was a lot all at once. Too much.

"Yes! Yes! The sink wasn't working earlier, come in! I'm so so sorry, Spencer, I have to go!" You yanked Daryl's hand and pulled him up the stairs, leaving him awkwardly stumbling inside.

"I'll see you later?" Spencer spoke with an unabashed hope in his voice. A tone that went straight over your head.

"Yes! I'll come by your place after Daryl helps me out, 'kay?" You tossed Spencer a flashy smile, making Daryl's stomach churn in disgust. A smile could mean interest; it could be the opportunity for something to occur.

Daryl's jaw ticked at the sight. It made him feel sick to think that you'd go to his house and spend time with him.

"She's busy, man." He couldn't stop himself. When Spencer finally acknowledged Daryl's presence, he had a scowl on his chiseled face. Somewhere inside, Daryl felt damn proud of ruining Spencer's chance.

Daryl gently wrapped his hand around your wrist. While you were profusely apologizing to Spencer, even though the asshole didn't deserve it, Daryl pulled you inside and shut the door.

"Shoulda' told him ya' won't be able to see him," Daryl mumbled, strolling over to the sink to see what was wrong with it.

"He's just getting to know me! That isn't a crime!" You corrected him.

"He's just a physical guy; he shows his affection." You hid a little hint in that statement, but Daryl was like a stone wall as usual.

"That's about all he does." Daryl snorted as he crouched to look underneath the sink, glancing at the pipes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You furrowed your brows.

"Means he's not what you're lookin' for," Daryl grunted as he tried to find the fix.

"Right, 'cause you know what I need? You know the kind of man I'm looking for?" You leaned against the counter, tits stretching the fabric of your dress.

Daryl damn near died when he looked up at you from the sink.

In his head, he was screaming, "Yes! If you'd just look my way!" but in reality all he could give you in response was a shrug.

"Besides, the guy I really like won't even look my way. I try and try, but he acts like we're just friends. He doesn't even realize when I throw myself at him." You sat on the counter, legs dangling just inches from the cabinet that Daryl was under.

Daryl couldn't contain the sick feeling in his stomach hearing you talk about another man.

"He got a name?" Daryl was already making plans to beat the guy to a pulp for being such an asshole to you. He could stare at you for hours, hell, he probably has.

And this asshole won't even look your way?

"Like I'd tell you!" You kicked his thigh teasingly with your heel, snorting at the way he flinched against your touch.

Daryl's ears and face were bright red at this point. He was praying that you weren't able to see his face as he was under the sink.

Your eyes wandered over Daryl's lower half while he worked on your sink, feeling a bit guilty about the perverse nature of the situation.

His shirt had come up while he was working, showing off the slightest bit of hair at the base of his stomach and seemingly travelling downward. You had to practically stop yourself from drooling at the sight.

It was agonizing for you, sitting here on the counter listening to his delicious grunts as he used his arm strength to tighten valves and whatever else you'd find under a sink.

Daryl, however, was also struggling to keep his emotions at bay. You were right there, he could smell your perfume as you sat above him, swinging those pretty legs without a care in the world.

You bent down to kneel in between his legs as he worked on the sink, placing your hands firmly on his knees. "Do you need anything, honey? You're helping me, the least I can do is get you a drink or something?"

Daryl glanced up at you with widened eyes. "Uh-" He cleared his throat. This had to be some kind of dream, right?

"You called me honey." His brain was stuck on the word you called him, definitely storing that memory for later when he was alone with his hand.

Daryl had one leg straightened and one knee propped up. You leaned against his propped-up knee, cheek resting against the worn denim.

It was taking everything in him not to let all the blood rush down to his cock at the sight of you. Your dress had ridden up, now almost completely settled at your hips.

"You don't like that name?" You pouted at him.

God, if only. He thought. Daryl liked it a little too much.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

The sun was well in the sky by the time you had graced Daryl with your presence.

He took a long drag from his cigarette when you came over to sit with him, like you usually did. "Took ya' long enough."

"Excuse you, a girl needs her beauty sleep! This look doesn't come easy!" You did a little model pose for him, mostly as a joke, but fuck did he take a long look at the way your hips swayed in that dress that just barely reached your upper thigh.

"Shallow." He smirked at your wide-mouthed gasp.

"Dumbass." You stuck your tongue out at him as you propped yourself against the railing of his porch. Daryl could hardly believe the view in front of him. You looked like a damn angel.

He suddenly remembered why he asked you to come over.

"Fixed it for ya'." He pulled a necklace out of his pocket, untangling the strands that knotted as he hastily shoved it into his pocket this morning. He approached you, standing next to you as you leaned over the railing.

The pink pendant that sat on the necklace had fallen off a few days ago, and you were practically in tears about it. Daryl offered to fix it for you, despite having no fucking clue about jewelry.

He'd research the damn thing if it meant keeping you near him.

Your gasp was real this time as you rushed over to take it from his calloused hands. "It's perfect! How did you do it?" You held it up and felt a rush of warmth spread over your cheeks.

He even polished it for you, the metal and pendant now offering a gorgeous sheen that made you giddy.

"Just some pliers. No big deal." He was actually the first person to notice it had fallen off. Mostly because it was always there, teasing him and dipping down in between your breasts when you bent over or moved the right way.

He'd stare at it for hours if he could.

"Can you help me put it on?" You placed the necklace back in his hand and turned around, your ass so close to brushing against his front.

Daryl's ears blushed bright pink, swallowing thickly as his eyes fought against his brain. Don't look, just put the necklace on and don't look.

You were so incredibly close. He could just lean forward and you'd be right where he needed you.

"I thought I said you could come to me for anything! I can definitely handle a necklace, sweetheart." Spencer's voice broke Daryl's focus of your body nearly on his. A jealous glare bore into Spencer's face as he approached.

You didn't even process what the proximity looked like, just completely in the moment. "Daryl fixed it for me! I figured he could also put it on!"

Daryl's fingers fumbled with the clasp, clearly struggling. But your sweet perfume in his senses didn't help his nerves, or the way his hands were sweating.

"Could I talk to you alone?" Spencer's face turned soft this time, head tilted to the side like a curious puppy.

Oh he's good. Daryl thought.

But you just shrugged, a sweet, oblivious smile on your face. "We can talk here! Daryl doesn't mind, do you, Daryl?" You glanced back at him out of the corner of your eye. You noticed the pink that covered his face.

Maybe he wasn't a fan of Spencer after all, and his face was giving that fact away. You thought.

"Nah." Daryl mumbled in a way that was purely unique to him.

Of course he cared. If he had it his way, Spencer would have a bolt in his leg for even walking up to you.

"Fuck it." Spencer scoffed at the ridiculously oblivious situation. "I got all the stuff for a picnic, and it's a beautiful day out. What do ya' say we go on a little lunch date?"

Daryl's face dropped. Would you really go out with this asshole?

Before you could speak, Spencer continued. "You could wear that pretty little dress. I might even have snagged you a little something from that boutique I know you like."

Jaw firmly clenched, Daryl felt like he was going to be sick. That was his thing with you.

He took you to stores, grabbed things you liked. He got to see you gush over him and hug him tightly.

And this goddamn loser thought he could take over. But the worst part was that you hadn't said anything.

Not a fucking thing.

You were deep in the feeling of the warmth of Daryl's front nearly pressed against your back, his rough hands taking such care in being gentle with you. You had forgotten to even reply to Spencer because in your mind it was a no-brainer.

The necklace was finally clasped, and your brows furrowed as it dropped abruptly into place around your neck.

"Uh- I don't-"

You didn't even have time to turn around before Daryl's door slammed shut. He had stormed inside.

Spencer smirked at Daryl's little outburst. "Guess he couldn't take the heat." Your eyes narrowed at him, shaking your head incredulously.

"I'm not interested, Spencer. And next time, don't be an asshole about it."

While you were outside, Daryl was pacing his living room, his breathing shallow and quick. Spencer forced him to just sit and watch while he took you right up from under him.

Daryl thought about what was going to come next. He'd see you out with Spencer, manicured nails and soft hands holding Spencer's as you two walked together.

He'd get to hold you close to him while you wore that cute frilly pajama set that Daryl had only had the privilege of seeing once when you woke him up to capture a spider that wandered into your house. He'd get to wake up to see you every morning with a sleepy, hazy look on your face.

Spencer would get to see you in all the close, intimate ways that Daryl dreamed of.

You stormed inside before Spencer even had time to throw a response at you, slamming it behind you with a force that made Daryl jump.

"Daryl, what was that?" You stood in front of him with your hands on your hips.

He couldn't even look at you. He couldn't even keep control of his emotions at this point, purely acting on rage and impulse.

"Any asshole gives ya' compliments n' you're just gonna go all dumb and give him what he wants?" Daryl's voice was broken as he spoke, weaker than he wished it was.

It just hurt so much. He thought you were above men like Spencer. At least, he hoped you were.

"Excuse me?" You narrowed your eyes at him. Sure, you could be an airhead sometimes, but Daryl was overselling it by a mile.

"You're gettin' ready for your date now, right? Puttin' on that dress for your new man! Guess you don't need me around anymore, got what ya' wanted?" Daryl pointed a finger at you accusingly.

"Actually, I-" He cut you off. Speaking with anger and venom was one thing. Interrupting was something different entirely.

"Thought you were in love with that other man you've been talking about so much. Why don't you go see him too?" Daryl was falling apart in front of you; words he didn't mean were slipping out without care.

"Oh my god, will you just shut up?!" You shouted at him, fists clenching at the way he finally inched away from you.

"I turned him down. He's gone."

Daryl's expression softened a little. Still guarded and hurt, but this time a layer of regret brushed over his features. "Why?"

You took a deep breath, shaking your head as if to shake off the negativity. "I don't want him." Daryl just stared at you in confusion, the stupid look on his face making you laugh sadly.

"I like someone else. Were you even listening to me earlier?" The cute pout on Daryl's face melted your anger away. He could be an asshole sometimes, but part of that was him jumping to conclusions.

Despite his stubborn nature, you still wanted to jump his bones.

"Who?" Daryl figured it'd be best to rip off the bandage now, get all the heartbreak over with right now so he could get over you. Not that he'd ever truly get you out of his head.

"You really are a dumbass." You giggled at him softly. The sound made Daryl's heart jump.

But what you said next practically made his heart stop completely.

"I like you. Have for years. If you weren't eavesdropping on Maggie and me, you would have never-"

Daryl raced over to you in just a few long strides, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was desperate and rough. Hands cupping the sides of your face, his lips moved with yours hungrily.

He'd thank Maggie later.

You pressed into him after a second of shock. The emotional whiplash this man gave you was enough to drive you crazy.

One moment you're screaming at him, the next you're confessing your love, and the very next moment he had his tongue in your mouth.

Between his deep kiss and hands that roamed across your waist, you let out a soft moan. His hands found the sides of your face again as he pulled away to get a good look at you.

Your lips were red now, cheeks just as flushed as his were.

"Thought you were talkin' about someone else." Daryl finally responds, breathy and low. You swiped at the gloss that now adorned his lips after he kissed you so roughly.

"There isn't any other man in our group that would ignore me like you." You thought about the times you would try to get him to break. It always ended in him going silent or you giving up.

"I swear to god I was going to give up and just walk over here with nothin' but my heels and make you finally give in." Another cute giggle left your lips.

Oh god please. Daryl let out a quiet groan at your words.

You'd said it earlier with Maggie, but now that he had you, it hit even harder.

His face read embarrassment. So he was the asshole who didn't give you the time of day when you threw yourself at him. God, he should just go get eaten by walkers now. He thought.

"Was tryin' to be respectful." Daryl's eyes drifted down to your tits out of habit, his mind absolutely in overdrive because you were here. He was holding you; his hands were on you.

Now that you were here, and he was allowed to touch you, he wanted to show you just how much he had to offer you. How much he adored you.

"That was respectful out there?" You recalled how Daryl stared daggers into Spencer and slammed the door shut like a damn teenage girl. He pressed himself against you, arms crossing around you to fully enclose you in his grasp.

Those long, pretty lashes looked up at him, and he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Your manicured nails tapped his chest lightly. "Hellooo? Are you gonna say somethin' or just stare at me?"

Stare. Definitely stare.

