♧

Sharp lines, blue eyes that could cut you like a diamond. Shoulders that could probably body you to the ground — and you’d thank him for it. “Are you alright, ma’am?” Oh, and that goes straight between your legs. 

You’ve never really been in love before. You’ve never even really dated. Your college life was spent with tearstains on your textbooks and essay papers until each piece of work contained a fat, red ‘A’ and added up to your perfect GPA. Countless hours networking with people to wriggle yourself into your dream job and now those hours are wasted behind a desk with a career that gives you carpal tunnel. 

Point is — when you set your mind on something, you obsess over it until you achieve it.

Your current target? One Sergeant Bucky Barnes from FDNY Engine 205. 

From the moment he stepped in and delivered that question, to the second he looked into your eyes and grinned, those sapphire eyes twinkling as he said — “That dinner looks delicious, what I’d kill for a homecooked meal,” you knew you were done for.

Ask and you shall receive. 

Now, on your work breaks, you find yourself stopping by with a platter of something new you’ve whipped up. Whether it’s a hearty protein-topped salad or a smoked barbecue selection or an array of sweet treats, you bring it as an offering to the local station.

Every. Single. Day. 

The first day, one guy looks at you reluctantly at your foil-covered container and you had to stand there in shame as he told you that they couldn’t accept it due to health and safety concerns. 

Your cheeks were hot as you held the tray closer to your chest, ready to hightail out of there before you can embarrass yourself further, when that familiar voice came.

“Steak alarm.” 

Your gaze lifted to find Bucky standing there. He’s wiping his hands on a dirty dishrag, tight shirt clinging onto his body with the sweat and… general fit of the fabric, as he made his way towards you. 

He lifted the foil and his gaze widened. It felt like you were taking a nosedive straight off a cliff into the Pacific — and you enjoyed every second of it. 

“Now that’s a meal.” 

Then he was summoning the rest of the station to take a gander at what you’ve prepared and suddenly they’re all picking away at it and thanking you for the first proper meal they’ve had in days. 

And when Bucky once again flashed you that charming smile, one that would probably set off all the alarms in this station, it was over for you. 

You should be embarrassed with being so obvious — some of the other firefighters have caught on to your teensy crush. Natasha, who’s probably the most badass person you’ve ever met, shoots you lopsided smiles every time you stare at Bucky. Sam and Steve are a little less subtle as they make comments like “your wife’s here, Barnes!” and you have to flail and panic until Bucky damns them with warning glares.

It’s not as if you talk to him. They’re much too busy for that. One of those days, you walk in and they’re actually gearing up to leave. Bucky had apologized profusely before he hopped in the truck and was on his way. 

Instead, you yearn silently. You tell yourself it’s enough that you can see Bucky smile every day, that you can watch him devour whatever new thing you’ve made. 

But the more you see him, the greedier you get. 

When he does have time, he talks you through the mechanics of his job or describes the truck in great detail — until Sam yells at him, “Nobody wants to hear about your damn truck, Buck!” Then he’s flushing and saying sorry for boring you. You tell him in honesty that he could never bore you. 

Suddenly, your days seem a little brighter. Instead of the humdrum life you’ve crafted for yourself, your pulse skips every time you think of something new to make for the station. You think of them as new friends. All of them know you by name and welcome you in with no hesitation. 

It feels as if you’re making strides in getting to know Bucky, in getting him to actually like you. Not necessarily in a romantic way, just as two people becoming friends. 

However, as you’re approaching the station late one day (your oven was being difficult), you find that the team is already on the upper level of the base having lunch. You reach for the stairway when you hear it. 

“Come on, Buck, you know she’s got a crush on you,” Sam teases. The others titter in agreement. 

Heat floods your cheeks. 

“Quit it, Wilson,” Bucky growls.

“What? She too much for you?” Sam presses with a chuckle. 

“She’s a handful, that’s for sure,” you hear Bucky mutter.

You hear your heart hit the ground. Laughter ripples through the space but there’s a ringing in your ears and your feet are moving before you can think twice. 

Handful. A handful.

All this time, you thought you were doing something nice, but you didn’t realize you were actually bothering them. The street before you blurs as tears prick your eyes. Your breaths come out shallow as you trudge all the way home, the baked goods in your hands suddenly feeling like deadweight. 

It’s only when you’re in the safety of your apartment that you allow yourself to breathe. At least as much as you can. You end up clearing out that tray on your own that evening with a depressing movie on screen.

From that point, you can’t imagine coming in to face them. You can’t bear the thought of pitying looks from the team or how Bucky is probably forced to smile to welcome you. Public servants and all. The last thing you want to do is inconvenience them when they’ve got a lot on their plates.

So you stop coming. You instead bury yourself in work, taking on more responsibility to keep your mind distracted — far away from the thought of being a handful. There are some nights when that melancholy morphs into irritation, how you wish you could spite him for not telling you the truth sooner. And then you realize that it’s not on him; you chose to do this. He was simply being kind.

You had mistaken that kindness for something more. 

It’s been a few days since you last came and none of them have said a thing. It’s not as if you ever traded phone numbers. At least this will be a clean slate. You can forget this fluke ever happened.

You’re trying a new chicken recipe, frowning at your box of butter, when a knock sounds on your door. Your instinct is to sniff the air, wondering if the scent has permeated through the halls and your neighbor Mr. Tilman is here to complain again. 

Wiping your hands on your kitchen towel, you swing the door open to find… not Mr. Tilman.

Instead, Bucky stands at your door. 

He’s still in his fire station t-shirt. 

He still looks delicious.

Those eyes that you’ve grown to adore light up when they see you. He smiles softly, “Hey.”

Your throat is dry. “Uh, hi.”

He looks you up and down and you realize now your disheveled state. Hair a mess, your oversized shirt is ratty and ends at your thighs. You reach up instinctively to try and fix yourself. 

“You open your door to everyone like that?” His gaze flicks to your bare legs before going back up, cheeks a little pinker.

“Um, I thought you were Mr. Tilman. He doesn’t like it when I use too many spices.”

“You open your door to Mr. Tilman like that?” Bucky cocks an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement.

You fight back a smile and shake your head. “No, not usually. I was still distracted with my cooking when you knocked. Can I help you with something?”

Bucky shifts a little nervously then and you finally notice the crinkling plastic bag in his hands. “I haven’t seen you in a while. I thought you were sick so I brought over some chicken soup. I can’t cook for the life of me so I bought it. I can promise it’s safe.” 

Dammit. How are you supposed to get over this man when he does things like this?

“Oh, thank you,” you swallow thickly.

“You don’t look sick though.”

“I’m… not,” you say slowly, unsure of how to approach this situation.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky responds softly, “we missed seeing you around.” 

Your feet shuffle closer together as you look down at them instead of him. “Yeah, it’s been busy.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

You look up and laugh awkwardly. The lie goes straight past your teeth. “No, no. Just work.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, lips tightening. He knows. You should’ve spent the past few days learning how to fib instead of moping. “Is something wrong?”

“What? No. Why would something be wrong?”

Real smooth. 

Saved by the bell, your fire alarm begins beeping aggressively. You’ve forgotten your chicken. A curse slips past your lips as you hurry back in but Bucky beats you to it. He’s switching off your stove, telling you not to touch the pan, and reaching over to toggle with the alarm. 

And now the two of you are in your kitchen, standing side by side watching as the oil pops in your pan and your chicken is completely burnt to a crisp. 

“Well, guess that recipe didn’t work,” you joke to break the tension. 

Bucky is silent for a moment before he asks quietly, “Did I do something?”

“What?” You whip up to face him. 

“Is work really the reason why you haven’t been coming around?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Yeah,” you choke out a laugh again, “of course.”

The smile he gives you is almost sorrowful. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Flinching, you shift your gaze away this time. 

“If I did something, I want to apologize. I’d appreciate it if you told me so I can properly say sorry and so I don’t do it again.” 

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you shake your head, “believe me. It’s fine.”

“Then why?” 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, teeth sinking into your bottom one. Bucky’s gaze falls briefly again to your mouth before it returns to you. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”

His eyes flicker in surprise. “Why would you be a bother?”

“You guys are obviously busy and I don’t want to intrude—”

“You don’t— you could never intrude,” Bucky interjects softly, “what would give you that idea?”

You clear your throat and shrug.

“I lo—” he stops, flushing lightly, “We love having you there. All of us. We look forward to your visits, you know. Sam won’t shut up about everything you make. We might’ve taken you for granted and I am sorry for that, but I want you to know that you could never be a bother.” 

“Thank you,” you murmur softly. “I’ll, um, come by tomorrow maybe.”

“And you don’t have to bring anything all the time. You must be busy with work too. Could just swing by to chat with us. Steve also hosts weekly game nights with Nat and you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Now it’s your turn to be flustered as you wave him off. “No, no, that’s for your team.”

“People bring their plus ones too, it’s very casual.”

“Yeah, but I’m not really anyone’s plus one,” you laugh lightly.

Bucky digs his fingers into his pockets and you see that his neck and ears are stained red. His gaze shifts around the room before they fly back to you. Honest blue eyes. “You could be mine.”

Your heart skips. 

“I mean, you don’t have to— I just, you know, it would be nice. Of course, you don’t have to be my plus one. You could be someone else’s — scratch that, you could be the team’s overall plus one, but I think it would be nice if you were mine…” Bucky trails off and his usually tanned skin flushes a deeper and deeper shade of scarlet. 

You’re not sure how to respond to this. Just days ago, you heard him call you a handful. You thought you were too much. You don’t know what to make of this.

Is he just being kind? Maybe he feels bad that you’ve spent weeks coming around and now he wants to repay the favor.

“You know you don’t have to feel bad and invite me,” you gently say. 

