Chris had always had a habit of going a little too far when teasing Matt. He’d crack jokes about Matt’s clothes, call him a loser in front of their friends, and take cheap shots that bordered on mean-spirited. It got under Matt’s skin sometimes, but he usually brushed it off. That was just how Chris was—sarcastic, sharp-tongued, always pushing buttons for a laugh. And Matt had known him long enough to believe it was harmless. Deep down, he figured it was part of their relationship as brothers—Chris teased, and Matt rolled his eyes.

But everything changed when Chris got a new girlfriend.

At first, it seemed like nothing had really shifted—same banter, same digs. But slowly, Matt started to notice a different tone in Chris’s voice. The jokes weren’t light anymore. They carried a little more bite. A little more edge. It was like Chris wanted to put him down rather than just get a laugh. And when his girlfriend was around, it got worse—almost like Chris was performing for her, trying to make Matt the punchline to look cooler by comparison.

It pissed Matt off more than he liked to admit. That cocky smile Chris wore right after every insult, the smug little glint in his eye like he knew exactly how deep the words would cut—it made Matt’s blood boil. It wasn’t just teasing anymore. It felt deliberate, targeted. Like Chris was trying to prove something at Matt’s expense.

And Chris’s girlfriend noticed, too.

In the beginning, she’d kept quiet, watching from the sidelines, unsure if this was just some rough-around-the-edges kind of friendship. Maybe this was how they’d always been—guys being guys. But as the weeks went by, she started to pick up on the shift. The way Matt would go silent after a comment, the way his face tightened even when he laughed it off. It didn’t look like a joke anymore.

She started to grow irritated—not just at Chris’s behavior, but at how blind he seemed to be to the impact it was having. She found herself watching Matt more than Chris during those moments, wondering how long he’d keep swallowing it all.

And eventually, Matt snapped.

It wasn’t some explosive outburst—no shouting, no dramatic scene. It was quiet, sharp, and cold, calculated.

"Shhh, don't want Chris to hear, do you?"

It wasn’t meant to happen. You were with his brother, after all. You were still lying in bed beside your sleeping boyfriend when the message came through.

Matt: "Meet me in the kitchen."

You stared at the screen, heart pounding. You didn’t need to ask why. You already knew. What you didn’t expect was that he’d risk this—here, in the same house, while his brother slept just feet away.

And yet... you got up anyway.

You bite your lip in attempt to muffle your moans, your eyes rolling back as he slowly begins to set a brutal pace, the lewd squelching coming from your connected bodies filling the kitchen.

Matt groans softly, letting out a quiet "fuck" as he looks down at the scene in front of him. A thick white creamy ring was starting to form around the base of his cock, some of it trailing down the inner part of your thighs and smearing against the cusp of your ass. It was a sight he found himself loving.

He knew this whole thing was wrong, constantly fucking his brother's girlfriend behind his back, but he didn't care.

This was payback - and he was living for it.

"Feel so fucking good- shit- whose pussy is this?" Matt's grip on your hips as he yanks you back is tight, his knuckles turning white. You moan out, trying to slow him down, but it's no use. You yelp as he grabs a handful of your hair and yanks you back against his chest, your jaw dropping open at the new angle.

"Answer me baby, who makes you feel this good?"

"Y-you!" You manage to whimper out.

Your whole body was on fire, your mind buzzing. The adrenaline and excitement of the situation making everything ten times more pleasurable. He lets go of your hair and pushes you flat against the table, hiking one of your legs up onto the wooden slab.

You slap a hand over your mouth as you moan loudly, clenching your eyes shut as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

Matt leans over your back, pressing himself against you and whispering in your ear.

"Look at you, going completely dumb on your boyfriend's brother's dick, you're such a whore."

Matt taps your face harshly before pulling back and picking up the pace even more.

You let out a small scream, digging your nails into the dark slab of wood as you reach back and try to slow him down. He swats your hand away and continues with his aggressive and vigorous movements.

He tsks at you, his voice strained but condescending as he feels his own orgasm approaching. "We gotta hurry up baby, don't want Chris waking up and coming to look for you, do you?"

He sees the subtle shake of your head, a wide smile breaking out on his face.

"Good girl."

It seems like Matt's brutal thrusts last forever, but with a few quick and calculated swipes over your clit, you were releasing all over him in no time. His own load shoots inside of you, a sadistic grin on his face as he watches the white liquid pool out the side of your cunt.

He grabs his phone laying on the table and takes a quick video of him pulling out of you, capturing the liquid seeping out of your abused cunt. He throws his phone down and wipes his dick off, not even bothering to clean you up like he usually would.

Instead, he pulls your panties and shorts up, giving you a quick slap to the ass, before walking back into his room and shutting the door as if nothing happened.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming up the stairs, your eyes widening as you push yourself up and fix yourself as much as you can. Soon, Chris enters the space, eyes tired and hair frizzy.

"Hey, what are you doing up here? I woke up and saw you were gone."

A nervous smile makes its way onto your face as you shift, the feeling of Matt's cum sloshing between your folds being too hard to ignore.

"Sorry, I woke up and needed some water, and then I got some really bad cramps. Pretty sure my period is starting soon."

Your quick lie was believable, Chris not even second-guessing it. He hums softly and approaches you, rubbing his hand gently against your stomach.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Let's go back to bed, think I got a heating pad somewhere in my room."

As you made your way to the elevator, you smoothed your dress down before hitting the up button. Tony was hosting his annual party commemorating the Battle with the Chitauri and additionally, the beginning of the Avengers. The tower was filled with handpicked reporters, chosen by their merit in journalism and how well they could make Tony look. Apart from that, anyone who had ever fought with the Avengers and knew them personally, socialites and politicians and other billionaires you couldn’t name.

The whole thing was a show for Tony and his friends; he always went all out but he made sure everyone had a good time. Regardless, you tend to feel overwhelmed in large and loud crowds so it was understandable that you had made your way downstairs to smoke on the balcony. You were secluded enough that no one could find you, but still able to hear the music and chatter a few floors up, so it was the perfect spot to get lost in for a few minutes.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing a concerned pair of steel blue eyes. Smiling softly you joined him,  the comfortable silence between you falling easily. James Buchanan Barnes, former Russian assassin, and one of your closest friends though you wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Truth is, you knew you were one of the few people he was close to and chose to trust, so that must mean he considers you his friend, right? Still, the topic of your friendship with him was one you avoided commenting on with everyone, because you couldn’t talk about him without revealing how in love with him you were. 

You weren’t embarrassed, but it was shameful how speechless he could make you, a grown woman, just by smiling and saying good morning. You hated feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush, but you couldn’t stop thinking about him if you tried; and you’ve tried. 

Trying to ignore the slight blush creeping up your cheeks by how good he looked, you turn to the mirror and pretend to fix your hair and make sure the straps of your dress were secured; already feeling too exposed as you caught his eyes roaming the open back your dress had. Thankfully he didn’t comment on it, choosing to start some light conversation for the short moments of silence you had.

“You know those things will kill you, right?” He glanced at you, sniffing slightly, noting the smell of cigarettes clinging to you. The light smile on his face telling you he was only half joking.

You slightly turned to him, leaning on the wall behind you, “Well, something has to eventually.” You both laughed lightly, remembering the countless missions and near death experiences you’ve shared. “Trust me, you’ll be begging for one as soon as you set a foot in there.”

“Oh, you know how all of Tony’s parties are, it can’t be that bad.” He stated, the doors opening and depriving you of answering and the sweet bubble you found yourself on with him. He was never one to be excited for parties or large gatherings, keeping to himself and his routine, but surprisingly he was very optimistic about any event that presented itself. 

The immediate roar of laughter and music and chatter filled the once quieter elevator. You look at him and catch his expression falter slightly, making you giggle to yourself. One should never underestimate Tony’s parties.

You stepped out before him, being pulled into a conversation between Bruce, Yelena and some woman shamelessly flirting with her. Not caring much what the topic of discussion was, you turned around to find Bucky, sad to discover he had already been pulled in the sea of overexcited party-goers.

A few hours had gone by and you still hadn’t found Bucky. To say you were disappointed was an understatement but you didn't make it that obvious, engaging in any conversation that emerged and inquiries from the reporters to keep you distracted. 

 You squeezed your way through the crowd and found yourself at the bar, thanking Tony for the endless supply of alcohol helping you get through the night. As you waved the bartender down and asked for the fourth refill, you felt someone sliding next to you.

“Sergeant Barnes, you seem to be enjoying yourself.” You said turning to him, noting the blush on his cheeks and the light smirk he couldn’t seem to shake. 

“Thor is to blame for that. He brought enough mead to share with the whole continent.” He commented, slightly leaning in. You had seen Bucky drunk probably a handful of times, since he usually chose to stay behind when the group went out. Still, it was an amusing sight.

You couldn’t help but notice how he mumbled more than usual and his eyes glistened a bit; along with the pink on his cheeks, the blue of his eyes seemed brighter than you had seen them before. The closeness and his unwavering gaze on you made your heartbeat pick up, your ears turning hot. 

You looked away trying to regain your composure, looking over at Thor entertaining Alexei and Peter with another one of his countless stories. The bartender brought your drink and as you turned back, you caught Bucky glancing at your back again. You take a sip of your drink, noting how he seemed to be enjoying the sight very much. You could use this to your advantage and play with him a little bit.

“So, what’s on your mind, Soldier?” You say as you set your drink down, slowly meeting his eyes and stepping a little closer. The alcohol was making you way more confident than usual, and he noticed yet didn’t comment on it. 

Instead, he copied you, stepping closer until your breaths almost became one, quickly glancing down as your tongue wet your lips. “Is that offer from earlier still on the table?”

Surprised, you only smirked before grabbing your drink and his hand, heading to the elevator once again.

The combination of the light breeze on the balcony and the smoke in your lungs soothed you immediately, although Bucky’s unrelenting gaze made you squirm in your seat.

“Told you so, by the way,” You say in hopes that some conversation might distract you from the way his half-lidded eyes would not leave you. “Admit it, I was right.”

His eyes trailed over to your lips as you took another hit, licking his own before replying. “Never in a million years, Doll.”

Choosing to ignore the way your heart sped up by the nickname rolling off his tongue like honey, you look away laughing, “Oh come on, your pride will still be intact. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and now, in the silence, you noticed that he wasn’t entirely drunk, but the drinks had clearly affected him enough to loosen his mouth. 

“God, that dress is killing me.”

Your smile dropped, unsure how to respond, you only looked at him.

He took that as his sign to continue. “I mean, wearing that in front of a hundred-and-ten year old man is just cruel. Are you trying to kill me?” He didn’t laugh, no smile in sight; just pure and honest. His gaze held yours, the words spilling out of his mouth shocking you even more.

“Boldness suits you, Soldier. You should try it more often,” You tried regaining your composure, joining him in the dangerous yet exciting dance that emerged between you. In any other situation, your words would’ve failed you, and thanks to the alcohol coursing through your veins right now, you found the confidence to follow his lead.

He had always been reserved, even with you. Keeping to himself and his thoughts, only speaking when necessary or when he felt comfortable enough to add something with the group. So many times had you imagined what it would feel like to cross the line with your relationship; stepping into the dangerous waters of seduction and flirtation. The darkness enhanced your feelings, imagining what he would say, how he would say it and how his reaction would be to your approach. Yet in the countless daydreams and hopes you held, you would’ve never imagined him to be so direct, honest and shameless.

“What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.” He smirked, clearly seeing through the brave facade you put on trying not to crumble at his feet. He leaned in as he said this, not caring about the shameless way he stared at your lips.

That’s all it took for you to give in, not bothered if this ruined your friendship any longer. If you were sober, you would’ve given it more thought, surprised by this new side to him you were unfamiliar with. But that was not the case, so without letting another second pass, you closed the mere inches between you and pressed your lips to his.

He wasn’t taken aback, eagerly reciprocating your kiss. It wasn’t messy or rushed. He took his time, letting his cigarette fall on the table before taking your face in his hands. It was slow yet rough, as if years of waiting and uncertainty finally came to a tipping point. He kissed you like he needed the very air in your lungs to breathe, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you as close as physics would allow.

He slowly moved the two of you near the wall, pressing you gently against it as one hand moved to the back of your neck, guiding your movements. The other gripped at your waist, as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Small whimpers left your lips, becoming overwhelmed with how his arms engulfed you entirely. You were both breathless but refused to pull away, getting drunk off of the kiss.

He moaned lightly, pressing his hips into you as he grabbed one of your legs and wrapped it around his waist. Always a gentleman, he pulled away heaving and pleading at you with his eyes. “Please, darling. Please, I need you. I need you so bad.” His lips then moved to your neck as he continued begging, making you moan with every word that left his lips. “Please, please doll. Don’t do this to me. I can’t handle it any longer.”

You knew he hadn’t gone out with many women after he got out, but you never expected him to be this needy. It was a sight you could get used to, the way his voice got higher, the nonsensical rambling and his eyes completely glossed over. You were enraptured by him and didn’t think once for a second to turn down his requests. 

His head dipped down to your cleavage, his composure completely gone by now as he kissed his way down your chest. He was falling apart, acting like a starved man; the way his pants shook his whole body and his head fell, eyes closed and brows furrowed. You had seen him this way before but strictly after particularly taxing missions, never once had you imagined the sight of him being this affected just by being so close to your tits.

Your hands fell from his hair, trailing their way down his chest and stopping at his belt. His head snapped towards you, before he helped you undo it. He removed his suit jacket and threw it somewhere behind him before dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands trailed up the back of your legs, finding your panties and pulling them slowly down your thighs as he kissed his way up your inner thighs. The sight made your knees buckle, his eyes held pure adoration and devotion, as well as raw desire and hunger. 

Although you wanted to keep him there as long as possible, you were as desperate as him, needing to feel him inside of you immediately. You grabbed his chin with your hands, pulling him up. “Come here,” The simple command had him standing up, as if he would do anything you asked of him at the moment. “That can wait.”

You grabbed the hem of his pants, undoing the button and pushing down the zipper. You took it upon yourself to push his pants and underwear down, just enough that you could pull his cock out. It felt heavy in your hand, the tip so red it was almost purple and already leaking precum. He was surprisingly trimmed, something you wouldn’t expect from such an old fashioned man. The sheer size shocked you, but you were wet enough that it could just slip in easily.

He helped you by pulling your dress up, grabbing the fabric and keeping it tightly around your waist. You guided his cock towards your weeping pussy, teasing yourself with his tip as well as him. “C’mon Doll, you’re really trying to kill me. Please stop teasing me, you don’t know how long I’ve been holding back. Please darling, let me fuck you.”

Cutting off his rambling, you pushed him in, letting him finish the job and bottoming out. A throat-rattling gasp left your lips, making you throw your head back at the feeling. Not only was his cock impossibly thick, but you hadn’t fucked in a while and the last guy was certainly no comparison. He whimpered looking down at where your bodies met, groaning at how your pussy pulsed around him, making him leak more precum into your soppy hole.

After a few seconds, he started moving. The stretch burned in all the right ways, making you grip onto him for support. You tried not to be too loud, not caring about the party-goers upstairs, but at the neighbors who might still be awake. He was fighting his own battle. After so many years he was practically a virgin again, trying his best to make the moments last and not cum too early. The once highly trained soldier now at complete mercy for your cunt.

He took it slow at first which you appreciated, slowly building up the knot forming in your cores. The feeling of his heavy cock being strained by your pussy was enough to make you cum, but it only got heightened when he brought his fingers down to your clit, slow and precise circles making you pull him even closer.

Your breaths mingled together, sharing kisses here and there and unintelligible phrases about how good it felt. Neither of you could form a proper sentence, completely lost in the feeling and sharing the same breaths. His head went back to your neck, peppering kisses from time to time and a breathless so fucking tight every few thurst.

Your breaths shortened and your moans became louder, as his movements became sloppier and the circles he made on your clit became faster. You were both close and you knew it, both disappointed by how quickly it took you to come undone, yet it was unstoppable given how long you had both waited for this. “Are you gonna come for me, honey? You gonna fill up my cunt with your cum? Wanna make a mess for me?”

He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe, nodding as he mumbled in agreement, whimpering as you pulled his hair, taking his head away from your neck. You kissed his forehead, then his cheek and finally his lips, grabbing his cheeks with your hand and making him pout. His lips were pink and his face flushed, completely fucked out and willing to do whatever you asked.

You moaned loudly as your orgasm took over you, kissing him as he followed right after. His movements slowed down as your cunt milked him for every last drop of cum, making him squirm from oversensitivity. He slowly put your leg down and helped you put your panties back on, before tucking away his cock into his pants. 

You grabbed his face and hissed him, this time gentle and satisfied, completely spent out by the events. “Fuck, I really wanted to take my time with you and make it last.” He sounded defeated but he laughed lightly, pressing his forehead against yours.

