Luna Rose

You give up trying to jab it in blindly as you try to see behind you and turn to put in the code with your nose. You sure are glad no one can witness this absurdity. The alarm quiets but echoes in your head in the silence that follows. You sigh and kick off your loafers, mindful of the cleaner's earlier visit.

You cross the large entryway, balancing everything tenuously as you make a path past the staircase to the kitchen. You angle around to set down the food, the smell is making your mouth water, and you flip the script up to land beside it. Ugh, thank god.

Oh no! You hang the garment bag from a cupboard handle and turn back to try to smooth the bend in the cover. Ugh, maybe he won't notice.

“Alexa, intercom to the upstairs office." You command. The smart assistant is the only one that really listens to you.

The chirp confirms the Echo's acquiescence. “Bucky, I got your jacket.” You announce. There's no response. “Alexa, intercom, main bedroom." 

The device beeps again. “Bucky, you in there?" 

Still nothing. You check the time on the microwave. No, no, no. He's not going to be late. Again.

You go to the high archway. “Bucky!" You holler into the monstrous mansion. “Your jacket!" 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you," he mutters from behind you.

You spin to find him entering from the back hallway. You hate when he does that. He can't just say he's on his way?

He’s in his half his tux already; undershirt, dress shirt unbuttoned, pants. You have to admit he’s further along than you expected. He slides the bag of takeout closer and opens it. He takes out the square white container and pops the lid.

“Buffalo?” He asks.

“You said barbecue,” you counter. “Script is there. Jacket…” You point to the garment bag. “I’ll go get your tie. And belt. Armani sent that watch–”

“I got time,” he says as he picks up a wing.

“Wait, there’s napkins,” you hurry around the island and peek in the bag.

He grabs the script and flips around the cover, the spine creaking audibly. He holds it in one hand as he brings a wing up with the other. You snatch up a handful of napkins but before you can save his pressed shirt, there’s sauce dripping all down the front.

“Bucky!” You squeal. “You’re shirt!”

He bites into the chicken and chews. He holds out the wing and looks down, rumbling at the sight of his shirt. He shrugs. “Oops,” he garbles through his mouthful.

“I told you wings wasn’t a good choice–”

“I didn’t ask.” He rebuffs as he keeps eating, unbothered by the mess he’s made.

“You can’t miss tonight.” You insist as you tug at his shirt. “I’ll get you a clean one.”

He pulls away and uses his elbow to herd you away from him. You back up and put your hands on your hips. He arches a brow. “Typically, I finish my dinner before I got a girl ripping my clothes off.”

“Bucky,” you blush.

“Go find another shirt. I can undress myself.” He sniffs. “I’m not as helpless as you make me seem.”

“I don’t–” You stop yourself. Arguing is pointless. The best thing you can do is keep him pliable so he actually goes to the premiere. “Alright, I’ll find something.”

He drops the script and opts to eat with two hands, smearing sauce all over his fingers, a smudge across his beard. You flit off, trying not to twitch in irritation. You take the stairs two at a time and find your way to the walk-in closet. 

You pull down a white shirt and double-check for wrinkles. It will do. You find a bowtie and a belt, and the pair of velvet blue loafers sent by the stylist. 

You return to the kitchen. He’s in his undershirt, leaning forward as he digs into the last wing. You put the loafers on a stool and set the tie and belt on the counter. You unfold the white shirt from over your arm and shake it out.

“Did you eat anything else today?” You ask.

“I had a protein shake.” He grumbles as he closes up the box. He reaches into the bag and takes out the parmesan garlic fingers. “Intermittent fasting or whatever.”

“Sure,” you shake your head.

“I don’t like that tie.” He says.

“What?”

He swallows down the mouthful of garlicy bread. “Uh huh. Don’t like it.”

“It’s a black tie?” You hold it up.

“Yeah, I don’t like it.”

“Okay… I’ll go get a different one. What colour?”

“Black,” he says.

You blink. “This one is black.”

“But I don’t like it.”