“I don’t—” he looks taken aback, “I’m not inviting you because I feel bad. I’m, shit, I’m inviting you because I want you there.” 

“Why?”

Bucky rubs his face aggressively, groaning silently to himself. “I feel like I’m going about this the wrong way. I… really like you.” Your heart stutters again, your breath hitching in your throat. “I wanted to ask you out properly, but I wasn’t sure if that would cross any professional boundaries, given how we met. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. If I’ve misinterpreted anything you’ve done, please let me know. I just— you were coming around and the team was saying that you came around to see me — and I guess I got my hopes up.”

You’re silent, and your nonresponse makes him squirm. 

Why would he— this doesn’t make any sense. You heard him loud and clear at the station, right? 

“But I thought you thought I was a handful,” you whisper. 

“What?” He blanches, “What would make you think that?”

“I heard you,” you admit shamefully, “last time I came around the station. I thought— I figured I was being a nuisance so I didn’t want to overstep anymore.”

The gears are turning in his mind as he seemingly retraces his steps. You see the moment he remembers. His face pales. “Oh, fuck, oh god. No, shit. No, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay! Look, it’s totally fine. I get it. I can be intense and I don’t want to put that pressure on you.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, his eyes are kind and stern at the same time as he delivers his explanation. “I only said you’re a handful because you do so much and I don’t know if I could ever do enough to return the favor. I’ve been thinking about asking you out and I haven’t really… dated in a while — or ever for that matter — and I wanted to do it right. I wanted to do right by you. Fuck, I didn’t mean handful in that way, I swear.” 

“Oh.”

“God, I’m an idiot,” Bucky moans, “I’m so sorry. Shit, you must’ve thought— I’m sorry. I never want you to think you’re a bother. You’re not. You’re the best part of my day. Every day, I look forward to coming into work knowing I was going to see you in the afternoon. I prayed so that we wouldn’t get called out during those hours.”

Your lips part.

He takes a deep breath, “That first day you didn’t come, I was worried that something happened, but the others thought I would be too much if I stopped by. Not to mention, incredibly inappropriate since I know your address from that first time. But shit, I missed you that day. I didn’t realize how much I loved seeing you every day until that first day. Then you stopped coming and I couldn’t stop worrying so Nat finally unofficially greenlit me to check on you and I came straight here. But then I thought that you were sick so I stopped by to get soup and— now I’m rambling. You didn’t ask for all that. I just need you to know that you could never be a bother to me. Never. Even if you were a handful, I can’t imagine anyone else taking care of you— I don’t want to imagine that.”

“Bucky—”

“And that makes me really selfish right? But I want to be the first person you call if anything happens. If something good or bad happens, I want you to tell me first. Because I like you so, so much. I should’ve made that clear earlier. But, again, if all this makes you uncomfortable, then tell me. I’ll leave. No hard feelings.”

“Bucky!”

“Yes,” he shuts up.

“I—” you realize now that you should’ve prepared what to say, but how are you expected to respond to that? “Thank you, um, for clarifying. I don’t even know what to say. I can confirm that I was coming around mainly to see you,” you say, embarrassment written all over your face at your confession, “you’re the best part of my day too. I should’ve just talked to you instead of jumping to conclusions.” 

His face is marred by a wince as he offers you an apologetic look. “No, I understand why you did. I should’ve phrased it better.”

“Well, at least that’s cleared up,” you smile, “but I do… like you too, that is. Professional code be damned, I would’ve said yes if you asked me on a date.”

The smile he gives you is blinding and you vow then and there that you would spend the rest of your life making sure he keeps that expression on his face. 

“Well, since your dinner is… unsalvagable,” Bucky begins, glancing briefly at the mess on your stove, “how about I take you out for dinner? As a date.”

You smile. “I’d love that.”

bucky is kissing (taglist): @superbassbuck @earthsmightiestbenders @houseofhyde @its-in-the-woods @flockoff-featherface @winterdecember18 @chateaubarnes @54nboo @barnes-babydoll @phoenix-in-writing @tofuonfaiya @avengersfan25 @miraclediviner @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @blowingbarnes @stanmarvelous @pinksplace @lunexiax @54nboo @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @esunarint @nikkitabarnes @captain-shannon-becker @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @alli0-0 @amoremarveloustime @avgdestitute @natskisses @sarah1barnes @parker-barnes-af @sarah1barnes @onecojg @iamthatonefangirl @wildflowersandvibranium @stegosaurussims @angelryex @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @mathcat345 @flippedccc @lynnidc @winnichu173 @singulartoast @zhaixiaowen @c3liaaaaa @Buckysdecaflove @epiphanyrogers @larissabarnes @itsmadamehydra @cutttteeee @macbaetwo @blobfishlol @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @erina00

You were the last to join the team and easy to get along with. You could roll with the punches and keep up with Alexei, put John in his place when he stepped out of line, sympathize with Bob, and have a blast with Yelena and Ava. Hell, you even congratulated Bucky on his six month stint as a Congressman and swore he made a difference. He admired your kindness. He admired you.

The team thought Bucky was just being extra welcoming since he always found an excuse to be around you. If you offered to cook for the team, he was beside you in the kitchen ready to help. If you wanted to spar, he dropped what he was doing to go to the training room. And if you suggested a movie night, he sat next to you with your favorite snacks ready to go and a blanket in case you got cold.

Everyone noticed that Bucky smiled more when you were around. He laughed more, too. Turned to you for advice and didn't mind staying up late to chat or exchange books. Your room also happened to be beside his and he spent a lot of time in there, more than a regular teammate should.

The recent movie night you snuggled against him and started to doze off. If anyone else had tried to snuggle with him there was a chance they'd lose a hand, but not you. “Mmm. You're so good to me, Bucky,” you said when he picked you up.

“You know me. Just being a good teammate,” he replied, holding you close the way a boyfriend would and not at all like a teammate.

Yeah, they should’ve seen it coming.

Bob stumbled upon you by accident. He had forgotten his hoodie in the common room after one of the movie nights and froze when he spotted you and Bucky making out on the couch. He stood there for a full minute torn because he wanted to get his hoodie back, but he didn't want to interrupt. He ultimately decided against it when Bucky pushed you back on the cushions. On top of his hoodie.

“I’ll just… I’ll get it tomorrow. And I’ll wash it. Yeah, yeah. I'll do that. It’s fine. Everything’s fine,” he mumbled as he went back to his room.

You were kind enough to wash it yourself the next day and offered to buy him a new one, but he declined. It was nice that you offered. And he was happy because he saw how happy you made Bucky.

Yelena caught the two of you in the training room. For a moment it looked like Bucky was trying a new move on you and she almost asked him to show her how it was done. Tilting her head after a few seconds, she realized what she was seeing wasn't a defense move at all. If there was any doubt, the grunt he let out and the moan you gave him in response when some clothes were moved aside told her very loud and clear what was happening. And it would've been rude to stay and watch.

“Oh, I'm not sparring on that mat again,” she muttered.

She did spar on it again after Bucky cleaned it twice.

Ava didn't catch the two of you doing anything. She phased in the kitchen one day while Bucky was eating and making a mess. The exasperated look on your face when you tossed him a paper towel was adorable, as was the smile you two exchanged. Bucky never looked that soft around anyone else.

“You eat pussy like that?” Ava asked to get a rise out of Bucky when another drop of sauce hit his shirt.

“Yeah, he does,” you said without skipping a beat.

Ava laughed, thinking it was a joke at first, before she caught Bucky staring you down and licking his lips. You bit your lip and Ava almost phased out of the room to give you two some privacy. You beat her to it by sauntering out of the room with a smirk, the super soldier hot on your tail and leaving his mess behind.

“Thank you for not using the counter since we eat here!” Ava called out after the two of you.

Bucky had you on the counter the next day so he could eat, too.

Alexei found the two of you in his limo tangled up in each other. You couldn't explain why you and Bucky decided to fool around in there, but you wanted to have some fun and the limo was there. And it was clean. The Red Guardian wasn't at all upset. In fact, he felt honored that the Winter Soldier wanted to have sex in his limo and blasted “Pony” to set the mood.

“That’s what I talk about!” he cheered before Yelena dragged him away.

She also decided then and there that she’d always ride in the front seat of the limo.

John was the last to know, which surprised no one. After a successful mission, he realized neither you nor Bucky had answered a question he asked. Whatever smartass comment he began died in his throat when Bucky unashamedly kissed you. There was nothing gentle or chaste about it. It was a deep, filthy kiss and he felt like a perv watching.

Bucky must've thought something similar since he gave John the finger all while he continued to kiss you and you gripped his hair.

“Are you guys…” John trailed off since the rest of the group didn't seem at all surprised by the display. “Wait, did everyone know? Was I the only one who didn't know?”

“Yes, dime store Captain America.” Ava rolled her eyes. “Everyone knew.”

Whether it was the insult of being the last to know, John looked offended. “Even Bobby? And since when did the two of them become a thing?”

Bucky broke the kiss to glare at the blonde. “Yeah, asshole, Bob knew,” he replied.

“And it wasn't really a secret. We just hadn't officially announced it,” you said, giggling when Bucky’s lips found yours again.

Apparently the display was the official announcement.

“I really did know,” Bob smiled before he cleared his throat. “I, uh, found them in the common room.”

“Training room,” Yelena said.

Ava nodded. “Kitchen.”

“Limo!” Alexei shouted, hitting his chest. “My limo.”

“Jesus Christ,” John muttered.

Bob shrugged. “I think they make a good couple.”

“Of course, you do,” Yelena said, a small smile forming on her face as you and Bucky carried on. “I think so, too.”

Yeah, lovelies. Loved the film. Not at all sorry. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Steve, Sam and Bucky had been living together for quite some time; with all going to the same university it made sense to split an apartment.