"Didn't want any other man touchin' ya'." Daryl confessed in a mumbled slur of words, his eyes meeting yours only for a brief moment. "They don't deserve you." Daryl kissed your jawline, pressing sloppy kisses along your heated skin.

"Yeah? And what do I deserve?" You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck. Daryl smirked at the shiver that ran through you every time he glided his stubble across your smooth skin when he had his mouth on you.

You were so incredibly responsive he was gonna lose his goddamn mind.

"Gonna show ya'." He muttered, lightly nipping at the skin of your neck. That earned him a couple appreciative moans from your lips.

Moans that he was determined to hear again.

While you were focused on his kisses against your neck, you hadn't even realized that his hands had traveled down to your ass until he grabbed an impatient handful in his rough palms.

A giggle left your throat. "Mm, feelin' needy?" With a roll of your hips against his, Daryl let out a shortened grunt. His hands flew to your hips, holding your body in place.

"Says the one who's been wantin' me for years," Daryl spoke with a smirk, his face buried in your neck. You slapped his arm lightly for that comment.

"Stop being mean about it!" A whine left your lips as you struggled to escape his grasp, brushing your leg against his groin. Daryl let out something in between a scoff and a groan. You hated how his rough grip turned you on, heat rushing straight to your core the minute his hands yanked you closer.

Daryl chuckled at your whining. "A sweet thing like you, always hangin' around me." He spoke with a rough tone, one that made you consider just ripping everything off right here and now. "Were you tryin' to get me to break?"

A question that hung in the air for several seconds.

It wasn't like Daryl was complaining about the fact that you wanted to break his resolve. He loved seeing you approach him with a brand new, expensive-looking outfit to show off.

Except now he was rethinking those little 'fashion shows' where you posed in front of him while he worked on his bike. Those moments where you'd ask him to adjust the strap on your dress, purposefully inching a little too close to his crotch.

Fuck he always wanted to just bend you over right across the leather seat of his bike and give you everything. Wanted to slip those straps right off and explore what you looked like underneath all that bright sunshine.

You chewed at your lip nervously, the taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth. "Yes, but only because it was taking so long and eventually it became kinda fun to see what made you react!" Daryl's ears went pink at your answer. And then a delicious thought came across his head.

"Guess it's my turn to see what makes you react," Daryl spoke with a teasing tone, backing you up against a wall.

Holy shit, he's good. You could hardly think straight as his hands fumbled with the multiple straps on your dress.

Daryl pulled away in confusion, eyes drawn to the clasps and straps that kept your dress practically glued to you. He'd come this far, there's no way a pretty little dress would stop him from doing what you've wanted him to do for years, apparently.

With a brief pause to consider his options, Daryl tore the straps and clasps. The plastic and metal clattered onto the floor, alerting you of what he had just done.

The sound earned a gasp from your lips.

"This is a Valentino dress! Could'a just asked me to help you!" You spoke with a pout, one that made Daryl's cock twitch in his pants.

"Found this back in Atlanta." Your voice came out as a pathetic whine. Daryl knew you'd be upset, but he just couldn't tear himself away enough to properly apologize.

Daryl pressed kisses to where the straps had sat on your shoulder, moans replacing complaints that left your mouth. "Sorry." He'd promised himself that he'd look for another one.

Whatever the hell a 'Valentino' dress was.

His hands slipped the dress off of your body, breath hitching at the sight of what you were wearing underneath.

Ever the fan of pink, Daryl expected you to be wearing some kind of pink bra and panties, but this was something else entirely.

His brain practically shut off. You were wearing a light pink lace set.

The last time Daryl saw anyone in a damn matching set was the goddamn mannequins at the mall when the world was still normal.

To say he was obsessed was an understatement. Daryl felt like he didn't even deserve to touch you, to somehow taint your light.

"Wore this scratchy set hopin' you'd touch it so you better not back out now!" You were teasing him. Obviously, if Daryl needed to stop, you would take no issue in that at all.

Daryl didn't need to be told twice. Fuck, the way your breasts were cupped by the lace bra, and how your panties lightly hugged your hips like they were made for you.

The heat pooling in your core made it damn near unbearable to wait for Daryl to gawk at you. "Please-" you whined, the sound only making his cock harder.

Daryl's hand brushed over the bra, admiring how sinfully sweet you looked in it before slipping his fingers behind you to unclasp it, letting it fall down onto the floor with a light thud.

He let out a shaky breath, eyes falling to your breasts without hesitation. His self-restraint had made it this far, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep it up, especially with the way your hands were snaking over his body, wandering south.

When he managed to yank his gaze away from your tits, you were already on him, palming his erection through his jeans.

Daryl hummed, lips forming a smirk while he slipped a finger underneath the waistband of your panties.

"Wasn't done with ya'." Daryl snapped the band against your skin, the little sting only accelerating your need for him. "Hands off."

That last sentence hurt, like actually hurt him to say. Because he'd kill a hundred walkers just to see you like this again, to feel your hands rubbing him through his pants.

If you weren't careful, he'd have cum in his fucking pants.

"But I wanna help you!" Your breathy, whiny voice was driving him insane. He'd have to replace those words with moans if he wanted your stubborn nature to dissolve.

Daryl sank to his knees, his hands wrapping around to pull your clothed cunt inches from his face.

"Are you gonna stop whinin' and let me taste ya'?" Daryl wasn't even looking up at your eyes when he spoke. His gaze was fixed on the way your panties had a prominent wet spot where you needed him.

"Been actin' whiny this whole damn week." Daryl's voice gave off the feeling that he was scolding you, but by the way he dragged your panties down your legs,

He was not entirely upset by your little whines and neediness.

"Teasin' me while another man-" He paused with a scoff, hands rubbing circles into your hips and upper thighs. You were practically shaking with anticipation in his grip. His eyes were on you this time.

Staring into you with a heat that you'd only imagined in the dreams you'd had about him.

"While another man calls you pretty." In one swift move, Daryl lifted your leg over his shoulder, opening your legs wide. He had a perfect view of your cunt, soaking wet for him. You leaned up against the wall, your hands desperate for something to hold onto while he questioned you, inches from where you needed him.

"Ya' gonna let another man call you that?" Daryl's voice was higher this time as he pressed sloppy kisses across your inner thigh, teasing you in a way that made you whimper.

"That's not fair! I didn't know he-" You cut yourself off with a loud gasp as Daryl's tongue was on your cunt, giving you teasing licks.

Guess that was the wrong answer.

He had you pressed against the wall, while he was on his knees, face buried in your cunt. You could feel his grin as his tongue flicked your clit.

"O-Oh," A louder moan slips through your lips this time, your hands sifting through his hair. "Fuck Daryl-"

Daryl groaned into your entrance; the sound of his name on your lips as you moaned made his cock twitch, desperate for some kind of pressure.

He sucked and slipped his tongue into you, making you melt into his touch with loud whimpers and moans. Your hips were bucking into his face, only turning him on more.

He rubbed himself through his pants, one large hand pressed against your back to keep you where he wanted you. The other held to his cock as he desperately thrust into his palm.

"Oh my god," You gasped as you realized what he was doing. "And y-you called me needy!" You felt a little bit of pride, seeing him so desperate he'd fuck his hand with his face eating you out like a man with pure devotion.

Daryl grunted beneath you and smacked your ass in response to your witty comment. With a yelp mixed with a moan, your brain went blank. Your legs were shaking from holding yourself up against the wall.

"Watch it, pretty girl."

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking and running his tongue over your sensitive spot. The way he could make you fall apart this easily made him incredibly proud of himself. You were beyond words, your moans and mumbles of his name now falling out of your mouth effortlessly.

Daryl ate you out enthusiastically, his groans sending powerful vibrations into your cunt. His face was fucking soaked as he fucked you with his tongue.

The sound of his mouth on you, slurping and humming at the taste of you, made you whimper in response. It was like you couldn't focus on anything else while he had one of your legs firmly pressed on his shoulders. Daryl's nose was pressed against your clit, his tongue circling your entrance, your arousal practically dripping onto him with every moment he spent devouring you.

He was a moaning mess into your cunt, his hips desperately humping his own hand, obscene noises leaving the both of you.

"Shit! Don't stop," Your head was thrown back, pressed against the wall as Daryl kept you pressed right on his mouth.

He couldn't. Not when he was the direct cause of your sweet sounds. Not when you were shaking and mindlessly whining his name. God, he just couldn't get enough of you.

With your moans getting higher, more dragged out as he ate you out, tongue teasing your entrance and slipping inside, Daryl could tell you were close by the way your cunt clenched around nothing.

"Oh my god please-" You didn't even know what you were asking for, brain numb in pleasure. "Feels so good," You whined. Daryl hummed against your skin in agreement, bringing a thumb up to rub circles into your cunt, making your back arch to push you impossibly closer to him.

He wanted to pull away, wanted to say words of comfort to get you there faster. But the way you tasted, the way your hips were just helplessly thrusting into his face, he couldn't manage to pull himself away from you.

So he removed his hand from his erection, body burning for release, especially when he'd been listening to your sweet sounds without him ever being inside of you. Taking his hand off of his clothed cock, he rubbed circles into your thigh.

White-hot pleasure began to rush through you as you let out a loud gasp at the feeling of your orgasm. You screamed out a loud moan, one that echoed and filled up the foyer where he had pushed you up against the wall.

Body tense and quivering against him, Daryl watched you with awe while your eyes were rolled back into your head. He rode you through it, slowly rubbing circles on your clit with a finger while his tongue did the rest of the work, sucking and lapping at your juices.

Everything throbbed, felt like it was on fire as your orgasm washed over you, pleasure slowly receding. Once he had worked you through your orgasm, he finally pulled away, hand still rubbing comforting circles on your thigh.

You finally glanced down at him, leg still thrown over his shoulder as your body trembled from the force of your climax and the way he worked you through it.

The look he was giving you made you whimper from the pure need that his face had shone. Daryl had a lazy, boyish smile on his face. His facial hair was soaked, and his hair was a tangled mess from the way you clung to it as a lifeline while he ate you out like a starved man.

"Are you gonna let another man call you pretty?" He asked again, clearer this time. Even though he was literally on his knees for you, your mind went dumb a long time ago.

"No." You shook your head quickly. "No, just you."

Daryl let out a quiet groan at your answer. "Never gonna get tired of hearin' that." He rose from his knees, scooping you up into his arms without a second thought, ignoring your little whine as your sore muscles adjusted.

"You're not bein' fair. You still have all your clothes on." There was that cute little pout again, lip gloss smudged from the way he kissed you earlier.

Daryl obliged your request, slipping off his vest and tank with fluid movements. You had a disheveled look, one that Daryl hadn't ever seen.

Up until now, you always looked put together. Always looked like you just spent about 2 hours in the bathroom doing your makeup.

But now, with your lip gloss smudged to the side of your lips and your mascara messy from your teary eyes. Daryl had never been more attracted to you.

He set you down on the kitchen counter, smirking at the gasp when your ass met with the freezing cold temperature of the counter.

"Ah!" You shivered and shot Daryl your best shot at an evil stare. "Quit bein' an asshole! Got any place warmer than the damn kitchen counter?" You were teasing him, but Daryl had plans to shut that down real fast.

He caged you in, arms placed on either side of you, face inches from yours. "Just ate you out n' yer' gonna call me an asshole?"

Daryl recalled how he had moved your hand away from his obvious bulge earlier. He grasped your hand and placed it on his clothed cock. Your eyes widened at the size of him. Although you couldn't exactly feel his length through his jeans, you could tell he was thick from the way it filled up the space of your empty hand.

"Been holdin' back to make ya' feel good, pretty girl." Daryl rasped.

"That doesn't make this any better. Are you gonna help me down or do you just want me to freeze up here?" You crossed your arms, hiding a smile.

Daryl glanced at you for a moment, taking in your features, making mental notes of places he'd want to worship while you sat helpless and cold in front of him. Finally, he lifted you off of the counter.

Only, he wasn't doing it out of the good of his heart.

"S'okay. I'll warm you up." With that line, Daryl turned you around so that your ass was firmly pressed against him. A large hand pressed against your bare back and gently pushed you down until your front was splayed on the counter.

