Like, For Why? I'm Consciously Punny

You’d watched him, as he looked around in confusion, trying to figure out where you’d gone. He wouldn’t find you. You’re too good at it.

Fading into the background. Where you didn’t have to be seen. 

It’s something you’ve practiced your whole life. You’d call yourself an expert at it, if that didn’t sound more pathetic than anything in the world. People aren’t supposed to notice you. It’s better for your job that they don’t, better for your sleep, better for your brain that can’t stop seem to racing away from you with thoughts that nobody wants to hear. 

And you’ve managed to go so, so long without being noticed. Years of flitting between shadows and watching from corners, content in only having the music in your headphones and book in your hands as company. 

You see everything. You see Clint stealing Tony’s ice cream out of the fridge, and the subsequent rampage that follows. You see Natasha moving past you in the shadows, giving you a tiny nod but nothing more. Sometimes Peter stares at you, you smile back at him, and his eyes widen as he flushes and walks away. 

They all know you’re there. They’ve all tried to talk to you, and you appreciate it, but it never helps the way they think. It only makes your skin feel like it’s being pricked with needles. Makes you wrap your arms around your stomach, hoping the shadows will get longer and save you from being seen. 

You’re not make of sunlight and stardust like they are. You can’t command a whole room with a laugh—you don’t even laugh, you snort—and a few charming words that send everyone under a spell. You’re good at the missions, but that’s about it. And even then, it’s less good at them and more useful. 

You’ve seen Bucky on about three, larger missions. Wearing a tactical suit, not bothering to keep his hair out of his face, carving through Hydra lines as if he’s just swimming with the tide. You’ve always watched him from the rafters—it’s your job to watch, so that’s not weird—and he’s always ruthless, but today there’s something more. 

His jaw is clenched, and when bones snap, he tosses them to the side like they’re nothing but potato sacks. 

There’s a cruel heat between your legs, and a misty fantasy of him tossing you around like that. But with more care, and another secret smile like with the phone. 

It’s a pointless thought. In a sea of Gods and Heroes, you’re not going to be the one he chooses. 

But it doesn’t stop the adoration, slowly starting to take root in your heart. Or the way it blooms when your see him rip a door off its hinges one second, then—as they reach the lab you’d been looking for—pick up a kitten with such tender care, holding in protectively in his hand as he marches around the lab.

“Bucky,” you hear Sam sigh, frowning up from his own lizards. “Just put it in the cages, man-“

“No.” He grunts, glaring down at the kitten. “It’s scared, I’m not putting it a freakin’ cage.”

“You’re acting like we’re not setting them free after-“

“Sam.” Bucky snaps, and Steve sighs from somewhere near the bunnies. “Keep saying stuff, and I’m going to throw the spiders at your face.”

You laugh. You can’t help it.

And Bucky hears it. Steve probably does as well, but he’s used to it. Bucky, though, is whipping his head around with a tight frown—the kitten still tucked so safely into his chest—and your heartbeat is in your ears. 

His gaze lands on you, bright blue eyes seeming to pull you apart in a million ways, and his tongue flicks over his lips as you hold his stare. 

Then he turns away, and you let out a long, slow breath of relief. You didn’t make it weird, and maybe it aches that he doesn’t want to look at you, but you’re really not expecting more. You’ll be fine. You can go home, maybe get lost in a daydream of that metal hand tracing over your features or his stern, deep voice humming your name, and not have to worry about if Bucky was disgusted by what he saw. 

Fuck, what if he was disgusted by what he saw. What if he looked away because he didn’t want to look at you, and your heart is going to keep skipping while he only thinks of you as a weird, ugly, useless-

“Hey.”

It’s in your throat now. Your head whips to the side, and there’s Bucky. Still carrying the kitten, fallen behind Sam and Steve to walk with you.

He’s even more handsome up close. You can feel the heat, radiating off his body. There’s an itch in your fingers to reach out and touch him. 

“Hi.” You whisper.

“Hey.” He grins at you, standing a little taller, and you flush. 

“You already said that.”

“Uh, yeah. Guess I did.” He shifts the kitten into his metal arm, offering you his hand. “I’m Bucky.”

You stare at him. You don’t want to shake his hand. You’ll fall over. 

But it would be rude not to.

You take Bucky’s hand for one quick shake, and it’s immediately a mistake. His hand fits so well in yours, and your swear you could feel little sparks flying up your skin at the contact, and his grip is firm enough you can already imagine it on your hips or thighs or neck or waist- 

Bucky clears his throat, pulling away to rub the back of his neck, and you were shaking his hand too long. You made it weird. Even now, you can’t stop staring at him. He’s pretty. Sharp jawline and dark, attractive features, but pretty. There are lines on his brow you’d like to soothe with your fingers. 

You don’t think you’re going to get the chance to touch him again, though. And if you do, it won’t be to soothe him, as if you could mean that to him. As if he’d turn to you for comfort. 

“Do you have a name?” He asks, giving you an odd look, and at this point you might end up setting yourself on fire. 

You tell him, and he stares at you for another second, repeating it back slowly—and it sounds so nice when he says it, and you’d like him to say it a million more times—before nodding, giving you one last grin, and jogging to catch up with Sam and Steve. 

It’s odd. You’re trying not to think about it.

But when you glance up, on the Quinjet, he’s looking at you again. He shouldn’t be looking at you. It’s making you feel warm everywhere, and you can feel your heartbeat in your fingers. 

You give him another close-lipped, sweet smile, and stare at your hands, hoping that will make this rush stop. 

It doesn’t. 

Is he still looking at me? You whisper to the shadows, lining the Quinjet walls, and they hum back to your ear. 

Yes.

Fuck.

———

It’s as if floodgates are opening. Bucky won’t stop showing up, wherever you look, and it’s going to give you a heart attack. 

A heart attack you’ll welcome, as long as it involves Bucky being near you.

Even it won’t really mean anything, when you fall down and nobody bothers to pick you up.

“Hey, creeper.” Tony waves you over one night, after one of his fancy let’s all celebrate how we’re the Avengers parties. “Stop lurking and come talk to us like a person.”

“I, um-“

“I did not spend thousands of dollars on lighting just for you to stand in the corner and talk to shadows the whole night.” Tony gives you another, slightly firmer wave. “Come here.”

You’d really rather not, but it doesn’t seem like you have a choice. It’s not that big a group anyway. Tony and his smug smirk, Steve—sighing and giving you an apologetic look as you shuffle over—Sam, and-

“Have you met Barnes yet?” Tony says, an almost taunting drawl lying under his tone. “He’s like you, but grumpier.”

Bucky scowls, but doesn’t speak. He’s just staring at the glass in his hand, his eyes flicking up to yours every few seconds, and this is something kind of beautiful nightmare. Everyone’s looking at you. You’re supposed to answer, but you’re going to say the wrong thing. There might be a world where you can just stare at Tony and they all give up on trying to talk to you, but then Bucky will think you’re weird. 

That might be the worst thing in the world. You can feel your palms sweating from just the idea of Bucky frowning at Steve later, and asking who let the crazy girl join the team. You don’t have Nat’s looks and charm. Don’t have Bruce’s intelligence to pair with your powers. You’re just you, and you got lucky enough that Steve decided you were useful enough for the team. 

They’re still all looking at you. 

You’re going to throw up. 

“I- I have.” You mumble, turning a bracelet on your wrist. “We’ve had a few missions.” You give Bucky another small, nervous smile. It seems to be all you can remember how to do. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He grunts. “You, uh- Hi.”

“You heard how her powers work, Barnes?” Tony drawls, shoving a fancy looking drink into your hands before seeming to materialize a new one for himself. 

“No.” Bucky grunts. “You don’t hand out pamphlets, Stark.”

“She’s-“ Tony pauses, frowning at you, and you’d like to sink into the floor forever. “How does it work? Are you a shadow? Or just- One with them. Like the Lorax of darkness.”

“We’ve talked about this, Tony.” You chew on your lower lip, trying to look anywhere but Bucky as you answer. “I’m the Lorax of darkness.”

“So you speak for the shadows?” Sam jumps in, and Steve frowns at him. 

“You’ve known her two years, you’ve never asked about the powers?”

“That’s rude, golden boy, I’m not just pokin’ you and asking how you run so freakishly fast-“

“Everyone knows how, Wilson,” Tony cuts in, and maybe if you’re fast, you can sneak away. “It’s very public information.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Man, don’t tell me about the Smithsonian again-“

“I just think we all contribute to the legacy of the Avengers, and I contribute by making sure everyone knows all our great heroes-“

“What’s a Lorax?”

You start slightly, and Bucky’s suddenly right next to you. Smiling at you—mostly just in his eyes, but still painfully gentle in a way that’s going to make you explode—and muttering right in your ear as Sam and Tony keep arguing.

“It’s a, um- Children’s book?” You can’t look him in the eyes. He’s too pretty, and you haven’t earned that. “It’s about environmental conservation. The Lorax is a character who speaks for the trees.”

Bucky hums. He won’t stop looking at you. “So you… speak for the shadows.”

“Yeah.”

“What do shadows talk about?”

“Anything.” You shrug, watching the ice in your glass clink off the rim. “Gossip, mostly. They’re nosy little bitches.”

Bucky snorts, and you’re smiling. You can’t stop it. You probably look insane, but Bucky laughed for you, and it was a deep, rough sound that’s going to follow you into your dreams. 

“What kind of gossip? Anything, uh- Juicy?” He bumps his shoulder with yours, and now you’re giggling.

“Not really. Everyone here is really bad at secrets, so most of what they tell me goes public like, five days later. They mostly just, um-“ You glance up at him, unable to help it, and his eyes are so blue. “They help me. I can fly, in really dark areas.”

“Huh.” He nods slowly, not breaking your gaze. “That how you got on the ceiling?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He coughs, scanning over you so intently it might be searing into your skin. “That’s- Interesting. Are you- Uh- Do you like stuff?”

You frown at him. “Stuff?”

“Music. Or- Books.”

You’re not entirely sure what’s happening. Bucky’s face looks almost red, in the low lighting of the room. You don’t know what stuff you’re supposed to like, and you must be incredibly boring if that’s all he can think to ask. 

It’s also quiet. Really quiet. 

The fight has ended, and Steve, Tony, and Sam are all just staring at you now, and you’d like to maybe jump off a cliff.

 Tony sighs. “God, this is pathetic to watch-“

“Tony-“

“Was it the Hydra animal mission?” Tony pushes on, ignoring Steve’s warning tone. “That you two met on? Were you there when he took the cat? Because I know you took the cat, Barnes, I don’t care how many times you say you found it on the grounds.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, and you tilt your head at Tony. 

“What cat?”

“The cat.” He frowns at you. “God, not you too-“

“I don’t remember a cat.” You say, trying to make yourself a little taller than you are. “There were about twenty lizards, a few puppies and rabbits, and a bunch of bugs. Sam swallowed one.”

Sam scowls. “I only swallowed it because Barnes fuckin’ tossed it at my face-“

“He’s going insane.” Bucky shrugs, giving you another unreadable look. “You see everything, right doll? Were there any bugs?”

Oh.

Your heart is trying to beat out of your chest, because doll. He called you doll. And he said it so smooth, with a small twitch of his lips and all his attention. You’re doll. It might just be part of whatever game he’s playing with his friends—that you’ve been pulled into, like a surprise witness—but you’re doll for it, and you’d love to keep that. Even if it’s just a momentary illusion to fuck with Sam and Tony, for a second, you were treasured enough to Bucky to be doll.

“I didn’t see any bugs leave their containers.” You shrug, holding his gaze. “Or any cats.”

Bucky grins at you, and your heart seems to be hitting a rapid pace that’s going to pound right out of your chest. He must be looking at you because there’s something wrong with your face. That’s the only plausible explanation. 

But he’s still looking at you, and grinning. 

Even as you manage to excuse yourself, and vanish back into the corners of the crowd. You don’t see Bucky for the rest of the night. 

But he keeps seeing you.

In the gym, Bucky’s suddenly there whenever you go to try and train. Shirtless and sweaty, metal arm shining and muscles flexing with every movement. You have to leave early five times in a row, because it’s distracting, and you keep imagining your face pressed into his chest as those huge arms wrap around you. During briefings, Bucky’s suddenly across from you all the time, rather than at the front with Steve. He’s probably just trying to avoid Tony—who’s still caught on the cat thing—but it means you can’t look up from your papers without Bucky being there, and your heart doing it’s stupid little kickdrum beat. 

He’s in the garden, whenever you try to do your nightly walk. Wandering aimlessly and staring at all the flowers. You’re developing a bad habit of asking the shadows where he is, at any given point during the day, and they’re not being very helpful.

The handsome one is near you again.

You look up from your book, frowning at the air. I didn’t ask-

You should know. They hum. He’s sweet. We like him. You should talk to him. 

Where is he? 

In the hallway. Pacing.

You sigh, and shake your head, looking back to your book. 

They keep bothering you about talking to him. Keep telling you where he is, until almost half your thoughts are dancing around pretend conversations where you do go to him, and you somehow end up making out against the wall. One of his hands on your ass and the other resting gently on your throat, maybe his rough, deep voice humming your name and his body pressed comfortably over yours-

You wander into the kitchen, lost in the daydream, and the shadows didn’t fucking warn you this time.

Bucky’s at the islander counter, cutting up a cucumber at the slowest pace you’ve ever seen.

“Hi.” He grins at you as you walk in, and you freeze in the doorway. “Salad.”

“I-“ You gape at him, your face far too warm. “What?”

“Salad.” He nods to the cucumber. “I’m makin’ one.”

“Why?” You’re blurting again, without thought, and Bucky frowns down at the cutting board. 

You’re making it weird. 

“I dunno. Steve and Nat wanted one, and I, uh- I said I’d do it. So now I’m doing it.” He shrugs, flipping the knife in his hand, and you feel a little dizzy. “Do you want something else?”

You shake your head. It’s not your salad. It doesn’t really matter what you want. “I’ve got my sandwich,” you mumble, and he frowns. 

“Alright. You eat here, I don’t need the whole counter-“

“It’s okay.” You try not to brush past him, on the way to the fridge. 

It doesn’t work. Your shoulders bump, and now you’re lightheaded from the rush. 

“Thanks.” You give him a tight smile, clinging to your sandwich like it’s a lifeline, then sprint out of the room before you can make it worse. 

There must be someone out to get you. Trying to make your heart kick into a high enough overdrive to kill you, or playing a cruel game where Bucky is everywhere, and you don’t get to have him.

“There’s another Tony-mandated press event.” Natasha smiles at you a few days after the kitchen incident, and you stare at her with wide eyes. “You want to go shopping with me? For an outfit?”

“I, um- I have clothing already-“

“Yes, but this is an excuse to get more.” She takes your hand, giving you a well-designed, sweet smile. “It will just be you, me, and Wanda. Easy. We’ll spend all of Starks money and go home.”

You swallow, and there isn’t really a choice here. Saying no to Natasha is the most terrifying thing to do in the world, and you’re going to spend the whole time staring at the mirror—trying to will your body into a different shape with your mind—but at least you can maybe walk away with something more flattering, using Wanda and Nat’s fashion skills. It won’t be horrible. Just a long, tiring afternoon with free food. 