They clicked easily, establishing their roles quite quickly in the small space. They were all pretty relaxed and weren’t overly particular on how things had to be done in the house. However, there were a few rules established in The Guy’s apartment to keep peace.

One: the office space is No Man’s Land and will remain as such.

Deciding what to do with it had been a ginormous battle, resulting in complete destruction of the space and a hell of a mess no one wanted to clean. And no one would try to again, out of fear for starting The Office War once more.

Two: Sam cooks, Steve cleans and Bucky stays out of the way.

He would help only when asked as to not result in complete and utter chaos. Bucky was handy, he could fix what was broken. But maintaining structure and cleanliness was not his forte, nor in his fortune. The man burnt water; when they ran out of dish soap he thought shampoo was an equal substitute… but the man knew how to work a drill.

Three: Everyone has a “one month” favor, you get whatever you want with no resistance or argument.

Sometimes, you just had to do your buddy a solid with no questions. You got one, and only one, each month to have your boys completely back you up.

Steve hadn’t used his for awhile; he wasn’t one to get into trouble and he didn’t really think he needed anything from the guys. He usually avoided most confrontation anyway; while Bucky needed to be driven to the hospital after a bar fight, or Sam had to be driven to Manhattan IMMEDIATELY for a last minute sale on organic oranges, Steve stayed in his lane and didn’t ask for much more than what he had.

However, Steve did have a savior complex and the need to mother and console. It had gotten him into trouble before; once he’d brought a stray dog into the apartment, an old and sickly thing that no rational human would take in. But he used his One Month, much to Sam and Bucky’s dismay, and ol’ Dodger became their extra roommate soon after that.

He hadn’t used it since then, which he was happy about in hindsight…

The Savior in him creeped up again, not being able to let an old friend in a tough spot struggle. And he was going to have to break that to the boys.

“Guys,” Steve blurted as he exited his room, “I’m using my one month.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up from his Froot Loops, “You? Jesus Christ, how much trouble are you in?”

Bucky laughed as Steve walked in further, “I’m serious. I’m using my one month. I haven’t asked for anything in awhile so I need you guys to be cool.”

Sam looked up from his cooking, curiosity etched in his face. “Okay… what is it?”

“I Uh-“ Steve scratched the back of his neck. “I need to permanently borrow the couch for a bit.”

The two men looked at each other, wary of where this was going.

“Um… is that all?” Bucky asked. “Because if it is, I’d really like to get back to eating in peace. I have an early shift.”

“Yep, yep that’s all.”

Bucky nodded, immediately turning back to his food.

Sam squinted at Steve, slowly waving a spatula in his direction as he hummed. “Mm, I don’t believe you. What’s the catch?”

“Well… I need it for a personal project.”

“Project?”

“Yes.”

Sam flicked off the stove top; hands braced against the counter top as he thought. “Is this a sex thing?”

Bucky choked on his cereal, coughing loudly as he shook his head.

“Dude,” he muttered between coughs, “I just woke up.”

“Oh stop,” Sam said, “we’re not prudes; we can discuss sex like men.”

Bucky scoffed at the statement, “Doesn’t mean I want to discuss Roger’s kinks at the dining table.”

“Oh my god,“ Steve calmed his face, “it’s not a sex thing.”

“Dude if you’re into voyeurism just say so;” Sam started, “I’d rather have the warning ahead of time versus walking in on—”

“Who’s the girl?” Buck interjected.

Steve blinked in confusion. “What—“

“Who’s the girl?” Bucky reiterated.

He wasn’t stupid; if Steve was asking for a one month; it meant business. Which normally involved; a sickly animal, a close friend, or a girl. He didn’t mention a dog or a friend upfront… therefore, “Alright let’s pretend as if we’ve known each other all our lives; you wouldn’t be this dodgy if it didn’t involve a girl.”

Bucky snarked, and Steve rolled his eyes. He couldn’t hold much of a front.

“So it is a sex thing.” Sam reiterated.

“No it’s not like that.”

With Steve’s defence, Bucky knew he was right.

“Ah HA! So there is a girl.”

“No no—”

But before Steve could clear things up, the other two took over.

“I’m just glad you’re getting over Peggy dude—”

“—It’s about time—“

“—but I don’t know why you need a couch—”

As the two spoke over one another, Steve caved.

He might as well come out with it.

“Y/N’s staying with us for a while.”

Sam dropped his spatula.

“I’m sorry, WHAT?!”

Immediately the apartment was filled with loud complaints; practically screaming about how batshit looney Steve was.

Having someone move in without consent? That was out of the question.

“You asked Y/N to move in? Are you insane?”

Steve flopped his head back against the couch as he sighed. He knew he would freak, that being his main hesitation in telling Sam at all. But he was running out of time to tell them, the midnight hour truly upon him.

“What did you expect me to do, Sam? Her boyfriend cheated on her with her roommate, why the hell would she wanna stay there after that?”

Though Steve’s admittance was last minute and poorly orchestrated, his plan had not been. He knew this was the appropriate reaction, so he used the pressing time and the one month as ammo against this raging battle. Steve expected the guys to freak; he just didn’t know which one was worse.

Sam wasn’t one to willingly accept change, the group had a routine and that could not be disrupted. Was he a relaxed, chill, fun loving man? Of course. But this was his home; a friend of Steve’s he met once was not someone he could easily implement into his daily living.

And then there was Bucky, who was crazy paranoid of outsiders. Bucky had never met Y/N; he could tolerate Steve’s one night stands, but subletting their couch was a whole other story.

“Sam she even said she’ll pay—”

“Look,” Sam crossed his arms, with a lowered tone, “I get it, that’s a shitty situation. But we don’t have the space for someone else. We don’t even have another bedroom.”

“Hence, the couch.” Steve hands gestured to the sofa beneath him. “She can keep her clothes and crap in my room anyways. It’ll be a couple weeks. And again; I’m using my One Month. No arguing.”

Sam huffed as he turned to Bucky, “Help me out man, don’t you think it’s a bad idea?”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he popped the dishes in the sink, “Of course it’s a bad idea. That’s why I'M declaring myself REMOVED from the situation. When this blows up; it’s on you Rogers—

But as Bucky remembered the 31st creeping up like a snake in the grass, and the fact that he had bought his coworkers’ round at Happy’s the other night..

“—but we need the rent.”

Sam groaned while Steve silently celebrated; Bucky could never really say no to Steve… too much childhood loyalty.

“And the One Month!” Steve yelled.

“And The One Month.” Bucky added.

Sam threw his hands in the air, “You two are idiots; this will be a disaster. We have a dynamic going, we have rooms set up—we’re also all guys. Don’t you think that will be awkward?”

“Oh come on Sam,” Steve started, turning to face this hysterical man, “like you said, we’re all adults, we all have female family members. You’ve even met her, you like her!”

“Yeah, I said that she’s chill, doesn’t mean I want us to share a wall.”

Steve shook his head, clearing the coffee table before standing and walking towards the sink.

“Well it’s too late, she’s going to be here any minute and it’s two against one Sam. Besides, you and Bucky both know we need help with the rent. She’ll stay here until she finds another place, our couch pulls out and it’ll pull right back in when she leaves. You’ll survive.”

“Push.” Sam muttered.

The plates clanked in the sink as Steve’s brow pulled, “What?”

“You said pull right back in, it’ll push right back in.”

“Oh my god, you know what I meant.” Steve argued.

The two then started their unnecessary fight on the proper usage of English literature versus the rudeness of correction within understandable context; while Bucky’s desire to launch himself out a window sky-rocketed.

As the scruffy man rubbed his temples, he couldn’t help but wonder if Y/N would be willing to permanently take his place so he could live on the streets in peace.

“I hate it here. I hate it here. I hate it here.” Bucky mumbled.

“Look; I know we’re a lot. I know it’s last minute. I know this is a huge thing; but I’m begging you guys to be cool with this. Please?”

Suddenly, a knock on the door came which interrupted the conversation.

The two men shared a look, before glaring at Steve.

“Steve—“

“—is that her?”

The silence was far too incriminating.

“Oh my god—“

“She’s already here?!”

“You’re fuckin kidding Rogers.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, please just be cool. Give her a chance, it’s not for long anyways.”

“This is the last time you’re taking in strays—“

Another knock interrupted them.

“Well go get the door you idiot—“

Steve scrambled to the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” She smiled brightly at the welcoming face, slowly stepping inside.

Steve turned, steeling himself to face his dramatic roommates.

“Guys this is Y/N, Y/N I'm not sure if you remember Sam…”

“Yeah of course,” Bags in hand, she poorly attempted a wave, “um, hey…”

She slowly ushered in, dropping her bags on the floor.

“And this is Bucky.”

She looked up, softly smiling as she brushed the hair from her face.

Bucky stood still, gripping the edge of the sink.

He wanted to wash dishes, he wanted to run out the front door, he wanted to be anywhere but there—

“Hey, Y/N…”

The room was tense, and her gaze darted between the 3.

Oh yeah, he definitely just told them…

She hated that she had even asked Steve in the first place. If her friends hadn’t been coupled up, if her family had lived within the same city limits, she never would have.

But coming home to your roommates' panties and boyfriend’s boxers in the same pile, feet tangled up together on the couch makes a girl do desperate things.

Very desperate things.

Steve had always had her back; from that first day of freshman year until this very minute.

He never liked Peter or MJ, and had every right to scream “I told you so” in her face.

Which never happened. Instead, he picked her up from the bar crying, drove her around all night, dropped her off at work and made the declaration that she would crash with him until she got back on her feet.

His buddies however, owed her no obligation.

And she could see it now; the sheer awkwardness and discomfort at her presence.

She sighed. Normally she’d feel worse, but she needed this. She’d stay out of their way, clean up after herself, tiptoe and never criticize.