"Daryl-" You surprised even yourself at the breathy whimper of his name that left your lips. Daryl's head lolled back at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue like that.

He'd do anything to hear that again. He'd throw himself in front of a damn bullet.

"Yer' gonna kill me." He scoffed to himself.

The heat rose between your legs at the sound of his belt unbuckling. You crossed your legs together in a hazy blur of lust, a poor attempt to relieve the arousal coursing through your veins.

Slipping out of the rest of his clothes, Daryl lightly tapped your thigh. "Need ya' to spread these." He watched as your legs trembled while you spread those pretty legs open.

His eyes fell to the heels that were still on your feet. Daryl had purposefully asked you to keep them on. It just drove him insane seeing how you stumbled and shook as he pleasured you, and you struggled to keep your balance.

"You okay?" He peeked over your hips to get a glance at the side of your face as you lay lazily against the counter. "Ready?"

After giving him a weak nod, you pushed your hips against his front. His hands flew to your skin quickly, a grunt leaving his lips. As his fingers ghosted across your heated skin, your face was firmly pressed onto the counter, relaxing as the cool sensation eased your nerves.

Sure, you'd been teasing him like a woman obsessed for months. But now that he was standing over you with his hands kneading your skin, you felt a little shy.

"Ya' look so beautiful," Daryl spoke softly, the tip of his cock pressing into your entrance slowly. His voice faltered slightly as your cunt squeezed around him. "Fuck, so pretty like this-" a quiet sigh escaped him as he tried to keep his composure.

You hissed quietly at the feeling of your pussy stretching around him, taking him inch by inch. Daryl watched the dirty scene, his cock sinking into you, with blown-out pupils and a slack jaw.

"Oh my god Daryl," A whiny moan escaped your lips, your brain too fuzzy, too deep in pleasure to even register it.

But Daryl did. His hips instinctively thrust into you at the sound, fully entranced by your sounds that he just couldn't control himself. By the time he was fully sheathed into you, his resolve was hanging by a thread.

He's wanted this for years. Watched you prance around him, teasing him with what he couldn't have. Only to find out he could have had you whenever he wanted.

Could have had you bent over, with nothing on your mind but his name and the feeling of his dick pushing deep into your soaking cunt.

He moves slowly, pulling out almost all the way, listening to the way your sounds responded to his every move. The tip of his cock is still pressed into you before he thrusts himself back in into you again. You writhed under his grip, tiny gasps and mewls mixed with his groans, filling the room with echoes.

Daryl picks up the pace, motivated by the way you pushed your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

"So perfect for me," Daryl pants, keeping one hand firmly pressed against your hip while the other reaches up to palm your breasts.

He slams his hips into you and you just melt, legs shaking against the kitchen cabinets. Daryl was bigger than you expected, and by the time you had adjusted to his size, you could feel every inch stretching you out.

Small groans left Daryl's lips, jaw clenched tightly, as if he was still holding something back. If you'd have known he'd be this addictive, you'd have just asked him to fuck you years ago.

"Can you say my name again?" Daryl fucking loved to hear it leave your lips. Especially now, hearing how torn apart you were, feeling how your cunt was squeezing and fluttering around him and keeping him buried deep.

No response, just slack-jawed moans and heels softly clacking against the floor as Daryl lifted you slightly to meet every thrust.

"Too fucked out n' dumb already?" He leaned down, his breath brushing your ear as his low voice made you whine.

You nodded, cheek pressed against the counter in a lazy blur. Daryl stopped his movements, ignoring your half-mumbled protests. He wrapped an arm under your torso, pulling you up to press your back firmly against his front, his cock still buried inside you, only so much deeper.

"Mmm, much better isn't it? Get to have you right here, all for myself." Daryl was rambling now, just so obsessed with you.

Daryl's hand found your jaw, holding it firmly. "Get to hear all those little noises ya' make, loud and clear." He thrust up into you now, the force of him fucking you had you grasping the edge of the counter for some kind of stability.

It was so mean, the way he gripped your face in a way that made you feel like he was totally in control of the entire moment.

But the way his cock hit your spot every time, rolling his hips into you hard enough to make you scream out.

"Wanna hear ya' say it, pretty girl," Daryl pants, his voice right next to your ear, the rumble of his deep voice sending vibrations down your spine.

"Oh f-" You started mindlessly rambling, but Daryl stopped you with a harsh string of thrusts into you, making you cry out. "Ah! Daryl please-" Tears began to form in the corners of your eyes, stinging only further pulling you deep into the feeling of his cock, the pleasure he was giving you.

"Christ-" Daryl's voice was broken now, as frantic as his thrusts. Fuck he wished he could record that damn sound.

His grip on your trembling frame was tight, caging you into him as you writhed against his movements.

Any resolve that he's been holding onto was broken now, cast aside the minute his name left your lips for a third time. Daryl let go of your jaw, arms instead wrapping around you to keep you close to him.

The minute his hand left your jaw, your head fell back onto his shoulder, eyes tightly closed to feel everything he was giving you.

Daryl was completely lost now, groans echoing in the nearly empty space in Daryl's apartment. "Ain't ever gonna need anyone else." A gasp left him at the feeling of your cunt fluttering and squeezing around him.

Daryl was so fucking close, but he just had to have you get there first. After seeing you so composed, so put together and pretty; to see you fall apart from his doing would make his whole lifetime.

"Fuck- gonna treat you right." Drunken mumbles left his mouth, his lips pressed against your head as he pressed soft kisses. Nearly contradicting the rough thrusts he was sending up into your core.

"Make you feel so good all the time, pretty girl, oh-" He whimpered as you clenched down around him, making his thrusts stutter as he struggled to keep up the pace.

"You gotta cum for me. Can't hold on much longer." Loud grunts escaped him, rough hands gripping you so tight you thought they'd bruise. The way you squeezed him tightly, clenching with every word that you liked hearing from his mouth.

Especially when he called you pretty girl.

"Want ya' to stay here with me," the confession made your stomach twist in excitement. "Want you to wear those tiny skirts, maybe nothin' underneath." The words fell out of Daryl in a frantic, slurred fashion. God he was so fucking close.

"Oh- gonna look for a store. Get you more of those -ah- sets," Daryl couldn't see the way your eyes lit up at the thought.

"Jus' need you all the damn time. Please." Daryl's stomach tensed as his orgasm hit him suddenly, eyes rolling back with a strained whimper. He shuddered against your body.

Hearing him, feeling the way he shook as he filled you deep inside was all you needed to reach your own high. Your hips jerked against his thrusts, craving anything that he could give you.

It was overwhelming, the way that Daryl continued to thrust into you, fueling your orgasm to make every nerve feel like it was on fire.

Short gasps and whines came out of Daryl's mouth, overstimulation beginning to set in as he fucked you in a dizzy blur.

With breathless, desperate moans of his name over and over, the both of you chased the fading flames of it. Daryl was breathing heavily when he finally released you from his caging grip. He spun you around so that he could see you.

God you looked amazing.

All fucked-out and dizzy. Your mascara had run down your cheeks, from the tears that he had pulled from you.

Daryl scooped you up; and learning his lesson from when you complained about it earlier, he placed you on his couch. Slipping out of your grasp, he came back with some water and a cloth to clean you off.

"Was tellin' the truth. I want you here." Daryl cleaned you up, smiling fondly at the way you whined against his overstimulating touch.

"Were you lying about the matching sets?" You spoke in a hazy, tired voice. Your eyes were closed, drinking the water he gave you like it was the first time in months.

Daryl laughed at your response. "That's all ya' think about?" You lightly slapped his arm.

"I thought it was obvious that I wanna be here! You're my favorite person I've ever met, Daryl. You don't try to stop me from being myself." You opened your eyes, making sure that he knew you were sure about your decision.

"Annnnd you're the only one who takes me on shopping trips! There's no way in hell that I'm lettin' you go." You pulled Daryl onto the couch, snickering at the way he fell into you, arms immediately wrapping around you like you'd leave in a minute.

"I'll get you all the matching sets ya' want." Daryl pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Okay, now you're starting to sound like a sugar daddy. Maybe I need to up my needs. I think I'll also take some makeup since you're offering."

"And I think you need to take a nap." Daryl's eyes felt heavy.

"Fine. But then we leave to get the matching sets." You poke his chest to keep him awake enough to hear you.

"Whatever."

Taglist:

@gglittergoddess | @hagbones | @clussysposts | @eskalotte | @darylstargetpractice | @idkmanimjstired | @berriesandcreampie | @little-mops-booknook | @summergirl37 | @gaiestguyever-to-exist

The Red Room was all you’d ever known.

Even now, sometimes when you close your eyes, you’re back there—concrete walls cold against your spine, harsh fluorescent lights making your shadow look long and thin, a ghost trailing after you. The air always smelled of bleach and gun oil, and the silence was only broken by orders barked in Russian or the shuffle of combat boots on tile. You learned to move without sound, to make yourself smaller. You learned that hope was dangerous.

You’d heard whispers about Natasha Romanoff. Some of the girls called her a traitor, a myth, a name that shouldn’t be spoken. Others clung to her story when the lights went out, as if reciting her name could ward off the nightmares. You never thought you’d meet her. You never thought anyone from the outside would ever come.

You were one of the last. The instructors said that made you special. You knew it only meant you’d seen more disappearances, more empty bunks, more broken girls. Some nights, you pressed your face into your pillow and tried to remember your father’s voice. But it was gone, replaced by the endless litany: obey, perfect, survive.

The day everything changed started like any other. You woke to the shrill whistle, showered in cold water, dressed in black. Drills. Sparring. A new cut on your cheek. The taste of blood and metal. You were just about to disarm your training partner when the alarms began to shriek—a sound so loud, so alien, it made your bones vibrate.

Red lights strobed. The building shook with distant explosions. For a split second, you froze, mind blank, then adrenaline took over and you dove behind a console. Your knees curled to your chest, fists pressed to your mouth to stifle your breathing. All around you, chaos: gunfire, shouts in Russian and English, the acrid tang of smoke.

You heard boots—heavy, purposeful, not the quick, clipped steps of your instructors. You tried to make yourself invisible, but a shadow fell over you. Your heart hammered; you braced for pain, an order, or worse.

Instead, a voice: soft, urgent, achingly familiar. “Hey. You’re safe now. I promise.”

You looked up through the smoke. Red hair, dust-streaked cheeks, eyes that saw right through you but didn’t flinch. Natasha Romanoff—real, not a story.

You tried to shrink away, jaw trembling. “Is this a trick?”

She shook her head, voice breaking just a little. “No tricks. I was you once. I know what it feels like.”

You wanted to believe her. For a moment, you hated her for making you hope. Then something inside you cracked, and the tears came—silent, violent, unstoppable. Natasha didn’t move away. She pulled you into her arms, and you sobbed against her shoulder, shaking so hard you thought you’d shatter. She held you, rubbing your back, whispering in Russian and English, “It’s over. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

“Why would you help me?” you managed, voice raw.

“Because someone helped me. Because you deserve more than this.”

You clung to her—scared, confused, desperate for the warmth she offered. She squeezed your hand, grounding you.

When the gunfire faded and the world went quiet, she led you through the ruined halls, never letting go. SHIELD agents rushed by, some shouting orders, others gently guiding dazed Widows like you. The sunlight outside was blinding, sharp and golden, and for a second, you thought it would burn you. Natasha stood beside you, her hand steady on your shoulder.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she said. “One step at a time.”

The next days blurred together. Doctors poked and prodded, their voices gentle but their questions sharp as scalpels. You flinched at every sudden movement. You slept in a real bed, sheets too soft and clean. Sometimes you woke up gasping, heart pounding, sure you’d be dragged back.

But Natasha was always there: sitting in the corner, sometimes reading, sometimes just watching you. She never rushed you. She never forced you to talk. When you couldn’t meet her eyes, she just squeezed your hand and let you be.

One afternoon, she brought someone else—a tall man with kind blue eyes and a gentle smile. “This is Steve,” Natasha said, like it was the most natural thing in the world for Captain America to sit beside a scared, broken Widow.

Steve nodded. “Hey. I’m really glad you’re safe.” His voice was warm, steadying. You didn’t trust it, but you didn’t flinch away.