So you give him. And Nat gives you a squeeze of your arm and a smile you don’t understand, before starting to drag you out of the common room. 

“Wait, now?”

“The event is in a month.” She shrugs, stopping in front of one of Tony’s fancy cars. “But I have a mission, then you have a mission, then we all have things. We have to go now, if we don’t want to be running around like idiots in the morning.”

There’s some logic to that, but something about this feels off. Maybe it’s that Nat lets you pick the music on the drive, or her finger keeps tapping on the wheel. Her phone keeps buzzing, but it’s face down, and it would be rude for you to look at the screen. 

She didn’t wait for Wanda to join you.

And when you pull up to the curb, in front of the store, your eyes narrow on the street in front of you. That’s Sam’s truck. 

“Nat,” you mutter, the shadows in the car starting to grow longer as you take long, slow breaths. It’s fine. You’re going to be fine.

“Hm?”

You shoot her a glare. “You said it was just us.”

“And Wanda.” She shrugs, turning off the car. “I said Wanda, too.”

“Then why-“

“Because I lied.” She doesn’t sound very fucking guilty about it, and the shadows are starting to move over your thighs, trying to shield you from view. 

They’re going to see you. Everyone’s going to see you, and think things about you that you don’t want to see on their faces, and if Sam’s here, that means Bucky’s here. 

He can’t see you. You won’t be able to think or speak clearly as long as you know Bucky might be looking at you. And it’s not like he’s never seen you wearing formal clothing before, but this is different. This is intimate, with all your friends, trying things on to see how you look. 

You just won’t go to the party at all. Tony can yell at you all he wants, you don’t want to see Bucky staring at you, silently judging how you look in a too-tight dress, being too much of a gentleman to tell you that you should stick to baggier pants and shirts-

“Hey.” Nat takes your hand, her voice impossibly firm. “Breathe. I didn’t want to lie, but you wouldn’t have come otherwise-“

“But you could go without me- I’ll just stay in the car-“

“No. I want you to hang out with us.” She sighs. “We all want you to. If you hate it, I’ll let you punch Sam.”

You blink at her. “Sam?”

“Yeah. I’ll hold him, you punch. We can do that even if you have fun.” She raises her brows. “Alright? Because you either come into the store and eat all the free shrimp, or I make everyone take rotating shifts to keep you company. Like a dog.”

“Or I could sit in the car alone-“

“You can sit in the shop alone. With free shrimp.” She sighs, holding your gaze. “Please.”

That makes the shadows retreat, if only out of shock. Nat doesn’t say please for almost anything, let alone to beg for something. Something as stupid as you, going shopping with her. 

“Oh- Okay.” You sigh. “Fine. You win.” 

“Good.” Nat lets out a slow breath. “Let’s go, we’re like ten minutes late. Steve’s going to start trying to get me to buy a watch again.”

Steve. Steve is here. 

Which means Bucky’s probably here as well. 

And everyone falls silent, when you and Nat walk up to them. You’re trying to stay behind Her, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Sam says your name with a grin, clapping a very rigid Bucky on the shoulder, and you’d like to go back to the car now.

“You made it,” Wanda smiles at you, and you try to return it, but you see yourself in the mirror, and you look insane. “Come, I’ve been looking for things you will like.”

She almost drags you away, before the rest of them can see anything, and suddenly you’re behind a curtain and everything is quiet. 

You take a loud, stuttering breath, and Wanda sighs.

“I am sorry.” She hums, turning a dress on a hanger. “I told them this was a bad idea.” 

You frown at her. “What?”

“You know of my powers.” She murmurs. “I try not to invade, but- You are very loud. In here.” She taps her head, and you flush. 

She knows. Of course she knows. She can see into your mind, see how you’re just some vermin among gods, and you’re pining for something on a mountain when you’re barely even good enough for the dirt-

“That is not true. You are not vermin.” She frowns at you, and you wrap your arms around your gut. 

“Can you- I know you can’t help it, but-“

“My apologies.” Wanda sighs, looking back to the dress. “But he does not know. And I will not tell. I just thought you might want to not be there.”

“I didn’t.” You mumble, pressing your back against the wall. “Thank you.”

She shrugs, looking back to the dress, and you want to ask it. You don’t want the answer, but it’s still itching at your tongue, and at least you’ll be able to give up-

“I do not know.” Wanda says suddenly, pulling the dress off the rack. “I am not part of their circle, I am only here because Natasha thought it would lure you.”

“Oh-“

“And Bucky’s mind is…” She trails off, shaking her head slightly. “Guarded. He does not let any thoughts slip where I can hear them. But if you are asking my opinion, as a friend.” She gives you a small smile. “I think you are beautiful, and sweet. And he is not blind. He tries to speak to you. That is more than others.”

More than others.

You can take more than others. Beautiful, you don’t believe, because you’ve never believed it. When people call you that, it’s a trick or a lie. They want something, or they’re trying to cheer you up, and it doesn’t count.

But if Bucky talks to you more than others, there’s at least a shot, no matter how blind. You could be his friend, and nothing more. You could be a ghost he likes to talk to more than the skeletons under his bed. There when he needs it. Trying to touch him, but simply not capable of it. 

And you’re going to hold onto it under you’ve strangled it. 

“Hey-“ The curtain swings open, Natasha grinning at you from the other side. “Did you try on Wanda’s dresses?”

“Not yet-“

“We’ll come back.” She grabs your arm pulling you out of the dressing room. “If you don’t like what I found for you. Which you will.”

You glance back at Wanda, and she smiles at you before you vanish. 

And Nat found you a lot of dresses. You ask the shadows—while she’s letting you change—and they say she’s got twenty more in a closet somewhere. And you don’t really have an opinion of any of them, but Natasha has about a thousand. Apparently, you look hot in all of them, but she’s looking for the one that dazzles.

“What does dazzles mean.” You mutter, fidgeting with the skirt, and she sighs. 

“You’ll know when we find it.” She shrugs. “Try on the pink one.”

You do. And then the blue one. Then the lace one. Then the other pink one. And none of them—according to Natasha—dazzle.

But this one. 

This one is nice. 

The others felt too tight, or too frilly, or too itchy. But this one doesn’t make you want to shrink into yourself, or maybe peel off your skin and see if there’s someone better underneath. It’s just nice. Feels good. 

And when you walk out, Natasha grins at you, sitting up a little taller. 

“This.” She takes both of your hands, squeezing them tight. “This is dazzles. Let’s go.”

“Go?” You stumble back, shaking your head. “Can I- The dress-“

“It looks great! I want to show off what we did-“

“Natasha.” You swallow, your arms going back around your stomach at your breathing picks up. “Please. I don’t want to.” 

She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest and scanning you up and down. “Why?”

You shrug. “I think you know.”

You have no fucking idea if she knows. But whatever she thinks she knows is going to get you out of this. 

And it does. Nat sighs, glances down at her phone, then back to you.

“Okays. I’m- I didn’t mean to make it. This.” She waves around the room, then at you, and it’s the closest you’ll get to an apology. 

You’ll take it. “It’s okay. Just- I can’t.”

“Yeah, I know.” She pauses. “Do you want to get the lunch I promised you? Just us?”

“And Wanda.” You add quickly, and her lips twitch. 

“Sure. You guys meet me out front, and I’ll tell the boys they can fit Bucky for a suit by themselves.”

You nod, rubbing your sides and trying not to think about Bucky in a suit. Strong. Ripping through the seams of it and cleaned up so nice, you want to see how fast he can get dirty again. 

But you can’t. There’s a shot, and if Bucky sees you like this—wearing a dress that you have no right to, panicking and trying to shrink into yourself—you’ll miss. 

All you have to do is be his friend. 

And that can’t be that hard. He keeps showing up everywhere, his face even on Natasha’s screen as he tries to call during your sorry for making you have a panic attack lunch.

“Are you guys close?” You ask, poking your straw around the glass and Nat frowns at you.

“Me and who?”

“Barnes.” You can’t sound bitter about it. That’s insane. “He’s calling you.”

“Oh, Bucky just wants an update on some work I’m doing for him.” She waves her fry casually through the air. “Wanda’s worked with him more.”

“He is wary of me.” Wanda shrugs. “But I am new, and he trusts me enough to not look very hard for a weapon, when I enter a room.”

You frown. “He does that?”

“Yeah.” Nat shrugs. “Old Red Room training.”

“Oh. I’ve- Never noticed that.”

“I know you haven’t.” Nat smirks at you, and before you can ask what the fuck that means, she’s talking again. “What do you think of him?”

“Of-“

“Barnes.”

You stare at her, and you’d like to go back about ten minutes and never start this conversation. That was a really fucking stupid move for you to make. Now they’re both looking at you, and you’re painfully aware of the flush on your face and way that your hair and how, if Bucky walked in now, he wouldn’t even spare you a glance-

Wanda clears her throat, giving you a gentle look.

Too loud. 

You’re being too loud, and not answering the question for way too long. 

“I like him.” You mumble, focusing your gaze on Nat’s nails. They’re red. Shiny. Yours are just kind of there. “He’s nice.”

Nat nods slowly, and that seems to be the end of Bucky talk. The conversation moves to a TV show you’ve all watched, and you might be out of the woods. 

But Bucky is everywhere. 

And all his friends suddenly seem very interested in hanging out with you.

“Did you do anything interesting last night?” Steve asks you in the kitchen, and you’d nearly choked on your yogurt.

“Not really.” You whisper, starting at a little bit of granola, trying to drown itself. 

You understood the feeling. 

“I went for a walk. Looked at the gardens. Watch some TV.” You gave Steve a tight smile. “Did you do anything?”

“Yeah, Buck and I started measuring out his apartment, we’re trying to find what furniture he’ll want.” Steve’s tone turns soft, and your hands curl on your spoon. That wasn’t a good sign. “Do you want to come with us? I think you and Bucky would be friends-“

“No!” You sit up too tall, your words a little too loud, and Steve blinks. “It’s- I mean, you might be right, and Bucky is great, but I- I’ve got three reports to write and- Yeah. Have fun!”

You almost run from the kitchen. You know you were talking too fast, and Bucky is more than great, but you can’t fucking go shopping with them. Not again. You’ll say something or do something or just stand in the wrong corner, and they’ll never want to speak to you again. 

But that doesn’t stop anyone from trying to get you to do something. Getting lunch. Watching a movie. Sam just corning you and talking about flowers for fifteen, very strange and long minutes. 

You’re not sure what’s going on. Nothing’s different than it was before, when they left you to your shadows and gave you tight smiles in the halls. But now Natasha’s sitting next to you in briefings, and Sam keeps grinning at you, and Bucky-

He’s not looking at you at all. He’s staring at his hands, braced on the table, and shooting Sam a glare every few seconds. 

He’s only tried to talk to you a few times, in the past few weeks. 

And both times won’t stop playing on loop in your brain. 

“What’s your favorite book?” He’d materialized behind you in the gardens, and you’d nearly jumped out of your skin. 

Your heart has still done its stupid little flutter, and it’s had kicked into a high beat when Bucky had steadied you, swearing under his breath. 

“Shit- Sorry, doll, you alright-“

“I like books.” You’d said, your hand splayed on his chest—he was warm, and strong, and you’d had to yank yourself away like you’d been burned—and voice far too breathy to be normal. 

“I know, uh-“ He’d cleared his throat. “What books?”

“Books.” You might have been about to explode. “About dragons.”

You’d run, after that. And then the second time as well, when he’d told you that you were paired together on the mission. 

“Sorry,” he’d said, giving you a grimacing smile before turning away. 

Sorry. 

He’d been sorry. That you were paired together. 

And you couldn’t figure out why. It’s not even that hard a mission. 

“I’d rather this be in and out, guys.” Steve says, in his captain stance at the front of the room. “We’re in teams of two, which means you should all be retrieving one thing. Sam and I will have two, but I’m the Captain-“

“Oh, he’s the Captain.” Tony drawls, and Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You can take the double duty if you want, Tony.” Nat hums, legs on the table. “Wilson just drew the short stick.”

Sam frowns. “I wanted to go to safe house three, but- Oof.”

Nat had elbowed Sam right in the gut, and before anyone could keep talking, Steve was clearing his throat. 

“No trades. I made the teams like this for a reason-“

“Sounds like the reason is Wilson losing a bet-“

“-And we’re going to stick to them.” Steve looks around the table, pointedly ignoring Tony’s comment. “We’ve got back up on standby, in case any of us bite of more than we can chew. Ready?”

There’s a grumble of acknowledgment, and everyone starts to stand up and make their way to the Quinjets. There are seven safe houses overall, so you’ll have to take separate flights to get to each one. 

Which means you’re flying with Bucky. 

Who still won’t really look you in the eye. 

He gives you a tight smile as he climbs into the ship, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. Then he’s punching in the coordinates with the force of a man who really doesn’t want to be in the same area as you for long, and sitting down without a word.

You’re staring at your hands, trying to figure out if it’s dark enough outside for you to jump, and just fly by yourself to the safe house. Bucky clearly doesn’t want to be here with you—you can’t blame him, you wouldn’t either—and the silence is a little too heavy over your chest. You don’t want to listen to music he might not, or try and talk to him, then say the wrong thing. Quinjets have game functions, but you might suggest you play the wrong game. And when you glance up at Bucky, he’s still not looking at you. 

Playing a game would require looking at you. And he doesn’t seem to want to do that at all.

And now that you’ve looked at him, you can’t look away. 

He’s pretty. So pretty. Hair falling slightly in his face, but softer looking than when he arrived at the compound. His tactical suit is perfectly fitted to his body, his gloved hand covering the cover of his book, and his brow pinched slightly as he reads. 

He brought a book. That’s smart. You should’ve thought of that, but you didn’t, because you’re a fucking idiot-

Bucky shifts slightly, and you can see the cover over the book. 

“I love that book.” You blurt, and Bucky looks up at you with an unreadable expression. “It’s- Really good.”

You’re going to jump out of the plane whether you can fly or not. Bucky’s staring between you and the book, and why isn’t it dark, there aren’t enough shadows to hide-

“It is good.” He says, and you blink. He’s talking to you. “I like it. Steve recommended it to me-“

“I recommended it to Steve.” You’re talking so fast, and Bucky’s lip twitches slightly. 

“Yeah, doll. I know.”

“Oh. Cool.” You look back to your hands, picking at your nails, and the few shadows that had curled over your hands are starting to retreat. You can do this. You can talk to him and not make it weird, you can be his friend, you just have to say something-

“Sam told me this thing lets you play Uno.” Bucky cuts through your thoughts, and you look back up at him with wide eye. “I don’t know what that means, but it’s supposed to be a good thing.”

“It’s a game.” You mumble. “Do you- Want to play it?”

Bucky nods, setting the book aside, and you try to make your shaking breath as quiet as possible. It’s just a game. He’s not proposing. 

But your heart won’t stop doing to flutter. And when Bucky grins at you, Tony’s very important mission game closet opening up from the wall, it’s nearly beating out of your chest again. 

He’s helping, though. Bucky’s mostly just letting you take the lead, listening to you explain with a firm attention that burns into your, but doesn’t hurt, and smiling with bright eyes at your every attempted joke. 

“So I just gotta run out of cards.” He mutters, scanning over the deal in his hand, and you nod. 