You giggled before kissing his lips once again, “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of time for that.”

“God, you’re perfect.”

"Morning, rockstar," you said, your voice rough from sleep but filled with unmistakable amusement.

Bucky winced, immediately sensing the teasing in your tone. He dragged a hand down his face, half-dreading the answer to the question clawing at his brain. "What... what did I do?"

Keep reading

You stretched languidly, propping your chin on your hand as you watched him with a spark in your eye. "You really don’t remember?"

He let out a miserable groan, throwing an arm over his face. "Depends. How bad was it?"

You grinned wider, absolutely savoring this. "You got up on a makeshift stage, grabbed a mic, and sang Jessie’s Girl to me. In front of the entire party. The entire song. Really loud. Really passionately. I can assure you you're on at least 10 different newspaper headlines, drunkenly singing Jessie's Girl. I can already see it, 'From Assassin to Rockstar: Barnes Belts Out Jessie's Girl'."

Bucky's entire body stiffened. He peeked at you through his fingers, horror dawning across his face. "No. No way."

"Oh, yes way," you said, your voice bubbling with laughter. "You even pointed dramatically at me every time you sang ‘Jessie's Girl.’ Like, dead serious. You looked heartbroken."

A strangled noise escaped him as he rolled onto his stomach and shoved his face into the pillow. "Oh my God."

"And you did a little spin," you added gleefully. "You almost fell off the edge of the stage"

Bucky let out another pathetic groan, burying himself deeper in the sheets as if they could swallow him whole. He wasn’t sure if the pounding in his head was from the hangover or the soul-crushing embarrassment blooming inside his chest. "I’m never drinking again. Never."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching over to poke his side. "You were adorable, though. Everyone loved it."

He turned his face just enough to glare at you, cheeks burning red. "I don’t do adorable. I do badass. I do- I do supersoldier. I do- ugh... " He placed the palms of his hands against his face as he sighed loudly. He looked so defeated.

You snorted. "Last night you definitely did adorable."

Bucky groaned again, rubbing his temples like he could erase the entire memory. But your voice grew softer then, a bit more hesitant.

"And... well... after your big concert, we kinda..." you trailed off, your cheeks heating.

He immediately sat up, the sheet falling to his lap, sudden dread gripping him. "Shit. Did we—? I really don't remember that. Are you okay? Did I—?"

You sat up too, placing a calming hand on his chest. "No, no, it’s okay. We didn’t really get to it... not really. We started kissing and all that, but... I was kind of off, with the whole Mark situation, so we just went to sleep"

Bucky stared at you, mortified beyond belief. “Oh"

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at the sheer misery on his face. "Out like a light. You were trying to tuck yourself in and you just... face planted into the mattress."

He groans again, this time with real frustration in his face, “Wait, what exactly is the situation with Mark?” Did he finally leave?”

Your heart softened at how genuinely confused he seemed. You scooted closer, tugging gently at his arm until he dropped his hands and looked at you, his blue eyes still clouded with shame.

You couldn't help but laugh. “Not exactly, yesterday at Tony's party, he ran off with some other chick.” 

“Oh…” 

“Yeah, and when we were going up to my room, we heard them in there. But it’s fine, I’m over it. I don’t care,” You continued, not letting him answer. You could see the worry on his face slightly turn to anger, which he thought he was doing a good job at hiding. Probably for your sake, wanting to be supportive and all.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. He really doesn’t deserve you.” He tried, and ended it there, clearly not good at comforting people. “His loss, poor bastard doesn't know what he's missing anyway…” He chuckles, trying to lighten up the mood-

"It’s okay, Buck," you said, voice quiet. "He wasn't a great guy either, your performance last night outdid his whole boyfriend career, if I can even call him that." You added with a teasing grin, "And for what it's worth, you were very absolutely adorable and so very enthusiastic before you passed out."

He groaned again, dropping his body onto the mattress, completely defeated. "I am also not that guy. Just kill me now. Please," he says, looking blankly at the ceiling, looking like he's debating on whether to keep speaking. "Yeah, uh... when I drink too much, I enter this really pathetic mode," he said, cringing. "Not 'Winter Soldier'. More like 'someone please tuck me in and tell me I'm doing a good job' mode. It's disgusting. Don’t look at me. It should be fucking illegal"

You keep quiet, admiring his frustration. He's still wincing at the idea of yesterday, you really can't blame him. Suddenly, he stands up and goes to the bathroom, and you can hear him from afar washing his face and brushing his teeth. "Next time," you can hear him say as he dries his face off with a towel, his voice low and certain. "I’m making it perfect. No embarrassing concerts. No drunken disasters."

Next time?

You try to ignore this and not let it get into your head. You shift on the bed, pulling your knees to your chest. "Well," you call out hesitantly, "there’s just one tiny problem."

Bucky steps back into the room, towel slung over his shoulder, shirt nowhere to be seen, raising an eyebrow. "What now?"

"I, uh... I don’t have any clothes," you admit, feeling your face warm. "They're all in my room. You know... the one where Mark is currently living out his worst choices."

Bucky blinks, his mouth tightening for a second like he’s imagining marching down the hall and gutting Mark with his metal arm. But he reins it in quickly, crossing his arms with a huff.

"Awesome," he mutters, then rakes a hand through his hair. "Alright. You’re not going back there right now. That's a given." His tone brooks no argument. "Just... wear something of mine. Closet’s open. Grab a T-shirt and some shorts or something, you know I don't mind. You can grab your stuff later when... the coast is clear."

You smile warmly at him, basking in how domestic this all feels. Bucky's protectiveness sends heat to your stomach, he doesn't know how easy it is to like him.

He tosses you a teasing smirk as he pulls open one of the drawers. "Fair warning, though. My shirts might drown you."

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

You both step into the living room, and it's clear that the aftermath of the party still lingers. The living room is a bit of a disaster—empty cups on the coffee table, confetti in some corners, and the faint scent of spilled drinks in the air. The kitchen’s quiet, save for the clatter of silverware and the hum of the coffee machine. At the breakfast table, Steve and Thor are already there, with Peter sitting across from them, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Peter’s eyes are wide, his shoulders hunched, and he's clearly in full-on panic mode. Peter, for some reason, only has his boxers on and some sunglasses. He’s staring at his phone with a sense of dread, occasionally glancing up like he’s about to bolt. He's sitting there uncomfortably, his shoulders and face are red like a tomato. The sight makes Bucky raise an eyebrow, leaning casually against his chair with an amused smirk.

"Peter, buddy, what’s going on?" Bucky’s voice is smooth, and genuine concern for him is peeking through. He’s leaning against Peter's chair, trying to hide a grin as he watches Peter frantically swipe on his phone.

Peter doesn’t even look up, his voice shaky as he mutters, “I have a test in thirty minutes, okay?! I’ve been studying for weeks! Weeks! And I barely remember half of what I read. I've never been hungover before!" Ugh, poor guy, looks like yesterday was his first time being drunk.

"What do you mean, Pete? I didn't see you once at the party. I thought you were in your room studying." You ask with furrowed brows. You're right, Peter was nowhere to be seen yesterday, you hadn't questioned that up until now.

"Yeah, probably because I took two miserable shots and had the awesome idea of getting naked and throwing myself on the pool floatie. And for some unknown reason nobody thought it was a good idea to wake me up or tell me that the party was over, cause this morning I woke up floating on the goddamn pool with the shape of my sunglasses imprinted into my face" He rambles on without catching his breath, clearly very affected by this.

You stare at Peter, your brows furrowing further as his words sink in. “Wait, you what?” You blink in disbelief, not sure whether to laugh or be concerned.

Peter awkwardly face palms, running a hand through his messy hair, his face red, not just from the burns but also from embarrassment. “Yeah, so, I might have gotten a little carried away... but I swear it seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, I’m a first-time drinker, okay? I didn’t know what I was doing. The floatie was... comfortable.”

You and Bucky sit down at the breakfast table, the sunlight pouring through the large windows, casting a warm glow over everything. You sit on one side of the table, facing the serene view of the pool and the compound’s lush outdoor landscape, while Bucky takes his seat across from you, facing the inside of the compound. It’s peaceful, too peaceful for what you can sense brewing in the air.

As you start to pour some coffee into your mug, you glance up at Bucky, and that’s when you notice it. There’s something off in his expression; he's looking right behind you. Almost like he's zoned off into the distance. But his jaw is unusually tense, the muscles moving beneath his skin, and his eyes are narrowed just slightly—like he's focusing on something, sizing it up. You’ve seen that look before. You know it’s the one he gives Mark whenever the two of them lock eyes. It's a look that says, I'm watching you. And sure enough, just as you turn your head, Mark is stepping into the kitchen.

Mark’s hair is still a bit messy, his shirt rumpled, and he looks half-asleep as he makes his way toward the table. But Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off him. The muscles in his jaw flex again, harder this time. The air seems to thicken as he stares, a hard glint in his eyes. There’s no mistaking it: Bucky’s pissed.

Mark finally notices, glancing around the room before his eyes land on you. “Hey,” he says, offering a hesitant smile as he makes his way toward the breakfast table.

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off Mark. “What, you think you’re just going to walk around here like nothing happened?” he growls, voice low and venomous. “And you're... just here for the mess? Didn’t think you’d want to stick around for this.”

Mark’s face turns a deeper shade of red. "I—" He starts to speak but is cut off by Bucky's scornful laugh.

“You don’t get to talk, Mark,” Steve spits, eyes narrowing. “Not after what you did.”

Peter looks over at you, wide-eyed, and mutters, “This is definitely not how I imagined my first morning in Hawaii."

Mark was obviously taken aback by all of this. He starts conjuring up a comment, which, by the look on his face, is going to be shameless. "Look," he starts, his voice casual, as if he’s the one in control of the situation. "I get it, okay? You're upset. I was drunk, and I made a mistake. But honestly, it’s not like you were all that innocent either." He shrugs, clearly not understanding how wrong this whole situation is. "You were probably off doing your own thing last night, too. I didn’t see you glued to my side, did I?" He finishes off, looking at you.

"Let me make this clear to you, Mark," You start, your gaze fixed on the man like he's a piece of shit. "You didn’t just mess up once. You didn’t ‘get drunk and make a mistake.’ You intentionally decided to disrespect me. You’re not a victim here, so don’t even try to spin it like you are."

Bucky pushes himself off his chair and begins, “Don’t you dare stand there and act like we’re all supposed to feel sorry for you, Mark. You made a choice. You know what you did, and don’t you even think about trying to justify it? You were drunk? News flash, buddy, we all were."

The table stayed quiet, but somehow, even in that peacefulness, you knew everyone agreed with you two.

"No, Bucky, you’re right," you say, taking a deep breath. You turn to Mark, fury building in your chest. "I’ve had enough of this pathetic excuse for a man standing here, acting like he has some right to make this about anything else but him screwing up. I was trying to make things work, even when I knew deep down something felt off. I gave you trust."

Mark shakes his head rapidly and scoffs, like he still thinks this is all a game "Y/n, c’mon, you're exaggerating. You're blowing this out of proportion."

You roll your eyes at his comment."You’re not even good at being a scumbag. Sloppy and stupid? Sad combo." You snap, your voice dripping with venom. "And you know what? You’re right. You don’t owe me anything. And I sure as hell don’t owe you anything either. So take your pathetic excuses and get the hell out of here."

Steve chimes in from the other end of the table, trying to control his desire to punch the living daylight out of him.. "You don’t deserve to even say her name." Steve then stood up after saying this, his chair scraping sharply against the floor. He didn't raise his voice — he didn’t have to. The authority in his tone was enough. "That's enough. You’re not welcome here anymore."

Mark scoffed, attempting one last desperate smirk. "What, Cap? Gonna throw me out yourself?"

Thor, who had been quietly seething, stood as well, still chewing onto a piece of bread loudly. The temperature of the room seemed to shift when he moved.

"Nay, not just him," Thor said, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It will be our honor."

Mark squirmed and protested as they dragged him across the living room, probably screaming all types of curse words at me. His sneakers skidding awkwardly against the polished floors.

"You might wanna pick up some self-respect on the way out," Steve muttered under his breath.

Tony, seemingly out of nowhere, strolled in from the hallway, dressed in a rumpled AC/DC T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. "Oh, hi, Mark," he said casually, dropping the reference with a completely straight face.

Thor, ever dramatic, added, "And if you ever return, pray that I am not here to greet you." He punctuated the threat with a pat on Mark’s back — one that sent him stumbling toward the exit. You didn't really know what was gonna happen with him, where he was gonna go or what he was gonna do. To be honest, you didn't care, but knowing Tony, you knew he was already tapping away on his phone calling a car for the airport.

As Thor and Steve made their way back to the table, Bucky tapped Steve on his back with a grin and said "Well, looks like trash day came early"

Tony, looking up from his phone, analyzed the room once more — the furious faces, the empty spot where Mark had just been dragged out — and pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead.

"Alright," Tony drawled, "which one of you divas broke the compound before I had my coffee?"

Steve shook his head, taking a long break between each word as if looking for the proper phrasing. "Handled a situation."

"Yeah, I saw," Tony deadpanned, glancing at the door. "If you threw him any harder, we’d be getting a noise complaint from space."

Thor grunted, still adjusting his sleeves. "A cheating worm has been exiled."

"Guy must’ve had a death wish," Tony muttered, sipping his coffee. "Honestly, Thor dragging him out is the nicest thing that's ever happened to him. If it were up to me, I would’ve dropped him off of Rockefeller Center."

Peter, still looking groggy, chimed in quietly, "Mr. Stark, it was kinda awesome, actually."

Tony smirked, ruffling Peter's hair as he passed him. "Kid were gonna have to work on your definitions of 'awesome' and 'legally questionable.'"

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A couple of hours later and a few drinks in, everyone seemed to have found their entertainment for the day. Tony was telling off Natasha and Wanda after Peter let it slip that they were the ones who slipped him a bottle at the party. Natasha is defending herself, saying something along the lines of helping him build character. Scott, Bruce, and Sam were in the kitchen trying to perfect a mystery drink so they could have everyone try it at dinner. 

Down at the beach, Pepper and Maria were having some drinks, while Steve and Bucky were running along the shore because they just couldn't afford to miss a couple days without exercising. They had been trying to dig the biggest hole possible in the sand with Tony before he decided to give a lecture to Natasha and Wanda. You stayed by the pool, rubbing some aloe vera on Peter. The poor kid would not stop complaining about how much it stinged, but it was necessary, if you didn’t want him walking around with his skin peeling off in chunks. Thor, who was next to you sunbathing, opened his eyes and took a bit of pity in Peter as well.

“You are now a man, young Parker. Stop wallowing and be proud!” He started, trying to distract Peter from the burning sensation. “Ah, I still remember my first drunken endeavour. I was at the blushing age of 14, and I couldn’t get out of bed for a week! Of course my brother Loki took every chance he could to try and stab me. Oh, how I miss those days…” He trailed off looking into the horizon.

“What?!” Peter tried turning around to see if Thor was joking or not. You turned him back around, still applying the refreshing aloe. 

“Ignore him, Pete, he’s joking.” You reassure him, looking back at Thor, and give him a look as if to tell him not helping. “Oh! How did your test go?” You say in hopes of distracting him, now from Thor’s horrifying childhood stories.

“Oh please don’t remind me, I’m so sure I failed” He kept beating himself up and you weren’t really sure how to help him. Thankfully he broke the silence again, “Hey Y/n, are you feeling okay? Y’know with the whole Mark situation.” He slightly turned so he could look at you, genuinely concerned since he saw you as an older sister. 

“I’m alright, Pete. I promise.” You assure him, not wanting to worry any longer or keep being reminded of the events that took over last night and at breakfast earlier. You could tell he didn’t want to drop it so you started talking again, “I just wish he didn’t have to be such an asshole, y’know? If he hated me that much, he could’ve dumped me before I even brought him here. But let’s not talk about him anymore. I just want to enjoy our time here.”

With that, Peter seemed satisfied and stood up, making his way to the buggies, promising he’d come back every two hours so you could reapply his sunscreen. He had planned to build a sandcastle with Tony, who was still disappointed in him for getting so drunk, threatening to tell his Aunt May.

You leaned back, watching Peter jog off into the distance, still moving a bit clumsily from his sunburns. You hoped Tony would go easy on him, but knowing him, that's a long shot. As you began to close your eyes to enjoy the sun, you heard Thor sigh dramatically next to you. You opened one eye and turned to meet his gaze, which was already set on you. 

“So, what is this thing you and Sergeant Barnes have going on?” He asks with a shameless grin, he's such a gossip. 

“Sorry?” You asked him, clearly caught off guard by this question. You'd definitely expect this kind of question from Tony or Nat, but surely not from Thor.