Later, Sam Wilson appeared, all easy grins and soft jokes. He made sure you always had a seat at the table, even if you just picked at your food. “You know, you’re the toughest kid I’ve met,” he said one evening, sliding a granola bar across the table. “Survived the Red Room and my cooking? That’s legendary.”

You cracked the barest of smiles.

Bucky Barnes kept his distance at first—a shadow at the door, silent and watchful. But sometimes, he’d sit with you in the quiet, not needing words. You recognized something in his eyes, something you’d glimpsed in the mirror: the long echo of pain.

The first time you all gathered in the Avengers Tower common room, it felt surreal. Natasha patted the spot beside her on the couch. Sam lobbed a snack at you. “Looks like you’re stuck with us, kid.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched upward. “I could do worse.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked as he sprawled back. “Just wait ‘til Stark tries to teach you poker. He cheats.”

Steve grinned, honest and open. “We’re glad you’re here.”

It felt strange, this warmth. Like it might slip through your fingers if you reached for it. Natasha nudged your shoulder. “Survivors take care of each other. You’re family now.”

Something in your chest ached—hope, you realized, raw and new. That night you slept without nightmares. For the first time since you could remember, you believed you might be more than a weapon. You believed, maybe, you could belong.

------------------------------------------------------------

Sunlight poured through the broad windows of the Avengers Compound kitchen, lighting up the polished counters with a soft, familiar glow. Outside, dew still glittered on the grass and the trees shivered in the morning breeze, but inside, the world was a steady rhythm of comfort—your home for years now.

You sat cross-legged on a barstool, hands wrapped around your favorite mug. Chamomile and honey—Natasha’s old trick for stubborn mornings. You could hear the quiet hum of the Compound waking up: the soft thud of feet in the hallway, the low, sleepy voices of people you trusted.

Natasha was already in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, leaning back on the counter as she scrolled absently through her phone. She flashed you a small, knowing smirk. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

You grinned back. “I was up before you, don’t start.”

The fridge opened as Sam rummaged for eggs. “Omelet day,” he announced, holding up a carton. “Spinach and feta for the lucky few who show up early.”

“Don’t let Tony hear you call him lucky,” Clint chimed in as he wandered in, barefoot and still in pajama pants, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “He’ll have a gourmet chef here by noon.”

Wanda floated in next, her hair a halo of red curls, eyes still soft with sleep. She reached for the kettle, murmuring “good morning” and gave you a gentle smile. A moment later, Vision appeared, gliding in with his usual serene composure.

Vision took his seat at the table, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “Sam, I do enjoy observing your breakfast rituals. It’s fascinating how food brings everyone together, even if I don’t partake myself.”

Sam grinned over his shoulder. “Happy to provide the entertainment, Viz.”

Bucky shuffled in last, hoodie sleeves over his hands, nodding at you in that quiet, brotherly way. “You always steal the good mugs,” he grumbled, but there was no bite in his tone.

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Finders keepers.”

Natasha raised her mug. “To routines that don’t involve saving the world before breakfast.”

Clint clinked his glass of orange juice against hers. “Amen to that.”

Wanda nestled next to you, her presence warm and steady. “It’s nice, isn’t it? All of us together. Like this.”

You nodded, letting the hum of easy conversation, the sizzle of eggs, and the ring of laughter wrap around you. The Compound wasn’t just a place to sleep anymore—it was truly home.

As Sam slid a plate in front of you, FRIDAY’s smooth voice filled the kitchen: “Good morning, Avengers. Mission briefing in the conference room in five minutes.”

Everyone groaned in unison.

“Guess playtime’s over,” Clint muttered, but he was already up and stretching.

You took a last bite of omelet, still laughing at something Clint had mumbled under his breath, and slid from your stool as the group began to filter down the hall. Plates and mugs abandoned for later, everyone migrated as a pack—still blinking sleep from their eyes but already falling into mission mode.

The conference room was awash in early sunlight. Steve stood at the head of the table, arms folded across a navy SHIELD hoodie, jeans fitting him like he’d actually relaxed for once. His hair was still damp from a quick shower, and he looked up as the group entered, one of those dazzling, heart-stopping smiles lighting his face when his eyes met yours.

Your stomach did that traitorous flip. You tried to play it cool, but Natasha nudged you as you slid into the seat beside Steve.

“Someone’s eager,” she whispered, smirk in her voice.

You shot her a look. “Shut up.”

Steve caught the exchange and grinned, but didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned in, his voice pitched low just for you as the others settled in. “Sleep okay?”

You shrugged, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Better than usual. The sunrise helps.”

His eyes warmed. “Yeah. It’s peaceful here, isn’t it?”

Clint flopped into a chair across from you, stretching his arms over his head. “So, Cap—are we about to ruin someone’s morning?”

“Depends if they’re holding our files hostage,” Sam quipped, spinning a pen between his fingers.

Steve cleared his throat, all business now. “Alright, listen up. We’ve got intel that a terrorist group has infiltrated the Trident Skytower downtown. They’ve acquired sensitive SHIELD documents. If those get out, it won’t just be our necks on the line.”

He tapped the tablet, blueprints flickering onto the screen.

“The Trident Skytower,” he began, voice steady and clear. “Our intel says the target documents are likely stored on one of the upper secure floors, but we can’t rule out movement on the lower levels. Here’s how we split up.”

He looked around at all of you, his gaze lingering a heartbeat on each face. “Sam, Bucky, and Y/N , you’ll take the upper floors. Your job is to sweep from the top down—find the server room, secure any hostiles, and retrieve the documents if you get there first. Keep your comms open at all times.”

Sam shot you a wink across the table. “Roof squad, huh? You ready to see the city from above?”

Bucky just gave a quiet nod, jaw tight with focus. “We’ll cover you.”

Steve continued, “Clint, Natasha, Bruce, and I will take the ground floor and lower levels. We’ll secure entry points, manage crowd control, and cut off any escape routes.”

Natasha flashed you a quick, reassuring smile, and Clint traced a route on the blueprints with his finger. “We’ll keep things quiet—unless Stark blows something up from the outside.”

That earned a snort from Tony, who was already spinning a pen between his fingers. “I’ll be outside with Vision and Thor, circling the perimeter and taking care of surveillance and anyone who tries to slip through. Don’t worry, Legolas, I’ll keep the fireworks to a minimum.”

Thor grinned, clapping Vision on the shoulder. “I shall keep an eye on Man of Iron, and if there is any thunder required, you know who to call.”

Vision inclined his head. “Tony and I will monitor the building’s electronic security—if anything changes, you’ll know.”

Steve looked around at everyone, making sure each pair felt solid. “We move out in the early evening. Gives us time for a final debrief, quick training, and to prep gear. Everyone clear on their assignments?”

A chorus of “Yeah,” “Got it,” and “Let’s do this” echoed around the room.

FRIDAY’s voice chimed overhead, crisp as ever: “Mission departure is scheduled for 18:00 hours. All teams, please prepare accordingly.”

As the screen flickered off, chairs scraped and everyone stood, the energy in the room shifting from briefing to anticipation. You felt Bucky’s gloved hand press briefly to your shoulder—a wordless promise—and Sam nudged you with his elbow, grinning. “Come on, let’s make sure you can still outshoot Barnes.”

You smirked, the banter settling your nerves. “Please, I could do it in my sleep.”

Natasha caught your eye as she passed, her voice low and soft. “You’ll be great. Just trust yourself.”

Clint slung an arm around Bruce’s shoulder. “Ready to get back in the field, big guy?”

Bruce managed a nervous smile. “As long as you don’t make me angry.”

Tony was already halfway to the lab, calling over his shoulder, “Thor, race you to the armory!”

Thor boomed a laugh. “You’re on, Stark!”

You all filtered out of the conference room in pairs and trios, the hum of excitement and nerves buzzing between you. The halls echoed with familiar footfalls as you headed toward the gym for a quick sparring session—Sam and Bucky trading friendly insults, Natasha and Clint falling into their old rhythm, Bruce quietly stretching out beside them.

You let yourself breathe, the comfort of routine settling in as you laced up your boots and checked your gear. For a moment, you caught Steve’s eye from across the room—he gave you a thumbs-up and a bright, reassuring smile. You smiled back, feeling not just ready, but part of something bigger. Part of this family.

Later, you’d all head to the armory, check your weapons, and run through strategies one last time. But for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth, the camaraderie, and the steady pulse of mission day adrenaline as it thrummed in your veins.

------------------------------------------------------------

The quinjet touched down in a cordoned-off alley, engines winding down with a whine that vibrated in your bones. Through the tinted windows, the Trident Skytower soared above, its mirrored surface catching the last light of evening. You could feel the electric tension in the air as everyone checked their gear and prepared to move.

The ramp dropped, and Steve was the first out, scanning the perimeter with that steady, protective gaze you’d come to know so well. He signaled the all-clear, and you fell into step with the others, boots crunching on concrete as you crossed to the lobby entrance.

Inside, the marble floors gleamed under cold lights. The air was thick with anticipation and the faint scent of floor polish. The team fanned out, each group instinctively falling into their roles.

Steve’s voice was calm, clipped. “Alright, everyone knows their part. Sam, Bucky, Y/N—you three take the elevators to the top and sweep down. Clint, Nat, Bruce, and I will secure the ground floor and lower levels. Tony, Thor, and Vision, keep the perimeter tight and watch for movement outside.”

Wanda squeezed your hand before heading off with her group. “Stay safe,” she whispered.

You gave her a brave smile. “You too.”

Bucky pressed the elevator button, glancing over his shoulder at you and Sam. “Last chance to back out,” he teased.

You smirked. “Not a chance, Barnes.”

Sam grinned, gesturing grandly as the elevator doors slid open. “After you, fearless leader.”

The three of you stepped inside. As the doors closed, you heard Tony’s voice in your comm: “I’ll be listening in, so don’t embarrass yourselves.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No promises, Stark.”

The elevator hummed upward, numbers ticking by. Sam leaned against the wall, arms folded, and shot you a sideways look. “So. You and Cap, huh?”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Not you too.”

Bucky grinned, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “You can’t blame us for noticing. He looked like he was about to bench-press the quinjet when you almost tripped back there.”

You glared, though your ears burned. “He’s just… looking out for me. That’s what Steve does.”

Sam waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah, but he doesn’t look at the rest of us like that.”

You shook your head and sighed, your voice quieter as the elevator climbed higher. “I just… Sometimes he acts like I’m the most important person in the room. Then other times, he’s all business. I can’t tell if it’s just Captain America being Captain America, or… something else.”

Bucky nudged you gently. “He’s not exactly subtle with people he cares about.”

The elevator chimed past the twentieth floor. For a moment, you stared at your reflection in the polished doors, heart thumping. “I wish I could just tell him,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “That I… that I care about him. More than I should. But what if it ruins everything? What if he doesn’t feel the same, or he just wants to keep things professional?”

Sam’s teasing faded, replaced by a warm, understanding smile. “Hey, if anyone’s gonna appreciate a little honesty, it’s Steve Rogers. The guy’s allergic to lying.”

Bucky leaned back, arms crossed, giving you a look that was all big brother. “You’d be surprised what the truth can do. And if he doesn’t feel the same, he’ll still treat you with respect. That’s who he is.”

You nodded, nerves tangled up with hope. “Yeah. Maybe after the world isn’t on the line, I’ll find the courage.”

Sam grinned, bumping your shoulder. “We’ll hold you to that. And if you need backup, I’ll be there for moral support—or to tackle Steve if he gets all awkward.”

The elevator slowed to a stop, and Bucky smirked as the doors slid open. “Come on, lovebirds. Time to save the world. Feelings after.”

------------------------------------------------------------

The mission unraveled faster than any of you expected.

You’d barely cleared half the top floor when gunfire erupted from the shadows—too many shooters, too coordinated. Sam dove behind a marble column, wings snapping open defensively. “They knew we were coming!” he shouted through the comms, voice crackling with static.

Bucky pressed himself against a wall, returning fire. “We’re pinned down—someone must’ve tipped them off.” Bullets ricocheted, glass shattered, the whole floor morphing into chaos.

“I’m going left!” you called, catching Bucky’s eye before you ducked through a side corridor, heart pounding.