“Yep. And I, um- I get competitive. So.” You swallow, staring down at your own cards. “Please don’t get mad at me if I call you a cunt.”

Bucky snorts, and it’s like something’s glowing in your chest. “I think we can get around that, doll. Who goes first?”

“You.” It’s a whisper, but he called you doll again. 

And he won’t stop doing it. Talking to you. Looking at you. Grinning at you. 

Something is happening where Bucky is talking to you like you’re not a burden, and you can’t tell if it’s a trick or dream, but fuck you don’t want it to be.

“Do you have a favorite animal?” He asks, and you shake your head. 

“I like all of them. I tried to talk Tony into having, a, um- Zoo.” You flush slightly, playing your card. “He said that wasn’t possible or reasonable, but I could have a cat.”

Bucky hums, making his own play. “He likes you.”

You huff softly. “No, he doesn’t-“

“He likes you as much as Tony can like anyone.” Bucky shrugs. “You wanna see what Tony hatin’ someone looks like? Look at me.”

“He doesn’t hate you-“

“Yeah, he does. He didn’t say I could have a cat.” Bucky pauses. “Never thanked you for that, did I?”

“For what?”

“The cat thing.” It’s his move, but he’s not playing. He’s just looking at you, so fucking softly. “Meant a lot. You didn’t even know me.”

“Yeah, but-“ I might be in love with you, just a fraction, but more than enough to make me insane. “It’s whatever. She seems happy in your room. Healthy.”

“She is.” Bucky sits up a little taller. “How-“

“The shadows.” You shrug, poking him with your foot. “Your play, Buck.”

He stares at you for another long second, and you could swear his ears had turned a little pink by the time he looks back to his cards. 

“So, uh-“ He coughs, looking intently between his hand and the pile. “Those shadows of yours. They just- Tell you anything they’re seein’?”

“Anything they think I should know about.” You shrug, making your own play. “I- um- I’m going to tell you something.” You glance up at him, chewing on your lower lip. “But please don’t tell the others.”

“Won’t say a thing.” He nods sharply, leaning further over the table. “Something wrong-“

“No, I just-“ You sigh. You shouldn’t tell him. 

But you want to. You want him to like you. Trust you. Just keep looking at you like this. 

“When I first moved into the compound.” You mumble, playing your card. “The shadows weren’t used to having me around people. And what they thought I should know what… everything.” You give him a tight smile. “I know a lot. About everyone. Very fast.”

Bucky frowns. “A lot-“

“Vision does have a synthazoid dick. And he and Wanda have been together longer than people think.”

Bucky stares at you, and he’s definitely red now. “Ah.”

“They don’t do that anymore.” You say quickly, watching him play his own card. “I promise. I trained them out of it fast, now they know what’s important and what’s private, they just decided that the cat was important, but anything else you do with, um- Anyone is- I wouldn’t know-“

“Breathe.” Bucky grunts, and you take a loud, deep inhale. “It’s alright, doll. I believe you. And I, uh-“ He frowns at the air, not meeting your eyes. “I don’t got anyone. Like that.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

Bucky nods sharply, making his next play, before saying, “Alpine.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“That’s her name. The cat.” He sighs. “And she’s doin’ good. Thanks to you, lying to Tony.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You shrug, and you’re down to two cards now. “It’s really easy to lie to Tony.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. “You wanna meet her?”

“Yes, please.” You say it before you can over think it, and Bucky grins at you. 

Wide, and real, and sort of world ending. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen his grin grin, and it’s beautiful. Bright and toothy and filled with a quiet kind of light that would be really easy to get lost in. 

You’re already lost in it. 

You don’t kind of love him. You do. Just one stupid, full conversation, and it’s slamming into you without relent. More than just a crush. More than just an idolization of the strong, handsome man who loves animals. 

It’s fluttering in your heart and spreading into the tips of your fingers. Warm and buzzing and comfortable. 

And there are so many ways for you to say it. That it’s how every single thing you’re telling him, he’s nodding like it’s something to be memorized. How you’ve seen him block food he knows Steve likes from being taken by Clint, or the fact that once you saw him smell some flower in the garden. It could be how he’s dry but not cruel, and firm but not harsh, or maybe just the fact that he’s the kind of man who’d carry that kitten out of a lab like it was more important than the world.

But really it’s just this.

You’d like to see Bucky smile forever. 

“Uno.” He places down a plus four with a slightly smug grin, and your eyes widen. 

“You cunt.” You breathe out, still sort of under a spell, and Bucky laughs. 

And that’s beautiful, as well. 

You’re a goner. Just friends might be more than you can handle, and still so far from enough.

But as Bucky offers you his hand to get up, you’ll manage. He’s everywhere anyway. A least this way, he might keep grinning at you, touching you, and it will be more than anyone else. 

Friends. 

You can do friends. 

———

The mission went well. 

For you and Bucky. 

You’d been in and out. Joking about almost nothing as you walked together through the safe house, your shadows alerting you of traps and Bucky always within reaching distance in case they missed one. 

They did. Just a single tripwire that you stumbled over, and Bucky yanked you back from. His arm wrapped around your waist as he tugged you right into his chest, and spikes shot up from the floor. 

“It’s like the Goonies.” Bucky had muttered, and you’d frowned. 

“Not really, it’s more-“ You’d looked back at him with wide eyes. “You watched the Goonies?”

“Sam made me.” He’d frowned. “It was kind of fucked up.”

You’d hummed, then suddenly realized that Bucky was still holding onto you. Keeping you pressed against him, and you could feel his muscles flexing around you, rest your hand on his forearm, his lips barely inches away from yours-

He’d licked them.

And it was a habit you’d seen him do countless times, but it was different up close. You could see the pink of his tongue and wet of his spit, and you wanted to surge up and taste him-

You’d shoved away from each other at the exact same time. And as you’d stumbled a little too far back, Bucky had caught your hand and pulled you upright. 

He’d held your hand for a long second after, a gloved thumb running over your knuckles. 

Neither of you spoke about it. And when you’d retrieved your data, you’d just gone right back to the Quinjet, no disaster but how you could still feel the phantom of Bucky’s hand in yours.

Everyone else wasn’t as lucky. 

You stepped into the hanger to find a lot of shouting, and a few drawn weapons. Apparently almost everyone else had fucked up somehow, and you were missing half the data you’d needed because of it. 

“Just skip the debrief.” Steve had muttered, watching the rest of the team wearily. “You guys can take the afternoon, just get your post-report done before the end of the month.”

Bucky had decided to stay and help Steve, but you didn’t think you could handle being in the middle of this. Someone might yell at you, then you’ll start crying, and nobody will ever look you in the eyes again. But before you can get out of the hanger, Bucky’s calling your name. Grabbing your wrist and giving you a small grin, his thumb doing the thing again.

It’s like being struck by lightning. 

“Uh- Good work.” He coughs, letting go of your wrist and drawing up to his full height. 

You’d like to climb him. 

You’re lucky he’s touching you at all. 

“Do you wanna meet tomorrow? Do our report?”

You nod, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible. “Yes- I- That sounds good.”

Bucky nods, gives you another grin, then jogs back away, leaving you swaying slightly as you try to get a fucking grip. Friends hang out with each other. People who have mission reports to do also hang out with each other. 

But he asked you. 

And you don’t meet tomorrow. Or the day after that. The aftermath of the mission is being felt through the whole compound, and the week is crawling by, and Bucky’s always busy.

Or he’s not. 

You lie flat on your back in your room, staring at the ceiling and taking deep breaths, trying to keep everything from spiraling. He’s just busy. Everyone’s busy. He didn’t realize that you’re not worth his time or attention, that he shouldn’t even be thinking about looking at you, that you can just do the reports slightly, and he regrets speaking to you ever, at all-

The handsome one wants you to know he is free now.

You frown, sitting up slightly. He wants me to know?

He turned off all the lights in his room. He is talking to the walls. He looks insane, but he is very instant we tell you he is free.

Free of what?

He did not tell us that. 

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, and push off the mattress. Bucky doesn’t hate you. He was just busy, like you thought. And he wants you to know he’s free in his room. 

Which doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a room. 

Bucky’s room. 

That you’re walking to, and you didn’t choose an outfit, and he’s going to take one look at you and kick you out into the hall-

The door opens before you can even knock, or turn around and run away. Bucky grins at you from the other side, and he’s not kicking you out. 

He’s just smiling.

And you can do this.

“Sorry, I, uh- I heard you. Walking down the hall.” He steps to the side, glancing past you carefully. “You should get in before Alpine starts yelling.”

You nod, scrambling inside, and Bucky’s apartment is nice. It’s not cluttered, but not bare, and the kitten—now much larger—is blinking at you slowly from his bed. 

He has a bed. 

And you knew he had a bed, but it’s different to see it. To know that he sleeps there, and might have had other, better women in it. That he’d touched them with that metal hand, and they’d shivered, and those full lips had trailed down their bodies-

“Sorry it’s empty.” He’s frowning around the room at your side, and you have no fucking clue when he appeared next to you, but he’s there now. “I just started usin’ furniture again.”

“No, it’s nice.” You glance at Alpine. “Can I-“

“Sure. She’ll like you.”

Bucky says that like it’s a fact. As if there’s no chance at all that Alpine will lean back, when you offer her your hand. 

And she doesn’t. 

But you don’t understand why he has so much faith in that. 

“Is this the stuff you got with Steve?” You ask, scratching Alpine’s ears as she starts to purr, and he frowns.

“Yeah, uh- It is. How’d you know about that?”

“Steve invited me.” You shrug, giving him an apologetic smile. “I was busy, sorry.”

“’S fine.” He mutters, still frowning and shooting a glare at the door. “Sorry. About him.”

Sorry.

“Why?” You ask before you can think better of it, and Bucky lets out a long, slow breath. 

“I know you’re not-“ He’s still glowering at the door. You might be missing something. “Me.”

You blink at him. “Huh?”

He shakes his head, looking down to the floor. “I know you’re not- I know you don’t like being- It’s not you-“

“Bucky-“

“I’m sorry if they’ve been makin’ you uncomfortable.” His voice raises slightly, and you’ve missed something. He looks distressed, but you’re not even sure what’s happening.

“Who?”

“Natasha.” He mutters, and Alpine stretches, jumping off the bed to go rub at his ankles. Bucky sighs, kneeling to pet her as he continues. “Steve. Sam. They were tryin’ to, uh- They like making friends. And I told them to back off, but even Steve- Never mind. Sorry.”

You still feel sort of lost. You know they were trying to be your friend. You don’t understand why, but you also can’t begin to understand how any of that is Bucky’s fault.

“It’s okay.” You say anyway, because he looks so sad. Staring at Alpine with a deep frown, a sort of weight seeming to make his shoulders hunch and head bow. 

It’s aching, to watch him like that. 

You just want to make it better. 

“I didn’t mind, Buck.” You let out a soft laugh. “I sort of feel bad for them. Trying to like me is hard.”

Bucky’s gaze shoots up to yours, and there’s something in his gaze that’s blinding. Firm and unyielding, driving right into you and making you stand a little taller. 

“No, it’s not.” His tone is almost strict, and you blink at him. 

“Wha-“

“Liking you isn’t hard.” He looks back down to Alpine, letting out another slow breath as his tone drops. “It’s actually pretty damn easy.”

“Oh.”

You sound like an idiot. He’s wrong, you know he’s wrong, but for some reason you can’t really prove it to yourself. Bucky isn’t the type to lie, just to make you feel better. You’ve heard him call Sam a bird-assed-feather-dick for messing with the Quinjet controls, and refuse to apologize after. But he’d apologized to you. And he’d said that like it was real. Like it was something critical for you to know. 

And you don’t know what to do with that. 

It’s making you glow again. And you want to say something back, like how not everything is Bucky’s fault, but you can’t find the words without sounding like you’re insane. They all end with I love you, so I’d never be uncomfortable as long as I was next to you. And you can’t say that. I’ll make it weird. And there’s no way he’ll feel it back, so you’ll just be losing whatever fragile thing you’re building here. 

Where Bucky’s letting you into his room. Letting you pet his cat. 

Letting you further into his life.

“You wanna go get lunch?” Bucky asks suddenly. “We can eat, then do the report. If you want- We don’t gotta-“

“I’d like that.” You whisper, and Bucky grins at you again. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Wherever you’d like.” He shrugs, pushing to his feet. “Long as you think it’s good, I trust you.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “What if I take you to eat snail.”

“Then I’ll eat a snail, doll.” He drawls, and you’re dizzy again. “C’mon. We can talk about dragons books.”

———

Bucky isn’t just appearing everywhere anymore. He is everywhere. 

But mostly because you’re seeking him out, and he’s doing the same for you. 

You’re friends. Real friends. And after you managed to swing the only success on the mission, you’re paired together for everything. 

He eats lunch with you. Tells you about what he’s reading, in exchange for your own recommendations. Sits next to you on the Quinjet, lets you hold Alpine, and sometimes even joins you on walks. Sometimes he’ll help you spar, and you get to see him shirtless. Sweating and focused and strong and big, and when he grins at you, it’s a miracle you don’t fall to your knees. 

He’s been talking to you more than anyone else at all, lately. You’ll be making dinner with him in the kitchen, and Tony will let out a low whistle as he walks past you. If you’re on a mission, Sam will grumble that he’s third wheeling, even though you’re the one that probably shouldn’t be here. 

Everyone can probably see it. How Bucky shouldn’t be wasting his time being your friend, when he could be doing so much more, with something better. 

But he’s not bored of you yet. 

And you don’t hate yourself enough to give him the push to finally put it together. That you’re not worth this at all. 

He’s been floating awkwardly around the common room for about twenty minutes, while you’re watching a movie with Wanda. 

“Buck?” You call over your shoulder, and he freezes, a panicked expression on his face. You’d think you caught him doing something bad. “Do you want to join us?”

“I, uh-“

“It is fine.” Wanda hums, not looking away from the screen. “Sit. You are pacing like an animal.”

Bucky clears his throat, and shuffles over to your side.

His arm goes around your shoulder, and you give him a small grin.

Out of the corner, you can see Wanda’s pointed look. And you don’t want to hear it. You know you love him, that doesn’t mean he loves you. You’d rather keep thinking he doesn’t. It’ll make it easier when he leaves. 

And you’re already hearing enough of it, from everyone else. 

Because you’re going to kill Tony. 

His mandated press event was a charity thing. You’re all supposed to walk around in groups, answering questions and getting people to like you enough that they’ll donate money. And that would’ve been fine. You’re paired with Bucky again, and you could stand in the corner for five hours, watching Steve trying to accomplish more and more insane dares from Sam and Nat. 

But Tony, with his endless pit of money and brigade of assistants, can’t seem to properly book a hotel. 

You got the email with your room number on it last week. You took the bus to the city, because you’d rather eat glass than ride a motorcycle, there will probably be paparazzi if you take the Quinjet, and people don’t tend to recognize you anyway. Not the way they point and giggle about the others. You don’t even really have a code name, you’re just the shadow one. 

It’s part of the job. It makes it easier to go out in public. 

It makes it harder to look in the mirror, because maybe you’re just not recognizable. And this is going to be a long weekend anyway—with cameras and smiling and people asking impossibly invasive questions the whole time—so when you get to the hotel, you’ve already exhausted yourself. 

