I make bad decisions

"Bullshit! No, no, no, that's fucking bullshit!"

The usual even, set, borderline grim expression Valentina Allegra de Fontaine sported dropped into a confused frown at the shouting of supersoldiers. However, Bucky Barnes' expression remained passive and bored, striding off the elevator when they arrived on the main landing. Personal assistant, Mel, shrugged at Val before the two begrudgingly followed.

"You have to be fucking cheating! How the fuck - "

"What'd I tell you about raising your voice at me, Walker?" Your voice greeted the new arrivals, glancing over automatically as if you could just sense Bucky's presence enter the room. "Bucky, Walker's talkin' outta turn."

"Yeah, I heard, doll," he soothed with a smirk, pausing behind the couch to caress the top of your head in greeting.

"He's yelling."

"I know."

"At me!"

"I know."

"You can't just call your guard dog every time - "

"Walker, you keep yellin' at her and I'll break your arm."

You smirked triumphantly and flipped Walker your middle finger, the usual group gathered to watch anyone pulverize Walker's ability at a few modern videogames. Today's match: Mario Kart, and he was still a sore loser.

"Well, this is cozy," Val commented, drawing the attention to her. "Nice to see you're all taking team bonding really serious." Her arrival made Bob pass off his controller and shy away from Yelena's side to retreat for his reading nook, immediately shrinking behind the screens and bookcases placed for his comfort. If the woman's arrival wasn't enough by itself to set the team on edge, they were certainly sour for her scaring Bob away.

For now, everyone played nice; especially around Bucky, who had become a natural leader since the formation of the team. "Is there a reason you're here?" Ava asked stiffly, taking the controller from John; having called winner two rounds ago.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she sighed, hand out to Mel who placed a tablet in her clutches. "Something's come up that requires our immediate attention."

"Ooooh. Sounds serious," Yelena mocked, nudging your bicep; both rolling your eyes. You only half listened to the woman, mindlessly selecting your character and karts, snickering when John sassily took up the last controller and joined the match.

"There's been a development in the Caldwell Case."

You paused the game, head snapping over with a halfhearted glare; mostly shrouding the pair in confusion with narrowed, accusatory eyes. Yelena protested, but you asked over her, "What development?"

"Oh, you don't know? You've been working this case with Bucky, haven't you, my dear?" She purred.

Your eyes rolled, Bucky easing, "We've all had some stake in the case, Val, get to the point."

"Well," she chirped, "there's intel that suggests there's a major shipment coming in tonight. Caldwell's throwing a banquet as a diversion and alibi and I got ex-Congressman Barnes on the list - "

"What's that to do with any of us?" John scoffed, still brooding over his earlier failure.

"I need all of you in action tonight," she answered simply, hip cocked as she watched the New Avengers each look up at her in skepticism.

Usually the voice of reason, Bucky squeezed your shoulder and pleaded softly, "Doll."

You nodded and shut the entertainment system off, standing from the couch. "We'll hear you out at least. C'mon, guys." There came swift complaint that was silenced by their begrudging agreement, following where you and Bucky lead them to the upper level control system.

"Can you pull up the files as I walk them through it?"

"'Course," you eased, taking a seat at the control panel and navigating the tablet expertly that would display everything on the mounted screens. There had been many late nights working this case and while some were spent simply giving Bucky technology tutorials, it just came easier to you.

Bucky explained to the team, "About 3 months ago, we received intel that Senator Leon Caldwell was selling state secrets. He allegedly owns multiple anonymous subsidiaries and organizations, several of which we've linked to terrorist groups." You clinked through a few slides to show the team what evidence had been gathered. "There's talk of corruption in the upcoming election and Caldwell's been linked to rumors of arming a homegrown militia - who've since been associated with acts of human trafficking..."

"Specifically, trafficking pregnant women," you followed, tapping your files to life. "Which is where I come in - I've been tracking these guys for 6 weeks. There's a pattern of multitudes of women going missing just into their third trimester." You let the map and charts speak for themselves, then throwing a new image on the screens. "And they're also sponsoring tonight's gala, so all donations and such will go to them and whatever egregious play they have at hand."

"Jesus," Ava cursed, her and Yelena looking over the evidence on their personal tablet.

"And tonight," Val stepped forward, "we know several attendees will be those he's put in power of his other orgs; all mixing and mingling with this country's political elite. We're sending all of you into the field. Bucky, you and Y/N are gonna attend the gala and track down IDs; we can't get any cameras inside, it's very anti-technology. In the meantime, Ava, Yelena, and John, we need at the ports to track down what's coming in or out."

"You don't know?"

Val shrugged at Yelena, "Not everything is nice, neat, given to us with a bow on top. Sometimes, we have to actually work."

"Wait, why's Y/N going with Bucky? Wouldn't it make sense to send one of them in the field, too?" John asked, knowing full well you and Bucky might've been the strongest on the team and would fair better in action than espionage.

"Well, first, they're the only ones able to get along long enough to pull this part off," Mel listed. "They also know this case, and we need IDs - this opportunity won't come again," Mel explained, Val waving her off.

"Y/N also isn't a well-known face." You offered her a look of distain, upper lip snarled in offense. "What? It's a compliment. She's gonna play Bucky's wife tonight."

"Wait, what?" You asked, glancing at your comrade.

"It's what his RSVP is for - and you're the bait," Val explained smugly.

"I'm sorry?"

"That wasn't what we agreed to, Val," Bucky growled, shifting to stand somewhat in front of you protectively; making the others share a mild look of amusement behind your back.

Val snapped her fingers at Mel, who paused to wrestle something from her oversized purse. She revealed what appeared to be a synthetic pregnant belly that straps around the waist. "What the fuck is that?" You whispered, slowly standing from the chair to peer around Bucky.

"See?" Val mused, holding the prosthetic baby bump like a prize fish. "They want pregnant women, who's more tantalizing than Congressman Barnes' wife?"

"Ex-Congressman," John corrected with an eye roll.

"You think they're gonna kidnap people from the gala?" You scoffed, but shared an unsure look with Bucky.

"Wouldn't put it past them. C'mon, take it."

"This is ridiculous," Bucky watched the hand off, how you held the strap-on with a few fingers; disgust marring your features. "Y/N isn't bait - nobody would dare put their hands on her - "

Val explained like it was simple maths, "Exactly, see, if she's with you, she's safe as can be while still attracting the right attention. She's the ideal target, everyone's gonna wanna talk to the pair of you - and you can keep a close, personal eye on her, Barnes."