“Stay close!” Bucky barked, but you’d already slipped away, weaving between overturned desks and debris. The comms crackled with overlapping voices:

“—Barton, get Banner out—” “—Thor, perimeter’s compromised—” “—Vision, can you jam their signals?—”

You pressed yourself against a door, breath coming in short bursts. “Bucky? Sam? I’m almost at the server room!”

Sam’s reply was broken by static. “Hold tight, we’re—floor’s blocked—get to—”

Gunfire tore up the gleaming silence of the upper floor, bullets sparking off steel and glass. You, Sam, and Bucky dove for cover behind an overturned conference table as the enemy swarmed from hidden doors, their movements too synchronized, too prepared.

Sam’s voice was tight in your ear. “This is a setup. They were waiting for us!”

Bucky fired a trio of shots, jaw clenched. “We need to fall back!”

You peeked over the edge of the table, eyes darting to the map on your HUD. The server room was just ahead—so close, but the way was thick with enemies. “The documents are still here. I’ll get them—we can’t leave without them!”

Bucky shot you a glare, voice rough. “No, we stick together—”

“No!” you barked, cutting him off, adrenaline drowning out your fear. “Sam, Bucky—GO! Get out, now! I’ll grab the drive and catch up, I promise. Go!”

Sam hesitated just a second, voice ragged. “Don’t do anything stupid—”

You shoved him, hard. “GO!”

With a curse, Bucky grabbed Sam and pulled him toward the service stairs, firing cover shots as they retreated. “You better be right behind us, kid!”

You ducked low, heart pounding, and dashed for the server room as enemy fire blazed past your heels. Your hands shook as you disabled the lock and slipped inside, the heavy door slamming behind you. The hum of machines filled your ears, harsh and sterile. You scanned the racks, searching—there, a drive marked “S.H.I.E.L.D. – Priority.” You snatched it, shoving it into your vest.

The comms crackled. Natasha’s voice cut through, urgent and breathless, “Everyone, listen—there’s a bomb on the upper floors! You have to get out, now!”

“Sam! Bucky! Get out!” you screamed into your mic, breath coming in gulps. “I’ve got the documents—I’m right behind you, just GO!”

From down the hall, you heard Bucky’s voice, tinny and desperate, “Come on, Y/N, MOVE!”

You hurled open the server room door, sprinting into the chaos of alarms and gunfire. The hallway was choked with smoke and the strobe of emergency lights. Your lungs burned; the building felt like it was already closing in.

Steve’s voice exploded over the comm, raw and panicked. “[Your Name], where are you? You need to get out now! That’s an order! Answer me—please, just answer!”

You heard him, heard the wild edge in his voice—but you were too busy running, dodging debris as the walls shook with the first rumble of the bomb’s timer arming. You pressed your comm to reply, but another burst of gunfire forced you to dive for cover, the earpiece crackling as it bounced on the floor.

“Y/N! Goddammit, talk to me!” Steve shouted, his fear cutting through the chaos, but you couldn’t answer—not with the world exploding around you, not with every muscle straining just to survive.

Sam’s voice was frantic, somewhere outside. “She’s not responding! Steve, I can’t hear her—”

Bucky’s voice was tight with terror: “Hang on, we’ll find her. We have to—”

You tore desperately down the hallway, lungs burning, alarms shrieking above the crackling roar of flames. The stairwell was gone—nothing but twisted steel and searing heat. Your only way out was the wall of glass at the end of the corridor, fifty stories above the city.

You pressed your comm, voice shaking. “Fiftieth floor—window exit! I’m jumping, I have no choice!”

Immediate panic burst through the comms: “Wait—don’t—!” “Tony, she’s at the glass wall on fifty!” “Hold on, Y/N—”

But there was no time. The bomb timer echoed in your ears, a cruel countdown. You sprinted straight at the glass wall, bracing your forearm as you crashed through it in a shower of glittering shards. For a split second, you were suspended in a storm of glass and wind—then you were falling, the city a dizzy blur below.

“Y/N, NO!” Steve’s voice was raw, terror breaking through every syllable.

The world spun. You hugged the drive tight to your chest, air screaming past your ears, glass sparkling all around you. And then—out of nowhere—a red-gold comet shot up from the street.

Tony’s arms locked around you with a grunt, the suit’s repulsors growling as he slowed your impossible momentum. “Gotcha! Jesus, kid, you sure know how to make an entrance.”

The ground rushed up. Tony landed hard, knees flexing with the impact. You staggered as he set you down, adrenaline and shock making your whole body tremble.

Clint was already there, grabbing your shoulders. “Are you out of your mind? You just jumped through a glass wall!”

Still panting, you pressed the drive into his palm. “Got it… had to…”

Bucky and Sam skidded up, faces wild with worry as they checked you for blood, bruises, any sign that you were really okay.

Bucky’s hands shook as he tilted your chin up. “You’re bleeding—does anything feel broken?”

Sam pressed a cloth to a scrape on your cheek, voice soft. “You ever do that again, at least give us a heads up.”

You managed a shaky laugh, tears pricking your eyes as the rest of the team rushed in—Natasha, Vision, Wanda, all hovering close, all relief and exasperation.

You were still catching your breath, glass in your hair and blood on your knuckles, when the rest of the team crowded around you. Natasha knelt at your side, her hands gentle as she checked for injuries; Bucky hovered protectively, eyes wild with worry. Sam pressed a fresh bandage into your palm, voice low and soothing. Clint cracked a joke about “kids these days and their dramatic exits,” and even Tony, still in half his suit, muttered something about “next time, less jumping, more surviving.”

But Steve stood a few feet away, back ramrod straight, face carved from stone. His blue eyes were cold, unreadable—focused everywhere but on you. You waited for him to come closer, to say something, to meet your gaze. He didn’t.

Instead, he squared his shoulders and barked, “Everyone to the jet, now. Debrief on board. Let’s move.” His voice was clipped, all business, leaving no room for argument or comfort.

You blinked, a cold ache spreading through your chest as the others gently ushered you toward the jet. Sam lingered by your side, concern etched in his features. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine,” you said, but your voice was thin, brittle. You could feel Steve’s presence at the edge of the group—commanding, distant, untouchable.

On board, you found a seat at the back, pressing gauze to your arm and staring out the window as the city blurred by. Around you, the team settled in, battered but alive. Steve stood at the front, voice calm and steady as he debriefed with Natasha and Bruce.

He didn’t look at you. Not once.

You waited for him to check on you, to ask if you were alright, to say anything at all. But instead, he praised Wanda, his tone warm. “Great work keeping the crowd calm, Wanda. That shield you put up at the entrance made all the difference.”

Wanda smiled, and the team murmured their agreement. You tried to smile, too, but the ache inside you only grew heavier. Every second Steve looked away, you felt yourself shrinking. You remembered the way he’d held you after Tony caught you, the way his voice had broken with relief. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Now, you wondered if you’d ever really mattered to him—or if you were just another soldier under his command, just another risk he wished you hadn’t taken.

You turned your face further toward the window, blinking hard as the jet rose into the night, wishing the ache in your chest would fade with the city lights below.

——————————————————————————

The quinjet touched down in the familiar field behind the Compound, the tension of the mission slowly giving way to the comfort of home. As the ramp opened and the team disembarked, you found yourself walking beside Sam, who bumped your shoulder with his.

“So, jumping out a glass wall on the fiftieth floor, huh?” he teased, a grin stretched across his face. “You trying to give us all heart attacks or just showing off for Tony’s flight record?”

You snorted, nudging him back. “Please, Stark wishes he looked that cool in the air. And besides, I stuck the landing.”

“Yeah, with some help from Iron Man and pure luck,” Bucky interjected, falling into step on your other side. “Next time, try the stairs.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed, the banter easing the lingering ache in your chest. For a moment, you almost forgot the way Steve had iced you out on the jet.

But as you approached the main doors, Steve’s voice cut through the chatter—serious, commanding. “[Your Name], a word. Now.”

The hall fell silent. You glanced at Sam and Bucky, nerves prickling. Sam gave you a reassuring nod, Bucky squeezed your shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t punch him.”

You took a steadying breath and followed Steve down a quiet corridor, your footsteps echoing off the tile. When you stopped, he turned to face you, arms folded, jaw set.

“What the hell was that stunt?” His voice was sharp, scraping, each word another blow. “You left your team. You disobeyed orders. You almost got yourself killed. Do you have any idea—?”

You cut him off, anger and humiliation boiling over. “I did what needed to be done. I got the documents. I made a call—if I hadn’t moved, we would have lost everything.”

He stepped closer, blue eyes burning. “That’s not how we do things. We’re a unit. You don’t get to make life-or-death decisions for yourself and risk the whole team. You never listen, you never—”

You snapped, voice trembling, hands balled at your sides. “I’m not a kid, Steve! I’m not sixteen anymore—I know what I’m doing. I’ve survived worse than this. I don’t need you to babysit me—”

He exploded, the words raw and ugly, echoing off the sterile walls: “I’M YOUR CAPTAIN FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

The world seemed to stop. His voice rang in your ears, louder than the bomb, louder than the gunfire, louder than anything. You stared at him, breath caught in your throat, the sting of tears hot in your eyes.

Something inside you broke. You swallowed hard, your voice coming out barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Thanks, Cap.”

You turned away, footsteps wooden, pulse thundering in your ears. You didn’t look back, not even when you felt his silence pressing at your back like a storm waiting to break.

You made it halfway down the hall before the tears came, hot and helpless. You ducked your head, quickening your pace, desperate for somewhere private to fall apart. The locker room by the pool was empty, the tiles cold against your bare feet as you changed with shaking hands. You nearly dropped your bag as you fumbled out your goggles, cap, and fins. You didn’t even bother to wipe your face—what was the point?

You stepped into the pool room, the scent of chlorine sharp and familiar. For a moment, the blue water was the only thing in the world that made sense. You sat on the edge, pulling your knees to your chest, shoulders shaking as the tears came harder, silent and unstoppable.

When you finally couldn’t breathe, you yanked on your goggles, slid your cap over wet hair, and shoved your fins onto your feet. Without hesitation, you slid into the water, letting the cold shock push the world away.

You swam hard—furious, desperate, each stroke a silent scream, each kick a release of everything you couldn’t say. The water muffled everything: your thoughts, your pain, even the memory of Steve’s voice. Your muscles burned, lungs aching as you pushed yourself to the edge, then further.

When you finally stopped, you floated on your back, chest heaving, blinking up at the rippling lights. The ache in your arms was nothing compared to the ache in your heart.

You let yourself drift, eyes burning with fresh tears you could blame on the chlorine. You thought of Steve’s face, the anger, the disappointment, the authority. I’m your captain, for fuck’s sake. Not your friend. Not your equal. Certainly not someone who could ever love you back.

You blinked up at the ceiling, letting the sting of salt and chlorine blur the world, wishing—just for a moment—that you could dissolve into the water and never feel this small again.

You pushed through the next set, arms burning, legs slicing the water, the chill stinging your skin. Your favorite playlist blasted through the pool room’s speakers—fast beats, electric energy, the kind of music that always made you feel invincible, even when your heart was cracked open.

The music filled the empty space, drowning out the echo of Steve’s voice in your head. You swam lap after lap, letting the thump of bass and the rush of water in your ears crowd out every thought except the rhythm of your breath.

At the end of a sprint, you surfaced, panting, pulling off your goggles and blinking water from your eyes. As you caught your breath, you glanced toward the glass wall separating the pool from the locker area.

Steve stood half-hidden in the shadows just outside the stalls, arms folded, his posture tense and uncertain. Guilt was written in every line of his body; he watched you with a look that might have once made your heart flutter.

Your eyes met for a long moment—his blue, troubled; yours hard, tired, unreadable. For a split second, the world seemed to pause, only your music and ragged breaths filling the space between you.

But this time, you didn’t care. The ache from your argument was still raw, the words still burning in your ears. You looked away, diving back under the water, letting the playlist drown out everything except the beat and the burn in your muscles. Whatever hope you’d clung to before was gone—Steve’s earlier words had made that clear.

You finished your last set faster than ever, uncaring that he was there, uncaring that he watched. You’d gotten the message: you were his responsibility, his soldier, nothing more.

When you finally hauled yourself out of the water, you didn’t look back to see if he was still there. You just toweled off, music still pulsing, heart heavy but determined. If Steve Rogers wanted to stay on the other side of the glass, that was his choice.