There’s a reception, before all the actual things happening tonight. Nobody will want you there anyway, and an hour without anyone looking at you sounds amazing.

So you check in under the Stark party, get your key, and go straight to your room.

It should be your room. 

But when you open your door, Bucky’s on the other side.

He says your name with a wide grin. “I was gonna go look for-“

“How’d you get in my room?” You glance around, seeing his suitcase resting on the floor, his suit laid out on the bed. 

Bucky frowns. “This is my room.”

You stare at him for a second, before scrambling for your phone. This would be a really fucked up joke for Tony to play on you. And you really fucking wish you could put it past him, but you can’t. 

“No, look-“ You show him your email. “406. That’s my name-“

“I know, just-“ He sighs, rubbing his jaw with a frown. “It’s also my room.”

No. 

You can’t share a room with him. You’ll do something stupid, or he’ll see you sleeping and realize that he should never look at you again, and the room is starting to blur and spin and-

“Hey.” Bucky takes your face between his hands, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’ll go fix this, I can crash with Steve-“

“No- no, it’s-“ You shake your head, grabbing at his wrists. “It’s- This is your room, I’ll go to Wanda-“

“Or we can share.”

You blink at Bucky, and he’s coming into focus so fast it’s almost dizzying. 

Share. The room. Bed. With Bucky. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” he adds quickly, and you can’t tell if that’s better or worse. “You just don’t have to go with Wanda. For me. Again, I’m fine with Steve-“

“It’s- It’s okay.” You give him a weak smile, your head still spinning. “We can take it up with Tony. If you want.”

Bucky raises his brows. “Do you want?”

“No.” You breathe, and friends share rooms. He won’t even be sleeping on the bed with you, so it doesn’t mean anything. You’ll be fine. “We can share.”

He nods slowly, giving you a small frown. “Are you sure? You did…” He trails off, rubbing his beard with a frown. “Freak out.”

“I just-“ I want you. Love you. Can’t do this and be normal. “I wasn’t expecting it. I’m good.”

Something flashes over Bucky’s face, but he doesn’t push it further. “Alright. We’ve got like, an hour ‘till we gotta go down there and play dancing monkeys. You wanna- They’ve got movies.”

He points to the hotel TV, and you can’t stop your small smile. 

He still wants you around. You’ve intruded—even if it’s Tony’s fault—but he’s not just being a gentleman. 

You get to sit next to him, and watch a movie until duty calls. And it feels too natural. Bucky’s knee bumping yours, his thigh pressed against you as if it’s nothing. Heat starts to sweep through your body at the contact, and it’s not helped by how you can smell him.

He must have showered before you arrived, because his hair is still slightly damp, and the evergreen smell of shampoo it’s smothering your every sense. When you lean a little to the side you can feel the heat from his body. 

His arm is stretched over your shoulders again, and when you lean back your head is on his bicep. 

You can’t really focus on the movie anymore. The only thoughts in your head are a constant loop of fantasy. Bucky’s arms, wrapping around you fully as he pulls you into his lap. His smooth voice in your ear, humming your name and lower words as he uses metal fingers against your pussy, and you flush and whine and beg, but he drinks it with kisses and calls you good girl-

“You okay?”

You blink out of your daydream, and Bucky’s frowning at you. Your thighs are pressed too tight together, and you’re far too wound up, and if you moved just an inch forward, you’d be resting your chin right on his shoulder. 

It hits you fast. How this is the position of people who love each other. Bucky’s fingers lightly grazing your upper arm, your bodies close but never close enough, your legs having at somehow hooked over his. 

You don’t want to run from it. Then you’ll have to explain why, and you won’t be able to do that. It’s another conversation that will have to end in I love you.

So you settle for soft words, and waiting for Bucky to move. 

He’s the one who’s lowering himself down for you to touch. You’re not strong enough to catch or chase him if he decides to go back up. 

“Yeah.” You breathe, your gaze seemingly locked onto his. “We should probably start getting ready.”

Bucky glances down at his watch, then back to you, expression still unreadable. “You know you can tell me if somethin’ is up, right? I’ll cover for you, with Stark.”

“I know.” You give him a small smile, and you feel like you’re glowing again. 

He would. 

And somehow, you don’t doubt that for a second. 

“I’m okay, Bucky. I just-“ You look down at your hands. “Natasha has my dress.”

“Ah, right.” He unwinds himself from your side, giving you a sheepish smile. “I’ll see you down there?”

You can’t help but return it. Not when it’s Bucky smiling at you, and his smiles are something so priceless and rare. “You will.”

It takes a lot of effort to run out of the room. To walk down the hall to Natasha with a sort of dazed, dopey smile, thinking about his body next to yours. You’d barely been able to handle that—as beautiful and priceless as it was—and you’ll have to go back, when this is done. You can use the gala as a way to practice being around Bucky, for when you have to sleep with him on the floor. 

Your current game plan is wrap yourself in shadows to make sure he doesn’t see you. It’s for his own sake, as no one would possible want to see you. You’d like him to, though. If Bucky wanted to see you, there’s not a world where you’d be able to say no to him. Even if he spent the whole time spitting on you, you’d still be honored he just paid you the thought of being unworthy. 

But you believe him, when he says he’d cover you. He’s touching you on purpose. Seeking you out. Offering to share the room. 

And when you trail after Nat, into the ballroom, he is looking at you. 

It feels raw. Bare. Uncomfortable, in a strange way you’d like to chase. Bucky’s looking at you, and it’s tingling all over your skin, but him looking away now feels like the worst thing in the world. 

Normally, you’d worry that there’s something wrong with you. An expression or bit of grime or lingering shadow on your arm, because it tends to make people uncomfortable. Maybe just a feature that’s wrong, some part of you that you’ll never be able to fix. 

But this room is so well-lit, all your shadows have to linger on the walls and in the corners. And Natasha did your makeup, hair, and chose your outfit. 

It’s the one from the dress shop. And you’d rolled your eyes as she pulled it out, to which she’d sighed and braced a hand on her hip. 

“Just take it.”

“Nat-“

“Did you like wearing it?”

You’d sucked your tongue between your teeth. “Yes, but-“

“That’s all we need. You like it.”

“People might not want to see me in it-“

“Don’t be insane and incorrect. You’re too smart for that.” She’d shoved the dress into your hands with a pointed look. “Fuck what other people think. Wear it.”

And you don’t think you can fuck what other people think. All you know is their secrets and judgmental stares. All you’ve ever know is how to take it as gospel. 

But Bucky is looking at you, wearing the dress that’s supposed to be dazzling.

And you feel like something holy. 

“Ma’am.” He offers you his hand, and you’re not sure how Nat got you to stand fully in front of him, but there’s a chance that was just you. That you went to him like a star, falling into a black hole. 

You’ll let him consume you, as long as he keeps looking at you like this. Like you’re something he’d want to devour. 

“Are you ready to dance?”

You stare at him, giving a weak shake of your head. “I- I thought we just had to take photos-“

“We do.” He’s doing the thumb thing again. Your knees feel weak. “Sorry, doll- I meant like the monkeys, from earlier-“

“Oh.” You take a shaking breath, giving him a weak smile. “Okay.”

Natasha clears her throat. “Earlier?”

“We were talking.” Bucky grunts, shooting her an odd glare, and she just grins.

“Alright. Have fun, you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You don’t know what that means, or why it makes Bucky tense, but then Natasha’s vanished back into the crowd. 

Bucky’s hand is on your lower back. You don’t know when it got there. 

There’s no world where you make him move. 

“You wanna go get some food?”

You blink up at him, and he looks like a god. Handsome and cleaned up so well, jawline sharp and slightly clenched, and you don’t know what you’re supposed to be able to say to him. How you’re supposed to be next to him the whole night, when you’re you.

But his eyes soften, when they land on yours. 

And there might be a world where you can make that enough. 

“Or.” He says softly, rubbing a firm circle on your back that tugs you slightly closer to his side. “Do you wanna go hide in a corner while I get you food.”

“That.” You mumble, still unable to look away. “Please.”

Bucky grins at you, and guides you over to a quieter part of the ballroom, pausing before he turns away. 

“Food’s right up there.” He nods into the crown, and you swallow. “Just, uh- Call. Or come find me. If you need anything.”

Anything.

If you need anything.

Bucky’s willing to get you it, as long as you ask.

And you don’t even have to. He comes back with a plate of your favorite food, and stands with you for almost the whole night. It takes a second for you to adjust to the people and the noise, but he lets you. Watches you the whole time, like you’re something worth looking at. Like there aren’t women far more worthy than you are, out in the crowd and waiting for his attention. 

The attention that you’re getting. All of it. 

He’s positioned in front of you, to block you from most people’s view. He keeps talking to you, as if anything you have to say is more interesting than the rest of the night.

“Who do you think it gonna fuck up first?” He says, scanning around the room at the rest of the Avengers, and you hum.

“Nat.”

Bucky grunts, but doesn’t show his immediate reaction. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Insider information.” You shrug. “I’m not allowed to tell you.”

“Ah.” He clicks his tongue. “You cheatin’, doll?”

“No, I’m committing a felony.”

Bucky snorts. “That’s worse-“

“Is it? Steve would commit a felony. But he wouldn’t cheat. So suck my dick.”

You give him a smug grin, and Bucky bursts out laughing. There’s not a second to doubt yourself, because he’s just laughing. A loud, full laugh that echoes a little as he grins at you, and you don’t think anything could feel better than this. Your heart is in your throat and fingertips. You don’t want it to go back down. 

“That’s a good one.” He grins at you, and your cheeks are starting to hurt from grinning back. “I’m gonna start usin’ that on him, he’s earned it.”

“Can you cite me, when you say it?”

“Every time.” He bumps your shoulder, and you giggle. High and sweet and still a little dizzy, as Bucky steadies you with a hand on your wrist and another chuckle. 

“Thanks.”

“Like I told you,” he shrugs, still grinning. “Anything.”

Anything. “And I don’t even have to like, pay you back?”

“Nah.” He waves you off, still grinning. “I’d ask you to dance, but you’d hate it.”

You swallow. “We can dance, if you want-“

“I don’t want if you don’t.” He shrugs, and he’s saying it like it’s so fucking simple. “We can dance later. When there aren’t people for you to worry about.”

People.

He doesn’t want you to worry about people.

And he doesn’t leave your side for the rest of his night. His hand rarely strays from your lower back. When there’s a desert table opened up, he makes you walk to it with him, but his body seems shrouded over yours to guard you from unwanted eyes. 

Which are any of them but Bucky. He can look at you as long as he wants, if he’s going to keep doing it like that. And when he gets a little bit of chocolate on his nose, you somehow find it deep in your gut—or maybe just some sort of instinct to touch him—to swipe your thumb over it, and eat it yourself. 

Bucky jaw clenches slightly at that, but before you can dive down into thinking about it—until it’s ripped to shreds and nothing but sheer panic—he chuckles, and switches your glass.

“Yours is gettin’ empty.” He says, as if that explains it, and you don’t have the power to question it. You just smile at him, and feel your heart when he smiles back. 

When the crowd starts to die down, you’re still smiling. There’s no overwhelming dread or panic that you did something wrong. There’s just Bucky, nodding a goodnight to Steve and guiding you back to your room. 

Your room. 

The room you’re sharing with Bucky. Who hasn’t moved from your side all night, and who you could’ve sworn keeps stealing glances at your breasts and figure. 

You must be losing your mind, is the conclusion of the night. There’s no world where Bucky looks at you like that. He’s your friend, and your love for him is like the moon loving the earth. Impossible for you not to do, but never manageable. You could never have him. You’re just you, and he’s gravitational and Bucky.

But he got you ice cream, while you were showering. And he turns red, when you shuffle out of the room in your towel, having forgotten your clothing. 

“This is, uh- You.” He holds it back, his eyes locked somewhere over your head. “Another movie, too. I’d watch it with you.”

“Okay.” You set the ice cream down on the bedside table, and he won’t look at you now. In the towel. So maybe he doesn’t want you.

He seems to want you when you’re back on the bed, wearing clothing. His arm goes back over your shoulder, and this time both your legs are over his lap. But then the movie ends, and he’s moving onto the floor without looking back. 

And you’re both supposed to just fall asleep. But you can’t. Every thought keeps spinning around Bucky, on the floor. He shouldn’t have to be on the floor. The room could’ve been his to begin with. He deserves the bed more than you do. You know it’s big for him to be sleeping in a bed at all, and you don’t want to take that away from him just because he’s trying to be nice.

He’s grunting slightly, just loud enough for you to hear. It sends a rush between your thighs, and your fingers curl in the sheets. 

This is a horrible idea. 

You’re going to do it anyway. 

“You can sleep on the bed.”

There’s a beat of silence, long enough that you’re not sure he heard you, then Bucky clears his throat. 

“Floor’s fine. Comfortable.”

You sigh, pushing up to frown at him in the dark. 

He doesn’t have a shirt on. Just bare, broad chest, and shining eyes on yours.

Your heart does the flutter again. You push through. 

“It’s a floor, Buck.”

“Pretty damn good one. I’ve slept on worse.”

“Fine.” You shrug, holding his gaze. “Then I’ll sleep on it with you.”

Bucky sighs. “Doll, you don’t wanna do that-“

“Why?” You raise your brows, leaning over until your chin is right on the edge of the mattress. “You said it was comfortable.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he scans over your face, and he lets out a slow, steady breath. “You’re not gonna drop this.”

“No. I’m not. It’s your bed-“

“Yours too.” He grunts, pushing to his feet. “It’s not all about me, sweetheart.”

You could argue with that. But you’ve already pushed it tonight. And you’re going to need everything else you’ve got to get through this. To have Bucky sleep next to you, and keep yourself together.

Neither of you are speaking. The mattress dips, as he climbs into bed at your side. And it’s not a small mattress, but Bucky isn’t a small guy. You can feel the heat from his body again, you can smell him.

You’re not going to be able to sleep.

Your heart is past fluttering. It’s kicked into overdrive, and you can feel it in your throat. You shouldn’t be sharing his bed. Even casually, this isn’t a place you belong. You’re going to whisper that you love him in the dead of night, and he’ll never look at you again. You’re going to try and touch him in his sleep, and he’s going to hate you. You should have just crashed with Wanda, you should’ve never come at all, you should’ve known better than to try and be his friend because you’re not even deserving of that, of his proximity, of anyone looking at you like Bucky’s daring to, and what if that was the dream and you’re going to wake up alone, the only thing you deserve to be is alone-

“You alright?” Bucky’s voice cuts through the dark after what seems like hours. “Your heart is beating really fast.”

“My-“

“Super soldier hearing.” He mutters, and you flush. 

That’s bad. That’s horrible. You didn’t even need to do anything to fuck it up, your body just betrayed you-

Bucky mutters your name, and you wrap your arms around your body, trying to sink into the mattress.

“I’m okay.” You whisper. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You can hear the frown in his voice, and it just makes you feel rotten. You’re making him feel bad. “I know you worry, sweetheart, I’m not gonna take it bad if you want me back on the floor-“

“No!” You almost shout, your hand flying to your neck, trying to force your breaths back under control. The shadows are wrapping back over your body. You might become nothing at all, and it would be better than this. “I- It’s just- You don’t have to worry about it, Bucky-“

“I want to worry about it.”