Just like she promised Steve.

She sighed as he rounded the corner, the café nearing in view.

He was freaking out, she was freaking out. It wasn’t a great idea but it was all she had to choose from.

“Please, just be cool.” He begged.

“I am cool! I’m ice cold.” She reassured. But she didn’t feel it, her suitcases were full of dirty laundry for god's sake.

Steve sighed, it had been his idea but he was already backtracking. “God this isn’t gonna go well.”

Which gave her no comfort.

“Okay what’s the problem?” She slapped his shoulder, “Just lay it on me.”

Steve parked in the lot, steeling himself before turning to her.

“Look; we’re a lot. And the guys aren’t good with change.”

“Okay.” She drew out the word, attempting to follow.

“And you’re… a lot. And you also aren’t flexible to change.”

She nodded, “I know this, continue.”

“I just want this to work. And meshing friend groups isn’t always easy; but I love you guys. And I think this could be a good thing for us. And for you. I’m just asking you to—I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m asking but… I know this isn’t the best idea. But I’m trying to make it work for you and I’m gonna try to make it work for them. So… just go easy on the guys, okay?”

She gave a sad half-smile… grateful that one man in her life was willing to do so much for her. It had been 12 hours and he was willing to flip his, and his roommate’s lives upside down for her.

Yes, she was difficult. Yes, she had a temper. No, she never thought before she spoke… but she could try.

“Hey, anything for you Steve. I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine.”

Trying to calm herself, she repeated the mantra in her head.

It’s just for a few weeks, it’s just for a few weeks…

“Here, you can put your stuff in my room.”

He plucked her bags from the ground with ease, before she snatched them away.

“No no, I can take them—it’s okay.”

Steve nodded, pointing down the hall.

“Alright, right around the corner, door on the left.”

“Right.”

She scurried as quickly as she could to get out of their way, hating being the center of such unwanted attention.

She went right, turning into the wrong room.

She sighed, but hearing their not-so subtle whispering, she decided against calling out.

Luckily, she could get settled in the washroom!

She chucked a makeup bag and a bottle of 2 n 1 on the counter.

She wanted to cry; she wanted to scream. Instead, she placed her hands on the disgusting sink—oh god was that a pube?

She ran the faucet and dipped her hands under. Splashing her face with cold water before staring at herself in the mirror.

She nodded. “This will be fine.”

~

Bucky hadn’t said a word as Steve and Sam continued to bicker.

Eyes still following the imaginary trail she had left behind.

Steve noticed his intense staring, and desperate to escape this roundabout right with Sam—

“What?” Steve asked.

Realizing he had been asking him, Bucky shrugged.

“Nothing.” Bucky said.

He fiddled with the strap of his work cooler.

“You just didn’t say she looked like that.” He looked between the two, and continued, “She's hot.”

“What?” Steve asked

“Oh dude yeah.” Speakinh throughout his mouthful of eggs, “she’s a dime.” Sam confirmed.

“No one says that.” Steve glared at the man, avoiding the declaration Sam had made.

Turning to Sam, Bucky shook his head. “You knew and didn’t say anything?”

“Well I wasn't gonna say something.” Sam stated, “But you brought it up.”

Bucky scoffed. “Why didn’t he say anything is a better question?”

Steve met Bucky’s finger point with a swat, innocent and naive as ever.

“Is that what this is all about?” Sam asked, "Are you trying to make a move?”

“What?! No!” Steve defended.

“So you don’t find her attractive?” Sam asked.

“Well—” Steve started, but couldn’t think of a single defense.

“I KNEW IT.” Sam yelled.

Bucky’s eyes grew wide at his discovery, “It is a sex thing.”

“She just broke up with her boyfriend.” Steve said .

“I see you Rogers—” Sam eyed, waving his fork.

“Fuck you guys.”

“If you’d just said so—” Bucky started, as he neared the door.

“IT'S NOT LIKE THAT.” Steve screamed.

And thus another fight ensued, with poor Y/N listening in the horrendous boy bathroom, her head in her hands.

“Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?”

~

(Season 1, Episode 2/Part 2)

Yeah it’s basically New Girl, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.

This will be a very loose multi-parter, I hope yall enjoy!

Permanent Tag-list:

@pigeonmama

@blackhawkfanatic

@dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable

@dumb-ass-3

@cuddlycalcifer @babyblue-07 @babybluereads @lonewolf471 @agni-l @niiight-dreamerrrr @julipmoon @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497 @godspeedlover @sexwithhiddlesbatch @annestine @shower-me-with-roses @yougottalovefandoms @rebekahdawkins @gentlybarnes

@globetrotter28

Bucky tag list

- @emmabarnes

- @imawhore

Steve felt as if he had a hangover although he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. His mind was clouded with dreams of you all night. Your eyes, your voice, and your wit were drawing him to you. 

The image of your body and that pole, the sway of your generous hips, the swell of your breasts made him breathless and made his cock thicken under the covers. It rose and pounded to the beat of his heart when he thought of those eyes. 

The fantasy of those eyes blown with lust as you opened your mouth wide to deep throat him impelled his hand to his thick staff and tight balls.

“Fuck!”

He wasn’t going to do this. 

Steve flung the sheets away as he stood up to pull on some basketball shorts and a t-shirt, grabbing his key card as he left his room on the way down to the hotel gym. He only nodded politely at the hot brunette who smiled at him as she got on and stood too close. Steve shifted away and stared up at the floor indicator panel as he thought of you.

There was no one else in the world as he floated to the treadmill on a cloud of thoughts of you. As he increased his speed, he replayed all of the different colors in your eyes as you talked to him yesterday. He ran toward an impossible dream of you and him together.

Yeah. Steve Rogers, known to you as Grant Stevens, was screwed.

—--

You woke up with a gasp as your body convulsed from your wanton dreams. You sat up in bed and tried to capture the wisp of your vivid imagination that had gotten you there. You were so wet for a certain new bartender at your night job.

The only thing you could remember from the dream was the image of Grant’s lips and the sensation of his fingers on your hand from the day before. You ran your hands down your body and tried to imagine what his touch and those lips would feel like everywhere you wanted them to be. 

Your fingers found your clit and your tight nipples, squeezing, pinching and rubbing in time with your desperation for Grant. You came quickly as you imagined those lips replacing your digits and his deep voice in your ear. 

After, you lay in bed a moment longer, satisfied for the moment, yet yearning for the real thing. It had been too long since you’d had human romantic contact.

But you barely knew the man. You shook your head as you padded to the shower to start the water and then to the coffee maker to turn it on. 

Your real-life daily routine had no time for Grant Stevens. 

Sorry to that man.

—

Steve sat in the coffee shop at the corner of Peachtree and West Peachtree street at 10:30 am. He grumbled to himself thinking of all the streets similarly named in Atlanta which also reminded him of you. 

But the streets weren't making him stalk you at your day job. He was there to research his investment. 

That was it.

He looked down at his laptop, open to the file that his tech guy, Miles, was able to send over to him in just under two hours. Thanks to the information therein, Steve knew that you would be in at any moment to get the typical online pick up order for your morning break. He also knew that you’d been at work since 8:30, which was amazing considering you got home at 3:45 am. 

Steve learned that you worked as the Adult Dance Coordinator at the Atlanta Ballet, which seemed like a high end job, but when he saw your salary, 40K a year, he realized that was just a little over $700 a week. Your bank balance was at zero and your student loans were astronomical. 

He understood why you worked your second job.

Your degree was in Dance Performance and Choreography from Spelman, and based on the look on your face when you went into Regine the day before, the way you were immersed in the music when you warmed up, and the way your body moved, he knew that you were good at it.

Steve looked back at his laptop to see that you also had your own fledgling dance school, Peach Preserves. The photos on the website made him smile. He could feel your energy with the kids through the screen. It warmed his heart to know that you were trying to make your dream work.

He happened to look up at the moment that you entered the cafe. He almost ducked under the table, but you didn’t see him, just went to the counter, picked up your drink and chatted briefly to the barista. Then you headed out of the door, in the opposite direction of Atlanta Ballet headquarters.

Five minutes later, Steve was tailing you on a walk around the huge Atlanta city block as you sipped your coffee and smiled at almost everyone.

You were such a cutie, from your sickeningly cute, sensible heels, to the fucking cute pencil skirt that conformed to your curves and caused more than one person to crane their necks as you passed them, to the damn cute cashmere sweater that wasn’t tight, but still molded to the body that Steve itched to feel for himself.

As you went back into your place of employment, Steve felt a loss at you being out of his sight. He felt like a 14 year old kid watching his crush go to class. 

But this was not that, he thought. He had to know what type of employees Regine had, and you were the sample. He was just handling business.

That was all. 

—-

Steve was busy the next couple of days straightening out the finances and employees at Regine, especially Sully, who had taken a sudden leave of absence in the middle of the night and would not be missed.

Steve decided to keep the club, and that would be far more work than getting rid of it. Bucky was annoyed, but he wasn’t anyone’s boss. Rebirth and its holdings was a group project.

Despite all that he had to do, Steve could not stop thinking about you. There were numerous times that he caught himself daydreaming about being with you, but he did not allow himself to believe it could really happen. 

It was an impossibility. 

When he came in to Regine on Friday, you were sitting at the bar with your head in your hands. It was 2 pm and you were about an hour and a half early for work. 

He was instantly concerned. He was about to crash out, knowing that he would never rest knowing that someone out there might have hurt you, or made you sad. He would either kill them or fix it.

But instead he took a deep breath.

“You okay, Peach?”

You looked up at him, those gorgeous eyes watery. You gave him a weak smile, and he just wanted to take you into his arms. He didn’t know you wanted the exact same thing.

“Yeah, Grant. I’m just great.”