You pause. “Are you messing with me, right now?”

“What do you think of no tie?” He asks. “It’s a good look.”

“It’s a premiere. Black tie.” You insist.

He clucks and pops another bready bite in his mouth. You purse your lips. “Fine, no tie.”

“You’re a doll,” he grins and grabs a napkin, wiping his mouth and fingers. He crumples it up and drops it on the counter. He shakes his head as a shank of dark hair falls forward and he growls. “They couldn’t do a damn wig…” he mutters as he reaches to tuck it back behind his ear. “Had to grow it out…”

“Didn’t Luis do your hair? She texted me…” You slip your phone out of your pocket.

“She did.” He frowns.

“Wait? Where’s Estelle? She should be dealing with this whole suit monstrosity.”

“I told her to take the night off.” He says.

“You did?”

“Sure. I can dress myself.” He rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s always nattering at me. Tugging at me.”

You tilt your head, “everyone?”

“Yes,” he narrows his eyes. “Everyone.”

He goes around the counter and unzips the garment bag. He looks inside then lets it go. “I don’t want to wear this one.”

“It’s a black jacket–”

“I want the red velvet.” He insists.

“But… you said earlier… the whole reason I got that cleaned–”

“I changed my mind,” he unhook the hanger from the cupboard handle and carries it to you. “Red velvet is better but it won’t go with those shoes.”

You take the suit bag and nod. “Yes, sir.”

When you come to, unable to make yourself sink back into sleep, you're not alone. You give a start as you look up and find that man staring at you. He's no longer a hazy shadow but a very real and solid figure.

His blue eyes widen as they meet yours and he flicks back a shank of dark hair behind his ear. He clears his throat and you watch how it bobs nervously. You blink up at him as he stands behind the couch, his hand nervously clutching the back.

Your gaze lingers on his fingers. Your brows furrow and you wince at the effort. He looks down then hides his metal hand. You lift your eyes again.

“I know you…” you rasp.

"Um…" he gulps. “I'm Bucky."

“Winter soldier…" you mutter in recollection and let your head loll to the side.

“I prefer Bucky," he insists. “Hey," he comes around the couch. “How are you feeling?"

You stare past him as he stands in front of you. He touches your head and you flinch. He retracts his hand.

“Look, I didn't know they were gonna… be like that.”

You cough and groan. “What? You…” your voice fizzles out. You're too weak.

"You're looking better,” he drawls. "Are you hungry at all?"

You don't answer him. You just stare. You're confused. Not only is he supposed to be a hero but he's acting like he really is a good guy. He just can't be after what you went through.

He waits for a moment but when you don't reply, he backs up. He marches away. You roll onto your side and sigh. This is so strange. Why like this? Why, at all?

You hear him in the next room. There's beeping, more tapping, the restless pacing. The drone of a microwave fills the air and another, more final beep, ends it.

You smell the food before he enters. You still don't move. He comes over and sets the dish down.

“Reheated some Alfredo I ordered," he explains. “Hopefully it's not too much."

He bends over you and grabs your shoulders. He turns you and sits you up against the armrest. You whine softly.

“Woah, I hurt you?" He asks.

His thumbs stroke your shoulders and he drags his hands down your arms before letting you go completely. You shiver.

“Sore…" you croak. “...from being in a box."

He sighs. “Like I said…I didn't expect that."

You want to ask what exactly he was expecting? Your eyelids are all fuzzy. You drag your hands into your lap and slump.

He pulls up a leather Ottoman and sits on it. He takes the plate of pasta and pokes at it with the fork.

“You should eat. Get some strength back," he girds.

For what? Why do you need to get your strength up? Why are you there?

He scoops up some of the twisted noodles and hovers it in front of your mouth. You don't react. He exhales loudly.

“Look, I didn't want you to get hurt."

“How do you even… know me?" You rub your arms, trying to soothe yourself as your nerves spin.

“Mm, not you in…particular. I just wanted… someone.”

"Someone?” You echo thinly then drop your head into your hands.