You shrugged at Bucky and held the belly up to your stomach, shaking your head at how ridiculous it was. "Under something, it's supposed to look real," Mel explained to you almost sheepishly. Yelena reached for the prosthetic and comically held it up to herself too; snickering with Ava.

"And what of me?" Alexei asked boisterously, clapping and appearing behind Val and Mel. Yelena dropped the belly in shock, not wanting her father to see her and get ideas she'd never hear the end of; swiftly kicking it towards you.

"You're on transport, Alexei," Val answered, "where if any of the field agents need from one port or the next, you'll be stationed to bring them."

"Excellent - wonderful!"

"Yes, I thought you'd like that," Val hummed, smirking almost knowingly.

You were turned away within your hotel room for the past hour or more, grumbling and gritting your teeth as you angrily got ready. The belly wasn't something that sat naturally or comfortably even when you layered a muscle shirt under it to keep it stationary, ticking your irritation higher. It was mostly fruitless, little tricks unsuccessful in the long run, and no matter what you wore, it looked fake and lumpy.

Footsteps slowly approached, a soft knock at the closed bathroom door. You granted permission, still fighting the belly as Bucky pushed into the room but paused to lean on the doorframe. "Having trouble there, princess?" He smirked teasingly, casually fixing his cufflinks.

"It's kinda ridiculous," you chose to ignore his little jab in favor of complaining. "It's supposed to be a simple device, sure, but it - doesn't - sit - right." Grunts filled between your words, forcefully trying to situate the belly.

"All right, all right, this is just sad. C'mon, stay still," Bucky chuckled while pushing off the frame. The movement drew your eye to rake him over top to bottom.

"Oooh, you look niiiiice," you distracted yourself when Bucky strode over the marble floor to stand behind you. "You sure clean up, don't'cha, old man?"

"Thank you, doll," he teased, taking a look at the straps. "Besides this, you almost ready?"

"Yeah, just gotta get the dress on - oh, shit," you chuckled when he yanked on the prosthetic enough to make you stumble back a step.

"Sorry, sorry," he sincerely rushed. You snickered assurance it was fine while holding the belly in place. "Uh, so, this is... Uh, I don't - I'm not sure how to say this."

"Oh, you just start at the beginning."

Bucky's face over your shoulder in the vanity mirror was soft and his lips were turned up at the side. "I think your undershirt's getting in the way," he informed.

"Oh," you eased, tugging the material up towards your breasts to free from under the belly and wrangle it over your shoulders and head. It left you in athletic shorts and a black silk bra. "Better?"

"You're very brazen," he noted, focusing on fixing the belly's structure.

"You said it was in the way!"

"So, you strip?"

"Nervous to see a woman in her bra, Agent Barnes?" You couldn't help but tease. "It's basically the fashion now adays."

"Women in the '40s dressed in a very different manner," he chided.

"Could just thank me for giving you a new record for getting a lady to pop her top for you."

"That's not exactly something to brag about. Moments like that should be revered - private."

You purred, "Oh, Mr. Barnes, how you're a man outta time."

His cheeks flamed, distracting, "There, how's that?"

"Is it... Too loose? Does that look right?" You turned in the mirror, hands splaying this way and that. "It's not laying flat, here, look - "

"All right, lemme try... This..."

You held still, letting him make adjustments. "So, who'd you prefer?"

"What'd you mean?"

"Ladies from your time or mine?"

Bucky met your eyes as he clipped the final strap, belly finally snug, secure, correct. "Yours. Definitely yours," he purred. "That better?"

"Way better, thank you," you surveyed in the mirror. "Here, uh, could you give me a second, I'll need you to zip me in." He agreed, watching you retrieve your dress from the plastic protection wrap hanging on the back of the door. Bucky had never assisted a woman in dressing for a formal event before, shifting awkwardly as you shimmied the material up and over your hips. You smirked at his sheepishness, taking mercy and turning your back, "Okay, here, can you zip me in?"

Bucky didn't verbally agree, just reaching out to pull the zipper from the bottom to top of your spine; incessantly careful not to touch your skin. You situated the dark royal blue top again and checked your reflection, humming at the sight of your fake baby bump on sparkly display.

"Well, my, oh, my," you sang, stepping back to stand beside Bucky and take his arm, "don't we look handsome?"

"You look... Wow," he nodded, eyes raking over your newest curves. "Just gorgeous, sweetheart."

"I can't tell, but this look might be giving me baby fever."

"What's that...?"

"Mh, basically when you start craving a baby," you explained casually, brushing off invisible flecks of dirt while admiring your reflections. "You know, I like us matching," you mindlessly complimented, realizing how it sounded and quickly trying to save, "I-I mean, in this color - I like us both in this color - both separately and, like, together, but I mean, like - you look nice in royal blue - really nice - and I think this dress looks good, it's all just a good look - you know, like, overall."

Bucky smirked, "It's a good overall look, doll, yeah."

Feeling flushed with embarrassment, you waved him after you, "Okay, yeah, c'mon, let's go, it's too emotional for me in here." Upon reentering the hotel room, you packed your thigh holster with items displayed on the bed.

"I thought playing man-and-wife would make us emotional?"

"Yeah, well, that's a show for the public," you deflected, "so no need to get into it just yet, right?"

Bucky watched you for a moment, considering how you would shy away from genuine emotion more than he. Over the past couple years, Bucky had taken therapy ten times more seriously and began to notice a change in himself; making a conscious effort to be more engaging and open with those around him - especially the team. He had to admit, it was odd going from a singular lethal machine to a team player, but Bucky had the ability to adapt; he'd never had an issue following Steve and surely, there were other worthy leaders in this world. But Bucky was slowly finding his stride as a leader himself; someone who commands and leads, considers the greater good; is calculating but not conniving; stealthy, not secretive; rational, selfless, and considerate.

When conjoined as a team, Bucky naturally gravitated to you after having few interactions in the past - mostly Avenger related situations. You knew Steve and Sam, Tony and Natasha, Wanda and The Vision; yet never truly joined their team, something akin to a lone wolf. Then Valentina came into operation, you were consistently employed; but so lead into the entire situation at hand where Val tried to dispose of her supersoldier mercenaries and inadvertently formed the New Avengers.