You shook your head and then laid it down on the bar on your crossed arms.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

He slid into the barstool next to you.

“Well, a lot of shit has happened in the last couple of days, but long story short, I left my work bag all the way in Kirkwood, and I’ll never get there and back on the bus in time. It will take all night.”

Steve was confused. He looked down at the bag on your lap.

“Is that not your bag? Why are you going on the bus?”

He had so many questions.

You took the bag in your hands and huffed, frustrated.

“Yes, this is my bag, but it’s my dance class bag with my day job clothes in it. I usually leave it in my car when I come in here. But my car is… in the shop…”

You started crying in earnest and jumped slightly when Grant put his hand on yours then relaxed. His touch distracted you, but you were still upset.

“How long will it take in a car? I can give you a ride.”

You looked up hopefully, then your face closed, wary.

“About 45 minutes, but I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. As a comrade.”

You looked up into his eyes again and sniffled.Grant was a nice guy. And you felt that you could trust him. 

“I’d owe you big time.” 

Steve smiled, making you feel warm inside. 

“Give me five and we’ll be ready to go.”

He left to go talk to the other bartender and was back by your side in moments.

“Car is out here.”

Stepping into the cool November Atlanta night let you take a deep breath and clear your head, but now your nerves were ramping up for another reason as you walked next to Grant until you came to a red Audi RS7.

You peered up at him as he held the door open for you. 

“Nice car for a bartender.”

Why did your voice come out all breathy like that?

Grant smiled down at you, making your stomach do that little flippy thing it had been doing the past few days when you thought of him.

“It’s a loaner. My car is in the shop, too.”

You nodded slowly and settled into the leather and wood interior thinking about your story. You looked over at him as he drove, the afternoon light from the road playing over the planes of his face, and marveled at his profile.

Those eyes, the cheekbones, the lips. He glanced over and caught you ogling him. Your cheeks heated and you smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… can I tell you something?”

—--

Steve had been driving, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel in order to get you to where you were going safely. Your scent in such close proximity was making his mouth water and his dick hard.

Thoughts of pulling over and dragging you over onto his lap were driving him crazy. He was lost in thought until the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Glancing over, he saw you staring at him. Your flush and shy smile made him even harder.

Were you checking him out?

Did you want him too?

He raised his eyebrow at you, his heart beating double time at the thought. 

But then you asked the question.

Can I tell you something? 

You were basically asking if you could trust him. Shit.

You sighed, your breasts rising and falling with the filling of your lungs. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but it was hard. He was hard.

“What do you need to tell me?”

“My car is not in the shop. It was repossessed.”

There. You said it. The truth was so freeing. You felt as if you could be yourself with Grant, not put up the thug front that you did with everyone else.

He looked over at you, switching quickly between you and the road until you hit a red light, his jaw ticked tight with some mysterious emotion. 

Your stomach flipped when the heat of his full attention was on you.

“What?”

“Yeah. Happened the other day. Woke up and my car was gone. My neighbor said they saw it towed about 2 am.”

Steve's mind whirled, thinking of the financial information in your file. 

“But I thought you—” 

He stopped short, not wanting to give himself away. He did want to pull over so that he could see your face, but he knew that you were anxious to get back to the club.

“I mean… you seem to have it all together. Are you okay?”

His sentiment had you in your feelings.

“Yeah. I’m used to hustling. I’ve been juggling finances ever since I graduated college. Spelman is a great school, but it’s hella expensive. 30K a year after my scholarship. I owe close to 100K on student loans, and then there’s rent on the studio.”

You looked over at him, barreling ahead despite knowing that you were word vomiting all over him.

“I’m trying to start a dance school. It’s my dream. But it costs money. So I took out a title loan on my car, even though it was paid off.”

“Wow.” 

Steve cleared his throat. Those predatory title loan places often didn’t legally record the loans, just charge outrageous interest and repossess at the first missed payment. That’s why it wasn’t in your file.

“What about your folks?”

“My parents died in a car accident my sophomore year at Spelman. No insurance. My family is aunts and uncles and cousins, and they help when I ask and if they can but…”

Your eyes glazed over as the car pulled to a stop light.

“I’m pretty much my own family.” 

Steve looked into your eyes and wanted to belong to you. He looked down and took your hand. You took a shuddering breath as your stomach flipped.

“Grant…”

He frowned as you called his name.

“I’m not telling you this to ask for money. I just need a ride. Just wanted to be honest with you.”

Steve felt like a jerk. He wanted to tell you the truth.

“Peach…”

“I’m serious. If I have another night like I did Tuesday, I got it. I need three stacks to get the car back..”

The wheels were turning in Steve’s mind. 

“Okay. You should easily earn what you need tonight.” 

He’d make sure of it.

You relaxed and smiled at him, noticing that he still had your hand in his. He rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand and you shivered.

“Thank you for telling me, Peach.”

“Thank you for listening, Grant. And for not trying to rescue me. I really appreciate it. Not that you could. You probably don’t have over a hundred K just lying around…”

He threw you a look while driving, his expression unreadable.

“Anytime, Peach.” 

His voice came out gruff. He cleared his throat. 

“I do know of a private endowment in New York that might be able to help. It’s called the Rebirth Foundation. It’s an Arts organization. They have awards up to a million dollars a year. You could apply…”

“Hmmmm. How do you know about this endowment?”

“I’m from Brooklyn. It’s a thing up there.”

You smirked.

“I knew you had a funny accent, Been trying to place it.”

“I have a funny accent?”

“Asshole!”

You hit him on the shoulder. He chuckled. 

“Anyway, I know a couple of people who’ve benefited from the endowment. Worth a shot.”

You were skeptical, but he was just trying to help. 

“Okay, send me the information.”

“I’ll send it to you when we stop. Just put your number in my phone and I will text it to you.”

Grant handed his phone to you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was an elaborate scheme to get my digits.”

Steve laughed. He already had your number, but now he’d have an excuse.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Fuck you, Grant Stevens.”

He cleared his throat, thinking he’d allow you to fuck him. You riding him in the back of a town car as you drove around New York City was in his top three. 

“Cool. You know, you don’t have to pretend to be angry. You can just ask to use my body...”

You scoffed.

“You know what? I think I hate you.”

“I think it’s the opposite, but you have a wall up.”

He was right. You didn’t hate him, you just hated how he read you right then.

“Grant–”

“Okay, we’re here...”

You stared at him until he raised his eyebrow at you. Then you lowered your eyes and chewed your bottom lip. Next thing you knew, his hand was on your chin pulling your lip from between your teeth, rubbing his thumb over your mouth. Your eyes went wide as saucers as you gasped for breath. 

Steve dropped his hand rather than push his thumb into your mouth like he wanted to. He nodded at the studio. 

“Do you want me to get your bag?”

His voice was gravelly with desire and you struggled with the ability to speak. You wanted this man.

Badly.

You were doomed, was the companion thought.

“No… no. Tameka is holding it for me. I’ll be right back…”

“Okay.”

Steve was holding the wheel in death grip and staring out of the window. He watched you go into the studio and thought of all the reasons why what he was happening was a bad idea. Women were a means to an end for him, occasional companionship, physical satisfaction. 

No strings. Ever. 

The ones he dealt with knew that very well. 

Unfortunately, you had him tied up in all kinds of strings with knots at the moment.

—--

By the time you got back to the club, Steve sent you a fake website that Miles had constructed in 30 minutes. As soon as the application hit, more money than you needed would be headed your way.

He just needed you to actually apply.

The night went by painfully slowly. Grant insisted that he give you a ride home after work and you agreed, causing some weird anticipation anxiety thing that was, for you, only alleviated on the stage. You zoned out and earned the most tips you ever had, partly because he was your inspiration. 

Customers were making it rain. You felt Grant’s eyes on you all night and the more you danced for him, the more money came your way. The tension between you was only building, and you both knew that him driving you home would be the climax. In more ways than one.

After work, at three am Saturday morning, with over $2K in your bag, Steve drove you to your place. This time, both of you were silent, and both your eyes were on the road. It was like time and all coherent thought were suspended. 

When the car pulled up in front of your apartment, you turned to him.

“Want to come in?”

It was a simple question, and one that would make Steve’s life infinitely more complicated if he took you up on it.

Yet he didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

—

As soon as he stepped behind you at your door, the raw animal in Steve was activated. He crowded you, standing much closer than necessary, breathing on your neck and making you shiver as you unlocked the door. But you didn’t mind. No. Not at all.

He was overwhelming this close, but in a good way. His scent, his warmth, his power. You wanted all of that. All over you.

When you got inside, you turned around in the entryway and he.

Was. Right. There.

You looked up at him under your eyelashes as he stared at you, nostrils flaring and jaw ticking with restraint.

Damn him, it should be illegal for him to look that fucking good. 

“I’m just itching to kiss you Peach. Can I? Want to so bad.”

His blue eyes roamed your face, then down your body in a possessive glare. 

God, it made your nipples tight and panties wet.

“Please…”

The way he begged for you broke any resolve that you may have had. You reached for him, grabbed the white tee shirt that was underneath his flannel and pulled him close to you. 

His jaw relaxed as his mouth slanted in a side smile as your arms reached up and wound around his neck, fingers tangling in the long, thick hair spilling over his collar and pulled him down as your lips connected. 

The kiss was tentative: slow sweeps of lips over lips, and shy reaches of tongue to tongue. Then, the urgency increased with nips and licks and sucks of thick lips on lips with tongue and teeth. Moans and gasps and whimpers spilled out between you.

Grant raised both hands to palm your head as he tenderly pulled himself away from your lips and rested his forehead on yours. 

“That was…”

His thumb swept the moisture from your lips and this time you captured it between them, sucking it while looking him in the eye. Steve’s cock throbbed even harder. 