"You okay?" He puts the fork down. He shifts closer and touches your arm. You wince. “Maybe… a hot bath?” His hand crawls up your neck. "Doll, tell me what you need?"

“Why is this happening?" You eke out.

"What?” He sounds genuinely surprised. “I… I'm gonna take care of you.”

"You let them… put me in a box," you hiss, shaking as you rub your temples.

“No, I didn't tell them to do that."

“But they did… because of you."

“But… no. I wouldn't do that.”

"Stop,” you wave him off. "Please…” you sniffle as your eyes burn. "I want to go home."

He huffs and gets up from the Ottoman. He moves to sit on the edge of the couch. He grips your shoulders and pushes you back until you lift your head. Your tears roll down your cheeks.

“This is home." He grits.

You pout, “what?"

“This is your home now. I paid–“ he stops himself. "I'm helping you.”

" Wh-what?” You blubber. "No…”

"I am,” his voice is low as he squeezes your shoulders. "So just calm down.” He slides his hands down your arms, "I just want someone…"

His eyes trail down and a cold wash flows over you. His gaze clings to your chest as it shakes with unspent sobs and his hands fall onto your thighs. You flinch and press yourself against the armrest.

“There's more than I… expected,” he kneads your thighs. "You're soft…"

You slap your hands on his and whine. “Please…”

"I'm gonna be good to you," he dips his fingertips into your cushiony thighs. “I just wanna be… with you.”

"Please, you're scaring me." You whimper.

His hands tense and he rips them away. You clasp yours together before your chest and cower. His blue eyes spark and he grimaces.

“I'm not scary. I'm not… I wouldn't hurt you.” He sneers.

You lean into the couch and curl your shoulders in. “But… you brought me here.”

“To help you!” He throws his hands up and stands. “I just want to… to…” he stomps around then stops sharply.

He looks at you and sways. He puts one foot forward. His eyes dilate and he tilts his head. He marches toward you and you cry out. He stops right before he can get to you, his metal arm extended towards your throat.

He exhales through his nose and his brows twitch. The tension slowly eases from his jaw. He nods and backs up.

Not theft. He’s doing her a favour. He’s making sure her mail doesn’t end up in the wrong place. Hand-delivered, right to her door instead of in that mail box with the flimsy lock.

He stands just inside the secured front door. It wasn’t difficult to get in. Not for him. There are few places he can’t gain access to given who he is but he prefers to stay in.

Fourth floor. He’s nervous. Stop it. You’ve faced worse than her.

Mm. Stop thinking so much. It’s starting to… show. He looks up the stairs and starts his ascent. He looks above then behind him and reaches down to adjust himself. Shit.

He has to stop on the second. He faces the corner and shoves his hand down his jeans. He puts himself under his belt. He’s too big and his tip pokes above his waistband. He pulls his jacket and tee shirt down to hide it as best he can.

By the time he gets to her floor, he’s throbbing. He can even feel a trickle of precum as his belt makes all the tension pulse in his tip. Shit.

Turn around, old man. You can pick the lock and put the mail back where you found it. You can just go back to the window. Wait for her to go back to bed.

He hisses at the thought of the morning. She woke up and showered. She dropped her towel as she searched for her clothes. He took one himself and stayed until the water went cold and his balls ached.

He stops in front of her door. He takes a breath and knocks. His lips move as he rehearses his introduction. Keep it casual.

The scent of cinnamon wafts from under the door. He can hear her through the wall. As she gets closer, his heartbeat pounds behind his ears. He has to keep from bending the envelopes.

She opens up and his mouth goes dry. She smiles and her voice chimes out. He doesn’t understand what she’s saying as it all jumbles in his brain. He is so fucking hard right now. She sounds sweeter than he imagined. He can’t only hope her moans do too.

Stop!

“Um, hello?” She bounces on her feet as she clings to the door. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, uh, sorry, I…” he looks down at the mail. He can feel his tip rubbing on his shirt. “I was just, er–” He flips the mail up as he shows her. “Your mail was left in my slot.”