“Come on now, lady y/n. Even my brother, far away in some strange realm, planning some poor souls demise, can feel the tension between you two” He finishes with a booming belly laugh, he really enjoys hearing himself speak, doesn't he? 

“God. Well, I don't know if there's any tension there, Thor.” You wander off, chewing on your lip for a second, just to continue your rambling, “I mean… Do you think there's tension there? I really need a second opinion here, Thor.” You're very much aware of what happened yesterday after the party, but something deep in your mind tells you Bucky was acting that way because of all the alcohol in his system. You really don't know what to think or what to assume. Was there really tension? Could this be something more than a one-night stand?

“Well, yes! I thought it was obvious to all, is it not?” he declared with a booming voice. “I could strike the tension with Mjolnir itself! I'm pretty sure even young Peter sensed it, and he's still just a hatchling.”

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands for a moment. “God. I’m doomed.”

Thor just laughed—a big, hearty, Thor laugh—and clapped you on the shoulder so hard your entire chair wobbled.

“Nonsense, Ms y/n! It's a tale as old as time: Man gazes upon woman. A woman gazes upon a man. A fable so foolish, only the fires of fornication could set it in motion!” He basically screams in your face as he keeps his hand on your shoulder, massaging it a bit. 

You can't help but laugh with him at his wording of thoughts. “Alright, Thor, that's enough out of you.” I chuckle at him, sending him a friendly smile to let him know it's all in good fun.

You peeked at Bucky out of the corner of your eye — now grabbing a towel and running a hand through his damp hair — and you felt your stomach twist again in a way that was getting far too familiar.

Maybe, Thor wasn’t completely wrong.

Maybe.

“Subtlety is an art form, dear.” Thor side eyes you and smirks just before closing his eyes and lifting his face. “In Asgard, we call that sort of staring a battle challenge… do you plan on dueling him or bedding him?”

You chose to ignore his last question and close your eyes, trying to clear your mind. You lay there for God knows how long, probably falling asleep because next thing you know, your eyes are blinking open as you notice the loud music coming from somewhere and the lack of the previously unforgiving sun.

Finally locating where the disturbance emerged from, you look over to see Natasha, Steve, Wanda, and Bucky all making their way towards the pool while Sam was connecting to one of the huge speakers in the pool area. 

Thor is nowhere to be seen, and you’re still becoming aware of your surroundings while Wanda is pulling you from the lounging chair and telling you to join them in the water. You notice Bucky and Steve were already inside, in the far end, looking towards the beach and sharing a drink.

You and Wanda get in, thankful that it wasn’t cold as you had expected it to be, soon getting splashed by Sam and Natasha who thought it would be a great idea to cannonball right in the middle of the pool. 

As you both flinched trying to not get water in your eyes, the sudden commotion made the two supersoldiers turn around to see who was the culprit. As they did, Bucky’s eyes landed on you and he immediately, but slowly, started making his way over to you. 

“Hey”, you tell him, realizing how you’ve barely seen each other all day, apart from breakfast.

“Hello Doll, finally stopped ignoring me? And here I thought you cared for me. I’m hurt, truly” He joked as soon as he reached you, putting a hand over his heart to show you how seriously devastated he was.

“Oh please, I was not ignoring you,” you wanted to add more in hopes of defending yourself, until you felt his hand snaking to your waist and settling there. Your thoughts died in your throat before you could even finish the sentence, so you opted to squint at him, trying to decipher what he was planning for tonight. If you knew him well enough, which you did, you could see the gears turning in his head, figuring out new ways to get under your skin.

He noticed the way your breath hitched — just barely, but enough for him to catch it — and his lips quirked into a cocky little smirk.

“What’s wrong, angel?” he teased, voice low enough that only you could hear. His hand gave a slow, deliberate squeeze at your waist, sending a shiver up your spine despite the warm water. “Cool breeze got you shivering already, or is it just me?” It’s comments like that — said so casually, so effortlessly — that remind you just how far gone he really is. And, honestly, how ridiculous he can really be.

“You can be really insufferable, you know that? It's a genuine talent you have” you mutter to him as you splash water on his chest. It didn't faze him – in fact, it only made him grin wider. Obviously, you weren't aware of the expression on your face when he smiled back at you because he went on to say, “You keep starin’ at me like that and I might get the wrong idea, Doll.” 

Whether it was the consistent teasing, your conversation with Thor or the alcohol flowing in your blood stream, you decided to play along and see how much you could push him. You wanted to see the same feelings and reactions he was provoking in you, etched onto his own face. Give him a taste of his own medicine and reach his tipping point.

You got even closer, flashing a coy smile, voice just above a whisper “Why are you holding back? If you want me so badly then what’s stopping you from taking me right here, right now? Hm?” You watch as his smirk slightly falters and grin a bit wider knowing you got him right where you wanted him. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? The big, scary Winter Soldier can’t handle a simple question. Interesting.” 

His answer wasn’t immediate, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as his eyes grew darker. “Careful what you wish for, Doll. Girls who play with fire get their little fingers burnt.” His voice had never been as slow and steady before, perhaps he was trying to keep his composure in front of his friends who kept belting out 80’s heart break lyrics.

The closeness of your body, the heat brewing between both of you was making him dizzy, just as much as you. Though neither of you wanted to acknowledge it, silently understanding this cat and mouse game, waiting for the other to break; trying as hard as it was not to be the first one. Pushing each other to the limit was not unknown between you, always training together and challenging the other was old news. But this was different; a personal milestone you both set for yourselves, seeing the other slowly give in seemed to be as sweet a victory as finding the Holy Grail itself.

“Good thing I’m not a little girl then.” and just as fast as it started, the trance you both found yourselves in was broken.

“Okay, that's enough. Towels. Clothes. Dignity. In that order.” The authoritative voice of the play boy himself caught everyone’s attention, reminding you that you were not alone in the pool, although no one else seemed to notice your interaction with Bucky; and if they did they made no mention of it thankfully.

You suddenly remembered you had a barbecue planned for tonight, Tony had invited a guest chef who was known worldwide but you couldn’t remember his name even if you tried. You felt a sudden cold where Bucky’s hand had left your side when you were rudely interrupted. You looked at each other and, without another word, exited the pool along with everyone else, who seemed drunker than they were five minutes ago. You made a mental note to continue the mind games between you and Bucky at dinner, or whenever the opportunity presented itself.  

You enter your room and quickly get dressed, checking yourself in the mirror before heading out the door. You wonder who was already at the table, given half the group was drunk in the pool with you mere minutes ago. As you get there, you’re surprised to see most of them there, pretty sure they hadn’t washed the salt and chlorine out of their heads, all of you dangerously aware that if you were late, Tony would have your heads for embarrassing him in front of the prestigious chef.

Bucky’s eyes find you in an instant, silently demanding you to sit across from him, given both seats next to him were taken by Bruce and Scott; who, according to them, had perfected their mystery cocktail and still refused to tell anyone what it contained. In the middle of the table sat two glass jugs with a glowing orange liquid, which they brought to have everyone else taste and give their opinions on.

Sam saw you walking towards the seat next to him and got up to pull out your chair. You thanked him as you sat down and he pushed the chair in behind you. You noticed instantly the grin on his face, a perfect match to Bruce and Scott, wondering what they were planning, other than possibly poisoning all of you with their strange concoction.  That’s when he joins the conversation he was previously in with the three men sitting in front of you. Steve, who was at the head of the table, briefly got up after complimenting your dress, going over to Tony and the chef to see what was being prepared.

You felt Bucky’s stare burning a hole in the side of your head, as you got a hold of the conversation between them. While he hasn’t said anything since you got to the table, you discover the plan the three wannabe-bartenders had in mind. 

“C’mon man, y’know if you try it everyone else will! I swear. It’s our best creation yet.” Sam kept insisting, but nothing could convince the man who had a different agenda in mind.

“Yeah, and the only one you’ve ever made.” You felt the need to help the poor man, struggling to hold out on his own with the drunk men surrounding him. He looked at you in a thankful manner, but was still aggravated by the request of the men.

Scott piped up from beside Bucky, already drunk, almost pouncing over him, “Exactly! If you drink it first, everyone else will follow. We need a brave leader. Like Moses. But drunk, man.”

Bucky eyed the glass and he swore he could've seen the damn thing bubbling. He held it to the light, trying to figure out what was it these three were mixed in the drink. “Right… What is this radioactive Caprisun supposed to have? I swear to god it was just orange a minute ago…”

Scott pauses for a second. He really doesn't remember. Bruce was probably the right person to ask, considering he wasn't tipsy all the way through the drink's making. Obviously, Scott insisted on trying every single ingredient to give it the 'Certified not-poison by yours truly!' He groggily turns to Bucky and says, “Uh… love?”

Scott seemed too drunk to even try anymore, so Bruce chimed in, “Bucky, do you really not trust me? A professional scientist?”

Your smile suddenly faded as you remembered you wanted to get under his skin; see how far he got before giving in. You decided to back the men up, completely blindsiding the helpless man. “Yeah tough guy, give it a shot.” And just to make it more difficult for him, you had removed one shoe under the table and trailed it up his leg; smirking as you saw him, and felt him, stiffen at your touch.

His eyes hardened and he sat up, grabbing a glass. “Is that a dare, Doll?” He didn’t wait for you to answer as he poured himself some of that worryingly colorful beverage. He didn’t break eye contact once as he downed it in one go, your ears filled with cheers from the victorious men who got up to tell everyone that the Winter Soldier himself had tried their drink, finally convincing them to try for themselves. 

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Dinner was pretty much uneventful, with everyone trying the guy’s drink, and agreeing that it was actually pretty good, yet they still refused to tell anyone what it contained.  You would now definitely consider the drink endorsed by 3 out of 4 semi-sober Avengers. You felt the buzz before you even finished your first glass, and the food was incredible. Bucky made it his personal mission to distract you from your conversations, as your game of footsie went on the entirety of the dinner.

You didn’t speak much to each other, but enough was being said with the glances you shared more than enough times. You couldnt help but notice how low-lidded and dark his eyes had become since his first drink. So when you found yourself in the pool once again with Natasha, Maria and Wanda, it was no wonder that Bucky followed you; opting to stay outside by the edge so he could still talk to you and rile you up even more, without having touched you yet.

You weren't sure which one of the girls' ideas was to jump in the pool fully clothed but you couldn’t seem to mind as you let the alcohol take over long ago, enjoying the way your dress flowed in the water with your movements. Steve was desperately telling Natasha to get out before you all caught a cold, lending her a hand. It turned out to be a terrible mistake, as she pulled him in in an instant, followed by Peter and Thor who raced to jump in the pool.

You took advantage of the commotion, and Tony’s awful singing next to the speakers, to get closer to the edge and talk to Bucky who still hadn’t taken his eyes away from you.

“No way, Doll. Don’t even think about getting me wet.” He acted like he was pulling away, although you know that’s the last thing on his mind right now. 

Your smile only grew wider as you finally reached him.“See, now you’re paranoid. I wouldn’t ever think about doing such a thing. I’m just disappointed you're gonna leave me here all by myself.” You teased, batting your eyelashes before looking over at the God who was currently in a water fight with the spiderboy. 

Bucky rested his forearms on his knees, looking down at you with that infuriatingly smug little smirk. “You? Disappointed? In me?” he mocked, pretending to be hurt. “Now that’s just cruel.”

You swam a bit closer, hands trailing along the edge of the pool, resting your chin on your arms so you could look up at him properly. “Cruel would be throwing you in this pool in front of all your friends. But don’t worry,” you tilted your head, tone syrupy sweet, “I’d never do that.”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he said dryly, watching you like he already knew what you were about to do. “I mean, for the record... I like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Loose. Happy. A little drunk. Wet.” His lips curved into that crooked smirk again, eyes gleaming. 

You flashed him one last passive aggressive smile before kicking up with both legs and splashing a wave of water straight at him.

It soaked the front of his shirt and a good part of his pants. He blinked once, slow and unimpressed, as the girls behind you broke into laughter.

“Oops,” you said, doing your best to feign surprise.

Bucky stood, wiping water from his chest, shirt clinging to his abs in a way that made it very clear he hadn’t skipped any workouts. “You wanna play dirty?” he said, voice low, eyes darkening in that way that made you grow hotter.

Before you could react, he tossed his shirt aside and crouched down, grabbing you by the wrist. You squealed, trying to swim back, but it was useless. With a sudden yank, he pulled you half out of the water — and then jumped in after you, crashing the both of you beneath the surface.

When you surfaced, gasping and laughing, you found Bucky already brushing hair from your face, his hand lingering just a second too long on your cheek. His grin was wide and playful, but his eyes searched yours like he was trying to find something underneath it all.

“You happy now? Was that what you wanted? To see me with my shirt off? You could’ve just asked, Darling.” He smirks and slightly tilts his head to the side, resting his hands on the curve of your hips. 

“How presumptuous of you. That abs-to-arrogance ratio is really something, huh?” You bite back with a proud expression on your face. To be real, you were really proud of that one. Somewhere, in the midst of looking into his eyes, you heard Thor’s roaring laugh from behind you get closer. As you turn around, you see the mighty God of Thunder make his way to you with a drink in hand, slowly but surely. Before you can go after Thor and eagerly greet him, Bucky's hands move swiftly to pull you closer, wrapping both arms around your waist in a firm grip. It's as if he's making sure you couldn't escape, like he's marking his territory. The move is intentional — calculated, even. He doesn't just hold you, he controls where you go. You feel your heart race as his chest presses against your back, the warmth of his body radiating through you, even through the cold water.

And just before Thor is close enough to hear you, Bucky pulls you in even closer and whispers "You're not getting away so easily this time," he says, voice low and hot against your neck. "You like to run, huh? I don't think so, Doll." His grip tightens slightly, and your breath hitches at the sudden intensity.

“Ah, I see the tension here!" Thor laughs, slapping Bucky's shoulder quickly as if the two of them were in some kind of camaraderie, which only makes the situation weirder. "But you know, the one thing you both should know is the real tension I’ve faced in my life…” He pauses dramatically, catching everyone's attention like he’s about to reveal some hidden truth.

Before Bucky, behind you, could protest “Thor-,” he launches into a full tale.

“Let me tell you of the time I fought the mighty Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent. This was no ordinary beast! Oh no, this creature was massive, huge, like a mountain with fangs! I had to climb its back as it thrashed through the ocean waves.” He gestures wildly, inadvertently bumping into Bucky, who looks less than impressed. Thor doesn’t notice, of course, continuing his story with all the flair of a man who’s had too much mead. 

People start gathering around the group to listen, in the light of this being one of the first genuinely interesting tales Thor’s told in a while, and soon, he has a crowd. Even Tony, who was immersed in his 80’s hits karaoke, had stopped singing and brought a stool to the edge of the pool to listen to the story.

Bucky on the other hand, probably as an excuse to get comfortable, took a few steps back to settle in one of the inner corners of the pool, nestling there with you still in his arms. You could feel him shuffling behind you, now feeling closer than ever. For a moment, only your back was pressed to his chest, but after a second, when he noticed this, he grabbed you by your hipbones and forced you onto his lap.

He didn’t ask, didn’t give you a chance to wriggle away — just guided you down with firm hands until you were perched right where he wanted you, legs between his, your back against his broad chest, and his arms loosely draped around your waist like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Much better,” Bucky murmured in your ear, voice dripping with satisfaction as he shifted slightly beneath you, settling you closer. “Wouldn’t want you getting distracted, not when I’m trying so hard to keep you entertained.” You just looked back at him over his shoulder, wanting to bite back, but you just side-eyed him while shaking your head. There is no way in hell hes so cocky. 

“You always get this quiet when you’re sitting on a lap, or is it just when you’re enjoying yourself?” Bucky was now making himself comfortable, resting his head against your shoulder.“I mean, if I knew this is what it took to get you to settle down and listen to a story, I would’ve offered my lap way sooner,” he added, smugness practically radiating off him.

You roll your eyes and sush him “Can you please? Im listening to a story here. Ever heard of common decency?” 

“Go on, keep pretending you’re here for Thor’s epic saga,” he murmured. “But I’ve got a better story for you, sweetheart. One with a little less lightning and a lot more tension.”

He taps you dangerously low on your abdomen, his voice smooth, “And I’m a real fan of happy endings.”

You can’t even hide your grin anymore. Thor, completely oblivious to any awkwardness, is now fully engrossed in his own story, surrounded by a group that’s all-too-happy to let him entertain them.

“...and there I was, in the finest gown of Asgard, about to deliver the most epic punch to the giant you’ve ever seen. No one else would dare…” he trails off, completely unaware that Bucky had started palpably growing harder.

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It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when the last ripple in the pool finally began to settle, and the chaos of the night simmered down to something quieter, lazier. The music had been reduced to a mellow background hum, the once-bright string lights above now flickering faintly like they were tired too.