Bucky felt like he was hitting a brick wall with you sometimes.

Easily the most familiar on the team, the pair of you got to know one another more intimately. It soon became dynamic to find one with the other, like your minds were connected by an ancient string that none others could appreciate. The two of you moved fluidly; complimentary and anticipatory, where you needn't communicate to understand what the other needed or when. For a brief moment, he thought the pair of you made so much sense, he might've questioned if you had been created in a lab for him before being wiped from his memories. Yet when few walls dropped and the pair of you confided in the other, spilt secrets, spoke candidly about certain woes and experiences or feelings, Bucky could feel you reinforcing the rest of yours. If he got too close, you were reforming boundaries and keeping a safe distance that would maintain appearances but diminish authenticity.

He wanted to open his mouth and possibly confront you, but while a healed and still-healing man, Bucky wasn't there yet and instead, fixed his growing hair in a wall-mounted mirror.

"Okay, so," you situated the holster in place, "did you get the camera?"

"What's that now?"

With a smile, you retrieved the minuscule camera Ava packed and approached him. "This," you explained, situating it into his lapel, "is a tiny camera that's gonna see everything you see. It's transmitting... So it's being uploaded to our file data base as it records. Somewhere in this Godforsaken city, Alexei is sat with an old laptop, he's gonna be watching and trying to make IDs as we go. Mel and Val are doing the same from wherever the hell they are."

"So they can see?"

"Mhm. Once I turn it on - which I will when we leave."

"Do you have one, too?"

"Oh, no, no where to hide it on this dress," you snorted with a small shake of your head. "No, I have the mics clipped in my hair."

"So, we're gonna need to stick together to make sure we pick up everything? Right?" He whispered, watching you fix and fiddle with his suit.

"Exactly right. You know," you commented in a whisper, "this just really brings out your eyes."

"What? Work?" Bucky joked with a teasing smirk.

"No, the suit," you huffed, petting his lapels in place. "Okay, so, what's the cover tonight?"

"Doll, I have it all memorized - "

"Prove it. Tell me. How did we meet?"

The group of older, wealthy, politically-affiliated men and women cackled with those rich, snooty laughs at you and Bucky. "No, honest story," he reiterated, "there I was, dripping in scalding hot coffee, and all she could manage to say was - "

"'My muffin!'" You mocked yourself, the group laughing again as Bucky beamed down at you.

"Oh, a woman after my own heart," one of the audience members complimented with a small wave of their hand.

"I had my priorities straight," you mocked, fluttering your lashes; causing the ladies to snicker.

"You can see why I fell in love at first sight," Bucky muttered to the men beside him; fingers flexing to pointedly dig into your ribs.

"She's timeless, Barnes," another agreed. "Hard to believe after all that, she still gave you a chance."

The group snickered as Bucky just shrugged and pet your waist protectively with his flesh hand, "Well, I bought her two new muffins and she's been spilling coffee on me ever since."

You couldn't dwell on his sweet words, tacking on, "Oh, you know how I just relish the extra housework, getting those extra stains out."

He grinned at you, making the collective thought pass in a wave among the audience: so that's what his smile looks like.

"Well, that's wonderful, Barnes, good for you," Senator Reeves complimented while clapping Bucky on the vibranium bicep, immediately wincing and wagging his hand out. "Glad to see you're embracing some, uh, modern marvels."

Ice rattled the glass Bucky lifted to his lips while easing, "Modern? No, sir, I'd marry her in every lifetime."

Despite the lack of alcohol, your stomach warmed and turned fuzzy, feeling as if breathing was a chore. Your emotional dams were typically steel traps, but Bucky had a way of leaking past those barriers; so while you were well aware of the job at hand, my God, did it feel otherworldly to hear him claim you so proudly. Definitively.

"You sound whipped, my boy," Reeves cackled. "You're telling me, you adore this woman that much and still chose to waste her time with us boring folk? Now, that's just mean."

The group shared another laugh as Bucky sipped his whiskey again. He was mildly impressed by the way you jumped in effortlessly, "No, no, that was all me - I told him we needed to be more charitable." You felt the way your 'husband' shifted anxiously and knew he was beginning to struggle keeping appearances. The conversation called Buck back to attention, giving you time to visually rake over the party guests, mostly just noticing the amount of dollar signs in this very room. Only half-listening to the rather haughty conversation, you squeezed Bucky's waist and whispered the code, "Think I need some water."

"Of course, sweetheart." He kept you by his side but retracted his arm from your waist only to take possession of your hand. "We'll see you ladies and gentlemen around."

With a halfhearted dismissal, you and Bucky stalked through the gala attendees to approach one of the refreshments bars. "You okay?" You stepped into his side to ask quietly.

"Good, yeah," he muttered.

"James."

"The slinking around, I'm good with, fine - but the talking. That's where it gets me, doll, and I feel like I'm not blending-in as well as I want to be."

"That's why I'm here," you assured softly, pausing to accept a water glass from the kind waitstaff. "Just gotta play dutiful, attentive husband; I can do most of the talking."

"So I'm just the arm candy?"

"Exactly," you chuckled. "Hey, you're the one who didn't tell them you had a smoking hot wife when in office."

"Wasn't their business. They're lucky I'm letting them see you now," he growled, glancing up at the bartender. You're both just playing a role, it's not real - it's not real - it's not real, you reminded yourself. He handed the bartender his empty glass and ordered a refill double whiskey. At your look of reprimand, he smirked, "It's okay, sweetheart, know I can't get drunk."

"Mhm," you teased, smirking gently, "but it might make you tired, we're gonna be here a while longer."

Bucky's arm tightened to bring you flush into his side, growling, "I don't get tired." The look of shock was impossible for you to fight, words evading you.

"Jesus, are we supposed to listen to them flirt the entire time?" A voice whined from your inner ear. "Just fuck it outta your system, you two."

"Fuck off, Mel," Bucky growled, bowing his head to brush his lips over your forehead to disguise his words.

"If you don't like it, don't send us on missions together," you shot into his shoulder, smiling up at Bucky - causing him to break and send you one right back. His hand lifted to gently pet a crooked finger down your cheek as if petting the velveteen petal of a fresh floral.

There was some grumbling over the line as Bucky scanned the room while you accepted his whiskey. "Uh, problem," he looked down at you, relaying, "I've eyes on Conrad Cross."