Her eyes brighten, “oh, that’s so nice of you to bring it here.” She has flour on her chin and on her gingham apron. “You could’ve just put it in my box.”

“Right, uh, I guess…” he mutters. “Sorry, I just–”

“No, don’t be. It’s so sweet.” She assures him. She reaches to take the envelopes and her fingertips brush his knuckles. His throat constricts and his body tense. No, no, no. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this one.” She looks through the stack. “Yay.” 

She flicks her lashes up and beams brightly at him. She’s something else up close. Fuller, softer, and he can smell her sweat.

“Thank you so so much,” she chirps. “Um, do you like cinnamon buns?”

“Cinnamon…” he starts.

“I got some cooling. As a thank you for coming all the way here.”

Coming… the word makes him twitch.

“Oh, I don’t know. You don’t have too–”

“Please, I always make extra.” She spins and hurries away.

He licks his lips and twiddles his fingers. He leans to see her in the kitchen. She puts the mail down and disappears behind the wall. He pulls back as she returns.

“Here,” she holds out the gooey desert. “I tried a new trick with the dough.”

“Oh, um, thanks. I–”

She hands it over as icing oozes off the top. She looks at her fingers, glistening with the white glaze, and she giggles. “Oh my, I’m making a mess.” She licks her finger, right up the length. “I’ll go get you a napkin–”

She pokes her finger into her mouth and sucks before she flits away again. Bucky stands dumbly at her door as he watches her ass. The sight of her with her tongue all over her fingers and the icing is too much. 

He suppresses a grunt as his stomach flips and his pelvis tangles. No, it can’t– The inside of his shirt is painted in his cum as he bubbles over the edge. Goddamn it. How is this even possible?

He holds the bun in one hand as he checks the bottom of his jacket. She can’t see. Just as long as the mess doesn’t seep through.

She appears again and holds out a folded paper towel. A drop of icing drips onto his sleeve. He turns his arm as he accepts the napkin and holds it under the bun.

“Oh, shoot, I– I think I glazed them too soon and now you’re all a mess–” She shows her teeth. “Do you wanna… come in? Sit down and enjoy it?”

“Come in?” He echoes.

She blanches then bats her eyes. “Oh, I guess that’s… a bit much. I just… I recognise you. From the cereal box.”

“Cereal–”

“The Winter Soldier. Perfect mascot for Frosted Flakes, right?”

He frowns. “Yeah, I forgot about that.”

“I prefer Apple Jacks,” she sways. “But uh… you don’t have to. I’m just…” She pauses. “You must already know my name because the mail.”

“Uh huh,” he nods tensely as the icing continues to leak onto his hand. He looks at his gloves.

“Oh, boy, I’m sorry. I was just trying to be nice,” she says. “You’re all sticky. Let me clean you up.”

Hard. Again. She needs to stop talking.

Your lip trembles. Someone who looks like him telling you that is straight out of the dreams you never let yourself have. You stopped getting your hopes up when you were just a kid. You never got anything you wanted. No sense in longing for it.

"Oh, really? Um, thanks," you rub your neck nervously.

You wince as the bartender sets down the martinis on the wood finish. You chew your lip as Nick reaches for his, lifting it gingerly. His hand stays on your thigh. "Gonna try yours?"

"Mhmm," your hum crackles. "Thanks."

You take the glass and stare at the contents. Clear with two cherries on a toothpick, a sprinkle of sugar around the rim. You turn the drink and examine it.

"Well?" He squeezes your knee.

You put your lips on the brim. You tilt it slowly and sip. The sweetness of the sugar undercuts the sharpness of alcohol. You hold it in your mouth as you pull the glass away and cover your mouth. Your cheeks pinch as you force yourself to swallow.

"You get used to the burn." His fingers crawl back up your thigh. "Princess, it will help with your nerves. I want you to relax. Have some fun."

"I'm... having fun," you say. You blow out slowly and make yourself take a bigger drink. You close your eyes as you gulp again. You hold back a hiccup. He chuckles and his hand crawls higher.