------------------------------------------------------------

After your swim, you lingered in the shower until your skin was tingling and your eyes raw. You dressed slowly, letting the familiar comfort of Steve’s old navy hoodie wrap around your shoulders, the fabric soft and worn from secret late nights and lonely mornings. Hair damp and tied up, you slung your bag over your shoulder and forced yourself back out into the Compound’s quiet halls.

You nearly collided with Steve waiting outside the locker room, tense and uncertain, his hands buried in his pockets. His eyes searched your face, guilt and longing flickering in their blue depths.

“Hey,” he started, voice rough and low. “Can we talk? Please. I’m sorry about earlier. I—”

You brushed past him, jaw set, not even looking up. “Is this where you pull rank again, Steve? Remind me I’m just here to follow orders?”

He fell into step beside you, voice growing desperate as you walked. “No—it’s not like that. I was scared, and I—”

You shook your head, cutting him off. “You made yourself clear. Orders first, feelings don’t matter. It’s fine. I get it.”

He reached, just brushing your arm, but you pulled away, walking faster. “Would you just stop?” he pleaded quietly, but you kept going, hardly noticing as you crossed into the common room.

You finally spun around, anger and pain breaking through. “You want a perfect soldier, Steve? You got one. I did the job. But my feelings screwed everything up, right? Don’t worry, they won’t get in your way again.”

Steve’s expression shattered, his voice barely a whisper. “Is that really what you think? That you’re just a responsibility to me?”

Your laugh was sharp, bitter. “What else am I supposed to think? You made it pretty damn clear I’m just someone you have to protect, not someone you could ever—” Your voice broke. “Not someone you could ever love.”

He stepped closer, crowding your space, his hands shaking as he reached for you. “You have no idea how wrong you are. I was terrified. Terrified I’d lose you, that loving you would put you in more danger. That’s why I tried to act like your captain, not—” His words caught, but his eyes burned with raw honesty. “I love you. I love you, and it scares the hell out of me.”

You stared at him, breath caught, the world narrowing until it was just him and you—never noticing the team frozen around the room, silent and wide-eyed.

“I feel that,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I’ve felt it for a long time. But I thought I was wrong.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek, his thumb trembling. “You’re not wrong. You never were.”

And then he kissed you, desperate and hungry, years of longing crashing between you. You clung to him, hoodie fisted in his hands, and nothing else in the world existed but the two of you finally, finally together.

You clung to Steve, your fingers knotted in the soft fabric of his hoodie, the world fading until there was only the thundering of your heart and the press of his lips against yours. The kiss, soft and searching at first, quickly deepened—years of longing and denial poured into a single, heated moment. Steve’s hands framed your face, thumbs brushing away the last stray tears, his breath coming fast and uneven as he tilted your chin, claiming you with a hunger that made you dizzy.

You felt him smile against your mouth as he slid his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. With a low, helpless laugh, he lifted you—effortless, strong, as if you weighed nothing at all. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, the oversized hoodie riding up as he spun you, oblivious to everything but you.

The team, frozen on the couches and scattered around the room, watched in stunned silence as Steve carried you through the living room—your lips never parting, your hands tangled in his hair. For a moment, it was almost comical: the world’s mightiest heroes rendered speechless by a love confession.

Steve spared the team a glance—a dazed, quiet smile on his lips, the kind you’d only ever seen in your wildest dreams. He carried you down the hallway, your laughter echoing softly, your body pressed close to his as if you were afraid to let go. You were home, finally, in every sense.

As the door to your room clicked shut behind you, the common room erupted with a collective exhalation.

From the corner, Tony leaned back and declared, loud enough for the whole team to hear, “The American golden boy is going to ffffffuuuuuuuckkkk!” The room burst into fresh laughter; the tension finally snapped. Sam broke the silence first, sprawling back on the couch with a huge, delighted grin. “Well, it’s about damn time. I thought I was gonna have to lock them in the training room with a bottle of whiskey and a playlist of love songs.”

Natasha smirked, spinning her empty mug in her hands. “I told you all—seriously, I told you—once she finally snapped at him, he’d cave. Captain America can’t resist a challenge.”

Bucky shook his head, leaning back and letting out a rare, genuine laugh. “Should’ve bet money. I was starting to think one of us would have to spell it out for them in crayon.”

Tony, ever the opportunist, dramatically waved his phone. “I have the security footage! I’ll edit out the sappy bits and use it as blackmail—unless one of you wants to Venmo me for the director’s cut.”

Clint grinned, nudging Wanda. “You think they’ll ever be seen in daylight again? Or should we send supplies?”

Wanda’s eyes sparkled with genuine happiness. “Let them have tonight. They’ve both waited long enough.”

Vision, seated primly with a mug of tea, added with characteristic calm, “It is statistically probable that they will require sustenance within the next twelve to sixteen hours. Unless, of course, emotional fulfillment proves supernaturally sustaining.”

------------------------------------------------------------

As the door clicked firmly shut, the world outside faded to a distant, muffled memory. Steve’s hands were already at your waist, his touch rougher now—hungry. He pressed you against the wall, his mouth finding yours with a desperation that stole your breath.

He tasted like adrenaline and longing, his tongue greedy, his teeth catching on your lower lip. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, aching for more. You felt the hard line of his body, the heat radiating from him as he slid his hands beneath your shirt, palms burning against your skin.

Steve broke the kiss only to drag his lips along your jaw, down your neck, tracing a path that set your nerves on fire. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured, voice ragged, as he tugged your shirt over your head. You gasped as cool air brushed your skin, then gasped again when his mouth replaced it, worshipping every inch he revealed.

You arched into him, needing him everywhere at once. His hands roamed, bold, reverent; your hips rocked against his, seeking friction, craving him. Pants, shirts, everything was a blur of motion—his hands, your laughter, the wild, unrestrained sound of desire filling the room. When you finally tumbled onto the bed, Steve followed, covering you, his eyes dark and full of promise.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear, and you answered with a wordless moan, pulling him down, giving yourself over to the passion you’d both denied for far too long.

“You know,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, “I can’t believe you made me wait this long.”

You arched a brow, feigning innocence. “Maybe I just wanted to see how much you could take, Captain.”

He nipped at your earlobe, hands sliding down your sides, deliberately slow, and you squirmed against him, laughing when he held you in place. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that,” he whispered, teasing, not quite giving you what you wanted yet.

His palms burning against your skin as he pulled you close. Your fingers tangled in his hair, guiding him deeper into the kiss, your bodies pressed together, hearts racing. His breath was hot against your cheek as he trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, teeth scraping lightly, making you shiver with anticipation.

You tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel him, and he helped you pull it over his head, revealing the sculpted warmth of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the tension in his muscles, the tremble in his arms. "God, I’ve wanted you for so long," Steve whispered, voice rough as his lips found your collarbone, then lower, worshipping every inch of exposed skin.

He knelt, hands at your waist, thumbs stroking circles as he hooked your pants and slid them down, slow and reverent. He pressed his face to your stomach, inhaling your scent, lips brushing over sensitive skin, making you gasp and arch into him. Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging in as he made his way back up, kissing and biting, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

You pulled him up, crashing your mouths together again, your bodies already feverish with need. Steve’s hands roamed, bold and unhurried, exploring every curve, every shiver. He laid you down with a gentleness that only made your desire burn hotter. He hovered above you, eyes searching yours, dark with want and something so much deeper.

He kissed you as if memorizing the taste of your lips, the sound of your moans, the tremor in your breath. He teased you, his tip barely pressing at your entrance, making you whimper with impatience. “Is this what you want?” he whispered, voice husky with a teasing edge. You tried to rock your hips upward, desperate for more, but he held you in place, grinning at your frustration.

Only when you pleaded did he finally sink into you, inch by inch, slow at first—deep, thorough, every movement a promise. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, letting him fill you, letting the sensation overwhelm your senses. But then, with a burst of boldness, you pushed against his shoulders and rolled him onto his back, straddling him. Now on top, you took control, guiding him back inside, riding him slow and deep. Steve’s hands gripped your hips, his head falling back, a groan tearing from his throat as you set the pace, teasing him with how slowly you moved, rolling your hips just to watch him lose control.

He tried to regain command, thrusting up to meet you, but you caught his wrists and pinned them above his head, grinning in triumph. “Not yet, Captain,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him hard. The tension between you crackled—playful, electric, desperate for release. When he finally broke free, flipping you beneath him with a laugh and a growl, both of you were breathless, finally surrendering to the wild, urgent rhythm you both craved. But just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, Steve paused, his hands slipping beneath your hips, guiding you to your knees.

You glanced over your shoulder, heart pounding, as he moved behind you, his touch reverent and hungry. He ran his hands up your back, tracing your spine, then gripped your hips firmly. You gasped as he entered you from behind, slow at first, then with a deep, powerful thrust that made you arch and cry out. The new angle sent sparks through you, each movement building the tension higher as Steve pressed kisses along your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

He held you close, moving harder, faster, until the only sounds left were your ragged breaths, the sharp slap of skin, and his voice—low and urgent, whispering your name as you both finally surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, lost in each other all over again.

When you shattered, it was with Steve’s hands in yours, his mouth on your skin, his love in every breathless whisper.

You lay tangled together afterward, sweat cooling, hearts still thundering. Steve pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you as if he’d never let go. Your legs were still entwined, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. Your breaths gradually slowed, the air heavy with the scent of skin and the warmth of shared exhaustion.

You shifted to rest your chin on his chest, tracing lazy circles over his heart. “You know,” you murmured, a tired, giddy laugh bubbling up, “I’m almost certain the others heard everything. Especially Tony—he probably has a tally board.”

Steve’s ears and cheeks turned a spectacular shade of red. “God, don’t say that,” he groaned, hiding his face against your shoulder. “They’re never going to let me live this down.”

You grinned, poking his side. “Relax, Captain. I think you’ll survive some teasing. Besides, you sounded pretty impressive.”

He groaned louder, but you caught the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re evil, you know that?”

You laughed, snuggling closer. “You love it.”

He turned, pulling you half on top of him, arms tight around your back. “I do. More than I can say.”

For a moment, the teasing faded, replaced by something gentle and vulnerable. Steve tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers trembling just slightly. He drew a shaky breath. “And about earlier—on the mission, when I shouted at you—I’m so sorry. I lost my temper and it wasn’t fair. I was scared and I let it come out all wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

He swallowed, eyes fixed on yours, voice rough. “I really am sorry it took me so long to figure this out. To figure out how much I wanted you. How much I need you.”

You softened, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “Hey. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He nodded, but didn’t let go of your hand. “Would you… stay with me? Not just tonight. I mean, really be with me. I want us to try. For real.”

Your heart fluttered, hope and affection tangling in your chest. “Ask me again when I’m not delirious from sex,” you teased, but your hand squeezed his tightly. “Because the answer’s still yes.”

He chuckled, a relieved sound, but his eyes were shining with sincerity. “I mean it, you know. I want you. All of you. For as long as you’ll let me.”

You rolled over to face him fully, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing the soft pink at his cheekbone. “Then you’re in luck, Rogers. Because I was planning on making it impossible for you to get rid of me.”

He grinned, all boyish charm and overflowing happiness, and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He's had that look in his eyes, ever since him and Tony came back. That wistfulness that only comes with regret and an irrepressible "What if?"

You know it's her. The woman who's legacy you've been chasing since you met him. The one you could never compete with. 

It didn't used to bother you, it still doesn't truthfully. After all, who can compete with a dead woman?

Who can compete with the chance to go back in time and get it right? 

"It's okay." You choke out, closing your eyes to stave off the sting of tears. "I just want you to be happy."

Steve is stiff as a board beneath you. The hand that had been tracing your spine stops, hovering somewhere over the back of your neck as he processes your offer. 

"You want me to go back in time?" He asks. 

His voice sounds thin, worried almost. 

"Of course." You try to force some cheerfulness. "I just want you to be happy." 

You can hear the sheets rustle as Steve shifts. "And you think I'd be happier there?"

The tears well anyway, bubbling under your eyelids and threatening to spill no matter how you tight you squeeze them shut. 

"Wouldn't you?" 