Tony had one arm around Peter, half-dragging, half-carrying him out of the water while muttering something about child labor laws and the next Avengers meeting being a pool-free event. Peter, clearly past the point of resistance, had his goggles askew on his forehead and was mumbling about how he definitely didn’t lose the underwater breath-holding contest to Thor.

Speaking of whom, the thunder god stumbled out of the pool, soaked and happy, with one arm slung over Vision’s shoulder and the other over Wanda’s, telling them he was fine and that he always walks sideways when he’s “this full of honor and mead.” Thor continued to walk lopsided, telling both of them how much he loves them, kissing Vision on the head. “Did you feel that? I'm well aware you're an android, but did you feel that?” Wanda looked ready to drop them both.

Sam, Bruce, and Scott had long disappeared. You suspected their mission to test the second batch of “extraterrestrial” cocktails had either knocked them out cold or led them to explore the stars themselves. Probably unconscious behind a bush somewhere, earning tomorrow’s hangover with scientific dedication. The mere thought of this made you shake your head. Those three were going to be the next ‘Parker catch-22 situation.’ 

Somewhere in the chaos, Steve and Natasha had vanished. Not an emergency-vanish, but a very telling, low-key one. Natasha had turned to you with her usual amused smirk just before she left and called, “You two planning to stay outside? You wanna catch a cold or something?” The wink she gave you at the end made it hard to tell if she meant a literal cold or something more... suspicious. Steve jumped at Nat's words as if he meant to say something similar but forgot amidst all the chaos. "Yeah, guys, please clean up and get ready for bed. And you two, come inside, it's getting cold. Don't want you sick on the boat tomorrow. No one here is willing to babysit." He punctuates the whole thing with a few claps to get everyone's attention, as if we were cadets.

Right, the boat. You had forgotten all about that. Tony dropped the bomb that he was taking the yacht out tomorrow, between rounds two or three of Scott's mystery drink. Of course, he was. Because why wouldn’t there be a yacht involved? Steve trailed behind Natasha not long after, visibly flustered when she whispered something in his ear. Were they flirting?

"Alright, yeah, old man," Bucky mutters from behind you in the water like they both aren't well over a hundred years old, rolling his eyes playfully at Steve's comment.

You sighed and finally peeled yourself away from the water, the soaked dress clinging to your skin with every step you took toward the towel rack. The hem of it slapped against your ankles with a sad little shhhk shhhk noise. It seemed a good idea at the time — jumping in fully clothed — and in your defense, it still kind of was. Until now.

Behind you, Bucky climbed out too, dripping from head to toe, his chest slick and shining under the soft garden lights. His pants were sticking to him in a way that made you momentarily forget how to walk in a straight line. He ran a hand through his hair, flipping the water from it in an almost rude display of hotness, and shot you a tired, lopsided grin.

“Not going inside like this,” you said, looking back at him, expecting an answer.

“Yeah, I’m not in the mood to hear Steve get into the ‘how pneumonia starts’ lecture,” Bucky replied, snatching a towel with one hand. With his metal arm, he started fidgeting with the pants belt buckle, trying to take it off. When he succeeded, he slung the towel over his shoulder to easily take his pants off, which were, from what you could tell, irksomely stuck to his skin by the moisture. Who would have thought Srg. James Buchanan Barnes wore boxer briefs? Huffing loudly, he swung the pants over the back of a lounge chair and wrapped the towel over his waist. The towel hugged his hips in a way that made it very hard not to look — especially when he looked so smug about you trying not to look.

“Not to sound like Steve or anything — and I swear this isn’t just an excuse to get you naked — but you really should ditch the wet clothes. That actually is how pneumonia starts” 

You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes as you folded your soaked dress over the back of a chair. “Wow. That’s the line we’re going with, huh? ‘Medical precaution’? What’s next, Bucky? You gonna tell me your towel and ducky boxer briefs keep slipping because of gravity?”

His lips quirked up instantly with a scoff like he cant believe youre making fun of him for that, the cocky glint in his eyes sharpening as he turned toward you with that maddening, slow smile. “Hey, I’ll have you know these duckies are very aerodynamic,” he points both of his index fingers in the shape of finger guns to his crotch, still completely gobsmacked you would say that. “Also, if you excuse me, your highness," he starts, with a distinguishable glint of sarcasm to his words, "Gravity is a very real thing. You’re gonna fight science now?” He scoffs at you, turning his back to you to hang his jeans properly off the chair.

"Whatever…” you muttered with a sigh, grabbing your towel and tossing it onto one of the nearby chairs. With as much discretion as you could manage, you began shimmying out of your soaked dress—assuming Bucky had the decency to keep his back turned.

He did not.

Unbeknownst to you, the moment you turned around and started slipping out of your clothes, he glanced over his shoulder—completely shameless, pants still half-folded in the air. His eyes lingered, taking you in with a familiarity that made his chest ache. He’d seen you like this before—of course he had. He remembered every second of that night, every curve and breath and sound burned into his memory. How could he possibly forget?

But this—this felt different. There was something about seeing you again like this, in the quiet aftermath of laughter and water and heat, that made it all feel undeniably real. Not a memory. Not a fantasy. Just you. Something he was not used to. As he snapped out of his trail of thought, he gave you a once-over, admiring the shape of your every curve. Tilting his head so very slightly at the sight of your ass, the shape of your thighs and the smooth arch of your waist. He couldn't help but think how awfully hard your little hops were making the whole situation.

And with all the pride of a man caught in the act of watching a woman secretly undress, he really hoped you'd stop—because, well, the situation wasn’t the only thing getting harder.

And still, he said nothing. The weight of his silence pressed against the space between you, daring you to acknowledge the heat of his gaze. Almost like he was testing how long you could pretend you didn’t notice. You finally slipped off your dress and grabbed your towel from the chair, wrapping it around your body and securing it with a twist. He almost kissed his teeth with disappointment at watching you covered up again.

Once the dress was off, you folded it over your arm and tightened the towel around yourself.

“There,” you said with a shrug, voice dry. “Happy now? I’ve officially joined the nudist squad.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away, just ran his tongue over his bottom lip slowly, eyes dragging over you with no shame at all. Then he smirked.

“Oh, very,” he drawled, leaning back against the lounger with his arms folded, the towel dipping just a bit lower on his hips than necessary. “Now I don’t have to feel guilty about staring.”

"Oh, please! Right, like you were guilty before. Don't act so innocent." You snort and turn around, gesturing for him to follow you.

The soft feel of grass under bare feet was oddly soothing as you and Bucky made your way down the narrow garden path, towels wrapped around your still-damp bodies. The compound behind you was finally quiet. You could hear the faint hum of music Tony had forgotten to turn off.

Ahead, a wooden gazebo lounged at the edge of the garden, half-shadowed by trees and glowing softly under warm hanging lights. You made a small noise of approval when you saw it—cozy, empty, and, most importantly, far from everyone else.

“This looks nice,” you murmured, glancing sideways at Bucky.

He grunted in agreement, adjusting the towel around his waist with one hand. “Bet Tony spent ten grand just on those fairy lights.”

You snorted. “They’re probably from Wakanda. Imported and blessed by some high priestess or something.”

He chuckled, and the sound came easy. The kind of laugh that only seemed to escape him when it was just the two of you. He only ever snorted like that when he was around you, a sound so innocent, so free of burden that it made your heart churn.

You climbed the short steps and plopped onto one of the cushioned loungers, the towel around you slipping slightly, revealing the bare line of your shoulder. Bucky followed and took the spot beside you, leaving only a breath of space between your legs, but you were way past all of that already, so you let your thigh rest on top of his. His torso still gleamed faintly from the water, arms draped across the back of the chair like he had no idea what that did to your ability to speak in full sentences.

“Y’know,” you said after a beat, tilting your head back to look up at the strings of light above you, “this whole night- well, these two days to be fair, have been weird. Good-weird. Like… weird in the way I kinda needed?”

Bucky looked at you out of the corner of his eye, nodding softly. “Yeah. I get that.”

You let the silence stretch comfortably for a moment, watching a few bugs flicker around one of the lights before continuing. “It’s been chaos lately. Nonstop missions, briefings, all that. So, just being here… with everyone being human for a change, it’s nice.”

He nodded, like it finally dawned on him, “We don’t get many nights like this. Where it feels like we’re not soldiers or Avengers—just people.”

You hummed in agreement, then gave him a sidelong glance. “Especially you. You’ve been…” You trailed off, searching for the word.

“Less broody?” he offered, smirking.

“I was gonna say ‘actually fun,’ but sure, that works too,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

He chuckled again, the sound a little rougher this time. “Yeah, well.. You make it easier.” giving you an awkward, tight-lipped smile.

That made your stomach flip slightly—not just because of the compliment, but the way he said it. Quiet. Honest. You studied him for a second, the way the line of his jaw twitched under your gaze, the way the towel dipped slightly at his hip from where he leaned forward. Your fingers toyed with a loose thread on your towel before you cleared your throat.

“So… there’s something I’ve been thinking about.”

He raised a brow, head turning slightly toward you, almost sure he knew what you were about to say. “Yeah?” he said a bit hesitantly.

“That night,” you said, finally. “The… first one." You chuckle, noticing how strange that sounds. "The one-night stand that wasn’t really just a night.”

Bucky didn’t tense. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he sat a little straighter, like he’d been expecting it—maybe even waiting for it.

“What about it?”

You shrugged, looking ahead. “I guess I never asked how it felt for you. I mean… it wasn’t just sex. At least, it didn’t feel like that to me. But then we both just… pretended it didn’t happen. Which, looking back at it now, was probably the worst decision we ever made.” You sigh and your eyes flick over to his confused expression "Oh no, I meant the whole 'ignoring it ever happened' thing!"

"Oh, right," he nods with a forced smile. He was quiet for a beat. Then, “It didn’t feel like just sex to me either.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. He looked calm, but there was something in his eyes—something that made your chest ache.

“I didn’t know what to do after,” he admitted. “I woke up and thought, ‘Well, shit. This is gonna mess me up.’ Not because it was bad. But because it felt real. And real is... hard for me.”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Same.”

“I tried to act like it didn’t mean something. Thought maybe you’d be better off if I stayed distant. Didn’t want to screw it up by wanting more.” Bucky pressed his palm against his beard as if he were combing it, looking very pensive. "The worst part of all of it was having to see you over and over at the compound, day in and day out. I remember having talked about it to Sam and Steve, but they weren't much help. I remember them saying something about whatever is meant to be will be." You thought about the last sentence, noticing how Sam and Steve weren't technically wrong. And it looks like he had the same exact thought because suddenly he paused the hand motion on his beard.

You gave him a small, sad smile.

He nodded slowly. “And honestly? I’m tired of pretending I don’t want more. Tired of pretending that night didn’t change things.”

You leaned back again, heart hammering against your ribs—not from nerves, but from relief. Because finally, finally, you both weren’t dancing around it anymore.

You didn’t answer right away.

Mostly because your brain had short-circuited.

“Now I’m stuck. And I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

Those words echoed in your head, bounced off the soft wood of the gazebo. You could feel the warmth of him beside you — the steadiness of his breathing, the calm strength radiating off of him like a space heater.

You swallowed, eyes flicking away briefly before glancing back at him with a half-smirk. “Okay,” you whispered, more to test the word on your tongue than anything else. “That was good. I’ll give you that. Kind of hard to top ‘I’m stuck and I don’t wanna go anywhere.’”

Bucky’s lips tugged into a grin. “Damn. Should’ve saved it for a more dramatic moment. Like mid-battle. Or during a heist.”

“Or on a rooftop in the rain,” you offered.

He laughed again — that rare, low, real laugh that always made your chest tighten just a little. “I’ll keep it in my pocket for the next dramatic rooftop situation.”

You hummed, leaning back on your elbows and staring at the sky. The stars above were faint with the glow of the compound lights, but still there — quiet, unmoving.

It wasn’t loud between you.

Just… comfortable.

Safe.

You could hear the gears in Buckys head turning and shifting, you could tell he wanted to say something by the way his eyes flickered all over the garden. “You know…” Bucky broke the silence, his voice low, “I’ve been trying not to bring it up, that night. Figured I’d just mess things up if I did.”

You turned to glance at him, head tilted, “Why? Because of the whole ‘teammates with benefits’ taboo?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “More like… I didn’t want you to think it was just about the sex." He paused as if gaining the confidence to say this next thing. "But... you remember how I touched you that night, right?” Bucky’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he leaned in just a little closer, his breath warm against your ear. He had turned to look at you, you could tell out of the corner of your eye.

You froze, suddenly aware of how close he was, of how the way the space between you felt so much tighter than it did minutes ago. You swallowed, your voice coming out a little shaky "You've really got to ask?” you chuckle trying to relieve some of the tension.

Bucky chuckled softly, snaking a hand up your thigh, just high enough to curl a finger on the bottom of the towel. “I don't know, Doll. I think about it a lot, actually. How responsive you were to my touch, how soft you felt under my hands.” As he spoke, his gaze flicked between his hand fidgeting with the towel and your eyes. That damn smirk, he really knew how to get under your skin.

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice a little quieter. “I remember.”

He shuffled closer to you, and you could feel his breath against your neck, hot and shaky.  “Yeah?” You felt his hand move to the back of your neck, steady, turning your head to make you look at him. “Tell me about it, Doll.” 

Your brain turned to mush, thoughts scrambled and unable to form a coherent answer for him. You knew exactly what he wanted to hear, though, the memories of that night plagued your dreams every other night, making it impossible to forget how he sounded moaning your name, and the way the lightest of his touch made you come undone in ways you hadn’t experienced before or after him.

“I mean it's hard to forget, Barnes. Cumming 6 times in one night is kinda hard to compete with.” You answer truthfully, still relying on the drinks from earlier to loosen your tongue, although the effect had almost run its course.

Bucky looked at you in disbelief, either because of how crude you may have sounded or the confession that no one had ever been as good as him. “So you’re telling me that excuse of a man never left you craving more?” You couldn’t wipe the grin away from his face if you tried. “Geez, Doll, I mean I do feel bad for you. That’s probably the worst thing you’ve told me about him.” You couldn’t help but join him, laughing lightly at how bad it actually was.

“Well, he had enough trouble with making me come even once, if I didn’t fall asleep in the process; so asking him for more was the same as asking him to challenge Thor to a duel with nothing but a stick.” You felt at ease, so admitting this didn’t make you feel as miserable as it should’ve.

As the two of you laughed at your own banter, reveling in the ease of the moment, your eyes—traitorous as ever—flicked down to his lap. You’d really been trying not to look. Honestly. But the second he started talking like that, he made it ten times harder to keep your gaze in check.

The towel slung low over his hips wasn’t helping either. It clung to him in all the wrong ways—or right ways, depending on your self-control—and sat dangerously low on his pelvis, practically inviting your eyes to explore further. Even in the low light of the night, you could make out the sharp V of his hips, carved into his skin like some unfairly sculpted masterpiece.

And in the quiet stillness of it all, with him leaned back against the lounger, arms lazily draped along the top like he owned the whole damn night, looking at you through his lashes as if expecting your next move—his chest rising and falling in just a bit too much of a rhythm to pass for calm. 

When you kept scanning him, you caught it—the unmistakable bulge under the towel, the fabric doing absolutely nothing to cover it. You didn't mean to look that long, but… Has he always been that big? Although when you think about it, it makes sense. You could see the bulge resting to the left of his thigh, following the very base of his V line. Thick and daunting. And just as if to make it all the harder for you, resting under the two layers of fabric, you saw his cock twitch. It wasn't subtle or indistinct; it jerked completely unembarrassed and shameless. Obviously done on purpose after noticing you staring.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer, Doll." He chuckles, tilting his head forward." You barely had time to recover before he leaned in a little closer, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Unless... you want me to take the towel off,” he added, voice dropping an octave, slow and deliberate. “In that case, you won’t need a picture at all.”

You wanted to come up with something witty and funny, but all that came out of you was a meek nod. He was so dangerous.

"Yeah? And here I thought you were holding it together so well. Took one question and all that snark flew right out the window, huh?” He tilted his head with mock sympathy just after caressing your chin in an act of compassion.

Rolling your eyes at him, you stand up, containing a laugh, "You know I can just stand up and go back to bed, right?" but before you can even stabilize yourself on the ground, he grabs you by the hand and pulls you to sit so impossibly close to him.

"No, come on! Why would you do that when we were just starting to have fun, baby?" He says, a breath away from your face, scanning it and flicking his eyes all over your features, "Come here, Doll. I'll even let you do the honors, how about that? Does that sound okay?" He takes your hand —the same exact one he had pulled you down by earlier— and places it ever so lightly on his uncovered thigh, just below the edge of the towel. As if guiding you, he makes you caress the inside of his thighs while looking into your eyes with some unreadable, unblushing expression. Still holding onto your hand, he starts leading it upwards, making you feel your way above into the fabric of the towel, stopping just at the very beginning of his anterior thigh.