His arm presses to yours as he drinks. He's unaffected by the singe of the vodka. He sets the glass down and pinches the end of the toothpick. He turns it above the glass and lets the excess drip off.

"Cherries look sweet," he drawls.

He puts one between his teeth and eases it off the toothpick. He hums and bites into it. "Mm mm mm."

Your hand shakes but you quickly still it. His rocky timbre, his warm touch, the way he watches you as he rolls the cherry around his mouth. You feel like you might faint. You take another drink.

"You like it, baby?" He asks.

You swallow, "it's... different."

"In a good way?"

"Yes," you smile.

"Baby, you don't gotta be shy," he rests his elbow on the bar trim, angling toward you even more. His hand keeps moving up and down your leg. "I wanna know about you. Everything. I'm... kinda obsessed."

"Obsessed?" You squeak. "That's... that's silly."

"No, I am. I told ya, doll. The whole time I was gone. My head was a million miles away. Back here with you."

You giggle.

"Mmph, you are adorable," he leans forward, his fingers under your skirt. "What do you like?"

"What?"

"Books? TV? Music? What makes you happy?"

"Erm... I don't... I don't get to..." It's hard to answer as his fingertips graze your thighs. Harder because you're really not that interesting. "I listen to some music when I study."

"Music? What kind?" He wonders as he flutters at the top of your thigh. You empty the glass.

"Not good music. Old stuff. Like... mm, Gwen Stefani? Christina Aguilera..." You quiver as his finger flicks along the edge of your panties. Your eyes round.

"Keep talking. No matter what. We're just talking."

"Nick," you eke out.

"You like vintage stuff? Sexy," he coaxes as his fingers brush up the front of your panties. Your thighs tense around his hand. He presses firmer against your lips. You clench. "Xtina? What a Girl Wants? Classic, isn't it?"

"You... you know her?" You murmur.

"I'm more into rock," he flicks between your folds, pushing the fabric of the panties against your clit. "But I know a few. She's more my era, isn't she?"

You nod. You can't speak. You can't believe what he's doing. Right there!

""I... I like that one," you whimper.

"Yeah, you like it?" He purrs. Does he mean the song or what he's doing? "How about Britney? She's got some good one."

"Uh huh," you babble as he rolls your clit, the friction sparking heat in your core as you stain the panties.

"She had her bad girl phase, huh?"

You quiver and grab onto the bar. Your eyes nearly roll back. All at once, he rescinds his hand and you gasp. He snickers and brings his fingertips to his mouth. He wipes them across his lip.

"It's good. You gotta know what you like. Rebel a little." He grins. "That's what being young is for."

💜

"Ready to go, sweetheart?" Nick stands and rolls his shoulders. "I don't wanna say goodbye but we both know daddy won't be happy if I keep you."

He offers his hand. You take it and he helps you down from the stool. You feel a bit wobbly as you stand beside him. You squeeze his hand.

"You okay, Princess?"

"Um, yeah, I think, I feel..." You blink and look at the empty glass on the bar. "How many did I have?"

You face is hot but your mouth is dry. Your eyes feel loose in your skull and the edges of your vision are fuzzy. You exhale and giggle.

"Three?" He shrugs. "I lost count, baby. You like the sweet one, don't you?"

"Should you be driving?" You ask as he turns you and loops his arm through yours.

"I only had the one," he says. "Don't worry, princess. I'll always take care of--"

"Oop." You tip and he keeps you from crashing down. You laugh again. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't be," he coaxes. "I brought you out to have fun."

"Oh... okay..."

"You don't gotta be anyone but you with me, baby. I want all of you. Unfiltered. I want you to do what you feel." He takes you out into the balmy summer evening.

"I... I'll try."

"We'll get there, baby. I told you, we can take it slow. I'll show ya everything," he tugs you back suddenly before you can get to his car. "Watch the curb, sweetheart."

You step back and nod. You hiccup as your head swims. He opens the door and eases you into the seat.