Steve is quiet for a long time, long enough for your chest to start to shake as you do your best to stay strong. Heart pounding with nerves as you brace yourself for what comes next.

What comes next is his hands. 

Slowly, they move you, guiding you flat onto you back so Steve can roll over top of you. A large hand cradles your face, the touch so familiar and comforting it sets you over the edge. 

A hiccup escapes, then another, just as the first tear pushes past your waterline.

"Where would you be?" He asks. 

He doesn't acknowledge your tears, but brushes them away, his thumb catching the sad droplets and catching them as they threaten to roll down your cheek.

"Here." You croak, chest heaving with an stifled sob. 

"Here?" He repeats.

You nod, eyes still squeezed shut. 

Another one escapes, crashing into the pad of Steve's finger as it rules from the corner of your eye.

"Look at me." Steve tells you, voice steady. 

You shake your head, petulant and hurting. A girl can only be so mature when telling her boyfriend it's okay if he breaks up with her.

"Please." Steve breaks, barely above a whisper.

You give in, fighting through stuck lashes as you finally peek at Steve's face. 

He's staring at you like he's afraid you'll break, pretty blue eyes confused and shining with worry. 

"Why would I go there when you're here?" He asks.

God, is he really going to make you spell it out?

You choke down another sob, releasing an uneven exhale as you try to give him a calm answer. 

"To be with her." You tell him, "With Peggy."

Steve's reaction is nothing short of shock, his jaw dropping and closing, just to fall open again. 

"Oh honey." He coos. 

"Steve stop-" you try to fight him, hand weekly pushing at the one holding your face. "I know you still love her."

Steve shushes you, but not to be mean or cruel. 

"I don't want that life anymore." He tells you. 

The tears keep coming anyway, streaming down your cheeks like rivers as he leans in and starts to kiss them away. 

"I haven't in a long time." 

You hiccup again, hand holding onto Steve's wrist like you're afraid he might disappear. 

"You haven't?" You ask, sounding so small.

"No." Steve breathes, pressing his forehead to you. "I like the life I'm building here, now, with you."

"But-"

"No buts." Steve interrupts, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I would choose you in every life time, every universe."

Despite the pounding of your heart, the ache in your chest and the salt of your tears, you believe him. 

"Then why'd you ask to go back?" You blink up at him, searching for any sign of that regret you swore you saw. 

Steve laughs, a breathy huff against your lips as he presses a chaste kiss to them. 

"There's a ring." He explains. "It was my moms and I'm pretty sure I can get my hands on it if I get the timing right." 

You heart stutters. 

"A ring?" 

Steve nods, his own eyes watery eyes as he kisses you again. "Your ring." 

"Oh."

"My silly girl." He says, nudging his nose against yours. "You're my future, the only one I want."

Event Masterlist

You just showered, skin still damp enough to make your sleep shirt cling to it and already trying to make a new mess. Wet hair sticks to Bucky’s forehead, fresh sweats protect his poor, soft, milked dry, cock from your advances.

“Doll.” He begs. “I don’t think I have anything left.”

You pout, bottom lip jutting out. If he weren’t already half asleep he’d bite it.

You’d cornered him before he could lie down, pushed a hand against his chest until he leaned against the headboard.

“Just one more Buck?” You plea, leaning in to press a kiss to his still swollen lips.

Bucky groans into your mouth, meeting your seduction with a mean tongue and teeth that nibble on your lower lip. “Never one more with you.” He grunts, but despite the words, his hands find your hips. “Like negotiating with a terrorist.”

Bucky guides you overtop of his thigh, pushing your thigh back down when you try to lift it over his other leg as well.

You cock your head, your question obvious.

“Told you, tanks empty.” Bucky says, then the hand on your hip starts to push down, applying pressure until you get the idea and sit your weight onto him.

“Bucky I’m sorry. I thought you were joking, we don’t have too-“ You fluster, eye contact breaking as you look over to your side of the bed, as if the comforter can save you.

Bucky hums, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “My girl needs to get off, my girls gonna get off.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Not your fault this old man can’t keep up.”

You whine, still trying to pull away. Babbling that you’re fine, and tired and that you should really just go to bed anyway.

Your body betrays you, cunt throbbing so hard Bucky can feel it against his thigh.

“Doll.” He says, still holding your chin tight, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Do you wanna cum?” The question is blunt, pushing past your embarrassment and leaving no room for your guilt.

You nod, heat creeping up your neck and below your waist, leaving your skin feverish everywhere he touches. “Then go ahead Sweetheart.” He bounces his thigh beneath you, eliciting a gasp and shocking your body into action.

Your hands fall, bracing themselves on his chest. Bucky’s palms, still seated on your hips, pull your cunt against him in one slow drag. The wet heat of you seeps through the cotton, bunching the fabric up as you move.

Then, as if to prove his exhaustion, Bucky’s hands fall away.

You startle again, hips stilling.

Bucky nods, folding his arms and tucking them behind his head. “Go ahead, ride my thigh. Make yourself cum.”

He slouches, lazy and unhurried, pupils dilated and fixated on where your bodies meet. A smug smile rests on his face, he uses every nonverbal signal possible to assure you that he is exactly where he wants to be.

You face twists, cheeks hollowing as you bite them. Then a slow, deliberate roll of your hips. A soft hum escapes from behind your lips. You shift, position changing ever so slightly as you tilt your hips downward. Another roll, this one harder than the last.

Your mouth falls open, breath hitching as you rush to repeat the action, a second, and then a third time, until you’re rutting against him like a desperate teenager.

Still, it’s not enough. You push down harder on his thigh, beating your full weight as you change the rhythm, clockwise, then counter clockwise followed by a long hard drag up the muscle.

Ever the gentleman Bucky follows your path, thigh clenching every-time you repeat the last step, giving you a hard corded muscle to grind onto. You whine, your hands on his chest begin to claw, nails leaving crescent shaped divots in his skin.

Bucky coos, shushing you as you begin to hiccup, body fighting the pleasure as much as it seeks it out. Desperate to help his girl, he reaches down.

His hands find your panties with ease, tugging them to side and leaving you bare against his sweats.

You’re so wet, despite the shower the remnants of the night still leak out of you, leaving a creamy mess on Bucky’s thigh. He can feel you soaking through the cotton, leaving his skin slick beneath it.

He can see your orgasm building, there’s something almost intimate about being able to watch you like this. With his own pleasure taken out of the equation he’s free to watch you, give you all of his attention. It’s like a drug, making his heart race and his eyes dilate.

Bucky wishes he could paint, he thinks it’s the only way he could capture how beautiful you look right now, eyes squeezed shut, mouthed open with your head tilted back as your hips grind against him.

You whine, chest heaving as you continue to try and chase the feeling. His poor girl he can’t help but give you a hand. One of his hands finds your waist, helping you with the steady push and pull of your cunt. The other hand splays over your pelvis, his thumb reaching down to find your clit.

He doesn’t circle it, or even move your panties aside, just applies pressure.

It’s enough to send you over the edge anyway, a hot gush against Bucky’s thigh as your whimper his name.

His sweet girl, his little doll, his favorite sex maniac, finally falls asleep. Your head buried in his neck, legs gone limp on either side of his thigh. He can hear your breathing even out, almost immediately after, a breathy laugh escaping his chest.

Gently, he maneuvers your bodies down the bed. A slow shuffle until his back finally flattens against the mattress. Naturally, you don’t stir, body curling to meet his in the new position.

As the first rays of daylight start to peak through the curtains, Bucky slips away in to a dream, the wet patch on his sweats long forgotten.

Pinktober Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Another one!! Literally had no idea how to end this one so forgive me!!! But I think it’s a cutie! Okay love you see you tomorrow!

Because I’m pretty sure Lloyd just doesn’t have friends. Not in the traditional sense at least. His idea of a friend is the person who can get him into a restaurant he wants to try, even if he had to threaten the guy to get it.

But I think if Lloyd did have a friend it would be someone he was very close with. I can imagine him meeting you in college, and at first of course he hit on you to get your attention, but of course you turned him down.

After that, you started studying together, hanging out. It was something right from a rom-com. Except, neither of you really felt that spark.

So after the CIA goes terribly for him and Lloyd branches off on his own he call you, his best friend. The person he trusts more than anything.

Because of he’s out snapping necks, he needs someone he trusts to run the business. And the only person he trusts like that is you.

And that’s how it starts, you handle the business, while he handles the business.

There’s probably one day, when it’s been one of those days. You know the ones. Where it just seems to go on forever. You’re both eating Chinese food in his office, making fun of the jack-off from legal.

And then the spark hits.

It hits you both like a freight train out of nowhere.

Before you know it, you’re in his lap making out like teenagers at the prom.

After that night, your relationship shifts. Neither of you talk about it, and yet you both know. There’s no going back to being friends, there’s no turning the car around.

It takes about six months before you move in, and another six before he awkwardly asks you to marry him.

It’s not a big to-do. In the middle of dinner, he slides a ring box across the table, while he chews on his filet. His eyes darting between his food and you. Just as quietly, you take the ring out and slide it on your finger.

Some people might say it wasn’t romantic, but for Lloyd? He may as well have hired a skywriter.

Steve and the Winter Soldier standing across from each other inside of the helicarrier. Steve doesn’t want to do this, but it looks like that he doesn’t have a choice.

“Please don’t make me do this.” Steve pleads.

The Winter Soldier stares at him with no emotion. Steve watches his every move as he gets a knife out of its holster. Steve takes a deep breath making any moves. Both of them made the first move. Steve dodged the Winter Soldier as he went at him with his knife. Steve manages to get ahold of him and gets him to drop the knife. The Winter Soldier breaks free of Steve’s hold on him.

The fight doesn’t stop there. The Winter Soldier didn’t stop there either. The fight continues on. Steve continues to fight his best friend who’s currently in Winter Soldier mode. The Winter Soldier gets a gun out of the holster that’s strapped to his thigh and aims it at Steve. Steve used his shield to dodge every bullet that was shot at him. Steve knew he had to do something to get his best friend to remember him and he’s going to try his best to do that.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve says.

“Shut up!” The Winter Soldier yells.

None of what Steve is saying is ringing a bell for the Winter Soldier. He’s going to try something else. It might get him seriously injured or killed, but he hopes that you’ll forgive him for it. Steve drops his shield through the opening on the floor.

“I’m not going to fight you. You’re my friend.” Steve says.

The Winter Soldier tackles Steve to the ground and started throwing punches at him.

“You’re my mission.” The Winter Soldier says.

“Then finish it. I’m with you till the end of the line.” Steve says.

The Winter Soldier’s fist stops in mid air and he stares at Steve with wide eyes. The glass beneath them breaks and The Winter Soldier grabs onto a metal bar and watches Steve fall into the river below. He stares down for a moment before letting go of the bar and falling into the river as well. The Winter Soldier- actually Bucky pulls Steve out of the river and lays him on the shoreline. He looks down at him for a few seconds before leaving. He didn’t want to leave his best friend like that, but he doesn’t have a choice. He has to go on the run.

Meanwhile, you’re at the fire station when a call comes in over the station’s intercom system. Your eyes went wide when you heard who the patient is. It’s your husband. You got choked up after hearing that call. You never thought once that there would be a call that involves your husband. Your partner was about run out the door and to the ambulance when she saw you with teary eyes.

“Since the call is your husband, I can get someone else to come with me if it’s too much for you. No one wouldn’t blame you if you sat this one out. We’ll keep you updated on him.” Your partner says.

“No.” Your voice cracks and then you cleared your throat. “I’ll be fine.” You say in a shaky voice.

“Are you sure?” She asks.

“I’m sure.” You say.

“Do you want me to drive this time?” She asks.

“Yes please.” You nodded.

The whole ride to the river, you were praying silently to yourself that Steve is alive and he’s going to be fine. You couldn’t help but let tears escape your eyes. Your partner glances over at you.

“Steve is going to be fine, Y/N.” Your partner says softly, trying to stay positive.

“I hope so.” You say.

When you two got to the river, you took a deep breath and wiped your tears away.

“Go to your husband. I’ll get the supplies.” Your partner says.

You nodded and got out of the ambulance, running straight to your husband. Steve was still unconscious when you got to him. You dropped to your knees next to him.

“Baby, I’m here.” You say, your voice cracking.