The world falters. His voice is firm, and he’s rolled on top of you to stare at you. Watch you shrink into yourself with such intent it seems to be cruelly holding you from vanishing, making you suspended in your own darkness as he scans over your open, panicked feature. It’s like a broken video loop. Everything too slow, then too fast, too loud then starting over dead quiet. Bucky’s still staring at you. It’s still hard to breathe. 

And time doesn’t start again until Bucky so carefully takes your hand, and moves it away from your neck.

“I want you to let me worry about you,” he mutters your name, tangling his fingers with yours. “I’m already doin’ it anyway.”

You stare at him, your voice weak in your own ears. “What?"

“Shit- I- All I do is think about you,” he mutters your name, sounding almost pained by it. “Been like that for months, and it’s not going away. I think about what you like and how sweet you are, but how you got a pretty smart mouth. I think about how you look like the sunset and stars and all the oceans. I think about how you got me talkin’ to walls and reading dragon books, just cause I want to see you a little longer. I think about how I was yours before you even spoke to be, cause I looked at the walls and ceilings and kept thinkin’ I was seeing an angel. Then you were real. And good. And I liked you so much- I- Fuck-“ He bows his head, cutting himself off, and he can’t just stop there.

“Bucky.” You plead, squeezing his hand. “Please.”

“Fuck-“ He groans. “Don’t say that, baby.”

“But-“

“I don’t want to break you.” He mutters, eyes squeezed shut as he presses his brow to yours. “You’re so good, you’re the best thing I’ve had- Ever. But you always get nervous, when I’m in the room. But I couldn’t stop starin’ at you, or trying to- Shit, I wanted your attention so bad. Couldn’t stop thinking about that, either. How I wanted you more than- anything, but I didn’t want to talk to you and love you and make you cry. But Steve and Nat and Sam wouldn’t stop pushin’ it, and they- I’m not trying to make this weird-“

“It’s not.” You say quickly, and his eyes dart open. “Please- I- Please.”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for. 

But Bucky seems to. 

And he gives it to you, without a question.

“I love you.” He mutters your name, and your heart isn’t in one piece. It’s shimmering, beautiful, burning confetti, dancing through your body. “Loved you a while. Would like to love you for a while.”

A while. 

You can take a while. 

“I- I love you too.” You don’t know how you manage to get it out, but the way Bucky tenses above you, the way he looks at you like you’re made of stars—hair still wet, mascara still a little wet on your cheeks, wearing nothing but a sleep shirt and old sweatpants—makes it more than worth it. 

“Really?” He says it like he can’t believe it, and you nod.

“Yeah. Can-“ You swallow. “Can you kiss me?”

Bucky’s nostrils flare, and his thumb traces over your lip. Almost trying to memorize it, map it, study it with an adoration on his face that might set you ablaze. Then he lowers himself down, and his lips ghost over yours. 

You shiver from it, your hand shooting into his soft hair. 

And Bucky groans, before letting whatever tension—whatever leash—in his body snap, and slamming his lips over yours.

It only takes a second for you to be swept away in him. In the taste of the chocolate desert you’d shared, just under the mint of his breath. He kisses you as if he’s been waiting for it, as if every bruise of his lips against yours isn’t close to enough, every soft moan he starts to pull from your throat a song he’s never going to get sick of. Every bump of his nose with yours just makes him kiss you harder, and every time he traces his tongue over you, it’s as if he’s certain you’re going to vanish into nothing the next moment.

But you don’t.

You couldn’t if you tried. 

All your thoughts start to fade from a rush of panic into just Bucky. The way you’re melting into his lead, when his hand tangles in your head and gently tugs it back, deepening the angle of the kiss. Your mouth falls fully open when he pulls your lower lip between his teeth, and loud, desperate sound escaping you, and Bucky chuckles, pushing his tongue fully into your mouth. 

You might be shining, just under something as simple as a kiss. But he does it so well. It’s as if he’s been kissing you for years, studying to know how to shift you below him so your fingers can curl comfortably on his chest, so his teeth can bump against yours before he traces his tongue over them, and sucks your own into his mouth with a groan. His hand has started to move from your hair down to your neck, gently grabbing it and tipping it further back, before his kisses start to wander. Sloppy and open mouthed, claiming over your cheeks, down your jaw, the onto a soft spot at the base of your throat that makes you squeak. 

“Bucky.” You gasp, fingers threading through his hair, every desperate tug only seeming to make him more dedicated to abusing and worshipping that spot. “Oh- Please-“

“You know what you’re begging for, doll?” He murmurs against your skin, slowly kissing his way back up until you’re staring into hooded, gleaming blue eyes. “Cause I’m not doin’ anything you don’t beg me for. And we got a lot to talk about, so this,” he kisses you again, rough and fast and breathless within seconds. “Can wait until morning.”

You don’t want to wait until morning. He said he loved you. He can’t say that, then make you wait, and maybe he just wanted you to calm down and never loved you at all-

“Hey.” Bucky’s hand slides back over your throat, moving your head back until you’re forced to meet his gaze. “Breathe.”

“I- I am-“ You sniff, your eyes already feeling the ache of growing tears, and Bucky sighs. 

“Can I ask you something, sweetheart?”

You nod weakly, and he scans over your features slowly before he speaks. 

“You believe me?”

“Be- Believe you?”

“That I love you.” He mutters. “If you’re being honest-“

“I do.” You say quickly, and his lips twitch down. 

“Your heart is still beating fast.”

“That’s not- I-“ You close your eyes, shaking your head. “I just, I’m-“

You spread your legs beneath him, praying his nose will do the rest of the work for you, and when you peek, it seems to have worked.

Bucky so tense above you, you’re worried his going to snap. His hand is rubbing slowly on your waist, like the movement is the only thing keeping him from losing it, and his attention is so wholly focused on you, it might make you explode into starlight. 

“You don’t have to.” You mumble, tracing your fingers over the panes of his chest. “I- I know love and attraction aren’t always the same-“

“You think I’m not attracted to you?” He sounds offended, and when you look up, he’s glaring at you. “Jesus- You got any idea how many times I’ve fucked my hand just thinkin’ about you. How many cold showers I’ve had to take just cause you looked at me?”

You swallow, throat bobbing, and Bucky groans, dropping his brow to yours. 

“You’re perfect, doll. Every single fuckin’ thing about you is so perfect, sometimes I’m worried you’re not real.”

“I’m real.” You mumble, and he lets out a low, throaty laugh.

“I got that now.” He opens his eyes, examining you for a long, almost terrifying second as his hand glides back to your throat. “I’m gonna make you feel good, baby. Okay?”

You don’t how you manage to remember to speak. “Oh- Okay.”

“Thank you, doll.” Bucky leans down, speaking right over your lips. “You gotta do somethin’ for me, though.”

It’s more of a bobblehead motion than a nod, but you’re lost in some kind of whirlpool of feelings and Bucky’s hand, trailing touches over your midriff, so it’s the best you can do. 

Your back arches, as his fingers dip under your shorts, dancing lightly over your inner thigh, and Bucky groans. 

He’s not moving anymore. Still touching you, but not taking it further, and maybe you ruined it-

Bucky growls your name, and you let out a high, tiny noise from just the rumble in his chest. “Stop thinking.”

You blink at him dumbly, your mouth opening to respond with something about how you’re trying—you’re really trying but it’s all you know—but the words die in your throat. 

Bucky slides two, cold metal fingers between the lips of your pussy, and you gape up at him in a silent moan. 

“There you go.” He mutters, kissing you wet and hot as his palm presses then rolls against your clit. “Good girl.”

Your eyes flutter, arms flying around his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself, and Bucky groans. 

“God, you’re wet-“ One finger teases over your entrance, and your squeak falls into another moan as he presses his tongue on the roof of your mouth, hand on your neck drifting to cup your face. “Slow down, baby, I told you I’m takin’ care of you. You just gotta take it. Can you take it?”

You make a soft noise, and Bucky sighs, fingers starting to rub faster up and down your aching pussy. 

“Can you take it.” He repeats, a little firmer, and you gasp. 

“I- I can take it-“

“Thank you, doll.” He grins down at you, and before you can work out what you’re supposed to say back, you’re gone again. 

Bucky rips off your shorts—the sudden, cool air sending a shudder through your body—before landing a firm slap on your pussy. You take a sharp breath, your nails digging into his shoulder, and Bucky pauses, raising his brows. 

“That-“

“Again.” You breathe out, tipping your head back as his thumb finds your clit, rolling small circles. “Bucky- Do that again-“

“Yes, ma’am.” He grins, nipping at your lower lip, and you almost fly out of your skin as he lands second one, fire starting to bloom in your abdomen.

“Mm-“ You tug at his hair, trying to drag his lips back down to yours. “More-“

He indulges you, this one making you almost fly off the mattress, but before you can keep begging, two fingers push into your entrance, and any thought but Bucky is pushed from your head. The cold of the metal is jarring, but only for a second. The next one it’s only adding to the stimulation, making your eyes roll back as your hand flies to his wrist, trying to hold him inside.

“You loved that, didn’t you.” He mutters, and you nod feverishly, mind numbed by Bucky’s fingers crooking slightly, rubbing against a sensitive spot deep inside you. 

“Bucky-“

“Dirty girl,” he teases, sucking on your upper lip until your mouth is hanging open once more. “So pretty, ruined from barely anything.” 

His hand starts to move, your hand on his wrist flying up to cover your mouth as his fingers drag inside of you, and a lewd whimper building in your throat. 

“Hey.” He grunts, yanking your hand away with a firm glare. “None of that. I wanna hear you. Listen you scream my name.”

The pace of his fingers pick up, scissoring and twisting inside of you, and you start to grind onto him, chasing any more bit of friction to make it enough. 

“Oh, you need my cock, don’t you baby.” He’s teasing again, but it only makes you burn a little brighter. There’s something soft and starved under it, and it just makes you grind faster. “Fingers aren’t enough for you, you deserve to be gripping my dick this tight,” his jaw clenches as he presses in deeper, rubbing against the deepest neediest stop inside of you, and you gasp a sound that’s supposed to be his name. “Shit, sweetheart, just-“

He rises up suddenly, hand moving away, and you barely get a chance to whine before he’s pulling you slightly up off the mattress, holding you so tenderly as he helps you out of your shirt. He kisses over yours shoulders as he works, then lays you back down with a deep, gentle kiss as slaps your pussy again, using your silent scream to shove his tongue fully down your throat. 

Metal fingers slide back inside of you, and you’re already right on the edge. Then Bucky starts to move, pumping slowly and teasing your clit with his thumb, and your eyes flutter shut to try and keep up with the sensations. 

But then his mouth moves from yours. Slowly kisses down your chest, biting and sucking a million tiny marks over your breasts, before taking one nipple and rolling it with his tongue. His thumb presses, finding a rhythm to match his mouth perfectly, and your orgasm crashes through you in a second. It makes the world go white and your finger yank at Bucky’s hair mindlessly as you shake below him. He groans around you, switching to the other nipple as you slowly float down, his fingers slowly fucking you through it through it, until you’re panting and dizzy in his arms. 

He’s not done with you. You don’t need to ask to know that. It’s written all over his face as he over you, trapping your gaze on his as he takes his fingers from your cunt, and presses them slowly into your mouth. 

You suck on them without a thought, swiping your tongue over the pads of metal fingers and moaning around him as you taste yourself, and finally feel the outline of his cock, hard and pressed to your inner thigh.

“You taste good, baby?” He asks, sounding almost staved, and you make a needy sound in an agreement. “Shit, you look so fuckin’ perfect- Hold on-“

He pulls away, and you whine, batting your lashes up at him in a silent plea.

Bucky—somehow—understands exactly what you mean. “I’ll fuck you, baby.” He mutters, swiping a little bit of drool gently off your cheek. “Just gotta taste you first. Think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t. That okay?”

You’d have to be insane for it not to be. You spread your legs in invitation, and he chuckles, flesh hand landing on your inner thigh to drawl slow circles with his thumb.

“Needy girl.” He mutters, something like awe lying under his voice. “Don’t know how I got so fuckin’ lucky.”

There isn’t anything left in you to protest that idea. You’re the lucky one, and the world would probably agree, but something tells you Bucky wouldn’t care to hear it. 

He smirks at you, as he starts to trail hot, hungry kisses down your body, his hand slowly but firmly pushing your thigh a little wider open so he can settle between them. A hot breath ghosts over your clit as Bucky drags those same two fingers through your cunt, spreading the mess of your arousal around with an almost predatory focus. 

“Smell so good.” He mutters, and it seems to be mostly to himself. “Can I kiss it, doll? Please?”

He’s begging. Looking up at you with a hopeful expression, his fingers starting to roll around your clit as he waits for your answer, and you’d have to be insane to say no.

“Yes.” You breathe out, your hands drifting over his jaw, and he leans into your touch with another grin. 

“Thank you,” he says your name, pinching your clit before sliding his arm over your abdomen, fully pinning you to the mattress. “Let me hear you.”

It’s a pointless request. 

You don’t think you could stop yourself from screaming, as Bucky dives into your pussy and starts to devour you with such a fervor, you’d think he was tending to an alter. The first mangled, desperate sound—meant to be his name—is ripped from your body as his tongue starts to swipe up and down your cunt, before pushing inside of you and starting to fuck you without relent. His nose press against your clit as you yank at his hair, the moan from his chest vibrating against you and making you arch off the bed. 

“Bucky- Bucky-“ You’re repeating it over and over, like a fruitless prayer, not sure if you need him to stop before you come apart again, or have him keep going until you’re lost in him forever.

He presses a soft, taunting kiss over your clit before going back to the harsh, unforgiving tongue fucking, and it’s the latter. You need this forever. Bucky’s tongue twisting in your pussy before moving back up to flick over your clit, making you try to arch off the bed as he works you into a frenzy. His beard scratching and tickling against your overly sensitive skin, just driving you high and higher as he keeps to you still to do his work. His deep noises of pleasure, and the creak of the bed below you as he starts to rut into it. 

He’s getting off on this. On tasting you and letting you grind onto his face, on every yank of his hair and weak sound of pleasure that escapes your chest. When you glance down, he’s tipped his head up to watch you writhe above him, and it just makes you squeeze around his tongue. 

Bucky groans, his mouth moving to fully latch around your clit, the hand on your inner thigh shoving three fingers into your cunt without warning. Filling you up and pressing firmly inside of you as Bucky starts to suck on your clit like it’s candy, and you fall apart once more. Toes curling and legs latching around Bucky’s head, suffocating him between your thighs as your nails dig into his scalp and you scream his name in a hoarse, breathy sound. You’re falling and falling over the edge, over and over until you’re craning your neck to meet Bucky’s eyes, and he doesn’t stop his attack on your clit until you’re panting, overstimulated, trying to wiggle away from him with no avail. 

“It’s okay, baby.” He murmurs, dragging your legs apart and pressing one last kiss over your clit, before looking up at you with a grin. “Doin’ so good for me. Just one last thing, sweet girl. You still want more?”

You gape at him, because it’s an insane question. Of course you want his cock. You’re a mess of nothing but sweat and cum, and you’re boneless and wrecked, but you don’t think you’ll be satiated until he’s inside of you. Until all the lingering, darker thoughts of maybe he doesn’t mean it are—at least temporality—driven from your mind. 