“Fuck. I want you…”

Your eyes looked down to see the bulge in his jeans, up to the clench in his jaw and that goddamn pretty face of his, and you bit your lip, causing him to groan. 

You reached down and palmed his hard on as he pumped his thumb in and out of your mouth. He pulled his finger out, groaning as he watched your lips and you whimpered, causing him to silence you with another kiss. 

His hand drifted down your body, exploring until his long fingers reached inside your sweats to find your panties drenched and sticking to the wet folds of your pussy. 

“Fucking soaked, Peach. I-I need this. Need to feel this. N-need to eat this…”

Grant’s raspy baritone and the stutter made your head fall back against the wall as your pussy clenched. His brilliant blue eyes found yours when he felt it. He kissed the side of your mouth and you chased his lips, a fiend for him.

His tongue invaded your mouth again just as his thick fingers pulled your panties to the side and parted you, the calluses on his fingertips feeling just a little like heaven against your wet, sensitive skin.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear. 

“You’re so wet, and soft, Peach. See? I can slide through these fat pussy lips so easy.”

He was skating, rubbing between your folds along your slit, teasing your entrance and your clit. 

Your hands were yanking his shirt free of his jeans so your hands could feel his thick, hard abs, and your nails could scratch his skin. Grant shuddered under your touch.

Steve felt like it was his first time touching a girl, the way his heart was fluttering in his chest. As he felt your perfect little body, he realized that he was aiding in the ruin of himself for anyone else.

He collected your wetness and proceeded to pull his fingers out and push them into his mouth, making you watch as he suckled them, his eyes rolling back in his head. He concentrated to regain thought as he slipped his fingers back in and pinched your clit, then plunged up and down the split of you, finally breaching your entrance. 

Your legs were shaking and your thighs clamped around his hand. You held on to his shoulders as you rolled your hips into the thrusts of his fingers. He was full-out fucking you now, kissing you in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers. 

“So fucking tight, Peach. Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”

Your body bowed into him at his filthy words and he watched your face with rapt attention. You’d given him the key to you. His words.

His fingers pushed deeper inside you and curled, making you moan and quiver. 

“That’s right, Peach. Take my fingers like a good little girl.” 

He whispered it calmly against your ear, not betraying how feral he was on the inside. 

You pressed your lips together as you clenched down at his words.

“You’re so sweet. So cute. So desperate.” 

His fingers reached that bundle of nerves, causing your brain to short circuit. 

“Needy.” 

Grant licked your neck as he dragged his long fingers in and out of your sodden, dripping cunt. You tried to stifle another moan as he curled his fingers inside you. 

“What I need is to hear you, Peach. Been dreaming of you screaming for me for the past three nights.”

“Please!”

You were practically sobbing now, a result of the skill with which Grant was playing your body. His neck was craned as he marked your neck, and he was searching your skin underneath your shirt with his free hand. 

“You're so beautiful Peach, and wet for me. So warm and snug.”

He leaned over again to suckle on your pulse point and then whisper into your ear.

“But you’re gonna struggle to take my long thick cock in this tight little cunt.”

“Fuckkkkkk!”

You erupted into a mind-blowing orgasm, shuddering between Grant and the wall, holding on to him for dear life as your knees gave out. He held you up, gingerly removing his fingers from around you and hugging you to him, his heart gone from his body and now in your possession. 

He never wanted to let you go.

But then you spoke again.

“No one has ever…”

You giggled and looked up into his impossible blue eyes. He smiled down at you. For a split second, you were the happiest you’d ever been.

“No one had ever done that to me as effectively as you, Grant Stevens.”

Steve’s smile fell. 

He felt the power of his betrayal in advance of you finding out who he really was. 

Not only had he lied to you, he wasn’t good enough to be around you, let alone touch you. 

He looked down to see that you were steady on your feet now, and straightened your clothes for you. He felt terrible, knowing what you expected to happen next, if nothing more than intimacy with someone who was honest with you.

He kissed your forehead, then your lips again, chaste this time.

“I’m so sorry, Peach. We can’t do this.”

“What?”

He kissed your forehead again and left your apartment, leaving you standing there wondering what just happened.

—-

When you went to work that night, they said Grant quit. The number you had for him was disconnected. He’d vanished into thin air.

You were a thug, so you powered through the night but you spent all day Sunday in bed wondering what you did wrong. And what he was really about.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, you were grateful to go to Hilton Head and get away with your family. You heard about your cousin’s big adventures in the City with her Mr. Big and crew.

You teased her relentlessly for being a simp, and continued to swear that you were a thug. You were a complete comedian, putting on a show for your family until the moment the man you knew as Grant Stevens stepped into your Aunt and Uncle’s home.

Except his name wasn’t Grant Stevens.

It was Steve Rogers.

And you were a fool.

——-

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His best friend Bucky had recently fallen in love, and instantly Steve’s life became an urgent race to divest their Art business of illegal ties so that Bucky could begin his life with her.

Together with Sam and Natasha, Bucky and Steve ran an art import business in New York which was extremely lucrative.

Except that it wasn’t really.

“Just wait until I see you tonight, Frumoasă….”

Steve glanced over at his bestie, who was turned away and whispering into the phone with a giant grin on his face. Steve shook his head and looked out of the window of the car that Nico was driving uptown to a meeting. He rolled his eyes.

More phone sex with Bucky and his girl. Great.

“Behave. Or I will make you…”

Steve cleared his throat as he listened to the suggestive chatter and shifted in his seat. Bucky and his girl were burning hot.

All of the time.

It seemed impossible.

“I love you too, Frumoasă.”

Steve needed what Bucky had in his life. At first he thought he was jealous. His best friend had an extremely desirable woman who made him drop the player lifestyle the instant he saw her. It took Steve a minute, but he realized he wasn’t jealous of either Bucky or his girl; Steve was jealous of the feeling.

When Bucky ended the call, Steve tried to continue the conversation they were having.

“Everything good?”

Bucky smirked, a look on his face that Steve hadn’t seen before his best friend met the love of his life just weeks earlier. It was an amazing transformation.

“Everything is great.”

Then Bucky frowned.

“Except this timeline. We need to get clean, Steve. Faster. We’re going to have to travel a little more before the end of the year.”

The blond raked his hand over his face.

“Bucky, I get it. Believe me I do. But we’ve already tripled the rate of divestiture. Are we to quadruple it? Is it really worth the money we’ll lose?”

“I don’t think you get it at all, Steve. But you will one day. “

Bucky gave Steve a look that made him roll his eyes again.

“I’ll take the losses, Steve. You and Sam and Nat will get the agreed upon cut.”

Bucky gazed out of the window.

“Billionaires shouldn’t exist anyway.”

Steve sighed.

“We all agreed to speed up, and we all agreed to an equal split of the profits. And losses.”

The two men shared a knowing look. Steve assented.

“Okay, Buck. Let’s get Sam and Nat on the phone; I just want it all to be square. You know they want this just as much as you and I do.”

Bucky smiled at his friend, the oldest he had in the world.

—--

Early November

You smiled at little Amina, who was trying her best on her pliés. Although she was only four years old she had a determination like no other. Her little tongue was poked out and there was a scowl on her adorable little face.

You came over and smooth her brow and took her tiny chin in your hand.

“Relax, Mina. If you’re not having any fun, it’s not worth it. Don’t force it, sweetie.”

Amina smiled back at you and began to giggle, relaxing into the poses.

“See there! It’s better already!”

You widened your smile and spoke to the entire class of 12 little 4-6 year olds. They were adorable in their uniform black leotards and pink tights.

“Remember dancers, hard work and lots of fun, that’s our motto. And one, two, three….”

Amina’s mom, Michelle, came up to you after class.

“Here’s what I have Ms. YLN.”

She deposited half of what monthly tuition was into your hand and held it for a beat. Her eyes were watery but she had a brave smile on as she glanced over at Amina giggling with her classmates. Then, she lowered her voice.

“I’m afraid this will have to be her last class. I just can’t come up with the funds… She loves it so much… We’ll miss seeing you every week.”

Your heart shredded. You made a knee jerk decision.

“It doesn’t have to be her last class. I will send you the paperwork for the scholarship. I’ll see you both next week.”

You smiled and gave both her and Amina a hug as she skipped over to you.

“Thank you, Ms. YLN. So much!”

You smiled and nodded as they left the dance studio that you rented for your weekly classes. The tuition you collected barely allowed you to pay the rent, much less compensate you for your time and preparation.

But you were determined to help these little ones with their dreams. And to see your own to fruition.

—--

“You can’t keep letting these people put dance classes on layaway, Cousin.”

Heat bloomed in your chest. Your favorite cousin, who had everything she ever wanted, whenever she wanted, growing up was joking about layaway. Even now, she had an insanely hot, wealthy guy eating her up. Literally.

“Okay, you know what…”

“Calm down. I will finance little Amina Rickard’s monthly tuition before you cuss me out. You know I love you. And you knew sending me that picture of her was gonna work. Making my ovaries explode.”

You smiled, almost choked up.This was your cousin’s second scholarship student and your family’s 8th overall. You were really blessed, even though things hadn’t come easy for you.

“I think the guy who is trying to breed you all over the place is making your ovaries explode, but okay.”

“Y/N, YLN! I am a demure, respectable–”

“You’re a whore for that man and we both know it.”

“Girl, you ain’t lyingggg! Shit, he’s calling me now…”

“Go get that nut video.”

Your cousin laughed at you.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, and thanks, Sistercuz.”

“Bye Sweetie. Have a good night.”

Easy for her to say.

—---

The jet was delayed in New York because of snow and Steve was late getting started. After he landed and was sat in Atlanta traffic, he was reminded that he wanted to be in and out of the city, preferably in two days, and on to Kansas City as soon as possible.