You shook him in an attempt to wake him up, but he didn’t.

“Stevie, please wake up!” You cried.

Your partner got to Steve a few seconds after you did.

“He’ll be fine, Y/N.” Your partner says, trying to stay positive.

You nodded in agreement. You wiped your tears away and took a deep breath. With shaky hands, you put bandages on your husband’s wounds while your partner got him hooked up to the portable monitor.

“The good news is that his pulse and heart rate is normal.” Your partner says.

You felt a bit relieved after hearing that. Now, all you need is for him to wake up.

“You hear that, honey? That’s a good sign.” You say to your husband.

As you continued to put bandages on Steve’s wounds, debris from the helicarrier was falling all around the three of you.

“We have to work fast and get him to the hospital.” Your partner says.

You nodded in agreement. Debris kept falling. Your partner saw a piece of debris falling towards you. Before she could tell you to watch out for it, it hit you in your head and knocked you out. You fell back on the ground, lying unconscious next to your husband. Your partner looks from Steve to you with wide eyes.

“I got both of you. Ok? Just stay alive.” Your partner says to you and Steve.

Hours later, Steve wakes up in the hospital. He was expecting you to be right by his bedside when he woke up, but you weren’t. He only saw Sam.

“Where’s Y/N?” Steve asks.

Sam takes a soft deep breath before telling him anything.

“I’m going to tell you what happened, but I need you to say calm.” Sam says.

“Ok.” Steve says.

“Y/N’s partner told me that falling debris hit her in her head and knocked her out before her and her partner got you here.” Sam tells him.

“Y/N’s hurt?” Steve asks, making sure he heard him correctly.

“Yes.” Sam answers.

Steve throws the hospital blanket off of him and got out of the hospital bed. He had a limp as he was walking.

“Woah, woah. Hey. Wait a second.” Sam says, grabbing ahold of Steve so he didn’t fall.

“There’s no waiting, Sam! My wife needs me!” Steve exclaims.

“I understand that, but at least, let me help you.” Sam says.

Steve looks at Sam for a second before nodding. Sam held onto Steve as they went to the nurses station.

“Y/N Rogers. Where is she?” Steve asks the nurse.

“I can’t give you that information unless if you’re related to her.” The nurse says.

“I’m her husband.” He says.

The nurse nods and looks up your room number.

“She’s in room 707.” The nurse tells him.

Steve nods and Sam helps him to your hospital room. The doctor was checking on you when he got there.

“I’m her husband. How is she?” Steve asks.

“She has a concussion.” The doctor tells him.

“When is she going to wake up?” He asks.

“There’s no telling when she’ll wake up right now, but we’ll be watching her like a hawk.” She says.

Steve nods and sits down by your bedside. So did Sam. The doctor left the room. He gently picked up your hand and held it.

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but I’m here, sweetheart. I need you to wake up. Please wake up.” Steve says, his voice cracking.

Steve couldn’t help but break down in tears. Seeing you like this, broke his heart. Sam put a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder. Your partner came into your hospital room a moment later and sits on the opposite side of your hospital bed.

“How is she?” Your partner asks.

“The doctor said she has a concussion and doesn’t know when she’ll wake up.” Steve tells her.

“Please believe me when I say I was going to get her out of the way of the debris that was coming towards her, but it was too late. The debris was falling too fast.” She says.

“I believe you.” He says.

Steve looks back at you. A new wave of tears fill his eyes.

“Please wake up, sweetheart.” Steve says over and over.

Steve didn’t left your bedside for a second. Sam and your partner tried to get Steve to take care of himself, but he’s too worried about you to take care of himself. It wasn’t until the next morning when you woke up. Steve’s head shot up when he heard you groan. He felt relief wash over him.

“You’re awake!” Steve says relieved.

You looked at Steve with the look of confusion on your face. That look reminds on your face as you looked around the hospital room.

“Where am I?” You asked confused.

“You’re in the hospital. You got hit in the head by falling debris yesterday when you were helping me.” He tells you.

“Oh ok.” You replied. “Can I ask you a question?” You asked.

“Of course, sweetheart. You can ask me anything.” He says.

“Who are you?” You asked.

Steve felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when you said that.

“Go get the doctor.” Steve says to Sam.

Sam nods and leaves the room to get the doctor.

“Sweetheart, I’m your husband.” He tells you.

“I don’t remember being married.” You say.

Steve’s heart shattered into a million pieces when you said that. Sam comes back into your hospital room a couple minutes later with the doctor. The doctor ran some tests on you to make sure everything is ok. You still have a concussion. Not only that, but you also have temporary amnesia.

“The test results came back normal. Although, she still has a concussion and she also has temporary amnesia.” The doctor says.

“How long does it last?” Steve asks.

“That depends with every patient who sustains injuries like her, but typically, it doesn’t last long. Till she gets her memory back, gently remind her that you’re her husband and show familiar things like pictures.” She says.

You got discharged from the hospital a couple days after Steve got discharged. He takes you home to the Avengers compound. The Avengers greeted you with hugs. The confusion was still with you. Steve noticed it.

“What’s wrong, honey.” Steve asks softly.

“I don’t know any of these people.” You say.

“The Avengers are our friends and family. All of us live here in the compound.” He gently reminds you.

“Oh ok.” You replied.

Steve is so gentle and patient with you as he takes care of you and reminds of you things and people you already know, but the accident made you forget. He also told the Avengers and called your partner to tell them to be gentle and patient with you.

“I thought you said we were running errands. Why are we at a fire station?” You asked confused.

“You work here, honey. You’re a paramedic.” Steve reminds you.

“I am?” You asked.

“Yes.” He answers softly.

Steve held your hand as you two went into the fire station. You two went to the living room area of the station where your partner and the rest of your coworkers are. They smiled when they saw you. They greeted you with hugs. That same confusion from when the Avengers hugged you is still there.

“All of you seem like nice people, but who are you guys?” You asked confused.

“You work with them, sweetheart. You’re a paramedic. They’re paramedics and firefighters.” Steve says softly.

“I’m a paramedic?” You asked.

“An amazing one.” Your partner says.

You and Steve sat down on the couch in the living room area. Your partner, the rest of the paramedics, and firefighters told you stories of the amazing work you have done in the past.

“On your first day as a paramedic, I remember you not leaving a little girl’s side when her mom was getting her injuries checked out after they got into a car accident.” The fire chief tells you.

“I did that?” You asked.

“Yes. That was the day I knew you were going to be an amazing paramedic.” He says.

You smiled when the fire chief said that. You continued to listen to the stories they told you.

“All of that sounds amazing. I just wish that I could remember it.” You say, your voice sounding sad.

“You will. Just give it time, sweetie.” Steve says softly.

Steve wraps his arms around you to comfort you. It made you feel better. They told you a few more stories before you and Steve went home to the compound.

“You looked like you were having a good time at the fire station.” Steve points out.

“I did, but…” You paused.

“But what, honey?” He asks.

“I hate that I can’t remember anything.” You say, your voice sounding sad and looking down.

Steve gently tilts your head up so you’re looking him in his eyes.

“You will remember everything again, sweetheart. You just have to give it time.” He says softly.

You smiled and nodded.

Days go by and you still don’t have your memory back. Nothing sparks anything in your mind. Steve has been taking care of you day and night, gently reminding you of everything, and always assuring you that your memory will come back to you. One day, Steve remembered something the doctor told him. Showing you pictures might spark something in your memory. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s still worth a try. It can’t hurt to try, right?

“What’s that?” You asked, referring to the photo album in Steve’s hands.

“It’s a photo album of our wedding day.” Steve says.

“Our wedding day?” You asked confused.

“We’re married, honey.” He softly reminds you.

“Oh.” You replied.

Steve opened the photo album and showed you all of the pictures from yours and his wedding day. Sadly, none of them sparked anything in your memory.

“Who are these people?” You asked.

“It’s us, sweetheart.” He says.

“It is?” You asked.

“Yes.” He answers.

Steve continues to show you the pictures, but still, nothing is coming to your memory.

“I don’t remember anything of this, but the dress is gorgeous.” You say.

“You looked drop dead gorgeous in it.” Steve compliments softly.

You couldn’t help but blush. Steve noticed it. The blushing went away after a few seconds.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asks.

“Do you still think I’m gorgeous even with temporary amnesia?” You asked.

“Of course I do, honey. You’re the more gorgeous woman I know.” He says.

You smiled as you gazed deeply in his eyes. Then you found yourself leaning towards him to kiss him. You didn’t stop yourself. Steve closed the rest of the space between you and him, kissing you softly and passionately. Even though nothing is sparking in your memories, something is sparking in your heart and that’s you falling in love with your husband all over again. The kiss left both of you breathless. You two gazed into each other’s eyes silently for a moment.

“Can I tell you something?” You asked after a moment.

“You can tell me anything, sweetie.” Steve says.

“I think I’m falling in love with you again.” You admitted.

Hearing that made Steve smile widely. He brought a hand up to your cheek, gently caressing it.

“I’m always falling in love with you, sweetheart.” He says softly.

You smiled when he said that. He kisses you again.

“I love you.” You say against his lips.

“I love you too, honey.” Steve says softly.

“Even with temporary amnesia?” You asked.

“Even with temporary amnesia. Just keep remembering that your memory will come back to you.” He says softly.

“I will.” You almost whispered.

Temporary amnesia or not, Steve is doing what he said in his wedding vows. In sickness and in health, that’s what he’s doing right now. He’s going to stick to his vows. He won’t take you and his vows for granted.

You chuckled slightly while reaching for the shaving cream “Mhm?”

“Yeah. My beautiful girl helping me shave” He continued with a smirk, eyes dragging slowly over you.

You smile.

“I always enjoy having you this close” He leaned forward and nuzzled playfully against the valley between your breasts.

You laughed softly “Dean”

“What?” He asked innocently against you.

You shook your head fondly before tilting his chin up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips “Behave”

“No promises”

You squeezed a bit of shaving cream into your hand before gently applying it along his jaw and cheeks.

Dean watched you the entire time with the most satisfied expression imaginable, like this was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

And of course, with you standing this close?

He absolutely could not keep his hands to himself.

His arms wrapped loosely around your waist while you spread the shaving cream carefully over his jaw.

Then his hands slowly slid lower.

You immediately laughed when he squeezed your ass.

"Hey!" You scolded with a laugh "Stop distracting the person with the sharp objects"

"Can't help it" He mumbled through the cream, looking completely unrepentant.

You rolled your eyes while trying to stay focused, but Dean kept lazily rubbing his hands along your hips and waist anyway.

Once his face was covered in shaving cream, Dean suddenly leaned forward without warning and stole a quick kiss that left a bit of shaving cream right on the tip of your nose.

Dean pulled back looking entirely too proud of himself “Looks cute” He grins.

You shook your head, laughing softly while wiping it off with your fingers “You are impossible”

“And yet” Dean said smugly “Here you are shaving me”

You cleaned your face before finally reaching for the razor, pointing it lightly at him in warning.

“Stay still” You said, eyebrows raised.

Dean immediately lifted both hands dramatically “Yes, ma’am”

He obeyed for approximately thirty seconds.

Then his hands slid around your waist again, his gaze fixed on you.

“You’re very pretty, y’know that?” He murmured while you shaved carefully along his jaw.

“Dean”

“I’m serious” He chuckled lowly "You have no idea how pretty you look when you're all focused on me like that”

“You’re distracting me” You chuckled.

“That’s kinda my thing”

You rolled your eyes fondly while he grinned up at you.

You work in silence for a few minutes, the spiky stubble disappearing and leaving only smooth skin.

Once you finally finished and wiped the last bit of shaving cream from his face, you applied aftershave carefully along his jaw.

He hissed softly “Damn”

You laughed quietly “You’ll survive” You said, tilting his chin lightly, inspecting your work.

Dean immediately grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap.

“Well?” He smiled “How do I look?”

You leaned in, kissed his freshly shaved jaw once, and then his neck.

“Very handsome” You smiled against his skin.

Dean smirked triumphantly.

“You know” He murmured teasingly, rubbing his hands slowly along your waist “I could get used to this”

You smiled “To what? Me shaving you?”

“Mhm” He pressed a lazy kiss against your shoulder “Way better than doing it myself”

dean masterlist