"Do you still need guidance for this?" he begins and chuckles. "Should I keep holding your hand all the way through it?" he says with a condescending tone, tilting his head with a little pout.

“You— God, no. Bucky, I don’t need your assistance. Calm down before I get up and leave before we even start.” Almost as if he had taken that seriously, he jumped a bit and looked at you from the corner of his eye, as if shooting a threat. “But don't worry, I won't do that to you. I'm not that evil.” Relishing your newfound confidence, you decide to take his advice and 'do the honors' as he said.

You change position right beside him in the lounge chair, your knees meeting the cushion under you. You look at him with hooded eyes, and he takes his hand off of yours, now pressing both of his hands to his sides. You reach the twist on the towel on the very far end of his hip and untie it, slowly but surely, making sure to let yourself enjoy the moment. You unfold the fabric once and then twice, being met once again with Buckys ducky boxers. You snort, shaking your head.

“Still can’t believe you own those,” you mutter, amused and almost fond.

Bucky catches your reaction and smirks, clearly amused by your disbelief. “What? You don’t like my fashion sense, Doll?” he teases, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know these are a limited edition. Real collector’s item.”

You ignore his comment, already feeling a coil in your stomach. There it was, still hidden by the fabric of his boxers, but there nonetheless. Even immersed in the darkness of the garden, you could see the dark spot, already wet from precum, just over his cock's head. The thought of him being needy enough to leave such a spot on his boxers without even being touched sent electric shocks to your very core. He had to have been thinking outright disgusting things all throughout the conversation to have been this hard already. You snapped out of your thoughts and leaned in, pressing soft pecks all over the length of his concealed cock.

"Fuck-" He muttered from above you, starting to take shaky breaths, sounding more desperate every passing second. You could feel his cock twitching against your lips in response to your every move and kiss.

“Oh- you think you’re real slick, huh?” he murmurs, voice dropping. “Teasin’ me like that, then acting all innocent? Keep pokin' me, sweetheart — just remember, I bite back.” He says, eyebrows furrowed into high heaven.

"Sure..."

Kiss...

"I'd really like to see you try, old man."

Kiss...

"Alright, that's enough.” He says, voice worryingly stern, grabbing you by the hair at the back of your head, interrupting you mid-kiss. “Keep callin’ me that, doll. See where it gets you.” As he held your head still, forcing you to stay in place, he swiftly shoved his thumb under the hem of his boxers and pulled them down completely uninterrupted. Now inches away from your face was his cock, bouncing from the motion, tapping you for a brief second on the nose. It was some sort of shade of coral pink, completely flushed and desperate, a clear difference to the skin on the rest of his body. Your eyes snapped from his shit-eating grin to his tip, still indecently dripping precum.

“What’s the matter?” he teases, voice low and smug. The hand that was once holding his boxers down snakes its way to the base of his cock, guiding it to tap against your lips. "Stick it out," He adds, tone stern like an order. As you pull your tongue out, expectant, he begins drawing slow, unhurried circles against the flat of it, “Cat got your tongue? Or did I finally find the off switch?” You look deeply into his eyes for a second, feeling the almost imperceptible salty taste on your tongue.

You pull away for a second, “You didn’t shut me up — I was just being generous. Letting the elderly speak, and all that. Although if shutting me up is what you want, there are a few ways to achieve that." All the while you were speaking, you could see Bucky looking at you mindfully, albeit you were still somehow unsure if he was listening to a word you were saying. Somewhere mid-sentence, he started shamelessly stroking himself, spitting into his hand, and moaning into it as he did, mere inches away from your face. You were so close you could hear the squelch of his hand against his shaft, so close you could smell his musky scent.

"Is that- Is that so?" He asks, clearly struggling to keep composure as he keeps working himself. Up and down. Up and down. "Oh yes, Sergeant Barnes. There is one way," As you finish saying this, you replace his hand with yours, continuing his exact motions. You make sure to stroke him, keeping a specific pace. The second you placed your hands back on his cock you fet how utterly wet he had achieved to be after spitting on himself. Looking back again into his eyes, you start to give him small kitten licks, watching him react almost instantly with a whimper.

“C’mon… stop bein’ mean. I’ve been good. Haven’t I been good?” And just as if you were agreeing or taking pity on him, one of the two, you took him into your mouth, slowly inching him to the back of your throat. The second you did, he let out a groan, not just any groan, one brimming with pure want, absolutely primitive.

"Fuuck..." He rasped, letting his head fall back and rest on the cushions on the head of the backrest. That was the encouragement you needed. After hearing him, you began to work yourself upwards on his shaft, keeping his cock still engulfed on your mouth, making sure to shelter all of your front teeth with your lips —we don't want any accidents here...

You continued doing the same exact thing, working your mouth and lips up and down his cock, hearing him gasp and sucking in ragged breaths from above you. At some point, he held the back of your head, grabbing a handful of your hair, and forcing you to look up at him. He looked so genuinely fucked out, lips parted into the shape of an 'o', brows furred and pupils dilated. As he looked at you, you took your mouth off of him and spat all the pent-up spit right on his tip, letting it drip in all directions. As you did, he watched you attentively, somehow looking even more needy than before. Blinking back at him innocently, you start stroking him once again, this time faster, trying to keep up with the pace your mouth had before.

“This isn’t fair," He whines, letting out a high-pitched noise in his throat. "You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, baby. No one else has ever had me like this,” He whimpers at you, making his grip on your hair even tighter.

"Yeah? That's alright, cause either way I'm not willing to let anyone see you like this ever again." To make your point be heard, you sped up your pace, not stopping for a second to look at anything else but his eyes. He, on the other hand, was seemingly tearing up. You could see his glassy sky blue eyes shining under the garden fairy lights.

Then all of a sudden, Bucky's head jerked backwards, eyes wide open. "Can’t take much more of this, baby…" You knew exactly what he meant, but there was nothing in the world you wanted more than to hear him say it. So you stroke him even faster, knowing exactly what was gonna happen. "Much more of what, Buck?" You blink up at him, taking the opportunity to use your tongue and play with the slit of his tip.

"Doll- You know what I meant. I'm gonna-" He grabs onto the cushions next to him, throwing his head back forwards to face you, now with a completely different expression. His mouth had fallen even more agape and his eyes were screwed shut.

"Yeah? gonna what?" You tease back at him, taking him back into your mouth. Something which apparently turned out to be his last straw, cause his legs tensed up under your forearms and his hips began to jolt forward. "Fuck baby, gonna- Im gonna cum-" He made you take him all the way with the hand he was still holding your head with, pushing you all the way down and making your nose bump against his pubic bone. You felt his tip touch the very back of your throat as he kept jerking his hips forward. He kept you like this for what felt like ages. He manually made you suck him off, each time making you gag from the force he was applying on you. "Doing so good, Doll. Oh- Oh my god?" You gagged on him, involuntarily letting spit drip all over him. He loved seeing you like this, teary-eyed and red in the face. At this point he didn't need to throat fuck you, he just wanted to hear the little noises you made a little longer, and as cynic as this sounds, he wanted to hear you gag.

It wasn’t long before you tasted it, that salty and strong taste relentlessly hitting the back of your throat, leaving you no choice but to swallow it. You gladly did, passing your tongue over his cock, not wanting to miss a drop. He was writhing away, the sensation too much at once yet you wouldn’t let go that easily.

He had to pull you back by your hair, not harsh but quickly enough that it almost gave you whiplash. “God, darlin’, you gonna suck me dry on the first night?” He managed to get out between pants, as his legs were still twitching unconsciously from the aftermath. 

You only grinned in response, rising to his face and kissing him immediately, a primal hunger overcoming both of you once again. “Would that be so bad?” You giggle between kisses.

“You’re so mean, Doll,” He said softly as he pulled you into his lap, pressing you to him as much as physics allowed him to. “Gonna be the death of me.”

“Is that a complaint I hear, Sergeant?” Your words were muffled by his lips, still refusing to pull away just for a second. He didn’t answer, putting one arm around you, engulfing you completely while the other went under your thigh as he stood up. 

That only lasted a couple seconds though, because soon enough he was laying you down on the other end of the lounge sofa, soft cushions supporting your upper half. “For you? Never,” He pulled away, hovering over you. “Just wanna make this last as long as possible.”

He positioned himself between your thighs, looking up at you with blown-out pupils, his left hand completely holding him up as his right hand traced the outline of your body. The kisses became hungry again, like the air out of each other's lungs was your only life source. The fire between you growing rapidly, wild and untamable. 

His hand trailed down, leaving you hot and begging for more wherever he touched. He grabbed the back of your thigh, going up where skin meets fabric. He groaned, and you felt him getting hard again, clearly the work of his superserum. He moved his hand again, pressing down just above your clothed cunt. With a thumb, he began to tease you. He ran it all along your slit, stopping just a moment to draw achingly slow circles on your clit. The sudden pressure had you whimpering, begging him to stop teasing; yet he paid you no mind, moving as if he had all the time in the world to undo your towel and remove your panties.

He stopped and stared at you, taking you in, eyes glossy and wondering as if had seen the light at the end of the tunnel. He stayed there staring directly into your pussy for a second, you were sure you almost sawy his mouth watering. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” You teased him,  knowingly smirking at the reactions you were pulling from him.

“No need,” He started as he leaned down and kissed your neck, getting closer to your ear. “I’ll have you like this every night for the rest of our lives.” The confession that he was planning to never let you go, and his hot breath combined with his open mouthed kisses at your neck had you moaning louder than intended. 

“Is that a promise, Barnes?” You said breathless, all composure you thought you had left had been thrown out the window a long while ago.

“Get me a bible and I’ll swear on it, sweetheart.” He went back to kissing you, making his way down your chest as his fingers danced along your inner thigh, itching closer but still not close enough to where you needed him most.

“Fuck, Bucky, stop teasing,” You pleaded, getting annoyed by the growing anticipation. 

“Patience, Doll, we have all night” He muttered, clearly forgetting that you, in fact did not, and that you had to be all packed and ready, cruising the ocean in about 5 hours. And before you could remind him yourself, ever so responsible, you felt his fingers slithering from your inner thigh, inevitably sliding along your slit, collecting all the wetness that had pooled there and spreading it around. 

"So wet..." He says almost with disbelief, a tinge of surprise to his words "Did sucking my cock really get you this wet, angel?" You could only gasp, all thoughts interrupted and words caught in your throat. You felt him smirk against your skin, before sucking your nipple into his mouth. “Yeah? That feel good, Doll? Would’ve been so very mean of me to not repay you after the stunt you pulled back there”

He didn’t stay there for long, getting close to your face, purposefully making his lips hover right above yours. Before you could complain, two of his fingers entered you swiftly, making you gasp and arch your back involuntarily. Unlike you, his pace was fast and deliberate, as if watching you squirm was his one and only mission. All the while he hammered his fingers into you, palm of his hand slapping against your clit, he was glaring at you menacingly. “Fuck…” You whispered, all you managed to get out.

“Yeah? What’s that, Doll?” Getting closer to your face and pressing kisses all around the corner of your mouth, as if framing your face. His smirk only grew wider as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, slightly curling them before almost taking them out completely, and entering them again. “Did Mark ever do this for you? Hm? Fingering you until you were a sticky mess? Tell me, please, tell me-” He pulled away from your face, not once pulling out his fingers. He shimmied his way down your torso, stopping just above your pelvis, pressing soft kisses to the skin there. He licked and mouthed words of reassurance to the inside of your thighs, so irritatingly close to where you actually wanted him.

“No! He never did, never…” You managed to spit out. You wanted to beat him with a stick, the sly bastard knew the effect he had on you and you hated how cocky and insufferable it made him. The problem was that your thoughts were completely wiped from your brain and you couldn’t form a single coherent sentence other than the meek pleas and whimpers escaping your lips with every thrust of his hands. The moment you said that, as if to reward you for being so honest, he pressed his mouth to your clit, instantly feeling like he's air sealing it. He flicked his tongue notably quick, if you hadn't been completely overtaken by pleasure, you probably would've been surprised by his speed.

“You look gorgeous, darling, letting yourself go so easily.” He mouthed into your cunt, inaudible. You could hear the vulgar wet slapping of his tongue, and the filthy squelch of him licking you into his mouth.

That’s when he picked up the pace, holding on to the roots of his hair, steering his face closer into you, “Oh my God…” You really tried being as quiet as possible, knowing the compound was full of trained agents and spies who were always alert, even during their sleep. That proved to be impossible as he smirked and looked into your eyes, reveling in the way he made you feel and how tight you were.

You had to ground yourself somehow, so you gripped his forearm, guiding his hand as deep as he could. That familiar coil started to form in the pit of your stomach, making him grin even wider against you. “Thaaat’s it, Doll. God, you’re doin’ so well for me.” Bucky, looking for your pleasure, pulled out his tongue and began shaking his head from side to side.

That’s all it took for the coil to snap, strong, intense and completely blindsiding you. His movements gradually slowed down as he kissed his way up your neck, going up to your cheek and lastly on your forehead. “So pretty, y’know that? Did so well for me. Prettiest girl ever...” He laid with you for a minute there, basking in your presence and feeling the motion of your chest as you breathed. He pressed kisses to your nose, forehead and side of your jaw, making sure to not miss a single spot. You could only smile back at him when you noticed that all through pecking your face he was quietly chuckling against your skin. “I really do like you, you know that? This was unbelievable, don't get me wrong, but I really need you to know that you are so much more than just this” 

Damn it. He really makes it so incredibly hard not to love him.

“I know… I know Bucky, you are so much more than just mind blowing sex to me too”  You both can't help but giggle at your comment. “You were right, you know? You and me… were always gonna happen.” You continue. He looks at you almost in disbelief. You don't know how long he's been meaning to hear that from you. “Don't worry, angel. I'll make sure that we do. Always” Just as he finished his sentence, he collapsed his body onto  yours, crashing both of your lips together. He was hungry, desperate, almost primitive with the ways he kissed you. You couldn't help but wonder the reason as to why Bucky was so pent up. Had he hooked up with any women after you? Had he been waiting for you this whole time?  The thought must’ve been clearly eating at your brain, because at some point you weren't able to contain yourself and you let the question fly. 

“Buck- Wait…” You tried to begin but he kept stealing kisses from you, just as starved as before “Buck, did you ever fuck anyone after me? Just pure curiosity” You pulled him away from your lips to look into his eyes, but he only stayed there for a second. He went back to biting and licking your lips the way only a famished man knew how to. “No..” He muttered into your lips, not pulling away for a fraction of a second. “How- How could i? The second I got a taste of you I couldn't erase it from my lips” He said, grabbing onto the back of your neck to pull you into his mouth even harder, his words coming out almost indistinguishable against the wetness of both of your mouths. “I tried for a while y’know? Tried to find other women attractive, even Sam helped for a while. But I just couldn't, Doll. You're the only one who knows how to work me” He finally finishes the sentence with a quiet groan. To some extent, you felt pity for him. He deserved to have been happy. But to be honest, you were more glad than anything, cause then it wouldn't have led you both to this.

As you kept kissing him you couldn't help but to look down towards his painfully hard cock. You had started feeling it a few moments back, rubbing against your belly, swinging and slapping against you with his every move. You reach down to grab it. 

“Already?” you ask, commenting about his hard on. “What can I say? That super serum works wonders” He replies with snark. Holding himself up by his hands – which were laying to both of your sides– he began to look towards your hand  as you worked it up and down. “Is that so? How about we test that out, soldier?” You shot your eyes open in faux surprise.

He laughed, finally looking back up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How about we do?” His smile disappeared from his face instantly after he said this, making his expression one of concentration rather than anything else. He grabbed the base of his cock swiftly with one hand, keeping himself upright with his other arm, and with one languid motion he pressed the length of it to your cunt. He slapped it against you, looking at you with some sort of expression that whispered ‘and what are you gonna do about it?’ 

“Do you want this?” he whispers in your ear looking back down towards his hand, watching himself sliding his cock against the length of your slit. You can only moan back at him “Now’s really not the time to ask, Buck” He scoffs at your desperation and with one harsh motion he pounds his hips into you. You let out a guttural sound, forgetting completely that everyone else was asleep and if you were heard you could be both found here, laying naked. Bucky’s pace began to pick up, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from where you too were meeting, you couldn’t look away from such a sight. 

Bucky leveled himself out and straightened his back, now grabbing you by your thighs instead of being propped up by his arms like he was earlier. You grabbed onto the cushions behind you as your eyes began to screw shut, feeling so completely overpowered by the feeling of him inside you. He hadn’t looked away from your cunt for one single second. He watched you swallow his cock easily with disbelief, shaking his head from side to side. 