“I need words,” he mutters your name, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, and it spurs your voice in a second.

“Yes.” You breathe out, fingers curling on Bucky’s beard. It’s still shining with your own arousal. You sort of never want him to clean it off. “Fuck me, Bucky. Please.”

He groans, diving down for a deep, sloppy and unmeasured kiss, before wrapping his arm firmly around your back and cradling you to his chest. Bucky rolls you both over, keeping you pinned like a koala to his chest as he rips off his own pants.

“Want to see you,” he says lowly, kissing your cheek, and when you twist slightly, you can see his cock. Rock hard, long and thick, being stroked slowly in his flesh hand as he holds your gaze. 

“Bucky.” You breathe out, starting to rub your bare pussy up and down his abdomen, eyes fluttering at the friction. “I want it you bad, please-“

“You got me, doll.” He mutters, slowly starting to pry you off his chest, picking you up as if you weigh nothing. “C’mon. Told you I’m gonna take care of my girl.”

If you were nothing but putty before, you certainly are now. His girl. You’re Bucky’s girl. And a high, happy sound leaves you, right as he lifts up your hips and slowly starts to pull you down on his cock. 

You can’t think anything but good. It feels so fucking good, and better every second as Bucky drives deeper and deeper, pressing and rubbing against every single electric, hungry spot inside your pussy. He’s watching you with that awe again, his grip on you tight enough to leave a bruise as his tongue flicks over his lips, and you can’t stop yourself from clenching around him. 

Bucky hisses, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, and he shakes his head. “Fuck- Doll, you need to relax-“

“Sorry.” You whisper, and he sighs, looking at you under hooded eyes. 

“Don’t be sorry, sweet girl.” He rubs soothing circles on your thighs, finally letting you sink fully onto him, the tip of his cock bumping deeper inside of you than you’ve ever felt before. “I just want this to last. And if you, Shit-“ He groans, one hand gliding up to roll over your nipple. “You feel so fuckin’ good, babydoll, you have no idea.”

You just blink at him, lost in a heated, foggy daze of Bucky, and plant your hands firmly on his chest. 

He’s being a gentleman again. Giving you time to adjust. 

But if he doesn’t fuck you, you’re going to start crying. 

You roll your hips above him, and Bucky groans. 

“You ready?” 

You nod, repeating the movement, and his hands fly back to your hips, trapping you on his cock. You whine, trying to squirm above him, and Bucky lets out a low, deep laugh. 

“Need it that bad, babydoll?”

You glare at him, digging your nails into his chest, and he hums. 

“Think you’re gonna take it. Keep bein’ so good for me.”

Another nod, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Alright, pretty girl.” He ruts his hips up, and you almost topple off of him. “Let’s clear that smart brain.”

Bucky slams up, holding you steady around him, and you’re barely anything but a ragdoll. A boneless mess above him, scratching at his chest as he fucks up into you, his cock dragging in and out, setting off every nerve in your body and somehow not letting it be enough. You can feel him everywhere, in the punching pace of his cock jerking up into you, in his possessive hold on your body and he rolls and grinds you against him, his every moan he lets out that rolls through your body and sweeps you into fire, and his gaze. 

His attention.

His eyes are barely leaving yours, only for long, wired and hot seconds where he rakes up and down your figure. You tits bouncing as you ride him, your skin shining with sweat as he drags you up into a third orgasm, every muscles in your body aching and sore, but still trying to chase more. You scratch as his chest and whine, and he angles you slightly forward, letting your clit drag against his abs once more. The metal hand even snakes between your bodies to flick at it, and you flutter around him, back arching and drool almost certainly falling from your lips. 

But Bucky is a drool-worthy sight, below you. Handsome and almost as wrecked as you are, groaning louder and louder every time your skin slaps against his, eyes blown out with lust as he drags your up and down his cock, his movements starting to lose their careful control the longer you go. He seems to be past words himself, only groaning your name and slurring words of praise you can hardly understand, but get the idea of. 

You’re being good for him. He loves you. 

And just the thought makes you start to spasm around him, his cold fingers on your clit sending you toppling over the edge for the third time, everything in the world only color and light at you fall higher than you’ve ever been before. 

But Bucky doesn’t stop. 

His flesh hand wraps around your neck as the metal one hooks around your waist, and he crashes up into you with such force it almost drives you out of your mind. He’s kissing you desperately, rough and almost violent, as he hips piston up into your cunt. And your mouth seems to be permanently open, letting him take and take and take, his tongue dominating yours and pulling sounds you didn’t know you could make from deep in your body.

There’s a new heat in your core. One you’ve never even felt before, and it’s about to snap.  

Bucky slams himself home with a loud moan of your name, his cum hot and painting your cunt and thighs, dribbling down between your bodies as he fucks you through it like an animal, and you fall apart. Something wet gushes out of your cunt and your head falls back, only caught by Bucky’s hand on your neck, pulling you back up into a messy, mindless kiss. 

You’re shaking, when he finally pulls away, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Good?” He asks softly, and you nod, forcing the strength to wrap your arms around his chest. 

Bucky hums, combing his finger through your hair, and you melt fully into his embrace. 

“You did so good, baby.” He mutters, and you hold him tighter. “Love you.”

Bucky rolls over, burying his face in your shoulder and taking a long, slow breath as you weave your fingers through his hair. He tries to move. To clean you up. But you cling to his shoulders and shake your head, too lost in his warmth to leave this bubble yet. Soon you’ll have to start working out how much he meant it, and you don’t want this moment to ever fade or break-

“Don’t do that to yourself, doll.”

You freeze. “I-“

“I know you’re tryin’ to find a reason this is gonna end. Or why you’re not the person who deserves this. But you’re dead wrong.”

“Bucky.” You whisper, something stinging behind your eyes. “I wasn’t-“

“You were.” He mutters, kissing a soft spot under your ear. “You do it all the time, sweetheart. Never said anything cause I didn’t wanna spook you off or whatever, but-“ He sighs, pushing up on his forearms to scan over your face. “I’ll stand in as many corners as you want. I like ‘em, long as you’re there. And we can keep sparring around dusk cause there’s no one there to watch, and eating dinner ‘round midnight so it’s just us, but the moment you decided you want something else, I’ll be right there with you.”

“With me?” You stare up at him, unable to stop yourself from leaning into his hand as he traces his hand over your features. “But- I’m-“

“Don’t say not worth it.” He grunts, his words stern enough that your mouth snaps closed. “You’re worth it to me. Shit, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen, and I don’t really care how long it takes you to see that. Long as I get to keep watching you smile, talk, lose yourself in whatever you do cause you care, so damn much, I’ll be good.”

“But, I- I’m not-“ You shake your head, a tear sliding down your cheek that Bucky wipes away. “I’m not that, Bucky, I’m not beautiful-“

“Yeah, you are.” He kisses you softly, and you let out another breathless, torn sound. “I told you, doll. I loved you the moment I saw you. Only loved you more every time that smart mouth opened up. And I’m gonna stick around ‘till you understand that, even if it takes a million years.”

“A million?” You sniff, clinging to his wrists as his brow drops to yours. “That’s- It’s a while-“

“I know.” He gives you a million. “But I waited a while just to meet you. I can wait damn near forever if I get to have you.”

“Get to?” You mumble, and he nods. 

“Get to.” Another soft kiss is pressed to your lips. “It’s a privilege to know you, doll. Let alone get to have you.”

He’s looking at you like he’d part the sea and rip through worlds in your name, and he gets to have you. 

And something about how it’s Bucky makes you believe him. Not fully. It takes more than those words for you to be able to shed all that loathing grime from under your skin. 

But something deep in your chest, right next to the flutter of your hear, feels clean. And it’s shining brighter and brighter, the longer Bucky looks at you. 

So you’ll let that take you over. Let Bucky have you. 

You’ll see where it takes you.

And with how Bucky’s looking at you, it might be somewhere really, really good. 

End Note: Bucky Barnes giving me a hug would fix me I fear.

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Not to mention the way you beg him. He’s nothing but utterly thrilled each time he has you like this, which isn’t often given your attitude, but it happens— when he takes all his frustrations out on you and goes a little too hard, or maybe when he uses his quirk on you to give you a little scare. Now, that he’s found out he can simply slip a pill into your mouth while fucking with you, he’s overjoyed. You can’t resist his kisses, after all.

He snorts, listening to your whines and cries, but does nothing to slow down. His pelvis smacks harshly against your ass, and he grunts as he doubles over to make sure you feel just every inch of his pierced cock.

You shriek, crying out as you try and fail to escape his grasp. He holds you tightly by your hips, fingers digging into your skin, and he almost fucking growls when you squirm to the point his dick slips out of your abused hole.

That earns you a spank, and him a loud squeal from you, which basically is all you can do in a state of haze.

“Fuckin’ drugged ya and you’re still a dumb bitch— stay- the- fuck- still-! Shit!” He emphasizes on each word with a spank to your ass, the pain spreading all the way down to your thighs and you nearly give out. He holds you tightly, sloppy dick thrusting into you over and over again as slick drips down on both of you.

Dabi licks his lips at the sight, the way each time he pulls back your slick pulls with him, the way there’s a near white ring around your hole, his pre-cum having done the job of getting you wet prior. Your clit is puffy and neglected and he has no intention of touching it until you’re begging like the whore you’re supposed to be, and his fingers glide through your folds to spread you as much as possible.

He’s vile. Cruel. Loves to make you feel vulnerable and weak beneath him.

It’s not long until he realizes your face is tear-stained, and he laughs at that too, bending over so his front comes in contact with your back and his face is near yours.

The flat of his tongue drags all the way up your cheek, licking the salty substance away from your skin— and you huff, furiously craning your neck so you’re turned away from him.

He doesn’t like that.

“What do I have to do to get you to comply, princess? Why can’t you just—“ he groans, burying himself inside of you and completely stopping his cruel abuse to your hole.

That, more than anything, is even worse. You whine as his weight overtakes you, and your thighs finally give out as you collapse flat into the bed, Dabi laying comfortably on you with his dick all the way up your cunt.

You swear you feel his tip poking your cervix.

Reflexively, you clench down on him— (and gosh does it feel good— partly because his girth stimulates you and partly because he moans out, obviously weak for pussy).

Nevertheless, he laughs almost breathlessly, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“Why’re you bein’ a bad girl, hm?”

Because you fucking drugged me.

Because you’re a fucking asshole.

Because you’re a villain and I’m a hero and you’re ravishing in the thought of humiliating me.

Because I keep coming back to you.

“Don’t you want to be my good girl? C’mon, I’ll even eat your pussy afterwards, how’s that sound?”

You’ll do that anyway.

“Fuck you, Dabi.”

He huffs, already having expected that answer. Honestly, it thrills him even more. He enjoys to be mean anyway, in bed and in general.

“Fine. That’s on you, then. Don’t blame me if you have to take a few days off.”

Your greedy cunt— traitor that she is— welcomes his mean thrusts with loud squelches as he sits up, dragging your hips with him and your weak knees plant into the sheets again. He makes sure to still within you each time he bottoms out, moaning and letting pleasure overcome him as he tries to go beyond any limits and bury himself even further into the warmth of your walls. His cock twitches, his piercings barely noticeable with the amount of slick that’s between you and him.

You regain just the right amount of feeling in your fingers to fist them into the sheets, a high shriek erupting from you.

Dabi’s merciless— you’ve known that from the very beginning, from the first time he talked to you because he claimed he was curious about you. You knew back then, too, that he was a crude, cold-blooded villain, one who had no problem with blood on his hands, but somewhere in the very back of your mind curiousity spiked despite yourself, and you found yourself wondering if said villain had a heart big enough to actually feel something.

(And you found out; he could feel, alright.)

He flirted even back then, even when you were supposed to be hero and villain, when there shouldn’t have been any interactions between the two of you except for fighting, for making sure neither would block the others way ever again. And Dabi was quite charming when he truly wanted to be, when he let that lazy smirk curl just right and his voice dip low enough to make you forget what he was.

And you, with your hope long lost in hero society— because recently, all you’d been doing was fighting to save the few people you loved, and hero society had long since collapsed, if it had ever truly existed at all— had seen no real wrong in letting one of the most dangerous villains fuck you from time to time.

With a mean snap of his hips, you’re brought back to the current.

“Stay with me, doll. ‘Boutta fill you up— you want that? W-want me to ruin ya so the next bastard who lays his hands on you only finds me inside of you? Keh—“

He barks out his usual mean laugh, and tears slowly emerge from your eyes. You feel so fucking helpless, so weak and vulnerable and just like he loves it.

And you’re so, so desperate.

You do want him to fill you up. You need it.

His hips stutter as he continues his assault, dick pushing in and out your soft cunt— he thinks it’s beautiful, the way you take him and reject him at the same time. Squirming away like you don’t want his dick to be the only presence up your fucking pussy.

“My sweet little cumdump. Why’re you bein’ so difficult— someone piss you off earlier so now you gotta be a little whore?”

You mewl, shaking your head as you thrust your ass back, earning you his chuckle that easily causes your heart to skip a beat. He pulls out, and you almost, almost thrash out at the loss of contact, but the second his tip pokes at your folds, you calm down, despite it not being inside you like it should be.

He spreads your folds once more, dragging his leaking tip all over your labia before circling your fluttering hole, snickering at the way you’re trying desperately to spread yourself more— to invite him within your snuggly, warm insides.

When his cum is spread perfectly, all over your clit and folds, he goes back to pounding you meanly.

This time, you’re already embarrassingly close, as if your pussy is taking the opportunity to release before he changes his mind and pulls out, edging you for god knows how long.

“Feel ya gettin’ tighter. Gonna cum?”

You nod, because you know it’s always best to answer Dabi.

The consequences if you don’t are something you’re truly not up to deal with today, “Please— D-dabi- w’na cum-!”

He laughs, speeding up his pace until you feel the familiar coil in your abdomen. It heats up similar like the rest of Dabi, and you have a hard time focusing on it when his hands grip into the flesh of your hips and warmth spreads all through your body.

“F-fuck, gonna fill you up s-so good- shit— cum goddamnit— fuckin’ cum-!”

With his demand, you release, thighs and hands and every other part of your body you can practically feel despite the drugs trembles as your pussy gushes all over him, and he buries himself all the way inside of you, grinding in a way to stimulate friction without having to pull out even at the base.

You think it’s cute. Somehow, that he wants to be all inside of you and cuddled into you while unloading his hot, sticky cum and painting your walls white.

He grinds against your ass, riding out his and your orgasm at the same time, though it’s you who gives in first and you feel the hints of your overstimulated pussy begging him to stop.

He doesn’t, though, ‘cause Dabi’s too busy making sure his cum is all the way deep inside of you while his dick is still hard, and he throbs painfully against your velvety walls— to the point, you’re worried he didn’t even soften and he’s up for another round.

Luckily, he does soften eventually, after your cunt milked every bit of him and he’s tired grinding and circling his hips into you to get bits of friction.

He pulls out slightly and you hiss at the emptiness, all the while he dislikes the way his cock feels too bare and lonely without your perfect pussy.

“S-stay- Dabi, inside- please.” You cry, because you physically can’t straddle him and get him riled up to keep his cock inside. You’re still mad at him, for that, for forcing you into a role where you’re only able to beg to get what you want and what you don’t.