Your own widened a fraction, Bucky pulling you safely into his opposite side as Valentina was heard, "Get him on the feed, Barnes! We need a positive ID!"

"Fuck me," you whispered, clearing your throat and handing Buck the glass as he adjusted his jacket and turned you towards the room. "Okay, just - let's walk around, speak quietly, make it look like you're just telling me who's who, what's what. Lean into it, people tend to look away from PDA."

He agreed, guiding you around the semi-crowded floor slowly with his lips at your ear, hands around your waist or hips or on your belly; strategically maneuvering to get an image of notorious arms dealer, Conrad Cross, on camera. This was a tricky situation to be in because Bucky's gentle caresses practically sent you into heat and Conrad was virtually the one person you didn't want to see here tonight. He was for sure able to identify you after a close encounter a few years prior, the large scar cutting through his right eyebrow and down his cheek guaranteed he remembered you.

"Just stay close," Bucky whispered, turning your back to Conrad and situating himself so his suit could film the target. "You're okay, pretty girl, you're doing great," he praised, hand lifted to hold your waist as you sipped your water.

"Val? Got it yet?" You asked into the rim of the glass. Several seconds ticked by.

"Got it."

Bucky was turning you to flee, but froze when his name was called. "Ah-haaa, the famed Winter Solider, no fucking way," the madman leered as he approached. He chuckled and wagged a finger, "I was told you'd be here but I didn't dare believe it." Bucky stiffly regarded Conrad, jaw clenched at the old moniker; hand tight in yours, but you turned into his side as a supportive wife would. He knew you were consumed with panic by the way he felt you nervously twitch and planted a warm hand on your waist.

"I don't recognize that name anymore," he grit stiffly, truthfully just wanting to get you out of there.

"Apologies, friend," the heavy accent mocked, "just a big fan. Wasn't a huge supporter when you went into politics though, but, uh, I get it now."

"Right," Buck's hand tightened on you, "well, it's been a pleasure - "

"Oh, right, sorry, uh," he offered his hand, "Conrad Cross, independent contractor."

Bucky was forced to release his hold on you, shaking the hitman's hand, "James Barnes, you can call me Bucky."

"Oh, right," he smirked. "Sure it's not Sergeant?"

You went rigid, but Bucky just chuckled and slid his hand back around your waist again. "Bucky's just fine. If you'd excuse us - "

"This your lady? Oh, didn't know it was date night."

Bucky froze, curling you a fraction closer, "Yes, but we should be going - "

"Conrad, little lady," his hand jutted out, "Conrad Cross."

You nodded and shook it while giving a fake name, "but I go by Mrs. Barnes."

Conrad chuckled and flashed a shiny gold grill, directing at Bucky, "Now, that's a woman. What's a pretty little thing like you doin' with a machine like this, darlin', 'uh?"

"As opposed to a machine like you?"

"Hmm, you know me, girlie?" He growled, nodding with a teasing smirk, "Got quite a mouth on you - "

"No, no, just very protective of my man," you cleared your throat and nervously scratched hair at your temple. "What is it you do, Mr. Cross? Are you a charitable man?"

"In fact, I am," he boasted, "and couldn't dare miss tonight; there's a few, uh, potential new correspondences t'be poached here, thought it's a good place to rub a few palms."

"So why's Bucky one of 'em?"

When Conrad's eyes narrowed and his canines flashed, Bucky distracted, "Right, well, it's been nice to meet you but we're needed elsewhere. Excuse us." Conrad just hummed and watched you and Buck turn to rush away, who hissed in your ear, "You know, for someone who doesn't need a hitman recognizing her, you sure like to give one attitude."

Your cunt clenched at the low octave of his voice and the feel of his hot breath beading on the shell of your ear yet still managed, "Guy's a jackass, it's physically impossible to play nice. And he was talking to you funny!"

"I can fight my own battles."

Before you could think, you growled, "Nobody talks to my man like that."

Bucky didn't miss a beat, hissing, "You could've pissed him off, been made, gotten hurt. You didn't have to be so biting or sarcastic, sugar."

"I'm sorry! It's my native language, I don't know any different!"

Bucky just shook his head; and through the crowd, located the main character, the center of your cases, Senator Leon Caldwell. Lost in the people now, you both paused to take in the sight, his voice directed down at you, "All right, there he is... What time is it?"

Lifting to your toes, Bucky's arm coiled around your waist to practically keep you on his hip, ensuring the curve of the bump was pressed firmly into his abdomen as you spoke in his ear, "We gotta keep him in sight another hour."

"So, we hang back and move in when he makes any escape." Bucky surveyed the room, caressing the bump mindlessly.

Glancing at the action, you mocked with a knocking grin in his ear, "If I didn't know any better, Mr. Barnes, I'd say you were enjoying this."

"Can you blame me?" He shot right back. "C'mon, doll, it's our one night not kicking, punching, shooting our way out."

"Oh, is that the only thing you're reveling in right now?"

He gave you a rare, Cheshire grin.

It was simple enough, mingling with the occupants while sipping complimentary drinks and keeping Senator Caldwell in your line of sight. You made several in-person IDs and managed to evade cutting actual checks, mindlessly rubbing your fake bump to keep appearances. Bucky clocked every movement, smirking and relishing in the cover; basking in the lie. A few times, his hand reached for a simple caress of his own, even when nobody was around to witness.

It drove you absolutely insane. While everyone else would need permission before touching you, the 'father' didn't have such restrictions and was all too eager to lay a warm hand lovingly on the squishy prosthetic. Though you didn't feel it, the knowledge of actions was erotic in a strange sense, but also intimate; especially when you clocked that look in his eyes that boasted pride.

It's supposed to be fake; a mission, a lie. So why did it all feel too real?

The pair of you always had an eye on Caldwell through your rotation of drinks and mingling. The times Bucky spoke, it was usually to direct questions and his responses were curt and direct; no fluff or allusion behind his words. The most animated he became was when someone asked if the two of you had thought of names yet. You said This or That for a girls name, and Bucky's hand immediately magnetized to the swell of your belly while answering, "If it's a boy, his name will be Steven - Steve, for short."

You knew the sentiment and appreciated the idea - quickly shaking yourself from thinking this was some how real. So, in the most playful manner you could, you held his wrist to keep his hand in place and teased, "Or Samuel - Sam, for short."