“Fuck, missed this pussy so much. Feels so good…”  He grabbed you by the neck as he pushed you up to make you touch foreheads. 

“God, i missed you too Buck”  you close your eyes, trying to ignore the coil in your stomach. Bucky then tightens his grip on the back of your head and pulls you a few inches back, looking directly into your eyes crudely barefaced. 

“Hm? I bet. That deadbeat couldn’t make my baby cum, could he?” He whispered into your face, his voice cracking and shaking after every thrust into you.  

And as if to prove himself something, he let go of your neck gently, letting you fall into the cushions behind you. He grabbed you by the back of your knees and harshly pulled them to your shoulders, bending you in a way that only seemed vulgar. You —insecure and maybe a little ashamed of the position he had twisted you into—grab a pillow from beside your head and cover your face. As soon as he noticed you had done this, you felt the cushion being ripped from your face as he sent it flying into the darkness of the garden. 

“Uh uh” he tuts at you, giving you a few taps on the cheek “I wanna see your face when you cum, baby. I want you to see me fucking into you. Can’t have your pretty face covered up, can we?” He taunts with a face of very obvious sarcastic disappointment. You couldn’t do anything but nod at him; all the snark you had in you before had left you along with your ability to speak words.

Bucky, still as desperate as ever, began to thrust his hips even faster. You were able to hear and feel the wetness between your legs, although very sure it wasn’t completely your doing. You looked down, trying to understand Bucky's fixation. As soon as you did you saw him ramming himself into you, his cock slick and shiny under the glow of the fairy lights.

“Y’like the view?”He smirked down at you, eyes dark with want. The room seemed to blur around you as your bodies moved in tandem, hips meeting in a desperate rhythm, each thrust pulling you both deeper into the frenzy. The air was thick with heat, every breath shared, every sound echoing in your ears.

Bucky was grunting now — raw, guttural — like a man undone, clinging to control by a thread. One of his hands cradled your face, holding you close, his gaze locked on yours as if he didn’t want to miss a single flicker of pleasure in your expression.

The pressure inside you coiled tighter with every movement, building to something you couldn’t outrun. You were burning up — flushed, breathless, slick with sweat. Every sensation hit at once, crashing into you like a wave: the heat of his skin, the weight of his body, the sounds falling from his lips.

It was too much — too good — and not nearly enough all at once.

“M’ gonna cum, Bucky” You barely managed to get the words out — a breathless whisper, trembling on your lips. Bucky didn’t respond right away. He just nodded, eyes heavy with heat, his jaw slack like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. The tension in him was palpable. You clung to his bicep with one hand, the other clawing at the muscles of his back, searching for something to ground you through the storm inside you.

Every nerve ending was on fire — like always, like only with him.

“You’re gonna drive me outta my damn mind,” he whimpered, his voice breaking as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His hips never faltered, moving with a determined rhythm that pushed you both closer to the edge.

“I’m so close, Doll. Just let go,” he panted against your skin. “I’m not askin’ for much — just that.”

And just like that, it hit you both — like lightning through the spine. A chorus of tangled moans filled the air as the wave crested, pulling you under together. Bucky wrapped his arms tight around you, chest pressed flush to yours as if afraid you'd slip away. You felt the frantic pounding of his heart, the sweat and heat clinging between you.

That blinding rush hadn’t even fully passed, but it still pulsed through your limbs, keeping you shivering beneath him. And Bucky — breathless, trembling — stayed there, arms locked around your body like you were the only thing tethering him to reality.

The world felt suspended for a moment — like time had bent to give you this small pocket of quiet, right here in each other’s arms.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly beneath Bucky’s as he lay half-draped over you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, lips brushing your skin with each steadying breath. The sweat-slick warmth of his body was comforting rather than suffocating now, the burn of passion replaced by a slow, grounding calm.

Neither of you said anything at first. There was no need. He simply let out a soft sigh, the sound almost content, and then shifted slightly to cradle you better — his metal arm slipping under your back, warm from your shared heat, pulling you in. His other hand ran gently down your side, fingers tracing soft shapes on your hip as if to remind himself you were really there.

"You okay, Doll?" he finally murmured, voice rough around the edges, but tender. His nose nudged against your cheek as he looked down at you, eyes softer now. "Did I hurt you at all?"

You shook your head, offering him a lazy, hazy smile. “Not even close. That was... incredible.”

He chuckled quietly, that low, affectionate sound that made your chest flutter more than anything else. “Yeah,” he whispered, brushing some damp hair away from your face, “you just about killed me.”

You laughed, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead — slow, deliberate, like it meant something more than the ones before it. It did.

After a moment, he leaned back just enough to reach for a throw blanket at the end of the lounger, draping it over both of you with surprising care. You curled into his side instinctively, your leg tangling with his, hand resting against his chest — right over the heartbeat that hadn’t yet settled down.

“We gotta be up in, like… four hours,” he muttered, his forehead thunking lightly against your shoulder. “Stark’s stupid yacht leaves at sunrise. Something about ‘golden hour content’ and 'champagne breakfast'."

You groaned too, your voice muffled into his chest. “Ugh. If he plays that ‘I’m on a Boat’ song one more time, I’m throwing myself overboard.”

Bucky snorted. “I’ll jump with you. We'll go down together like Jack and Rose.”

“I get the door this time.”

“Deal.”

A sleepy silence settled again, his hand absentmindedly brushing up and down your back. Then, just as your eyes started to drift shut, he whispered, a quiet grin in his voice, “Y’know… if someone told me a year ago I’d end up half-naked, wrapped around you like this, under the stars, after sneaking into a pool party... I’d say they were full of shit.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, nuzzling into his warmth. “Yeah,” you murmured, “but I think I always hoped you would.”

You met Mark a while back, maybe two or three months ago, at a dive bar in Manhattan. You two clicked pretty quickly. You vividly remember dancing to at least three cheesy 90’s songs with him. Some of the night is a blur, sure, but you remember staying until maybe two in the morning before the bar closed. After that, disgustingly drunk, you shared a cigarette outside, and he asked for your number before walking away. Of course, the only thing you're a little nervous about now is not just the fact that you're bringing a goddamn accountant to casually meet the Avengers, but you also worry because your friends could be a little nosy; especially Sam and Steve who saw you as a little sister. Not to mention Wanda will probably hog him to know everything about how you met. Either way, it’s nothing serious between you and Mark. You haven't made anything official; you still don't even know what to call it... whatever it is you two have.

Anyways, you’re definitely not in any kind of panic. Nope, of course not. It's simply Hawaii. Ocean, sun, and, if Tony’s bartenders aren't paying close attention, maybe a few too many drinks to distract you from the chaos you willingly signed up for. Just a good time with old friends who also happen to be, you know, the most powerful heroes on Earth. Like you always say: casual.

At this point, you're just praying Mark doesn’t get overwhelmed and start asking for autographs. Or worse, that Bucky doesn’t pick this exact moment to be weird and broody about everything, and Thor decides to bring up your deepest, most humble moments, which he tends to do while drinking. Either way, you’re sticking to the plan: drink something fruity, sit somewhere sunny, swim a little, and... take a deep breath.

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The flight to Hawaii is just another part of the whole Tony Stark experience — private jet, full amenities, and absolutely no lines at the airport. It's hard to care about the fact that you're flying in a plane big enough to fit a small city when you're sprawled out in a leather chair with a cocktail in hand. The crew’s doing their usual thing: Steve's reading a first edition of The Great Gatsby (not even trying to fit in anymore), Sam — although you can barely see him sitting at the back — is scrolling through his phone, watching memes at full volume, Peter has about three books spread out on his table while he hunches over his MacBook, cramming for a test he has tomorrow (because even though Tony sent a note to excuse him from high school, he still has to do online work), Thor is knocked out in his seat, jaw basically unhinged, drooling all over his blanket, and the birthday boy himself is up in the cockpit, already tipsy and arguing with the pilot to let him fly the plane.

"I bought the plane, slackjaw! And you're really not gonna let me fly it, you twerp?" he yells.

Bucky and a bunch of others are sitting at the back of the plane, so you can't exactly tell what he's up to, but somehow, you can feel his gaze boring into poor Mark’s head. You remember a few hours ago, when you and Mark were making your way to the access gateway, you could feel Bucky’s eyes following you from a few feet away. He was standing at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, looking... off. Not exactly angry, but definitely too focused. It's the kind of look he gets when he's calculating something in his head — probably sizing Mark up like he's some kind of threat, even though Mark was too busy clumsily adjusting his carry-on, kicking it down the runway like a stray soccer ball.

Bucky was staring at Mark, and you felt the weight of it. It wasn’t just a glance; it was a lingering look, one that didn’t quite settle, like he was trying to figure out what exactly was going on between you two. You don’t know if it was jealousy or something else, but it was heavy enough to make the air feel tighter than it should have. You could almost hear his thoughts: Who’s this guy? What’s his angle? What hole did this jerk crawl out of?

Whatever. You’re not about to let him get in the way of something new. You’d be pretty damn stupid if you did. That night in the tower so many months ago was just a drunken mistake and you didn’t give it much thought, so neither would he, right? You glance to your right and see Mark leaning against the window, sound asleep. You press a soft kiss to his cheek and run your fingers gently through his hair.

Unfortunately, the two cocktails you had earlier are starting to catch up with you. With a groan, you get up, looking for a bathroom. You approach Tony — who is very clearly drunk at this point — and ask, "Hey Tony, sorry, where's the bathroom?" He peeks at you from under his tinted glasses, swishes one finger around lazily in the air, and points toward the cockpit.

"Try the cockpit, there's a piece of shit flying the plane anyway," he slurs, running a hand through his hair.

Pepper, sitting right beside him, swats his hand away and gives you an apologetic look.

"Right down there, sweetie," she says kindly. "Just walk down the aisle."

As you head down the aisle, you finally get a full view of everyone — those at the front, and those tucked into the back. You near the bathrooms and you spot Bucky. He’s sitting with his arms crossed, headphones on, and his eyes closed. But you can tell he’s not really asleep; a second ago he was scratching at his beard and scrunching up his nose. Sam, sitting next to him, is still cracking up at memes on his phone.

When Sam catches a glimpse of you, he calls out, "Y/n, please look at this!"

You bend toward him to check it out — it’s a ridiculous cat compilation on Instagram reels, of course — and you laugh, telling him it’s funny. But as you go to straighten back up, you notice Bucky has cracked one eye open, squinting at you and tilting his head like he’s still trying to figure you out.

You probably linger there a second longer than you should, because he lifts an arm from his chest and points behind you.

"Bathrooms are back there, pretty sure," he says casually.

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It feels like entering a dream when you finally touch down in Hawaii and get off the plane. The first thing that hits you is the warm air, not too hot, just the ideal tropical wind. Tony's massive, stunning summer home, which looks like it belongs on a magazine cover, towers over you. The entire compound, perched on a cliff on the side of a mountain with amazing views of the ocean for miles in all directions, is more than just a beach house. The main living area has a pool that spills over into an oceanfront view, the kind of pool that looks like it belongs in a resort. Cushioned lounge chairs dot the edge of the deck, and there’s a bar tucked in the corner, ready for whatever drink anyone might need. It’s calm, almost serene, except for the occasional burst of laughter or someone screaming.

You drop your bags in your rooms, each of you claiming your space in the massive house. Bucky’s room is tucked away at the far end, quiet and away from the chaos. He’s quick to throw his stuff down and head out, as always.

Once you and Mark are all set, you meet up in the main area. Tony’s already got a drink in hand, cracking jokes. Steve is adjusting his bathing suit by the hem, and Natasha is looking through her beach bag, trying to find her sunglasses. Bucky, who is standing right behind Steve with Sam, also has a drink in hand, something unbelievably fruity for the incredibly macho man holding it. Bucky, Sam, and Steve are all belly laughing about something. Sam arched, holding on to his belly with one hand and with the other grabbing onto his knee, trying to catch his breath.

Either Steve or Tony says something about hurrying up, and everybody starts making their way to the buggies, which fit four people each. You all hurry to get in and speed off excited to see the beach, getting there in about five minutes.

The second you hit the beach, you drop into a lounge chair without thinking, sinking into it like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this. The sun’s still clinging to everything, warm and lazy. Natasha drops into the chair next to you, all cool indifference.

Without saying a word, she pulls a bottle of wine from under her beach bag and sets it between you with a grin. "Borrowed it from the bar," she says, way too proud of herself. She pulls two glasses from a bag like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You take one, and you toast silently, stretching your legs out toward the ocean, watching the waves roll in. Vision is somewhere in the sand, reading a book with Wanda in his arms. Peter, poor guy, is still spread out in the sand studying with a calculator in hand. And finally, Pepper is rubbing sunscreen on Tony's back so that he can take a dip.

Down near the water, Steve’s hurling a flying disc across the sand, Sam and Thor laughing while Bruce struggles to keep up, poor guy is basically tripping on his own feet every few throws. It’s chaotic, loud, familiar. Steve calls Mark over, waving him into the game, and you know that if there was someone who was going to make Mark feel at home, it was going to be him. Mark glances at you for permission, but you just lift your glass in a lazy cheers. 

"Go ahead. I’ll survive," you tell him, smiling into your drink.

As he jogs off, almost instantly the lounge chair beside you dips under the weight of someone new. Bucky drops into it with a grunt, lounging back. He glances sideways at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Without looking at his face, you can make out the smugness in it. "Settling in real nice, huh?" he says, voice low and a little too close, like he’s in on some joke you haven’t caught yet. Clearly poking fun at poor Mark.

"Sorry?" you say, holding back a laugh. He bends his elbows and places both of his hands behind his head as he straightens his back and looks at the game in front of him.

"Oh, just you know... Uhm—" he points forward with one finger and swishes it around in the air, and snaps his fingers like he's looking for an answer.

"Mark?" you say, answering his unvoiced question.

"Yeah! That guy... Where did you find him? Was he on clearance or...?" he answers back with genuine confusion on his face, almost like he's worried.

"No, Bucky, I didn't find my boyfriend on clearance," you answer back to him with a smirk, obviously amused at his humor, but deep down feeling bad that those things are being said about him.

Bucky flips his head for a second to look over at you with squinting eyes from the sun. "Oh, boyfriend?! You guys made it official, did you? Looks like that's the first time you do that, last time you were pretty scared to do so..." he snarks back at you as he turns his head back to look at the game, clearly meaning to be as sassy as that sounded.

"Well, no, not yet... But that doesn't mean anything, I can see it happening any day now. He's just busy with work, and I believe him... I get it." you mutter, knowing how stupid that sounded and how much of a red flag he'd find that to be. But it's true, he's told you he hasn't asked you to be his girlfriend yet because of work and the things he has going on in his life. And that's okay, you guess... right?

Bucky scoffs and quickly snarks, "Oh yeah, real busy. Saving the world one spreadsheet at a time... I was really hoping he was better at relationships than he is at standing around awkwardly, and it really, really seems like he isn't, doll." As he says that, you can see him analyzing Mark's playing technique and standing position. Now, as you see this happening, you realize how clumsy he really is while grabbing the disc, how his knees buckle when landing back down after jumping, and how, after playing for 5 minutes, he's already sweating like a beast, as red as a man can be.

"I believe him, Buck, no need to make fun of him. I wouldn't wish for him to feel left out on this vacation. Besides, he's clearly having a good time, look at him playing with Steve and Sam." Your eyes flick back to him running around, which honestly just looks like he's throwing his limbs around in a circle...

"Yeah, he’s having the time of his life... bless his heart. Probably thinks he’s one of the Avengers now." He shoots you a sideways look, that tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. "Might have to get him a little cape or something. Make it official."

This finally makes you burst out in a belly laugh, even Nat, beside you, is holding in a laugh with her index finger pressed on her lips. You look back at Bucky, he's smirking while doing the exact same thing he was doing earlier, ogling and sizing up Mark.

Finally, obviously not being able to keep up with the stamina of a super soldier and the god of thunder, Mark comes back panting like a dog. He stands in front of Bucky and you, covering up the sun. 

"Did you see that? I just played flying disc with Captain America, my coworker is not going to believe this." Bucky tilts his head, eyes narrowing playfully as he watches Mark catch his breath. He lets the silence stretch for a moment, clearly enjoying the opportunity to poke fun.

Finally, he smirks, leaning back in his chair like he’s about to deliver the knockout punch. "Oh, yeah? Played frisbee with Cap and survived? That’s a pretty big deal, huh?" he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Bet your coworker’s gonna love hearing about that. 'Hey, I spent the afternoon with a super soldier and a god, and still couldn’t catch a damn frisbee to save my life.'" Bucky glances over at you, raising an eyebrow like he's silently asking for permission to keep poking fun. Obviously, your mouth had fallen agape since Bucky started talking. Then, looking back at Mark, he shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance. "Maybe grab a souvenir, yeah? You know, something to really capture the ‘I’m just a regular guy in over his head’ vibe. Maybe a ‘Survived being a Civilian' t-shirt."