Fortunately, and very luckily, Dabi actually listens to you— (and gosh, if you’re not surprised by his tip poking your hole again— he laughs, “Wasn’t that what you wanted, sweetheart?” you quickly nod— “Uh-huh!”)

He pulls out rather quickly again, changing his decision and turning you around so you’re laying on your back. He sheathes himself inside of you just then, his own face coming down to lick and nuzzle into the crook of your neck.

If you didn’t know Dabi, you’d think this was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you.

But you know him, and you know he’s shameless and blunt and sees no deeper meaning in doing this apart from the pleasure he receives one way or another.

Dabi does as he pleases, and never bothers to put a label on any of these things. Not that you mind, he is a villain, and you’re simply here for a good fuck.

Though, you’d be lying if you said the aftercare wasn’t good (which more often than not is just weird, close intimacy where you usually end up cockwarming him or taking a shower together).

Your hand— now finally having fully regained your feelings there— comes to cradle his hair, fingers sinking into his soft black tufts as your other arm embraces him.

You don’t want to know what the two of you look like. Some lovesick fools, probably— him still buried inside of you, grinding faintly against you and sending shocks of pleasure up your body, your hand in his hair as he sucks and nibbles at your neck, his whole weight and— dare you say— affection swallowing you whole.

But you know better by now, that some things should be left alone, that not everything needs a confrontation and a label to keep you somewhat afloat and content.

“Still mad at you, by the way. Don’t drug me again or I promise your dick won’t be able to stand hard for a long time.”

He licks all the way up to your jaw, planting rotten kisses all over you and you feel yourself getting sick with something you don’t want to acknowledge. It’s worse than any nauseating feeling, crushing and yearning and wanting more— but you don’t voice it, even when everything he does makes you feel like a giddy little teenage girl again.

Warm puffs of breath hit your skin as he chuckles, “I’ll hold you to it.”

You wish, somewhere in the heart you claim to be nonchalant and independent, that he’d stay in more ways than just physically inside of you.

He doesnt know when or why he started talking to you about his missions, but other than a misbehaving thug here and there, his life was pretty fucking boring.

He also doesn’t know when your casual hook ups turned into hang outs— but he refuses to address that as much as you refuse to look him in the eye every time he stays.

There’s times you end up cooking for him, telling him about things he‘d personally consider a topic sensitive to most, but you’re not one to back out, he knows that.

“—like I said, I don’t care about any ranks or other heroes, Dabi.”

He scoffs. Everyone cares about their rank— everyone strives to be the best, and you in particular seem to be just that type.

“Bullshit. I don’t tolerate liars, princess.” He rasps, and you know he’s trying to lure you into a trap that ends with him punishing you in bed. His voice is a dead giveaway, and so are the thighs he spreads shamelessly— it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s already half hard, turned on by simply talking— or by imagining the nasty things he wants to do to you.

You sigh, reciting your earlier words because apparently he’s having a hard time hearing (intentionally, you assume), “I never said I don’t want to be strong. I do, but I don’t care about ranks. Or how many villains I’ve caught and left to rot in prison. I care about protecting those close to me—“ the plate in your hands is warm, a freshly made dish that has Dabi’s stomach churning, and you bring it to him, slyly tapping his nose before retreating again, “eat up, I made too much.”

Of course.

You always conveniently make too much.

He doesn’t waste any time digging in, it’s not exactly easy getting food on the streets and he’s pretty fucking tired of eating the same garbage shit. Your cooking’s much better, obviously.

“What about me?”

He’s a messy eater.

You perk up, closing the tap water in order to understand him better.

Much to your surprise, he stands up, long legs allowing him to move quickly and efficiently— and before you know it, he’s behind you, heated hands placed on your hips as his head dips down until his breath hits the back of your neck.

You don’t freeze, in fact— you do the opposite, eagerly leaning into his touch and sighing at the warmth he emits by the second. You can practically feel his smirk etched into his face.

“Do you care about protecting me?”

He clarifies, his chest rumbling against your back and he’s met with reality when you turn around, facing him boldly and tilting your head with a tight grin.

“Do you need protection?”

Slipping under his slender arms, you escape the human cage, only to be met with the sight of a clean plate, realization dawning on you that he’s eaten everything within less than a minute.

Your heart hurts, even if only for a second.

When you look back over your shoulder, Dabi’s still there, grinning at you like you’re not riding an emotional roller coaster— like you’re not struggling and trying to find out what it is you feel about this man. He’s not a kid. He’s not weak— emotionally or physically— but for some reason..

“I care.” You hum, “I care. I’d protect you.”

And just like that, his grin slips off his face and you’re met with silence you know all too well. You don’t dwell on it though, letting Dabi do as he pleases— he reminds you of a stray cat, more often than not, coming and leaving whenever he wants to.

Except this time it’s not him fleeing your apartment.

It’s you.

The next time Dabi spots you, he’s met with a clustering pang to his heart instead of the usual excitement, and his jaw clicks as he drags his tongue over the metal stapled into his skin, because he fucking hates that he even has a reaction like that in the first place.

You’re outside, wearing your torn hero costume, and there’s a rip that exposes just about too much collarbone and your cleavage. And it doesn’t look pretty given the blood and the dirt covering your skin, smeared across you and he thinks it should make you look ruined and ugly— but somehow it just makes you look more tempting and vulnerable and his, and it’s enough to have any man keeling over for you and Dabi‘s very well aware of that.

But it’s not the injury that’s causing his emotions to feel all weird and wired up, it’s the fact that there’s another fucking male next to you, walking just a little too close, and Dabi thinks that alone is a valid reason to kill him. His eyes are glued to your chest, practically eye fucking you without even trying to hide it.

You don’t seem too bothered, probably too idiotically innocent to realize your hero friend might not be too much of a hero himself, too wrapped up in your own bleeding knuckles and the praise he’s feeding you to notice the way his gaze burns into you.

Dabi wants to burn him.

He wants to watch him scream and curl in on himself and beg, wants to see that stupid wannabe pro hero facade melt right off his face until there’s nothing left but the smell of cooked flesh.

Dabi wants to burn you, too, just to teach you a lesson about standing around like that, just to see how you’d look under his flames, writhing and gasping and still looking at him like he’s the only one you’d ever follow, but that’s something he still debates on doing for reasons he refuses to voice.

He shifts uncomfortably, and before he can think too hard about why the sight of you like that makes him feel like he’s choking, he flicks his hand and sends a sharp burst of blue fire slamming into a dumpster at the end of the street.

You both turn, startled, and Dabi doesn’t miss the way the hero beside you immediately stiffens and reaches for you like he’s going to play the protector.

The fire spreads just enough, and Dabi steps back deeper into the alley’s darkness, letting the smoke draw you in like moths, because he knows you’ll follow his flames and he knows that idiot won’t let you go alone.

Sure enough, you rush towards the alley to assess the problem, dragging your little hero friend with you, and the moment you step past the veil of smoke he lets the flames die down— and then, he steps out.

“Well isn’t that cute. A little duo.“ Dabi drawls, eyes raking over you first before sliding lazily to the guy at your side, “You two here to fight me?”

The wannabe’s bravado cracks almost instantly, because everyone knows who Dabi is, everyone knows what he’s done, and the guy wonders just why he followed the blue flames without even thinking who they might’ve belonged to.

A sound escapes your throat that’s more akin to a hurt animal, and you almost seem irritated by the whole thing (good. Dabi hopes he ruined your little date or whatever that was), “No—“

Dabi tilts his head, flames flickering in his palm, and the light kisses your exposed skin. He smirks when he sees the other man flinch (and feels weirdly proud when you don’t).

“I’ll burn you both to ash right here,” he begins, and watches as you roll your eyes because you already know what he wants, “so unless you want to watch her scream while her pretty skin melts off, I suggest you run.”

It’s not even a real threat to you and you both know it, because even as he says it he’s angling his body just slightly so the flames are closer to the other man, but the hero doesn’t catch that, too busy swallowing hard and backing up like the coward he is.

“Y-you’re D- you’re Dabi—,” the guy chokes, already stepping away.

Dabi wants to kill him just for being this pathetic, truly, it’s embarrassing to be here on his behalf, “You- you- you— better fucking leave now or I’ll burn your limbs one after the other.”

As much as Dabi truly wants to kill that guy, he doesn’t need some fucking department tailing after him for that, much less the attention he’d bring now if he’d do so. He doubts the degenerate would be quiet while he made it hurt.

It doesn’t take much more than that for the wannabe to bolt.

His gaze slides back to you, and he clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner.

“Got real friendly with that hero back there,” he speaks as he wanders to you, fingers hooking into the torn edge of your costume, tugging it and it’s enough to remind you how exposed you are, how easy it would be for him to ruin you further, “lettin’ him stare at you like that.”

It isn’t a question, and he doesn’t wait for an answer anyway, because Dabi’s never needed permission from you before— he’s never been gentle or soft or anything like that, and seeing how he’s not scared you off yet, he can only assume you must be just as a sick as he is.

His thumb drags over your collarbone where it lays exposed, smearing a streak of soot across your skin, causing you to cringe at the mess that’s covering your body.

“Can’t have you forgettin’ who you crawl back to,” he murmurs, and before you can roll your eyes or snap something smart back at him, he’s stuffing his dirty fingers into your mouth, twirling your tongue between his thumb and pointer, watching as you shriek in surprise. He snorts, “Dirty girl. Forgot whose cumdump you are?”

The sounds of your gagging is enough for him to pull his fingers out and replace them with his mouth, teeth clashing as his tongue darts out to poison you with his intoxicating presence. His fingers grope harshly all over your body as you mewl and hold into him, enjoying this far more than you should.

He pulls back only when he’s satisfied, eyes hooded and filled with pride.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, though it’s unclear whether he’s talking about you, the degenerate hero, or himself.

And then, he finally does shrug off his coat, but instead of immediately handing it to you, he drapes it over your shoulders slowly.

It’s obvious when you regain yourself, shock melting away as you flash a toothy grin, “What was that all about?”

It’s only then Dabi finds himself in a situation where he can’t possibly think.

What was it about?

“You jealous, Dabi?”

Jealous?

Jealous?

Of fucking course he’s not jealous.

He’s got no reason to be, not when that idiot punk couldn’t even lay a hand on you, not when Dabi’s done that a hundred times before and plans to do it a hundred times more, not when he knows exactly how you sound and how you look when you’re under him instead of standing there smirking like this.

“I don’t get jealous, doll.”

It’s simple— he’s fucked you, kissed you, spent days rotting in your apartment and eating your food— you’ve let him cum in you— him.

You’re his. Just like that.

While he’s already marked you up more than once, while you’ve already got his bite marks fading into yellow and purple beneath your hero costume, while you’ve already carried his seed and fragments and god fucking knows what else inside you without complaint, it’s safe to say that you belong to him and he doesn’t want someone else’s spunk anywhere near you.

You’re his to ruin.

His to hurt and his to poke at whenever he feels like it.

“Then why’d you scare him off? He was supposed to help me to the agency.”

Dabi scoffs. You don’t need any fucking help. And if you do, then you certainly can take care of your own ass. He’s seen you in worse positions and you’ve crawled out of them just fine.

“He assisted me on my mission.”

No the fuck he didn’t. If he had done that, you wouldn’t look like someone let their wolves loose on you.

“He did a really good job back there—“

Again, no he fucking didn’t. And why are you praising him so much? What are you doing?

Are you trying to rile him up on purpose?

“You’re right. We could be a good duo.”

And something in Dabi snaps so fast it makes his vision blur at the edges, because he knows you’re playing with him, knows you’re poking at the ugliest parts of him just to see how he’ll react, and he hates that it works.

What could he do, though? You’re a manipulative little shit and somehow always two steps ahead, and for a split second he genuinely thinks you’ve put some kind of curse on him, wiggled your fingers and shwoops—! suddenly he’s moving before he can stop himself.

His fingers dig into the soft skin of your arms, his stance almost trembling with wide eyes that makes him look like a feral animal. His mouth is twitching, the sharp of his teeth revealing under all the fury.

“You’re mine,” he spits, and it’s enough to make you take him seriously, “only mine, got it? Get that through your thick fucking skull.”

He remembers that day perfectly. It plays in his head over and over again, when he’s sleeping, eating, or doing fuck knows what, looping over and over against his will.

He remembers just how humiliated and— dare he say— vulnerable he felt when you’d spoken, much less frustrated than he’d expected you to be, much less angry than he’d prepared himself for after basically snarling ownership at you.

You laughed at him. And he really wanted to set you on fire right then and there, wanted to watch the alley light up just to drown out the sound, all the while knowing he would rather burn himself a hundred times over than never hear you laugh like that again.

You’d been amused, head tilted slightly— the stance that always makes him just a tiny bit weak for you, and you told him that yes, he’s right, and if that’s how he sees it then fine— you’re his.

You weren’t mocking him, (though, he wished you were. It would make being mad at you easier), and you weren’t acting like a clingy, lovesick idiot either, (fuck, if you were, he’s pretty sure it would’ve made him recoil right away). You seemed entertained, almost like he was a kid and you were indulging into his childish fantasies.

“If I’m yours,” you’d spoke, calm in his hold, “then act like it properly, Dabi.”

You looked too much in control, and it pissed Dabi off to no end.

He remembers the way his throat went dry, how for a split second he genuinely didn’t know what to do with himself.

He’d left after that, because that’s all Dabi knows how to do.

He’s no longer Dabi. He’s Touya now and everyone knows it.

It doesn’t feel good, this tightness under his ribs, this awareness that you’ve seen the worst of him broadcasted to the entire country, and Touya— Dabi either avoids or destroys the things that nearly bother him.

He’s thought about the latter a few times. He’s thought about killing you— because all you are is just a measly hookup he prioritized a bit too much, especially on the days he was assigned to a mission, and once, Compress even ended up having to fight some thugs himself while Dabi fucked the shit out of you in your apartment, not even bothering to answer his comm, and he doesn’t regret it, even if Shigaraki swears he’ll dust his ass one day for it.

He’s tried it, too. The killing.

While you slept beneath him, warm and pliant and trusting (and shit, it made something sour twist in his gut), he’d let his mind wander to darker places, imagining what it would be like to press you down harder, to let his weight crush the air from your lungs, to listen to your choking breaths and broken little cries as you realized too late who you’d let into your bed.

A dead man.

But every time the fantasy shifted wrong.

All he could find pleasure in was imagining you suffocating in him. Just him. Not his weight or hands or whatever would actually bring you pain, just you clinging and gasping because you couldn’t get enough of him, because he was too much and you still wanted more.

It ruined the whole thing.

He blamed his dislike for the idea of your death because it just seemed too pathetic. That suffocating to death was not nearly as painful and exciting as he had died.

You, and he’ll admit as much, deserve enough respect to die in a battle, not naked and tangled in sheets with him hovering over you like some common creep.

That’s just about how he finds himself standing outside of your apartment, hands nestled into his pockets with not a care in the world.

The lock to your door gives in easily, as it’s always done, and Dabi wonders if it’s because all the times he’s snuck into your privacy. It’s ridiculous, all the damn pay you get and you still choose to live in an apartment with lousy neighbors.