He drags his hand down your arm and across your stomach. He buckles your seat belt. You feel a bit woozy.

He backs up and shuts your door. You bat your lashes and try to see through the windshield. The streetlights float like shining bubbles.

He gets in the driver seat and turns the engine. It whirs softly as he pulls out. You drift along with the car.

You jolt as you feel heat on your leg. You look over at Nick as he keeps his eyes on the road. He steer with one hand and you follow his other arm to your lap. His fingers curl into your thigh.

His cheek dimples as he drives calmly, as if nothing at all is happening. You don't dare speak or move. You're not entirely sure you're not imagining it.

His hand creeps up, pushing your skirt higher as he pets the front of your panties. He clucks as he traces along the edge. You push yourself into the seat as he hooks his finger around the fabric. He tugs them aside. You gasp.

"Nick..."

"Ah," he tuts and taps your cunt, like a small slap. You wince and brace the door. What is he doing?

"Princess, you don't say my name unless you're cumming. You just sit back and let me treat you right."

You tremble as he dips his finger between your folds. He drags along your clit then swirls around. Your thighs spasm and you grip the door tighter. You hold your breath as he repeats the motion, once more stoking that blinding flame inside of you. You moan and close your eyes. You bite your lip as you try to contain your voice.

He presses another finger to your clit and swipes up and down. You puff out short breaths as he toys with you. The motion of the car adds to your dizziness.

He stretches his fingers down to your entrance and back up to your clit. He does it again and again, smearing your juices as they leak from you. He growls as he circles your entrance then rolls around your clit.

He pushes the heel of his hand to your pulsing bud and prods along your cunt. Your walls tighten as he wiggles his finger against your resistance. Slowly, he delves into you. Just his fingertip and out again. He repeats that, deeper each time, until he's knuckles deep. You let out a brittle breath.

He rocks his hand as he fingers you. You clench your thighs around his hand and clasp onto his wrist. Your head lolls as you open your eyes. You stare at his silhouette, swathed in the night as the streetlights flash on the other side of him.

You tilt your hips eagerly as you feel the tension coil inside you. You whine as your stomach tingles and your spine locks up. You push your head back and drone out your orgasm.

"Say my name, baby," he cooes.

"N-N-Nickkkkk," you moan as your hips buck wildly. You spread your hand over his large one as you ride out your orgasm. "Oh, Nick."

"That's it, baby, fuck, you're wet," his finger squelches inside of you. "So wet. That's hot baby."

He slides his finger free and spreads your cum around with a snarl. He wipes it off on your panties then tugs the fabric across your folds. He pushes against your panties and rubs them into the mess until they're soaked through.

"You've gone and made a mess of the nice panties I bought you, princess," he tuts. "Better take those off."

You babble dumbly and writhe in the seat. He pulls his hand away.

"Now," he commands.

You flinch and the haze of drunkenness and delight recede. You sit up and look at him. He stares at the road.

"You're a good girl, baby, so do what I tell you."

You hold your breath as you lean back. What are you doing? What he did in the bar, what he did just now, what you've let him do...

You lift your butt and reach under your skirt. You roll the panties down and lean forward to get them past your ankles. You sit up and hold them in your lap.

He holds his hand out. You put the panties in them. He brings them to his face and buries his nose in them. You gasp as he inhales noisily and sighs. He snickers and tucks them into his pocket.

"What--"

"No questions. Got it? Princess. I treat you good so you stop asking me why. Stop asking me what. When I tell you to do something, it's done. Got it?"

You blink at him then the road ahead. You sway. You're drunk. You think...

"Yes."

"Good girl. So when I text you and tell you to send me a sexy picture, you're gonna do it."

You sniff, "yes."

"Alright, princess. I know you're good at listening. You've done so well, haven't you?" He growls.

You nod and shrink down in the seat.

"I know, I know. The way you just came all inside my car..." he chuckles. "I'll be thinking about that a while."

He grabs the front of his pants as he idles just around the corner from your house. He shivers and grips the wheel tighter. He snarls.