Bucky's hard glare turned on you in shock, shaking his head and grumbling, "Betrayed by my own wife."

Your grin was authentic and the people around you were entertained, but the way Bucky was looking down at you made it hard to comprehend anything other than the way his molten eyes swam with the deepest parts of his soul. Heat between the pair of you dialed to 11, his mouth parted just right to make the sight irresistible.

Yet before any action could be taken, Mel complimented over the comms, "Doing great, you guys, just 20 more minutes and the others should be at evac."

You hummed and sipped your water, eyes scanning patrons and clocking first, reporting, "Caldwell's on the move."

Bucky looked up as you immediately parted from his side, striding across the floor in an effort to intercept the Senator. You slunk between bodies and smiled in passing, but came to a halt just feet away from your target by an intoxicated woman hanging off a donor's arm.

"Oh!" She dramatically lamented, "You look so beautiful!" You tried to thank her and step around, but she latched to your arms, "You have to be, like, 6 months or something, aren't you? Wow, your bump's so perky - " She laid her hands on your bump, making you flinch, "and you look so fit in this. This is how I think I'd wanna look if I was pregnant! Honey, honey, look - look," she tried to paw for her date's attention towards you and ignoring any sort of attempt. Caldwell was crossing the room. "He's not looking - but you have the cutest bump and I want - "

"Okay, yes, thank you, all right," you pulled away from her, automatically shielding your belly, "but you'll have to excuse me, I need the restroom."

You didn't give her time to comment, yanking yourself back and dodging around her abruptly to the sounds of her protesting and arguing with her date about not getting her pregnant - which was a direct pipeline into him not proposing yet. It would've been comical if you stayed to listen. Instead, you pushed through the throngs of people and came to a halt at the edge of the crowd after catching sight of Senator Caldwell slipping through a backdoor.

"Damnit, fucking werid bitch with no personal boundaries," you hissed, cautious of the people around and quickly schooling your features; fake smile dropping the moment you turned away to locate Bucky in the crowd. He was cutting through people just seconds later, looking angrier the closer he got.

"Don't ever fucking don't that again," Bucky growled when he reached you, seizing your waist and yanking you into him. "The plan was to stick together. Not run off at the first sign - "

"Yeah, well, we're fine, but Caldwell got away down that hall," you nodded towards the side door. "Any ideas, genius, or do you wanna keep scolding me?"

He only paused a moment then pointed, "You head out that door towards the restrooms, I'll follow Caldwell; we'll circle back."

You mocked, "What happened to sticking together?"

"Well, now we have to move," his eyes rolled. "Stay on the comms."

"Sir, yes, sir," you mused, rolling your eyes as the pair of you peeled apart.

"Hey," he caught your wrist, gently guiding you back into his warmth. For a long moment, he looked almost too intense, too concentrated, too concerned as he requested, "Just - stay safe. You're not really in fighting condition."

"James, my sweetheart," you hushed, petting your manicured nails down his chest and muttering almost against his lips, "you know I'm not really pregnant, right?"

His brows were knit in concentration, holding onto you fondly; foreheads resting together, breathing the same air in steady huffs and puffs. "Just say the word, princess, and we can change that," he breathed.

From somewhere, Mel looked to Val and capped her mic, asking, "Are we really supposed to ignore this?" "Mhm."

You quipped, "Well, that's brazen of you, isn't it? That work on your ladies from the '40s?"

"I'm only concerned about the lady in front of me."

"You're a hound."

"Been called worse."

"Could be called better."

"Just call me yours and we'll call it even."

You snorted and nudged him off you, body overheated and flushing with anticipation, desire, longing and lust. When you ducked through the door leading to the restrooms, Bucky followed where the Senator was seen. Through different halls and directions, you and Bucky crept along the banquet's back halls, unaware the other was having a nearly identical anxiety attack. The lines of professionalism were blurring the longer the night went on, making you both nearly tremble from the release of adrenaline; needing to engage something deep and nearly forgotten to keep heads on straight.

You were trained to be a machine on your own, affection and any sort of emotion the grains of sand in your fine tune. There was supposed to be no room for something so serious and intense, it wasn't how you were programmed - hence why you never joined the Avengers the first time around. Now, being on this team, you were forced to adapt to survive and that made you vulnerable, and Bucky was that single grain just beyond reach that still managed to gum-up your mechanics. His behavior tonight all but shut you down, caused a clog in your internal turbines that made reality questionable.

How one man made you come this undone was unfathomable. Yet, here you are, panties warm and damp from the evening's intimate interactions with the man who was supposed to be your teammate. It was nearly embarrassing how flushed he made you from what was supposed to just be another mission.

That seemed to be that evening key term: Supposed To.

In tandem, you and Bucky discovered different back rooms - none of which had what you were looking for, but it didn't stop you from poking around. The pair of you covered more ground when apart, neither coming across anything or one, but then, you rounded one of the bends in the hall to discover Senator Caldwell speaking with Conrad Cross and various other henchmen. You stopped short but it was too late; they had seen you, you saw them, and Conrad was lifting a finger and hatefully roaring, "Her! I fucking knew it was you!"

Caldwell rolled his eyes, "Come now, Cross. She's just somebody's wife - "

"Not just somebody - the Winter Soldier's wife!"

You just held your hands up innocently, eyes shifting back and forth as you mapped both an escape route and plan of attack in your head. Senator Caldwell turned with a degree of interest, brows perking up his forehead, "Oh really, now? Huh, she's prettier than I thought."

"She's like him," Conrad snarled, flexing his fists, "a fucking freak, psycho killer!"

"Now, wait just a minute - "

You were cut off by the Senator waving off, "She is of no interest to me, then. Do what you want with her - but don't let that baby go to waste."

"Yes, sir," Conrad growled with a sick grin; the Senator slipping out another door that left you and the others in a stand-off. For a moment, it was quiet and nobody moved.

When the first two men surged forward and you prepared yourself for the fight, you were surprised when a hulking form came striding past you; a literal breeze blowing off their surge. As quiet as a church mouse but as broad as a wildebeest, Bucky had located you, clocked the threat, approached from behind to easily surpass you and engage the first fight for you. He easily overtook the two men and advanced menacingly towards the seven others.

"Go!" He barked over his shoulder. "Team's not at evac yet, we need to delay Caldwell!"