The scent that lingers in your apartment— your scent— fills his sense immediately, and the nervousity subdues almost instantly.

It’s late— and just like the thousand other times Dabi’s found you, he finds you in the kitchen, leaned over the counter, scrolling mindlessly on your phone.

And just like always, there’s a half full glass of wine, hinting that you’ve been drinking once again.

The scenery looks like one from a movie as you look over your shoulder, spotting him closing your door abruptly.

“Miss me?” He drawls, stalking towards you. You turn around fully, hands supporting your weight by the counters as you face him.

His hair is white now.

“Dabi,” you say, even though you know that’s not his name.

His eye twitches.

“It’s Touya.” He corrects you, pathetically eager to hear his name in your tongue, “You call me Touya.”

He crowds your space, heat radiating and making you lean into him almost immediately.

He finds it fascinating, that with each time— no matter what he does— you’ll always lean into his warmth. His fingers hook into your waistband as he urges you to say his name.

It comes off easy on your tongue, though you still tense slightly and he feels it, “Touya.”

You try, really, to soften in his grasp, to stay relaxed and purr into him like the cat he wants you to be. You want to, but it’s hard and you barely even know why. He feels like a whole new person.

“Hm?” He hums, tilting his head down at you, tone almost mocking, “nervous now that you know my name?”

He can tell you’re trying to be a comforting presence but you’re failing miserably, and he soothes his thumb along your hip as he snorts, “Or are you trying to see if I’ll go easy on you?”

“Maybe.” You mutter, your hands trailing to cradle his white hair.

But he laughs cruelly, leaning down until his mouth is just shy of your ear, “Too bad, sweetheart.” His tongue travels up the shell of your ear, and you shiver at the ticklish feeling, “I was never planning to.”

Your hands end up around his neck, his hungry mouth assaulting your neck.

And despite his burns, and the fact that he can’t feel anything on them, you leave a trail of kisses along his neck.

“You watch the broadcast?” He asks, and you nod, “Whole thing. Do you.. want to talk about it?”

Gosh.

He does.

He really does.

But he’s not here to tell you about his sob story, he’s not here to hear you validating him and lovingly cradling his head as you always do, he’s not here to feel the comforting sound of your voice.

He’s here to take you, to ruin you to his liking.

He wants to hurt you. So badly. He wants to squeeze you until you moan in pain and beg him to stop, wants to fuck you until you’re crying and speaking of him like he’s the only person to have ever existed.

“No.” He scoffs, thumb dragging under the hem of your shirt, “can’t believe you’re still letting me fuck you after that.”

“Well, you’re lucky I’ve got a high libido, then.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Dabi— Touya growls nonetheless, roughly lifting you to set you on the counter. He pulls your pajama pants down in a swift motion, your panties following, his body slotting between your thighs as his fingers harshly assault your clit. You shiver, moaning his name.

He freezes, blue eyes locking into yours.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, finger dragging down in between your folds and circling your hole, “C’mon. Use it.”

You oblige, “Touya.”

A shudder runs through his body at the mention of his name, and there’s an obvious sign that he won’t be able to wait anymore as he pulls away, tugging his pants low enough until his cock springs out, muttering under his breath just what a good girl you are.

It’s your turn to freeze, and you gasp as you realize what’s wrong.

You’re not prepped enough to take him like this, and while you’ve had tons of times where Touya— no, Dabi fucked you like a cockdesprate slut, or mainly just for his pleasure, he’s never done anything without properly prepping you. After you’d voiced your displeasure about his pierced cock hurting too much without enough arousal to lessen the friction, he’s always made sure to make you cum once or twice before taking you. Not that it takes long with his skilled fingers and tongue— and even the thigh you ride from time to time— hell, as far as you can tell, he even enjoys having you writhing beneath him like that.

“Wait, wait Dabi!”

“Hush. You’ll take it, won’t you?”

Pre-cum is leaking from his tip and you can tell he’s been horny for a long time, unlike you, who hadn’t even expected his visit. He’d been off and gone for a few weeks, and you truly, truly didn’t expect him to visit you a few hours after he’d revealed his identity to the entire world, and amongst all of that, almost massacred his own family.

He spreads his cum over his dick, pumping it a few times to reach a thin sheet of gloss all over his length, and eventually (much to your relief) he even spreads you one more time, wetness coating your folds and your hole as he assesses whether you’re wet enough or not.

It’s truly not all up to his liking, and if it weren’t for the animalistic urge to fuck you almost immediately, he’d spend a few more rounds getting you all wet and bothered.

You whine and there’s not much of a warning when he spreads your legs, sinking his cock into you without much resistance. His piercings graze your walls— a mix of pain and pleasure ringing through your body, but all of it gets overtaken when Touya leans down to lovingly kiss your cheek.

It confuses you. So much.

You don’t know what this man wants. You don’t know what he earns and what his motives are now— why he seems to be in such a rush to fuck you desperately and lovingly through the whole night.

Nevertheless, you’re grateful for the kind gesture, even if the un-kinder gesture is almost ripping you open.

“I told you to call me Touya,” he mumbles, having at least the decency of letting you adjust to his size and girth. You moan, hands gripping into his biceps for some kind of anchor, sighing, “Ah, Touya…”

It makes him calmer, you notice, the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name, his birth name, the one he resented and dropped when he realized he’d been forged into a monster.

It’s still beyond him, that you, sweet girl, are willing to get fucked by someone like him, a man made of patchwork skin and burnt bits.

He works diligently into you, his dick raw against your walls, metal sitting uncomfortably inside of you with the lack of foreplay. He hisses when he bottoms out, and you trap him between your thighs, clenching them as hard as you can around him. It hurts.

But you try so hard to be good for him. You want to. You want to hear his praise and make him feel good as he buries himself inside of you. You want to be the shelter he seeks, even if you’re not the shelter he’ll keep— because Touya— (or Dabi, as you’ve known him) doesn’t settle.

Amongst the pleasure and pain and the ache in your heart from his soft kisses along your neck, you feel an unfamiliar dread brewing in your abdomen.

Having had this much fun with Dabi over the past few months, you’ve forgotten what a bad gut feeling felt like.

That’s why, even as he pounds into you and the pain fades until you’re moaning for him to give you more, more, more! you’re trying hard to keep the nauseating feeling from rising any further.

it’s horrible, the way it sets in your body and waits to come out in overflowing words, building up and up until you’re spewing disgusting shit that’ll guarantee Dabi leaving you right here and now.

Please, don’t leave me.

Stay. Please, Touya.

Instead, you spread yourself even more, giving him more access because you can tell the way you’re clenching your thighs is slowing his movements and he’s already aggravated as it is.

His brows are furrowed and you’re tempted to soothe the folds out with your thumb, just to remind him that you’re here, that you’re not leaving.

In the end, you settle against it, because he’s mouthing harshly at you now, his fingers digging into your hips and thighs until you’re sure you’ll bruise by the end of this. He’s fucking you with such furiousity that you know he’s fucking you not for your pleasure but for something far deeper.

It’s not even about his pleasure, either. You’re sure, because in that case, he’d bend you over and lube you up with his cum or yours until you’re overstimulated, and only then would he give you his dick.

He loves making messes. Loves when both of you are thrashed and disgusting with cum.

“My girl. You’re my girl, fuck— right? Tell me, baby. C’mon use your mouth— shit!”

You don’t know what it is he wants you to sate, you have no clue, because Dabi’s not one for possessiveness over his sluts, and nor did he ever need any kind of affirmation of love during sex, but you can’t exactly debate whether to obey him or not when he’s growling and dragging his finger down your slit, rimming dangerously around the hole he’s stretching so good.

The threat is clear, and you’re very sure you wouldn’t be able to take a fucking finger while he’s got you dumb on his cock already, you panic instantly, whimpering out his name.

“Yours, Touya! I’m yours!”

“Promise me. Go ahead and promise me— you’re my cocksleeve, my cumdump, no one gets to touch this cunt ‘xcept for me!”

The pleasures building up within you, and it’s turning you into the usual cockdrunk bitch as always, the words not quite slipping past your lips. The most you can do is form coherent thoughts when his dick throbs intensively, his tip nudging the same spongy spot over and over again, and his piercings applying pressures all over you.

But he makes sure to remind you with the threatening finger near your hole, slipping the first few bits and it has you crying out, thrashing with your hands as you hit him weakly.

“Touya! Touya— ahh, I promise Touya! I promise!! ‘m yours! All yours!”

Even as the finger leaves your abused hole, and even as he keeps pounding you with his painfully hard cock, you find yourself still sobbing like a mess, tapping more than hitting his biceps as you try to squirm away from his assaulting dick.

When he realizes his strokes aren’t quite as deep as they used to go, he becomes aware of the way you’re attempting to get him off, being petty as you are, and he lets out a sound akin to a growl as he uses an ounce of strength by grasping your thighs and pulling your pelvis’ together until he’s flush against you and your jaw drops at the feeling.

To reassure you won’t pull this bullshit again (and to make this all a bit more pleasurable), he places one large hand on your ass, the other under your thigh as he picks you up.

He drags you all the way to your room, and you can’t help but clench around him with the way his cock sits still inside of you, throbbing, and he winces before grinding you against him.

It’s a pleasure you’ve never felt before. A ticklish kind of feeling, small bits of joy tingling all over you as the familiar warm bubble builds up in your abdomen.

He’s gentle as he sets you on the soft sheets, but rough when he lifts your thighs until you’re folded in half and he’s roughing you up. His heavy balls smack against your rear, a loud slapping noise joining the ongoing squelching and moaning.

His pace increased, and soon he’s panting with the way he’s fucking into you. You’re bucking your hips up desperately, trying to meet him halfway even if you do it every two strokes because you simply don’t have that much fight in you.

He fucks like a man starved, and it’s not long until the throbbing and the heat of his dick intensifies and you’re screaming his name. “Fuck baby, can feel ya cumming, sweet girl. G-go ahead- make a mess-!”

And as if to make matters worse (better), he presses his large, warm hand down on your abdomen, where he can feel his own cock impaling you by the second, and you scream.

The pressure from getting pounded and your abdomen clutched tight is too much, and you cum with a harsh shudder of your body, Touya following a second after.

He doesn’t slow, though, he always makes sure to stuff you full of his cum and man sure it’s deep and engraved within you, even as his flaccid cock barely has any fight left.

He pulls out when you start twitching a bit too much, trying to regain his own breath while prodding at your pussy.

He loves the sight. Loves it so much, he goes all the way down on his stomach, soft dick comfortably against the softness of your mattress (and very much soaking your sheets), and he uses his tongue to scoop whatever’s escaped back into your hole.

It’s nasty, and it makes you whine as you tug on his hair and shove your cunt into his face.

And as always, it’s not long until Touya hardens, not with the way his cum is leaking out of you, the way you’re soft and swollen and fuck— it’s almost like your pussy is begging for him to fuck you again— and who is he to deny you? He’s been grinding his dick against your mattress, speeding up the process of getting all hard again.

He clicks his tongue when he catches your tears, wondering just why it is you’re sobbing.

(And he knows. Fuck, he knows. He knows you’re hurting and holding back, and it’s not because the sex was a tad more painful than usual. You’re a smart thing, after all.)

“Hey,” he calls out, tapping your hip to catch your attention. He does, his own heart clenching when you tilt your head to look at him with those sad, sad eyes.

“Ride me, baby. Let me make you forget.”

Forget that this is the last time.

You both know it, but none of you speaks up on it. Instead, he lifts your body until he can sprawl across the bed with you hovering over his dick.

You’re overstimulated, and you almost beg him to wait, but Touya’s brain barely catches the fact that you look more panicked than aroused. He sinks into you slowly, a shrill cry escaping your lips. He fully sheathes himself inside you, the room filled with your foul sounds.

There’s so much cum.

So much, trailing out of your hole and wetting him, too. So much, that it has its own sound as you shakily raise your hips and attempt to bounce on him.

So much, but not enough.

Touya wants you overflowing with his cum. He’s not leaving until you’ve milked every drop of him and he’s milked every of yours. He wants to ruin you in ways that’ll remain permanent, that’ll carry his scent and soul and everything you can possibly think of.

And so, he makes you bounce on his dick until you’re out of it and he’s forced to pound his shit up to you, all while guiding your hips to take his length.

He fills you like this, too, and after lightly tapping your cheek and waking you up from your haze (“Not done with ya, princess. Wake up.”), he takes you in countless other positions.

You don’t truly know how long he’s been at this, but by the striking pain in your cunt and the non-stopping shudder of your body, you can only assume it’s been hours.

Hours of him fucking you, filling you, you passing out every two to three orgasms, and him waking you to repeat the cycle.

And each time, he tells you that you can take more. That you will take more.

(Though, your body’s numb and so is your mind.)

By the time he’s done with you, his dick has long passed any limits within your cave. He’s panting, and so are you, your recent orgasm having felt more like a force of pleasure you tried to hold down. When you look into Touya’s eyes, you see he’s already looking at you with an unusual grin.

No, not a grin.

It’s a smile. He’s smiling at you, even if it looks strained and inhumane with the way the corners of his mouth split just slightly, and if it weren’t for your body being literally shut down, you would’ve soothed your fingers down his lips.

His smile turns into a toothy grin when he thrusts his flaccid cock into you, more of a nudge than anything you could consider pleasurable, and you cry out. “T-Touya-.. no- no more..”

“Relax, crybaby. Look.”

You follow the line of his gaze, landing straight to where the two of you remain connected.

There’s so much slick and cum all over the two of you, you could consider bathing in it.

But that’s not what he wants you to look at when he slightly pulls out only to bury himself inside again and suddenly—

Fuck.

Your eyes widen as you sputter— a clear outline of his dick right in your abdomen. And you wish you could control your body— but it acts upon its own when your cunt clenches down on him at the sight and you whine loudly.

You’re not quite sure, but you think you came alone from this.

He laughs, rubbing and grinding his pelvis for a bit of friction.

“You cum from this, doll?”

Dignity is something you’ve lost along the way. You nod, using your last bits of strength to wrap your arms around his neck.

He leans down to you, chest to chest, settling on top of you and weighing you down.

You sigh, the feeling comforting after hours of rough fucking and claiming. He lazily grinds into you, and you think, if that’s how he wants to put an end to this, then you’re not against it.

The slightest spread of your legs gives him more access, and he takes it as he breaths heavily against your neck, kissing and biting with pants that get heavier on each thrust.

It’s your lips he goes for when he empties himself inside of you, rubbing out his orgasm before finally, finally going limp.

You don’t question the drops of liquid that slide down his face and into the hollow of your neck, and nor do you particularly care about the dark red stain they leave behind.

Instead, you linger on the last words you heard before the world went black beneath you.

“Watch me when I’m out there, doll. Let me show you just who you let into your life.”

You wanted to, gosh, you wanted to correct him. The words scraped the back of your throat. Maybe somewhere in the haze of your dreams, you whispered them, a soft, trembling sound he couldn’t catch. Maybe he didn’t hear them at all. Or maybe he did, and it didn’t matter.

You wish you could’ve corrected him, that he not only carved himself into your life, but into your heart, too.

And the same heart he destroys when you wake alone, the only thing left from him are the cum stains all over your body.

a/n: this was supposed to be like 3k words. I got lost somewhere along the way.