Atlanta could be a fun time, with many many beautiful women, but he was on demon time. He needed to get rid of the criminal enterprises in the company. Quickly.

The holdings in Atlanta consisted of a handful of exotic dancing establishments. And the strip clubs in Atlanta were known to be dens of considerable iniquity. He was sure it would be easy to make a decision to offload the five clubs in the area.

On the second day, Steve had quickly turned a profit on the first four clubs, borderline dives with mid-level girls. The drugs and prostitution levels were off the charts and there were plenty of shady characters who wanted a chance at those businesses.

He’d saved ‘the best for last,’ a supposedly upscale club called Regine in midtown.

It was supposed to be a classy place, so Steve decided to just drop in to check it out before making a decision. He arrived a little over an hour before opening, stepping into the kitchen from the back alley where he parked his rental car.

“Hey, yo! You the new bartender? I told you to be here at 2, not 2:45.”

The salutation came from a huge guy with a large belly and lots of teeth. He’d be scary to anyone else. This must be Sully. Steve recognized him from the file. He decided to play along, glad that he’d dressed down in a flannel and jeans.

“Yeah, well. Traffic.”

Steve thought it best to say as little as possible. That way he would get the most information.

“Shit, you don’t have to tell me. I have to drive here from Alpharetta every day. The 400 is hell every morning.”

“We need someone with some experience. Someone willing to be paid in cash tips, nothing on the books. You look like you’d prefer that.”

Steve stared Sully down, not debunking the myths the latter was making up in his mind. Sully kept talking.

“Also may need to do some security. We get into some… situations up in here.”

Sully took in Steve’s stature and unwavering stare.

“A man of few words I see, Looks like you’ll do. Can you start tonight?”

Steve couldn’t believe this joker, hiring someone off the street.

“Sure.”

This place was not looking like a keeper, Steve thought as he followed Sully for a tour. In daylight, it was passable; in the dark with the right lighting, he was sure it looked swank. Sully told him how to water down the liquor and where the firearms were kept. When his 30 minute orientation was over, Sully left Steve to set up the bar on his own.

“Cory just called in, but Mike will be in later. You should make a lot of tips, our girls are top notch.

Steve just nodded, his hands on his hips as he calculated how much Sully must be skimming off the liquor alone as the latter walked away. Sully came back to the bar and asked a pertinent question.

“Oh yeah. What's ya name?”

“Grant Stevens.”

A little white lie would never hurt anyone, especially if this situation got sticky.

“Aight. Nice to meet you Grant. Tips are not the only perks of this job, if you know what I mean.”

Steve shuddered as Sully lumbered away. He wanted no parts of perks.

—-

A couple of hours later, the girls started arriving, most of them greeting Steve with a polite hello, some skipping it with a grimace, some in their phones, and one, you, listening to music and vibing out. You were different than the weary women who’d passed by ahead of you.

Steve was struck at the serene look on your face as you entered the establishment, braids in a bun on top of your head, eyes closed and your mouth pursed as you hummed and bopped your head to the music, bag slung across your back.

Your skin was dewey, free of make up and those lips, well those lips were what made him do a double take. Your neck was graceful and the cropped hoodie you were wearing did not do a thing to hide your full curves, smooth skin, round tits, long legs, and all that ass. Steve’s palms began to itch.

Steve was convinced that the strip of stomach showing between your hoodie and your sweats was more alluring than any stripper outfit could be, because at the sight of it he broke out in a sweat. Your body was calling him to touch, but he didn’t even know who you were.

He was about to find out however.

Steve stepped to the edge of the bar, ready to give a greeting, but you just bopped on by, oblivious and making your way to the dressing room. It bruised his ego, but the sting was soothed by the sight of you walking away. He stood there for a full minute in shock, but then he shook his head and went behind the bar to drink some water.

“Get it together old man,” Steve grumbled to himself as he tried to cool down. He set about talking to the employees in the kitchen to get more intel on this establishment. The sooner he had enough info, the sooner he could put this one to bed and get away from distractions.

Like you.

—--

“Did you see the new bartender? Just put him on stage, I’ll climb him like the pole.”

"Dat azzz tho."

“Right? And did you see those eyes, those lips? Pretty fly for a…”

You frowned at the chatter around you. You really had to pay more attention to your surroundings. You didn’t notice any new bartender. But knowing these ladies’ taste in romantic partners, you’d bet he was overrated.

You sighed and put your earbuds back in; there was no time for nonsense. You had to warm up properly to protect your instrument: your body.

You looked down at your watch and saw that the doors would open in 45 minutes. You had 20 minutes to go and warm up and still have time to get changed. You sat down to trade your Jordans for your stilettos and make your way out to the pole.

—-

When Steve walked back to the bar from the kitchen, there you were on stage under the lights in a crop top and short shorts.

Again, you were oblivious to him.

Steve, on the other hand, was undone.

Your skin glowed everywhere,and he noticed that you didn’t seem to have augmented anatomy, not that there was anything wrong with that. He just knew that if he had a handful of that ass, it would be real. He stepped behind the bar to watch you, a convenient barrier between you and Steve’s stiffening cock.

As he watched, you moved slowly, the motion elegant and mesmerizing in the six-inch heels you were wearing which elongated your beautiful legs.

Lost in your own world under the lights, you looked ethereal, a goddess.

You approached the pole and held on with one hand, walking around and around it seductively, hopping a few times in the heels, making your ass shake with the impact. It was hypnotizing, watching your strong arms and legs, especially those legs, grip the pole as you worked your body around it.

Then, you let your hands slide down the pole, causing you to bend over and showcase your luscious ass and thighs. Steve imagined that they tasted delicious.

Next, you straightened up and walked around until the pole was nestled in between your asscheeks, widened your legs and undulated on it. Never in Steve’s life had he wanted to be an inanimate object until now.

When you turned around and body rolled on the pole was when Steve had to grip the bar. And when you slowly twirled down to the floor and went spread eagle, beautiful legs in the air, was when he felt like vaulting over the marble bar to get to you.

You rolled over onto your knees and started undulating, then started crawling toward the end of the stage closest to him.

Steve knew the exact moment you noticed him.

You froze, looking like a startled feline. Squinting, you moved your hand over your eyes so you could see beyond the lights, then pulled out your earbuds and got to your feet effortlessly.

—--

You thought you were alone with your music and your fantasy of dance that got you in the headspace to strip for strangers. You didn’t notice anyone out in the club until you were almost done with your warm up routine, when, as you looked up from the floor you saw a large figure behind the bar.

You froze, a moment of something like fear, but more like a thrill, passing through you.

As your eyes adjusted to the area beyond the lights, you saw a tall, muscular body and longish hair. This must be the new bartender. You got up and approached him, trying to analyze your feelings about the situation before you addressed the man.

As you got closer, your temperature seemed to rise. Must’ve been the workout.

His warm denim blue eyes were gorgeous and that dark blond hair and reddish beard were thick and lustrous. Although the beard was a bit wild and wooly, there was no hiding the pink, full lips under that straight, masculine nose.

His body was lithe, but muscular, and you sensed his power. You bet he could pick you up and hold you upside down as that beard scratched the inside of your thighs to lick your…

Wait. Where did that thought come from?

You were objectifying your new co-worker.

That would never, never do. You vowed to be professional.

—-

Steve straightened up as you came near. The look on your face was hard to read. Whatever it was you were feeling, Steve felt like an intruder.

Even though he had the deed to this building in his bag.

“Hi.”

It was all he could think of to say as you stood before him because his mind was empty. With you up close, the only thing he could do was stare. Your scent was like a drug and your eyes were…everything. He gazed into them, a myriad of colors that were holding him captive.

Then that mouth started moving.

“Hello. You the new barback?”

“What?”

Steve leaned closer, pretending he couldn’t hear you, just to get nearer. It wasn’t entirely game; he was quite distracted by you.

The side of your mouth curled up in a sardonic smile and a sudden, funny feeling spread throughout his stomach. He gave you a side grin in response to your side eye.

“Are… you… new… here?”

“Yes, I am working in the bar. I’m Steve…ns. Grant Stevens.”

You extended your hand to him.

“Nice to meet you Grant. I’m Peach.”

“Peach?”

The word gave Steve visions. He stared at your lips, thought of your ass, imagined your juices dripping down his chin.

“Yes,” You smirked. “Peach.”

Steve was speechless.

“It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Since you’re new here and probably haven’t gotten paid yet, I won’t charge you for the private dance.”

Steve’s mind was moving slowly. Like he was drugged.

“That’s a stage name, right?”

Peach. It had to be a stage name. Yet it suited you so perfectly. Suddenly he wanted a taste test.

Steve licked his lips and your eyes followed his movement as you proceeded to not answer him. He unconsciously started stroking the back of your hand with his thumb and gave you his full smile.

You grew even warmer, from the friction of course, and blinked at him as if you were facing sunlight as you pulled your hand from his.

“Forgive me. I’m sorry for eavesdropping? Spying? Watching you dance without you knowing? Don’t know what to call it. But beg your pardon.”

—--

“Don’t beg.”

‘Dont beg here,’ is what you wanted to say.

You don’t know why the vision of this man on his knees for you flashed in your mind. Maybe it was his velvet baritone, or maybe it was the feel of his rough hand on yours that got you all bothered, as if his smile hadn’t already made you wet.

He was tall, a good head taller than you, even in your heels, and a looming presence. In a good way. You wanted to be enveloped by him. But you didn’t even know him.

You had to get it together, but the scent of his cologne was making your mouth water to taste him. You were weak for this man.

You hated this feeling, didn’t have time for it, yet you weren’t ready to end the conversation just yet.

“I mean, I felt some kinda way when I first saw you here, but hell, I don’t own this place. And neither do you.”