"You earned a treat," he rasps. "Open the compartment."

You hesitate then look around. Slowly you reach for the compartment in front of you. You pull the handle and it pops open. There's a small box inside.

"That's for you," he says as he turns the corner and stops a few houses from your dad's.

You sit back with the box and examine it. "What is it?"

"A toy. For us to play." He explains. "When I tell you to, you put that in and I get to control it. From wherever I am."

"In?" You gulp.

"You're nice and tight but it's not very big," he reaches to stroke your cheek. "You're my good girl and you can do it."

"I... oh, okay," you stare at the box. "Thank you."

"Mm, give me a kiss before you go."

You turn and he does too. He leans over and you meet his lips in the shadows. It's just as tingly as before. He cradles your head as he runs his tongue over your lips. He dips inside and you squeak. He relents and lets you go.

"We'll get better," he caresses your cheek then drops his hand. "Go on before I change my mind."

"Um. good night," You undo your seatbelt.

"Night, baby. You be careful, okay? I'll watch til you get inside." He says. "Sweet dreams."

"Erm, thanks."

"Of me, I hope," he drawls as you get out.

But this, this was what was going to crack the former brainwashed assassin, ex winter soldier. A three foot tall miniaturized version of you, looking up at him with chubby little cheeks, a big bright smile and his blue eyes, wearing a princess dress and her Bucky bear -a gift from Uncle Sam- tucked under her arm. She had her little hand up, nails painted sparkly pink -like mommys- making a ‘gimme’ motion. Why was she doing this, because mommy needed a coffee from starbies -he’s pretty sure that’s what she said anyway- and apparently the coffee here wasn’t good enough. 

The funniest part of this whole display as you listened about ten feet away was you didn’t even mention wanting Starbucks, you had been making your iced coffee and huffed because someone -James- used the last of your ‘too sweet coffee creamer’ in his coffee. And your endearing little girl took it upon herself to rectify the situation and well if mommy got starbies, she would get her little pink drink -non-caffeinated of course- and a cake pop and we would probably go to the TJ Max that was across the street. She was learning very quickly how to get what she wanted. The biggest problem with that was the fact  her daddy couldn’t say no to that adorable chubby cheeked toddler. He had an easier time saying no to you, a feat in itself. 

He caught your eye, your smile hiding behind your hand, sparkly pink nails matching their tiny terror and your wedding rings glinting in the sun from the window. He looked torn, almost betrayed thinking you set their precious baby up to go and ask for Starbucks. Which was frankly ridiculous because he and you both knew if you wanted it, you’d go get it. You figured this was coming from her watching you always let Bucky know you were going and where, and in her toddler brain that meant asking daddy for permission and monies as she called it. It was incredibly adorable. You shook your head, shrugging. As if to say ‘this is all her,’ and he let out a defeated sigh. 

“Here baby,” his card was laid in her tiny hand and she triumphantly cheered and turned, running up the hall toward you, you crouched and scooped her up. “Looks mommy, we’s gots daddy’s monies, we can get starbies now!” She cheered, proud of her negotiation skills, your heart swelled at her endearing little face. Your eyes filled with happiness. 

Who knew two former assassins could find this kind of love and normalcy in their life. 

And yes, you got Starbucks, she got her pink drink and cake pop. And you went to TJ Max and bought some fun nail stuff for you guys to try.

You swallow tightly at that thought. Why didn't you think of that sooner? He'll be upset you're not studying. Or that you didn't turn the dishwasher on. Oh no.

"Why so down, princess? You miss me?" Nick comes up the steps of the gazebo.

You look up and wipe away your worry. You have bigger concerns. Like him and the way he makes your insides gooey.

"Sour cherry," he holds out a cone. You lean forward on the bench and thank him. You take it carefully.

He sits next to you with his cone, his thigh touching yours. You eye the scoop of gelato. You swipe over it with your tongue. Mm. That's different.

"Good?" Nick asks.

"Oh, yum," you force a smile. "Yours."