"Bucky - "

"Go, Y/N!"

You huffed and easily took off after Caldwell while Bucky covered your escape out the side door; abandoning your heels along the way and finding a way to pin your dress. Caldwell wasn't far and there came a single opportunity to knock him out from behind and leave him locked in a room - so, you took it and left the man with his belt tied around his hands and decorative handkerchief stuffed in his mouth. You took his watch and wallet for appearances, locked the room, and ventured back the way you came to search for Bucky.

Over the comms, Mel called your name and updated, "Team's confirmed from evac. You and Barnes are cleared for departure."

With relieved assurance you'd grab your teammate, you turned into the last hall and found Bucky punching Conrad Cross down off his knees. He went to punch him again, but the man wasn't moving, so you spoke in distraction, "Hey, hey, so, listen - I left Caldwell in a room, Val said nonlethal - boo, boring, I know. So," you held up the watch and wallet, "I robbed him." Bucky stared at your shit-eating grin incredulously, hands lifting to his hips while shaking his head with suppressed amusement. "All right, c'mon, handsome," you stepped into his chest and laced your hands together again, purring, "better soak all this in 'cause team's good, they made it to evac..." You trailed off; his mouth just over yours, open as if preparing to slot together, making your brain short circuit and spark with dysfunction. His eyes flickered between your mouth and eyes, begging you to stop him, but you mindlessly continued, "S-So w-we, um, we should," he was getting closer, "um, should get outta here - "

Conrad groaned from the floor and tried to lift himself, Bucky immediately shuffling you to the side.

"Sorry, sugar - just - hang on," he stomped on Conrad several sickening times as if personally offended by his consciousness.

But the mission was to be nonlethal... So you reached for him, "Buck, hey, hey, hey, you got him, you got him, baby, we can go, we're good, c'mon."

He allowed you to only get a few feet before yanking you to a halt, "Hang on, wait a second. Hey, hey, hey, lemme see you, c'mere," he pleaded, hand raising to caress your cheek and search you head to toe. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Buck - hey, nobody so much as touched me. I promise, I'm all right." You laid your hand flat over his flesh hand on your cheek, "Hey, look at me." Waiting until those wide, tired blue eyes met yours, you continued, "I'm good. Are you?"

He nodded, both glancing around at the bodies he left you stood among. "I just... It was..." Bucky looked painfully confused, stuttering, "I felt... It felt - I forgot you aren't really pregnant and just reacted."

With impression, you mused, "Well, if this was you reacting to a fake baby bump, hard to imagine what you'd do if it were real..."

Bucky's head shook, scanning the room again. "Nobody touches my girl."

You tried to snicker, "Oh, shut the fuck up, you know what? We don't have time - "

"So when you said the same earlier, was it just because people were around?"

"Well, no, nobody heard us."

"Exactly. Just like now. So why is it when you say it, it's part of the mission, but when I do, there's no time?"

You despised being put on the spot. "Seriously? You wanna do this right now?"

"Right now."

The nerve. "Jesus, fuck, Buck, what do you want me to say?"

He stared at you for a long moment, then asked, "Is it just me? Am I alone in feeling whatever's goin' on between us?"

The urge to demand his elaboration was fought off with a mental stick, knowing you had staved the man off as long as you could and here was the catalyst. The urge to vomit churned violently as if induced by the Spinning Teacup ride at Disney World, forced to swallow pooling spit harshly while your eyes turned glassy and skin clammy. Nerves prickled skin with discomfort, molten blood singeing veins into nothing, rooted in spot and held captive by the smoldering storm brewing in your counterpart's eyes. You opened and closed your mouth three times, wishing the words could just fall out but each time, getting caught in your throat.

And of course, Val had to chime in through the comms system, "Either answer him, L/N, or get a move on."

Your eyes rolled, "You're the worst, Val."

"You two wanna get caught without weapons around a bunch of fucked up mercenaries, be my guest, I'll make sure there's always flowers on your graves."

"Bitch." Your hand laced with Bucky's and easily navigated back towards the restrooms. You shot at him over your shoulder almost angrily, "I'd appreciate if we could pin this conversation until we don't have an audience."

"Fair enough," he agreed, glancing at the way your hair was pinned off your neck with a set of disguised microphones.

Stumbling out of the hall, you were forced to reenter the gala to cut across the chamber for the exit. With firm grips, you and Bucky tried to smoothly escape, but found yourself intercepted by a drunken Senator Reeves.

"Ah, I was looking for you two," he crooned.

"Right, well, apologies, Senator, but my wife isn't feeling the greatest and we should be going."

The older man with fully grey hair chuckled and clapped him again on the vibranium bicep. Only the alcohol in his system made him absorb the impact better, no more than a single flinch before he was nodding, "Oh, yeah, I bet. Didn't give it to her enough back there, aye, Barnes?"

Your eyes widened at the innuendo, but Bucky was just deflecting, "A woman as pretty as mine, you tend to find any excuse to get her alone. It's hard keeping your hands to yourself. Always nice to see you, sir, have a good night."

As he lead you through the gala doors, you managed to peak back and catch sight of the Senator gossiping childishly with others around him. It wasn't the worst cover story, someone claiming to see you and Bucky sneaking back from the restrooms together after 'obviously' fucking. It might work in your favor when Caldwell and Cross came to.

"We good, Val?" You asked quietly, you and Bucky heading for the valet for the car that would take you to the airstrip to fly back to New York.

"We're verifying everything now, just a sec." You perked a manicured brow at Bucky, approaching the car arranged for you. As Bucky opened the door and helped you step in, Val was affirming, "We have all we need. For now, you're good. Hotel's been cleaned out, too, so just head for the airfield."

"Great, see you when we get back," you sighed, immediately reaching up to yank out your inner ear comms. The door shut after Bucky got in beside side you as you were pulling your hair pins out, calling to the driver, "The airstrip, please."

The car pulled away. You knew it was a solid half hour ride to the jet and rolled the privacy partition up.

"What're you - ?" Bucky froze when you turned over in the seat to paw at his jacket. He let you shut off the camera and toss it to the cupholder holding your mics, reaching for Bucky's cheek and gently plucked his inner ear system out. When alone, you redirected his attention to you.

"No."

"No?" He repeated, vibranium arm opened to let you into his side, petting where it laid along the outside of your thigh.