"Alright, Bucky, stand up, I'm pretty sure Sam's calling you. They're short for a teammate. Come on, get out of here," you say to him, pushing him off the lounge chair.

For a moment, Bucky and Mark come face to face, well, face to chest... Mark shifts uncomfortably, looking up, like he’s not sure if he should be awkward about it or just roll with it. Bucky, of course, notices immediately and shoots him a smirk.

"Didn’t know they were stacking ‘em so tall these days," he quips, immediately looking back at you to see your reaction, glancing down at Mark with that sly grin of his. He gives Mark a quick once-over, almost like he's sizing him up, before he glances back at you, voice low and almost amused, "Don’t miss me too much, I’ll be back before you can finish that drink."

You scoff, and Mark sits back down on the chair. He says something about how rude Bucky was, or was he asking what's up with him? To be honest, you don't really know; it's not like you were paying attention. You were shamefully watching Bucky run and bounce back over to the team at the beach. Almost like the scene was in slow motion, you saw him dap up Sam and send a teasing kiss to Steve. His muscles shifting like gears, shiny with sweat under the tropical sun, you heard him say from afar, "Alright, buckle up! Y/n sent the heavy cavalry this time, someone is gonna need a stretcher." 

After this, still feeling like the whole scene was in slow motion, you caught him looking back at you while bunching up his swimming shorts at the top of his thighs, dangerously close to flashing everyone at the beach.

You try to act as though you missed that by rolling your eyes. Mark gives you an expression of confusion. He asks, half-laughing as if he believes you're going to reveal some secret about Bucky,"Is he always like that?"

You try to be casual about it, though, and just shrug. Clearly, you're not gonna tell him that the man who was absolutely ridiculing him was the guy last guy you fucked before meeting him; and who, for reasons unknown to you, was acting unusually jealous. Something completely out of the ordinary, considering he never had you. So there’s no reason for him to be. 

You tap your fingers against the chair's armrest and respond, "Yeah, unfortunately," not really listening to what is being said. As if he were the star of some absurd show, Bucky has already returned with Sam and Steve. He jokes that he could have saved the world in less time than it takes Steve to toss a frisbee, and you can hear him laughing and being snarky.

Mark notices you watching, and you quickly glance away, but it’s too late. He catches on. "You know, it seems like he’s... trying to get a reaction out of you." He grins, but you just shake your head.

"Trust me, it’s just Bucky being Bucky. He does that with everyone," you explain, though you’re not entirely sure it’s a lie. The way he keeps looking over here — you’re not sure. It feels different, you're familiar with it, you’ve seen that look before, a long time ago. You recall seeing it that one night you guys spent together, but somehow he's found a way to make you question that which you were so certain about, but you’re not about to get into it now. Not in front of Mark.

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As you start gathering your things, the atmosphere shifts, a mix of exhaustion and excitement hanging in the air. Sam’s tossing his frisbee one last time with Steve, Thor’s trying (and failing) to teach Bruce how to actually throw it properly, and Natasha’s already scanning her phone, probably getting all the security details ready for tonight. You and Mark grab your stuff and start heading toward the buggies, but the moment you turn, you see Bucky leaning casually against one of the lounge chairs, his eyes flickering between the group and you.

He smirks, slow and deliberate, clearly savoring the moment. "You guys really gonna leave me to clean up all this mess? C'mon, I'm tired, too," he says, his voice low enough that it feels like he’s only speaking to you. There’s something about the way he stands there; his gaze stays locked on you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to make the next move.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing your bag and trying to look casual, but his presence is enough to make your pulse pick up. Every time he says something, it feels like he’s leaning in just a little closer. "You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up," you say.

He chuckles, his grin widening when he notices you’re the one answering back to him, as he pushes himself off the chair and walks toward you with his hands on his hips, his movements slow and controlled. "Only if you promise to catch me when I do, angel," he replies, his voice a little too smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. There’s that underlying something again...

Mark nudges you, a little too eager, clearly oblivious to the tension. "You coming, babe?" he asks, his voice casual, but his eyes wide, glancing between you and Bucky, waiting for a response.

Before you can even answer, Bucky cuts in, his voice dripping with a passive-aggressive sweetness that makes your skin prickle. "Oh, sure, let’s all wait for Mark to lead the way," he says, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow. "I’m sure he’s the perfect choice. You wanna drive my buggie, buddy?" He pauses just long enough to look you over, his eyes taking their time with you before he smirks. He gets closer to you so that Mark, all the way back at the lounge chair, doesn't hear him. "I’m sure it’s charming... if you’re into that whole ‘average guy’ vibe. Just don't expect him to keep up with us." He glances back at Mark, then back to you, his voice lowering, teasing. "No offense, buddy," he adds, lifting a palm up in the air while keeping the other at his hips, as if asking for forgiveness, but it’s so loaded, you feel bad for Mark. You should've never invited him; you knew this was gonna happen.

He shrugs lazily, his tone soft and too damn confident. "Hey, I’m just saying. You can’t really compare... You know?" He glances at Mark again, but this time, his attention lingers just a little too long on you, his gaze shifting down to your bikini top, and he's obviously not admiring the stripes and designs on it. His voice dips into something more intimate. "But, whatever, if you’re cool with settling. Tell him not to trip over his own feet on the way there, yeah?"

You try not to react; he knows exactly what he’s doing. His words aren’t just mean and teasing—they’re digging at something deeper. Bucky’s always like this, pushing at the edges, pulling at invisible strings, and you can’t figure out if he’s just playing or if he really means every word.

Mark gives you a quick glance, a little uncomfortable, and you can’t blame him. You shake your head to clear the tension that Bucky’s left hanging in the air. "Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming. Just give me a second," you say.

Bucky watches you, his smirk growing like he just got some grand idea, like he knows he’s got the upper hand. "Take all the time you need, doll," he calls out with a wink as you turn toward the buggies. His voice is a whisper now, so damn close, like it’s meant for only you. "Just don’t take too long, yeah?"

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

By the time you make it back to the compound, the whole place feels completely different from when you left. Earlier, it was this easy, lazy beach vibe — now, it’s chaos in motion, the sunrays dissipating, the smell of sea salt lingering in the air. Everything seems almost nostalgic, like this could be the rest of your life, just beach hopping and endless tan lines. All around, there are staff that Tony must have flown in from who-knows-where who are rushing around, clipping up strings of lights, adjusting floral arrangements, setting up a red carpet on the entrance, and testing sound systems. It smells faintly of washed clothes, cologne, and faint stress. And champagne. Always champagne.

Mark wanders off almost immediately, following one of the staff members who's gesturing him toward his room, where someone probably left suits hanging neatly pressed and ready. He gives you a quick, wide-eyed smile — a silent help — before disappearing down the hall. You can't help but chuckle a little to yourself. He’s trying. He really is, it's so cute that he is, he's not meant for all of this.

You hang back for a second, pretending to check your phone, when really, you’re just... delaying. Taking it in. The night ahead feels electric in a way. And probably just mentally preparing yourself for the cosmic hangover you're gonna wake up with tomorrow, already deactivating any kind of alarm on your phone.

That’s when Bucky falls into step beside you with his beachbag in hand, so quietly you don’t even notice until he’s matching your pace. You were too distracted watching poor Pepper orchestrate the whole thing from afar, telling all the staff how to hang the decorations and which setting for the lights to use.

“You better not keep him waiting too long,” he says casually, nodding down the hallway where Mark disappeared. There’s a slyness to his voice that makes your skin prickle. “Wouldn’t want poor lover boy getting lost before the big night,” he says with a small pout and scrunched eyebrows, clearly trying to be as sarcastic as he can.

You toss him a glare over your shoulder. “He’s not lost. He’s probably just... figuring out where everything is. Just like any normal person here, I don't blame him.”

Bucky chuckles under his breath, a low, rough sound. “Mm. Cute. Hope he’s got a map. Or a damn survival guide.” He leans in a little, close enough that you catch the mint he's chewing and whatever soap he uses, all warm and clean and unfair. His voice drops, low and teasing, “Poor guy’s about to get eaten alive tonight." As much as you hate hearing that, it might be true.

You pass through the archway leading to the guest rooms, and he slows, letting his knuckles casually brush against your hand for half a second — like it’s an accident. You feel it more than anything. Sparks running up your arm.

"You sure you're up for babysitting him all night?" Bucky says, voice like a dare now. "Could always come swim with the big sharks instead, maybe get a drink, a shot or two. You know how much Sam loves those. Tell me that doesn't sound like your kind of fun, angel."

You turn sharply, about to shoot something back at him, but just then Sam’s voice echoes down the hall, yelling something about how everyone needed to be ready in twenty minutes or Tony was gonna start sending search-and-rescue teams after us. You chuckle.

Bucky smirks like he planned the interruption, like he knows he’s in your head now. He nudges you lightly with his shoulder before peeling off toward his room, sending an index finger into the air and calling over his shoulder without turning around:

“Don’t be late, doll.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing alone in the hallway, still feeling the ghost of his knuckles against your skin, heart beating a little too fast for someone who’s supposed to be cool and unbothered.

You finally make it into your own room, closing the door behind you and letting out a long, shaky breath. You have twenty minutes to pull yourself together, look like you belong at a billionaire’s party, and — apparently — survive whatever game Bucky Barnes thinks he’s playing tonight. You hear Mark scrambling in the bathroom, clearly having trouble doing something, god knows what...

"You need help in there, Mark?" you say genuinely trying to help him, and well, trying to empty that bathroom to get ready. "Nope! I'm fine, I'm just peachy!" he says as he comes out of the bathroom, slamming the door. He looks surprisingly put together for someone who started getting ready ten minutes ago.

"They hung your dress right there, babe," he says, pointing over at the huge dresser on the far right wall of the room. Your dress was hanging with a layer of clear plastic over it to protect it. You reach for it and peel the plastic off. Right after taking it, you set it on the bed and headed for the bathroom to put on makeup. About ten minutes later, after you finished, you were quick to put it on and look in the mirror. As you looked in the mirror, you could see Mark struggling in the background to put on his shoes, feet up in the bed, kicking them up relentlessly.

The dress cascaded in a river of red silk, clinging to your figure with a natural grace. Thin, delicate straps rested almost imperceptibly on your shoulders, while a soft draped neckline revealed your neck and collarbones, just covering your torso over the beginning of your breasts. Ethereal panels of sheer fabric floated from your arms. The fabric caught the light with a liquid sheen, making you look pulled straight out from a vampire tale.

Mark finally looks up from lacing his shoes, his eyes dragging up and down the dress. He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head a little. "Wow," he says, almost like he can't help himself. "You look like... I don’t know, like you walked straight out of, like, the Middle Ages or something."

You blink at him through the mirror.

He catches your expression and rushes to tack on, "I mean, it’s cool. Dramatic, y’know? Not what I expected, but hey, if you’re feeling it..." He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, like it didn’t just sit weirdly heavy in the room.

You smooth your hands down the silk of the dress, letting the fabric shimmer under the lights, trying to find the beauty in the dress while also trying not to let his words cling to you the way his voice did. Did you really look that odd? You started considering asking the team or the staff for a new dress.

Behind you, Mark grins, completely oblivious. "I should’ve dressed up more, huh?" he jokes half-heartedly, plucking at the collar of his wrinkled shirt. "You're gonna make me look like I picked you up from a Ren fair." What the fuck?

At that moment, as you were about to text Nat for a spare dress or something, a sharp knock sounds at the door — and Bucky’s familiar voice cuts in, rough and teasing: "You two lovebirds dead in there, or is Mark still fixing his hair?"

A real smile breaks across your face for the first time in minutes. Thank god. Hearing yourself think this was absolutely disheartening, but sadly, you were right. You both pick up the rest of your things, you grab your bag, and take a final look at your hair. You hear Mark walking out of the door, and the second he did that you were expecting some comment out of Bucky's mouth, and just like clockwork: "Look who it is, Mark! The lady of the hour..."

Bucky pokes his head in the room and his gaze falls on you the moment Mark steps out, and a slow, appreciative smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Well, well," he drawls, his voice warm with that signature charm that always sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes trail over you, not in a rush, but with a deliberate, almost possessive pace. "Doll, you’re going to need a spotlight to match that look."

Mark’s shoulders stiffen, but Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge him as he steps closer, his gaze now fully on you. "You look... stunning," Bucky adds softly, his tone almost too intimate for the moment. “Like you just walked out of some dream." His eyes linger on the way the dress hugs your body, before he lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Did you make that choice for tonight? Because, believe me, it’s working." Maybe the dress isn't so bad, maybe Mark was wrong and you look very pretty.

Mark shifts uncomfortably beside you, but Bucky doesn’t break his gaze. His smile widens just a little, and he raises a brow, enjoying the effect he's having.

You can see the muscle in Mark’s jaw twitch as he tries to keep his cool. "You really need to stop making everything about you, Bucky," Mark snaps, his words laced with frustration, though it's clear he's trying to hold it back. "And you, y/n, not everything has to be a damn show, dress down for once. You look like they pulled you out of Nosferatu."

Bucky shifts and focuses back on Mark, and his smirk turns into something sharper, more dangerous. "No offense, buddy, but I don’t think you’re gonna impress anyone in that sad excuse for a suit. But, hey, at least you’re trying."

Mark’s fists clench, and he visibly seethes, trying to stay composed. But Bucky just looks at him, unbothered, watching with almost cruel amusement.

Mark spits back, "Yeah, well, I’m not into the whole ‘look at me’ thing, I'm not the one looking like a clown."

Bucky steps even closer, his voice dropping low, his tone almost dangerously smooth. "Look at you, pretending to be something you’re not," he says, letting the words cut deep. "Neither she nor I need to prove anything to anyone. But you, on the other hand… you’re still playing catch-up."

Mark starts breathing faster and clutching at his suit, and it seems like at some point he wasn't able to resist it anymore and decides to storm off, like a child who didn't get a toy.

Bucky decides to take advantage of this time you have alone and he starts grazing the side of your arm as he steps even closer, his presence overwhelming. His fingers linger, tracing over the fabric of your dress as though he can’t resist the temptation. You can see in his face some kind of expression. It's weird, but it's like the sole reason he touches the dress is to feel the curve of your waist, like proving to himself that he can't really penetrate the dress with his hands and finally touch you. He’s slow, and you feel the heat rising in you, your breath catching. It’s like he’s savoring the closeness, like he’s enjoying every second of this.

“You’re not like him, you know,” Bucky murmurs, his voice almost a whisper now, his lips close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. But,” his eyes darken as they flicker down your body, and his voice turns a little lower, more sensual, “you’re still the only one in the room I’m interested in proving something to. You've always been that person. I know we don’t acknowledge what happened between us last year, but still, every time I see you, I try to prove to you I'm as funny as when you left me, exactly as gentle as you wanted me to be back then, and obviously, just as disposed to lift that little satin dress, getting on my knees and letting you use me right here in this corridor, doll I'm just as willing to give myself up as I was when you left..." he says, so close to your ear, rubbing impossibly small circles on the back of your neck. You've never heard him breathing so heavily, never in your life have you seen that look in his eyes, he's so needy.

"Buck- no, I can't do that. Me and Mark fought, that doesn't mean we're over. It would still be cheating, and you know how against that I am..." you say to him, pushing him off gently.

The tension still lingers in the air, but you can’t afford to stay in this headspace any longer. The party’s starting, and you can’t just sit here, lost in the chaos of your own thoughts. The guests are starting to trickle in, the bass from the music outside beginning to thrum through the walls, and the sound of laughter and conversation fills the hallway.

You take a steadying breath, but before you can convince yourself to leave, Bucky stands there, still watching you, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

“James,” you murmur, your tone more firm now, trying to break through the haze of what just happened. “We’re going. You’re coming with me. Now.”

He looks almost surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to snap out of it this quickly, but then the smirk returns, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “You sure you can handle me at this party, doll?” he teases, stepping closer again, but not crossing the line, as if he’s giving you the chance to take charge.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, though there’s a smirk on your face now too. “Oh please, it’s Tony Stark’s birthday. We both know I can handle whatever’s coming.”

As you make your way into the party, Bucky’s not exactly helping you focus. He's got a hand resting on your hip, but he's not letting it rest there proudly; he's got it hidden almost like he knows now what's wrong and what's right. He’s too close, too confident, and his words come with that familiar teasing edge.

“You know,” he starts, voice low enough that only you can hear, “this is the part where you let me steal the spotlight. I mean, come on, gorgeous. Not when I’m dressed like this.” He flashes you a grin, giving a mock twirl in the middle of the room, clearly enjoying the attention as people turn their heads to look.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile creeping up. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, though you’re finding it hard to be mad at him. He’s right. He does look like he just stepped out of a magazine.