For some reason, Grant’s face did a thing. A weird frowny sad thing, but you barrelled ahead.

“You’re a worker, just like me, and you were just getting your work station ready, just like me. Solidarity, man.”

“Yeah. Solidarity.”

Grant cleared his throat.

“Great moves up there.”

—---

You grinned, blinding him this time. Steve’s discomfort that his ‘little white lie’ was spreading to you dissipated when you smiled at him.

He just knew that your smile could heal any ailment, if he were allowed regular doses of it for the rest of his life.

“Thanks, friend. They make me a lot of money three nights a week.”

You pushed off the bar and started walking back to the locker room as Steve chuckled at your immediate friend zoning.

“And if you like that, stick around for the show.”

You threw a look over your shoulder that made him want to follow you anywhere.

As he watched you leave again, Steve Rogers knew that he needed a little more time to figure this place out.

—----

Steve was concluding that Regine wasn’t the worst, but nothing extraordinary. The women in makeup and costume looked good and the tips were flowing; he could see how this was a money maker.

He had his suspicions about Sully, but he still had little evidence about the quality of the place. He needed to see all of the dancers.

Steve wanted to see you dance. For research purposes.

He was busy at the bar all night, so much so that Sully had to come by and made four money drops. This place made much more profit than was being reported, that much was clear as Steve’s eyes followed Sully back to his office with the cash.

He was about to follow him when you brushed by him, ensconced all in white.

“Excuse me. Gotta get to the stage, Comrade.”

Your wink distracted him from the fact that you were wearing a ten gallon cowboy hat and boots.

Wait.

Were those spurs?

Mesmerized, Steve leaned on the bar to watch your show.

The stage went dark while the guitars started. There were whistles and stomps from the floor, cries of Yesss! Peach! Go Peach! Ride me Cowgirl, and Pour some liquor on me honey tooooo! reverberated in the room.

These were grown men and women.

And by the time the first line of the song played, “This ain’t Texas…”, the crowd was in a frenzy and in the palm of your hand.

Steve suddenly understood the customer’s enthusiasm.

The way you moved on the stage, your props, the way your body captivated everyone in the place was astounding.

You were brilliant.

You were what made Regine extra ordinary.

—---

You were bone tired by the time 3 am rolled around and the club closed after two full sets. You’d made $700 dollars in tips, not bad for a Tuesday, considering that you didn’t do any private dances. You were yawning as you passed the bar and Steve stopped you to say goodnight.

“Hey Peach. You were fantastic tonight.”

He shook his head.

“It was the first time I’ve seen that prop used on a dance club stage…”

Steve’s eyes glazed over as he replayed the image of you spinning on the pole with the stick of the hobby horse between your legs.

You spared the handsome blond an appreciative glance and a tired laugh.

“Thanks, Grant. I try to be original. Hope you did well tonight.”

“I did pretty good.”

Steve smiled as he would if $500 dollars excited him.

“Hey, one of the customers at the bar told me to give you this. Said he was shy?”

You looked at him warily as you took the envelope. Inside was $1000.

“Holy Shit!”

You looked up and covered your mouth, your girlish piety endearing to Steve, who chuckled at you.

“There’s a stack in here.”

“Whoa! Cool.”

Steve tried to look as if he didn’t know there were exactly 10 hundred dollar bills that he’d put in there.

“Guy must really like you. Could it be a regular? A special friend? An ex perhaps?”

Steve was not being very subtle, but he didn’t have much time. You were smirking at him in that way again.

“My regulars are regular shmegular degular, and cannot afford to tip me one thousand dollars. Must be a high roller rolling through the A.”

You smiled, but decided you needed to be tough. You straightened and gave the most menacing glare you could manage.

Steve thought you were adorable.

“I don’t know who would have done this. I don’t have any special friends or exes in this city. I’m all work. NO play. In any way. Especially at work.”

You hoped your hard look worked. Grant was certainly watching your mouth as you spoke, so he must have caught what you meant, right? When his eyes flicked up to yours, your knees got weak so you decided you should go.

“‘Night, Grant.”

You turned and walked out of Regine, a certain warmth in your chest. Must the $1700 in your bag. Or the chicken wings. Nothing to do with the beautiful man you knew was watching until you got into your car.

Steve made sure that you drove off safely, and then followed you home as he thought about how efficiently you’d curved him.

Once you went into your apartment, Steve called Bucky and told him that he needed a little more time on this enterprise.

This one was a peach.

-----

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Baker!Bucky—He hates driving in the snow. But you know what he hates more? The thought of you driving in the snow. So he's double-checking that winter tires on his car are in good shape before getting snacks and blankets ready for you

"I'm just gonna go to the store and grab some stuff," you said casually, already halfway out the door.

Who in their right mind would volunteer for that? Well, them.

Steve walked to the door. "Okay," he said, grabbing his jacket and that awful excuse of a disguise, the baseball cap, that fooled no one except him.

Before you could protest, Bucky vaulted over the couch, grabbed his leather jacket, and smirked. "I'm coming." He declared.

"No, really, it's fine," you insisted, your voice as calm as you could muster. "I'll be back in a jiff. No big deal."

But it was pointless.

There was one impending issue, the cashier gave you heart-eyes and creepy vibes the three times you went there alone, and your men wouldn't take it lightly if they got a whiff of it.

You hoped the cashier was smart enough not to pull off any stunt tonight. Your drama quota for the month was done.

Grocery shopping with two Avengers, who people fawned over, gathered unwarranted attention! So, you tried ditching them most of the time. Tried. When your stubborn men denied leaving you out of their sight, even for a second, you shifted to a nearby local store where not many people frequented.

Plus, the store had your favorite ice cream stocked all the time.

"You coming, doll?" Bucky called out, holding the door open for you. Steve already started the car.

Ugh! So much for your alone time.

~

It wasn't as bad as you had anticipated. There weren’t too many shoppers, either.

Steve pushed the cart beside you while Bucky was a few feet behind, stopping occasionally to inspect items closely. Steve and Bucky shared looks every now and then.

It was adorable, really.

When you stopped at the pasta section, you spotted a few packs of gnocchi on the top shelf. Stretching up on your toes, you huffed in frustration as it remained just out of reach.

When you turned to ask Steve for help, he was leaning casually on the cart, clearly entertained, with a smirk tugging at his lips.

"You've got this," he encouraged, chuckling. "Put your ass into it. Yeah…just like that."

You shook your head, glaring daggers at him. "Shut up," you muttered, feeling flushed under his gaze.

Steve's grin widened, utterly unapologetic. "I’m just saying, it's good form." He gestured to your ass, wildly.

Irritated, you swatted at his bicep. He barely flinched, laughing harder now. Then, without a word, he stepped closer, boxed you in against the shelves, and effortlessly plucked a few packets of gnocchi from the top shelf.

"Beanstalk," you grumbled.

He leaned down, kissing your lips before setting the packets neatly into the cart.

Behind you, Bucky was still immersed in his sauce analysis, completely oblivious to the girl who had wandered up to him. She smiled brightly, clearly interested, and positioned herself a little too close. Bucky, oblivious, took a small step away instinctively, still studying the jar in his hand.

Steve leaned closer to you, pulling you gently against his broad frame.

"Oh, boy," he whispered.

You tugged him down to your level, whispering. "Shhhh! Be discrete, Captain."

"This should be fun," Steve muttered, glancing toward the scene. "Think I should record it?"

"Don’t you dare," you warned, biting back a laugh.

Meanwhile, the girl had turned up the charm, outright flirting with Bucky.

Bucky blinked, finally noticing her intentions.

"Uh, I..." He mumbled, clearly uncomfortable. He tried to step aside, but she pressed on, slipping him a piece of paper. "Here’s my number. You should call me."

Steve and you froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances as you both tried not to laugh. Steve was practically vibrating with barely contained glee.

"Steve look away," you whispered, lips twitching. “Oh, no, no, no. Did he see us?" Steve cleared his throat and pointed to some fascinating-looking dried noodles.

Bucky cast a desperate look your way, catching you and Steve pretending to be busy.

He pointed a finger at both of you, "Actually, those two..." He cut himself off, handing her the jar of sauce with a quick, "You should try this," before rushing over to you.

Then, without warning, Bucky grabbed Steve by the collar, yanked him down, and kissed him.

Full. On. Kiss.

It wasn't a peck, either; It was a no-room-for-interpretation, "this man is mine" kind of kiss. Steve's cap tumbled to the ground. Somewhere, an angel probably got its wings.

The girl gaped.

You gaped.

Steve moaned.

Bucky growled.

When Bucky finally pulled back, Steve looked dazed, and the girl bolted out of the aisle faster than you'd ever seen anyone move.

Bending down, you retrieved Steve's cap and handed it to him with a grin. "Well, that's one way to make out… work it out, I mean."

Steve blinked at you, cheeks pink. "Didn't see that coming."

"Neither did I," you said, giggling as you glanced at Bucky. "But hey, I think you just saved that girl a lifetime of rejection trauma by kissing Stevie."

Bucky crossed his arms, his lips still pink from the kiss. "What're you giggling about?"

"Oh, nothing," you teased, waving him off.

He narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. He cupped your cheek and kissed you, too, leaving you breathless.

When you finally broke away, dazed, Steve was laughing, ushering the three of you out of the aisle. Bucky wrapped his metal arm around your shoulder while scrolling through his phone with the other hand.

"We should probably erase that footage," Steve muttered, gesturing toward the security cameras.

"Already on it, punk," Bucky snorted.

"Of course you are," You mumbled.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," Bucky groaned, "You're gonna get it," planting a loud, exaggerated kiss on your cheek.

Meh! It seemed like the shopping trip wasn’t such a bad idea, but knowing how things might go once you got home, maybe you should consider extending your leave for another day.

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