"Bucky... You're not alone in whatever's going on or felt between us. It's there for me too but I don't - I don't know what we can actually make of any of it, but no, you're not - "

Bucky's flesh hand hooked around the base of your skull, insisting you forward to let his lips meet yours in unadulterated passion that bordered on fury. The metal hand at your thigh migrated a cool path up to your hip under your dress, kneading supple skin. There was no direction; no sense; no awareness; no nothing, no anything, no everything; there was only Bucky. His heat, his taste, his smell, his grip, his tongue, his beard; the car warm with a erotic tension as Bucky fluffed with an old, once-forgotten ego that swallowed you whole.

There was no beginning, no end. There was no right, no wrong. There was only Bucky.

He was both sin and salvation. A beacon and nightmare. A blessing, a curse; temperate, unpredictable; sweet, so very salty. Masculine and strong, considerate and kind. He was all you knew and nothing you've experienced. The storm, the sky break. You wanted none of him if you couldn't have all of him; desperate to eliminate all air and space between you to become one single entity. One form. One thought.

Bucky's hand changed tactics; perpetually cool metal grazing skin to caress your cheek and hold you to his lips while his calloused hand pushed around the material of your skirt to encourage you into his lap. You couldn't beat the smirk off your face even if you tried, teasingly rolling your hips over his bulging crotch while holding onto his neck and shoulders for balance.

"Mh," you hummed as Bucky stiffened, "what's got you this worked up, Sarge?" His jaw flexed at the name, swallowing almost audibly, making you continue, "It's the bump, innit?"

"It's the bump," he nodded vigorously. "Swear t'God, sugar, seeing you like this just makes my brain blur."

In a way, you completely understood; your own blurring if you remotely allowed yourself to fantasize this being real; a real baby, a real marriage, a real future with the man you think you're hopelessly in love with. You didn't wanna play make-believe with him anymore.

At that thought, panic burst in your chest and there came a moment of clarity; hand shoving into his chest to stop him, halt him, forcefully pressing pause. Bucky's head bounced off the headrest, looking bewildered as his hands immediately dropped any hold to raise innocently in the air, but before he could open his mouth, you were questioning, "The fuck are we doing?"

"C'mon, doll, even I know an old school session - "

"No, I mean - this kinda violates every rule in every book known to employees everywhere. You're not supposed to fraternize with coworkers or employers or whatever - "

"Supposed to? Baby, as far as I'm concerned, we're supposed to be together. Listen, hey," he whispered, hand caressing your cheek once more and forcing your gaze, "this isn't a mission to me. This isn't work. I dare any of them to say anything 'cause you're you and I've waited this long for you, baby, I'm not gonna just let you go."

"So, we're okay?"

"We're okay," he promised while brushing a single lock of hair from your forehead with the same gentle precision of a butterfly kiss.

"We're still - you know - good on being teammates?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"But, like, teammates who fuck?"

"I was thinking something more, like... Teammates who're together...? No, uh, teammates in love? Wait, that doesn't sound much better, does it?"

"We'll work on it," you promised, nodding vigorously before reconnecting your lips to his in a brutal display of affection.

requesting rules and masterlist

@dracosprettygirl

🔞 spoiled Theo was convinced you'd never look his way—until a Hogsmeade date leaves your heart bruised and angry. Now, Theo's done hiding his feelings... And ready to ruin every man who ever made you feel unworthy.

@prythiansprincess

🔞 agora hills song inspiration: agora hills by doja cat. 🔞 green with envy song inspiration: jealous by nick jonas. 🔞 dress song inspiration: dress by taylor swift. 🔞 DELIRIUM "you're so fucking special; I wish I was special."

“What’s it to you?” Mike asks snottily. Max turns toward him, already snarling in protection, but Wheeler’s got Steve’s head cradled in his lap, and he’s got his arms raised like he can shield him from this nameless threat.

“What’d you do to his face?” Eddie demands, almost whining, like Steve Harrington having his face bashed in is an affront to him personally. 

Max lunges through the still-open window in an attempt to stop him, but it’s too late. The weird guy’s already opened the back door and has pushed his way in past Dustin to peer down into Steve’s face.

“Don’t touch him,” Max hisses just as the guy reaches out to press his fingertips gently against Steve’s cheek.  

Steve hadn’t woken up as they’d dragged him to the car. It’d taken all four of them pulling his limbs into strange shapes and probably giving him a wicked roadburn. He hadn’t woken up as all three of the idiots around her had screamed unhelpful directions in her ear on the assumption that being louder would make them more intelligible. He hadn’t even woken up when Mike and Dustin started clutching at him as the stranger climbed inside. 

But one touch of this guy’s trembling fingers against his cheek, and Steve’s eyes slit open. 

“Nancy?” he asks, voice slurring around the name.

The guy laughs, all shaky past whatever bravado he’s lightly veneered on. “Guess again, big guy.”

Steve squints, making his barely-open eyes even smaller. She’s not sure how he can see anything at all, but he says, “Munson?” all soft and confused as he looks up at the other guy. “What’re you doin’ ‘ere?” he asks, voice slurring alarmingly. 

The guy, Munson, laughs again, and uses his free hand to tuck his wild hair behind his ears. Max can see his face now, and he might’ve just been laughing, but he’s not smiling as he asks, “I could ask you the same thing,” in a tone of voice that doesn’t hide the worry behind all that forced nonchalance. 

She can feel their window of opportunity closing. This guy’s going to commandeer the car, whisk Steve to a hospital, and that’ll be the end of her night. No more quests. No more delay of the inevitable. 

 Her palms are sweaty, and her windpipes shrinking in on itself like it’s one of those milkshake straws that gets stuck together if the shake’s too thick. 

Billy’s going to kill her when he sees her again. There will be no Steve Harrington and no inexplicable bat full of nails between them. He’s going to kill her, and that’s not something she can fight. 

But this? This is a plan with steps they can take to make sure everyone comes out alive. She’s a dead man walking, but Will doesn’t have to be. 

And that girl with superpowers could probably use all the help she can get, no matter how cool she is. 

She steps on the gas pedal, careening past the guy’s van where it’s still blocking the road, and continues on her chosen path even as the backdoor shudders with each turn of the wheel, trying to shut on mystery guy’s legs. 

Everyone’s screaming, and she has no idea where she’s going, so she utilizes the lessons her family’s taught her on being heard and screams, “shut up!” at the top of her lungs until the car’s catching crickets in its silence. 