“Insufferable? Maybe.” His eyes flicker over to Mark, who’s still trying to seem calm, but you can practically see the tension in his shoulders. He's talking up some chick you recognize, she's a writer for some newspaper, you really can’t recall.

You try not to react, but Bucky’s got this way of making you aware of everything, especially him.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me,” he continues, his grin turning a little sly, “you chose this guy, not me. But if you ever want a real upgrade, you know where to find me.”

The comment stings in that way that makes your heart race. You shouldn’t even let it affect you, but every time he opens his mouth, it’s like he knows exactly what to say.

You glance over at Mark, who’s now talking to Tony, obviously trying to make connections, but his eyes flicker back to you. And Bucky—of course—catches it, smirking again.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, barely louder than a whisper. “Mark’s probably wishing he could just vanish into thin air right now. Poor guy’s probably wondering if I’m going to make a move on you in front of everyone.”

You shoot him a sharp look, but Bucky just leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he lowers his voice even more.

He then leans into your ear and whispers, “But I’m not like that, doll. I play my cards right.” His words are teasing, but there’s something deeper behind them, something that makes it hard for you to breathe. “I’ll wait until it’s just us. No one needs to see how much I want you, at least not yet. Maybe a couple of shots deep into the night and I’ll lose all the composure you made me conjure up in that damn corridor.”

And just like that, he pulls away, walking confidently into the crowd, like he knows exactly what effect he’s had on you. You watch him for a second, heart pounding, before you force yourself to refocus. Obviously, after this, you start looking for Natasha and the girls.

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

The night has dragged on, the air thick with laughter, the dim glow of party lights painting everything in a hazy, intoxicating glow, all the lights becoming blurry from what you've drank. Everything seems to be moving slower; the strobing lights a watercolor blur in your eyes.

You find yourself nestled with Natasha, Maria Hill, Wanda, and a few others, a bottle of vodka flowing dangerously freely as you all chat and laugh like old friends. The atmosphere is light and carefree, and somehow, you manage to avoid talking about anything too deep, instead just poking fun at each other. It's the kind of fun that only happens when everyone’s tipsy enough to let go of their usual barriers.

At some point, the conversation shifts, and the girls get curious, their eyes glinting with mischief as they turn to you.

“So,” Natasha smirks, tilting her glass with a teasing expression as she changes her sitting position completely to tilt in your direction, “what’s going on with you and Mark? And, well — Bucky... I mean, this is a whole situation, huh?”

Maria raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a grin. “Is it just me, or do they seem like they’re both trying to outdo each other? You’ve got the perfect little love triangle brewing over here. Me, personally, I've dreamed about this.”

Wanda laughs softly, clearly amused. “No one’s ever been this conflicted over a guy before, right? You’re so calm about it, though. I don’t know if I could handle that.”

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off the playful teasing, but it’s getting harder with each round of laughter from the girls. The truth is, you don’t know how you feel about any of it—between Mark’s constant need for reassurance and Bucky’s complicated way of showing interest, you’re caught in a whirlwind of confusion.

Before you can answer, the conversation naturally shifts as the girls move on to something else, but they leave you with a lingering feeling of being caught. You need a break from all of it.

You find yourself wandering back over to Steve, Thor, and Sam’s group, who are now deep in their own state of tipsy camaraderie. Steve and Thor are practically slurring, which is a very rare sight, but since Thor brought his very own Asgardian mead, you’re about to see things you'll never unsee. Their laughter is loud and infectious, as Sam watches with an amused expression. He’s more sober than the other two, but it’s clear he’s starting to feel the effects.

As you settle into the conversation, Sam leans in, clearly eager to share some gossip.

“You know,” Sam says with a sly grin, his eyes shifting toward where Bucky was last seen, “Bucky’s tipsy as hell tonight. Earlier, he was going off about you, y/n—talking about how no one can hold a candle to you.” Sam laughs, his voice dropping a little lower. “Said you were the only one that could actually handle him.”

You glance around, half-expecting Bucky to pop up and say something, but Sam’s right. Bucky had disappeared a few minutes ago, and you haven’t seen him since.

Steve, grinning widely, throws his arm around Thor. “You know, Bucky can’t even try to hide that kind of thing when he’s drunk. And as for Mark,” Steve pauses dramatically, “he’s too busy trying to talk up some chick from the newspaper to even notice what’s going on. I saw them worryingly close a few minutes ago, sitting on that very couch. I'm pretty sure they stood up, I haven't seen them since. Maybe worry a little about that, y/n.”

Thor lets out a booming laugh, clearly having no concept of personal volume as he sloshes his mead around, completely unaffected by the alcohol. “Ah! Yes! Mark! So focused on trying to impress some small insipid human woman while Bucky... well, Bucky is a mighty warrior who knows what’s really important!” Thor gestures wildly, spilling some of his drink, but not caring in the slightest. “Mark has the charm of a goat! Bucky, though—ah, Bucky has the power of a storm!”

You barely suppress a laugh at that, wondering if Thor realizes he just made Bucky sound like a romantic hero in some cheesy novel.

Sam chuckles, shaking his head at Thor’s drunken rambling. “Yeah, man, I get it. Thor’s a little extra, but he’s not wrong. Honestly, Bucky’s got more of that raw attraction than anyone else. He was really going on about you, though.” Sam looks over at you with a knowing smile. “He was all like, ‘I don’t know why she’s wasting her time with him, she deserves someone who knows what’s worth fighting for.’”

You bite your lip, a mix of feelings surging in you. Part of you feels a weird rush of warmth hearing that, but the other part feels tangled up in confusion.

“Mark’s not like that, and that chick he's trying to get with is gonna realize that any second now,” Steve adds, giggling at his own remark, still grinning. “But you know what? He can’t even see what’s in front of him.” He pats your back. “Don’t let him hold you back. You’re not stuck with anyone.”

Before you can answer, Thor slurs out another line, “Ah! No one will ever be as strong as Bucky! Not even me! I am only strong at fighting battles! But Bucky, he is strong at heart, yes?” He takes a long swig of mead, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.

Just as you're trying to sort through all the messy thoughts running through your head, the music shifts, and the lights dim just a little. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a microphone crackling cuts through the air. Your head turns instinctively toward the source, and there, standing in front of the makeshift stage set up near the far corner of the compound’s great hall, is none other than Bucky Barnes.

Oh. my. God.

Bucky steps up to the mic, his stance a little unsteady, clearly very drunk, but his confidence unwavering. You can't look at this. This is so bad. He looks out into the crowd, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips as he taps the microphone twice, testing it. The room quiets for a second, and he takes a deep breath, his eyes landing on you as the opening chords of “Jessie’s Girl” begin to play.

You can't help but think how absolutely cringy and cheesy this all is. He's going to regret this so much tomorrow. Whatever he's doing now is not something regular Bucky would do. But just for the fun of it you shut up and enjoy this one in a lifetime show.

And with that, he launches into the first verse, and you already feel the weight of the room shift. “Jessie is a friend,” he sings, his voice deep, lingering over each word. You can hear people in the crowd start to whistle and cheer. His gaze doesn’t leave you for a second, making the song feel too personal, too intimate. “Yeah, I know he’s been a good friend of mine…”

He mouths a very exaggerated "no" and shakes his head from side to side, stupidly drunk. He had to have drunk from Thor’s mead, cause you've never seen him so drunk... Everyone seems to be having fun. They're all cheering and clapping on beat with him.

The chorus hits, and Bucky leans into the mic, his voice a little rougher, the voice of a man who's been screaming all night and had the grandiose idea of doing karaoke. “I wish that I had Jessie’s girl,” he sings, his voice low and dripping with desire as he holds your gaze. “Where can I find a woman like that?” At this point, everyone seems to be okay with the song of choice. Even Thor, with his drink still in hand, is swaying his arms from side to side. Sam, on the other hand, has this knowing glint in his eyes, like he's saying " told ya."

Bucky moves a little closer to the mic with half-hooded eyes, his body swaying lazily with the beat, and his words come out with an almost teasing sensuality, slurred but sensual, sure. “I play along with the charade, there doesn’t seem to be a reason to change,” he croons, lowering his voice even more, every word like a caress. “'Cause she's watching him with those eyes, and she's loving him with that body, I just know it, and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night.” He says this with a face of genuine disgust in an attempt of being theatrical, throwing his hand around like he’s mocking you or Mark.

He keeps singing and embarrassing himself onstage for a few moments more till the song ends. He bows clumsily to the public and steps off the stage with a confident swagger, making his way toward you, not bothering to stop as he gets right into your personal space. Everyone claps and cheers at him, and a few pictures of him are taken standing off the stage. You could already see the headlines tomorrow...

“Don’t act like you didn’t love that,” he says out of breath, voice low and sultry. He places a hand just barely on your lower back, just enough to send heat rushing through you. “I told you earlier that a few shots and apparently a drink of Thor’s mead would make me lose all my composure.”

"Actually, that little show you decided to throw was disgustingly cheesy. Promise me you'll never do that again, yeah?" Bucky just snorts at your comment and ignores it completely, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. That was just a warm-up.” He leans in even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re gonna want to hear the rest of what I’ve got planned for you tonight.”

The music resumes in the background, and everyone goes back to dancing. Bucky grabs your hand and starts leading you somewhere. Somewhere you can hear Thor scream like a damn air raid siren, “Strong like a storm, Bucky! Yes!” Right after him, you hear Steve and Sam woohooing and whistling.

As you walk down the corridor beside Bucky, the weight of your decision starts to settle in, and despite the butterflies in your stomach, you can’t help but feel a sense of clarity. Everyone’s been right — Mark’s off with some random girl from the newspaper, and you’ve spent too long pretending this was something it wasn’t. Your chest tightens as you finally let yourself admit that you deserve more than the half-hearted games you’ve been playing.

You glance at Bucky, who’s smirking, his eyes gleaming with something between amusement and triumph, like he’s been waiting for this moment. You try not to let him get under your skin, but it's getting harder.

“Well, look at that,” Bucky’s voice cuts through your thoughts, dripping with mock sweetness. “Finally figured it out, huh? Took you long enough.”

You roll your eyes, the faintest smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started, doll.” His voice drops lower, teasing and dangerous, as he leans in slightly. “I mean, come on. You really thought that he was your guy? That little puppy act? Please.” Bucky lets out a dry laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “You deserve better than that. You’ve always deserved better.”

You shake your head, walking a little faster to distance yourself from his teasing, but it doesn’t work. Bucky’s stride matches yours effortlessly.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Sure am, Doll,” he replies, his voice lowering again, almost a whisper now. “You think you’re fooling anyone? I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. How you flutter your little lashes somewhere else when you notice I'm looking right back at you. You think I can't tell what you're thinking about, but to be real, most of the time you're such a nasty girl! Shame on you... Don’t think for one second I haven’t noticed.”

You stop walking, my hand gripping the doorframe of the room we’re passing. His words hit harder than they should, but you keep your voice steady. “That doesn’t change anything.”

Bucky steps closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You keep saying that, but you know it’s not true. You and me? We were always gonna happen.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words hang in the air, his eyes flickering over your body with a slow, deliberate gaze. “Always.”

You feel your pulse quicken, but before you can respond, you pass your room. The noises coming from inside are unmistakable—low moans, muffled laughter, the sound of shifting sheets. You freeze, a sickening realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

It’s Mark. And the girl.

Bucky notices you stop, and for a moment, he tilts his head curiously. “What’s wrong?” His voice is softer now, though the teasing tone never fully disappears. You don’t respond, your mind reeling as you hear the sounds getting louder. Mark and some random girl... Right behind that door.

Bucky’s face shifts, and for a second, he can't believe that's really happening. When he catches the look on your face. “Oh,” he murmurs, his voice more compassionate now. “Didn’t expect that, huh?” He leans closer to me. “I told you he wasn’t worth it. What man in their right mind would pass up on you, huh?”

You shake your head, feeling frustrated. “I—” You don’t even know what to say. Bucky watches you, almost like he sobered up in half a second. “See? You’re so much better than this; you don't need to endure this sort of thing. Why waste your time on someone like him?”

And at this moment, you realized how right everyone is. You remember when you ended your fling with Bucky, you thought to yourself, how you'd never find someone like him ever again. You were never used to attention or feeling loved your whole life, but Bucky was the first to ever make you feel that way. And the moment you stopped feeling that sweet, tender embrace, you went out looking for it again, somewhere, anywhere. And when you found something minimally similar, you went with it. Mark and you have nothing in common. You don't know why you convinced yourself to think that. Bucky's right, he and you were always meant to happen.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” he says, his voice shifting from teasing to something more commanding. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. There's a whole party waiting outside, remember?”

You freak out the moment you process his words, "What? No! It's fine, I'm fine. I want to do this, please!" You grab his hand to stop him from walking back, completely sure of what you just said.

"Are you sure? I've been a pain in the ass about this the entire night, but that was just me being a jerk. I want to know you genuinely want this," He whispers so gently, as he holds your face in between his hands, almost encompassing your entire head. "I wouldn't like to mess this up," he said, punctuating the sentence with a drunken hiccup.

"Yes, Bucky. I want it so bad..." You say.

His whole demeanor changes, "Mhm? So bad? I have no other choice but to comply, do I? Let's get you to bed. I have a few things planned for you. Been thinking the whole night what I would do with you if I ever got my hands on you again, " He begins as he leads you to his room, a little far from the rest.

While still leading you by the hand, he continues, he clumsily trips over for a second but continues to walk forward. "Had a hard on the entire night, doll. Fuck- just before the karaoke I went into the bathroom and rubbed one off, like some teenager with a crush. Came all over the sink thinking about you, baby." As he finishes saying this with a low grunt, you notice you make one final lazy turn, and you get to his room. You're breathing faster than ever, almost like you're gonna be sick. This only ever happened to you when you were with him; You never went out of breath like this with anyone else.

Bucky opens the door, and not even a second after, he leads you through, and he's already kissing you. Slamming himself against your body and keeping balance as best as he can, holding your head between his hands, like he's almost leading you into the kiss, showing you exactly how he wanted it, like he was the one in need. It was sloppy and messy, his tongue licking its way into your mouth like he was in heat. After a while, he starts kissing the right corner of your mouth and starts making his way to your jawline, near the ear. Every peck accompanied with its own little whiny "Hmm fuck", and "Baby..." As he licks and kisses your neck, clearly making sure to leave a mark, he snakes his hands down to the back of your dress, getting a handful of your ass. With his hands almost tearing at the dress with the force he's holding on to you, he starts grinding you against his hard-on. "Can you feel me, baby? Hm? Can ya' feel how hard I am for you? You have me wrapped around your finger, doll. It's so dangerous."

As much as you're enjoying this, you can't help but think about what Mark did to you; you're not even sad because you lost him. You're just seething with anger. How dare he? Bucky, as he pulled back to look at your face once again, caught something in your face that made his stomach twist. You were still smiling, still reaching for him, but your eyes were glassy in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Bucky froze, reaching over to you, cupping your cheek gently. "Hey," he murmured, voice low and careful. "Talk to me, doll."

She tried to wave it off, but the crack in her voice gave her away. "I'm fine, Bucky. Really."

He shook his head, pressing his forehead to yours, grounding them both. "No, you're not. I know that look. I’ve worn that look. I know what you're thinking, and you know what? It's fine, angel."

"I just… I thought I could get it right with this one guy," you whisper, voice trembling despite your best efforts. "I've never even dared to stay before. I finally let myself believe it could work, and the second I do, this happens?"

"Listen to me, doll," he says softly against your hair. "You didn’t mess anything up. You gave someone a chance because you’ve got a good heart, and that's never a mistake. Him messing it up? That’s on him. Not you."

You tried to shake your head, tried to smile like it was nothing, but Bucky just shushed you gently, cradling your face in his hands like you were something precious, something about to break. "You’re allowed to hurt. Hell, after what that asshole pulled, I'd be surprised if you didn’t. You don’t gotta rush it just 'cause I’m here," he said, his voice slurring a little but still clear in meaning. "I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’m gonna take care of you. Even if it’s just holding you tonight." He gently lays the bunched-up fabric at your thighs back down to your ankles.

Bucky kissed the top of her head and chuckled softly. "Besides," he murmured, "kinda bein’ nice for once. Don’t tell anyone, though, ruins my whole tough guy rep."

He finally laid you down softly on the mattress, making sure to place enough pillows under your head. "You're my favorite girl, you know that?" he slurred slightly, brushing his nose against your forehead. Trying to grab the edge of the blanket from under the pillows, "No one else even comes close." He says. Finally, you felt his whole weight bounce on the mattress. And just before you could answer back to him, you felt him go slack.

"Bucky?" you whispered, nudging his shoulder. Nothing. Not even a grunt. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, half exasperated, half endeared.