“Lucas?” she asks, something churning in her stomach as he squeaks with what sounds suspiciously like fear. “Where next?”

Still, he reaches out and puts his hand on her knee, squeezing comfortingly as he says, “turn right here.”

Max turns. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” the guy, Munson, hisses. “The hospital’s back there!”

And the guy must’ve made some sort of gesture that jostled Steve because he makes a small, wounded sound deep in his throat. Max adjusts the rearview mirror just so she can glare at Munson threateningly, barely avoiding careening into a mailbox. 

Munson’s looking down at Steve with sad, worried eyes from where he’s crouched half overtop him, using the hand not holding up his weight to pet Steve’s bloody hair back from his head. “Sorry, Stevie.”

“‘m fine,” Steve slurs out. 

Max rolls her eyes and focuses back on the road, ignoring whatever spectacle’s going on in the back seat. She’s got hours to live, and she’s going to make them count. 

It’s a few short turns, following Lucas’s instructions until she’s careening off the road and bouncing to a stop on a grassy knoll, the boys in the back screaming as she slams on the brakes. 

When she twists the keys and pulls them free, the headlights click off, bathing the clearing in darkness. 

Max is the first one out of the car. The back door’s still open, Munson’s feet sticking out until he slides out, tumbling into an ungainly heap in the grass. He groans, flopping around until he’s on his back, messy curls covering his eyes. 

Dustin’s out of the car next, stepping over Munson like he’s a log in his path, not even glancing down at him as he orders everyone around. “We have to hurry,” he says, squinting down at his watch. He turns back to the car, yelling out “Steve!” in a demanding tone, as if he hadn’t just been cradling Steve’s shoes to his chest like he was a dying baby bird. 

 Steve shuffles out at the sound of his name, much more graceful despite what she expects must be a wicked concussion. There’s a trail of blood starting at his hairline and trailing down his temple. “C’mon, Munson,” he says, holding out his hand to help the other boy up. 

Munson peeks through his fingers up at Steve before flinging himself up on his own steam, eyes wide as he looks around the clearing like he’s never seen one before. “Oh, is this what hospitals look like now?” he asks, feigning shock. “Where’s the doctor?”

“What the hell are you talking about, dude?” Steve sighs, hands on his hips as he glares at Munson. 

Munson screeches deep in his throat, loud enough that the rest of them wince. He gestures at all of Steve’s body which, yeah fair. “You’re fucked, dude!” he yells. “Your brain’s probably bleeding out your ears!”

Steve says, “no hospitals,” just as Dustin replies, “we can check his brain after,” and strides farther into the clearing without a backwards glance, like he expects everyone else to follow him without question. Max resists the urge to get back in the car and leave all these idiots to die. 

After all, Steve and Lucas are still here. The rest of them can burn, for all she cares. 

“I thought I made myself clear,” Steve says, hands on his hips like he’s someone’s beleaguered mother, even though he’s slurring, and Munson’s right: his brain’s probably leaking out his ears. “We’re on the bench!”

Dustin stomps back with a huff, clearly fed up with the delay. “Steve, you’re upset, I get it,” he starts. His flashlight’s on and blinding Steve as it’s shined directly into his eyes. “But the bottom line is, a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance.”

Munson laughs, halfway to hysterical as he pulls a hunk of unruly hair taught in front of his own face and bites it like a dog. Max wrinkles her nose, disgusted, but then the guy says, “what is this a live-action D&D game? And I thought I was a nerd,” and she sort of starts to like him. 

“Henderson,” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes when he’s immediately verbally bowled over.

“I know you promised Nancy you’d keep us safe,” Dustin says, finally pointing the flashlight away from Steve’s eyes, illuminating the ground between them. “So, keep us safe.”

Munson twitches beside Steve, inching closer to him as the silence lingers, showing exactly where his loyalties lie. But in the end, Steve sighs, shoulders slumping, and Max knows the plan’s back on. 

“If we’re doing this, we’re going to do it right,” Steve says, turning back to dig through the contents of Billy’s trunk as if it was his own. 

“Do what?” Munson cried, reaching up to pull his own hair by the root as he stomped his foot like a beleaguered father. 

When Steve turns back, he tosses a bandana at Munson’s chest. He scrambles to grab it, but it falls into the grass, and by the time he stands back up, Steve’s got a red bandana of his own tied around the bottom half of his face, and what looks like a pair of Billy’s old swimming goggles strapped across his eyes. The pressure’s got to be killer on his concussion, but Steve doesn’t complain.

He never seems to when it’s his own well being in question. Max kind of wants to stuff him back in the car and haul ass to the hospital, or better yet, out of this spooky fucking town entirely.

Munson’s just standing there, bandana clutched in his hand as he squints at Steve like he’s an alien. With the goggles making him so bug-eyed, she can’t really blame him.

“Put that on,” Steve says, pointing down at the bandana. “The air in the Upside-Down is like, toxic or something. Hop had to be on some sort of breathing machine.

Munson takes two steps forward and waves his hand in front of Steve’s face rapidly. “Hello? Anyone fucking in there?” When Steve smacks his hand down, Munson takes a quick hop back and throws his hands in the air, letting the bandana flutter back to the grass. “What the fuck is an Upside-Down? Have you cracked?”

“Eddie,” Steve sighs. He sounds tired down to his bones. Probably happens to anyone who has to deal with Dustin for more than twenty minutes at a time, never mind this new guy and whatever his damage is. 

He bends down to retrieve the bandana himself and steps forward. Munson – Eddie – takes a quick step back, eyes wide like he’s afraid he’s going to get his ass kicked. But all Steve does is brush Eddie’s messy curls off his shoulder and out of the way so he can tie the bandana around his face himself.

“Just trust me, okay?” 

Max turns away, feeling suddenly like she’s seeing something she shouldn’t as Eddie shivers and shakes beneath Steve’s gentle hands.

Welcome to the fic that I started writing in (checks notes), 2023???? I had a blast writing from Max's POV, and the rest of the kids are coming! As always, a thank you for @queenie-ofthe-void for the beta editing AND the full-on writing of some parts of this fic, coming soon! I will post the credit when we get to that <3<3<3 But honestly, the fact that I have written absolutely anything at any given time as a MINIMUM of 40% due to you so <3<3<3