"Let's see," he focuses on the gelato. He sticks his tongue out, spreading it wide, and drags it over the round scoop. He hums and licks his lips. "Delicious."

Your gaze clings to his lips. You tear your eyes away and stare at your own cone. You flick your tongue against it, taking small licks as you watch the grass ripple.

"This is nice. Peaceful," he comments. "I like this."

"Yeah, er, it's...good," you utter.

"Woah, hey, princess, look at me," he says.

You flinch and do as he says. You look at him as his cheek dimples and his lips slant. He reaches to trace his thumb above your top lip down to the corner.

"Making a mess," he pulls back and licks clean his thumb. "Mmm, tart."

Your breath rushes out as you gape senselessly. Did he really just do that? You snap your mouth shut and slowly suck in air through your nose.

"Wanna try some of mine?" He offers.

You look at the pale yellow gelato then his bold blue eyes. You bat your lashes and rub your lips together. You can still feel his thumb there. An image flashes in your mind as you bit the tip of your tongue. You imagine him pushing his thumb into your mouth. Oh god.

"I don't mind. Come on." He tilts the cone toward you.

You can't speak. You want to say no. You should say no. Yet, you really want to do everything he tells you too. Why?

You lean forward and cautiously lick the cone. He watches you intently. Your cheeks burn as you taste the melting cream. You sit back and cover your mouth.

"Very good. Sweet," you say.

"I like sweet things," he purrs.

"Uh... me too."

He leans back against the gazebo railing, resting his elbow over it. He spreads his knees wide as he stretches his arm behind you. He continues to lap at the cone lazily. He pops his lips and tickles along the back of your arm.

"Princess, I got some bad news." He says.

You sit up straight, prickling with anxiety. Stop looking at his chest. It's just that necklace catch your eye, right?

"Bad news?"

"Ha, sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya. You know, I thought you should have my number just 'cause..." he sighs and ways his knee back and forth. "I gotta go away. It's work. They put me up in a hotel and I gotta send back reports." He scoffs. "Gets real lonely. So if I send you a text or two, can you answer me?"

"Oh uh, sure," you shrug. "Okay."

"Ah, sweetheart, that'll be amazing." He pets your arm. "I think I'll miss you. You gonna miss me?"

You raise a brow. You barely know him, really. You hide your mouth behind the cone. You look around.

"No?" He wonders.

"I... I guess. I'm sorry. I guess... well, yeah."

"Yeah? Good," he drawls. "Pretty princess waiting for me. That's something to work for."

"Uh huh," you gulp and press your lips to the cone without thinking. You cringe and pull back, licking clean your lips. You catch him staring at your tongue.

"Mm, mm," he hums and sits forward, bringing his arm across your shoulders. He pulls you closer. You could melt like the gelato dripping down your knuckles. "You do me one more favour, princess." You nod as you try not to choke. "Don't tell dad about this, alright? We both know he's a hard ass. We're just having some fun, aren't we? Getting ice cream, getting to know each other. Nothing wrong with that." He grips your bare shoulder. "Can you keep this our little secret?"

You turn the cone. You bring it closer and hover it just in front of your lips. "Yes, I won't tell."

"Good girl," he cooes as he keeps his arm around you. "I know you wouldn't lie to me."

💜

Your dad gets home at his usual time. You're where you should be, studying at the dining room table. You always move there before he gets back. He gets mad when you have all your clutter on the couch.

He grumbles at you and hollers for Austin to get downstairs. You lean your pencil on your lip and for a moment, it's more than just plastic; it's Nick's thumb brushing the soft skin. You sit up straight as the voices draw you back to reality.

Sometimes, it feels like you're just another piece of furniture. Your dad barely says hello. Austin isn't much better. When he does talk to you, he calls you brainiac or something worse. If only your dad knew he was paying a junior to do his schoolwork. It doesn't really matter anyway. As long as he stays on the team.

You close your books and stack them under your laptop. You head into the kitchen to get dinner started. You don't do much. You put the prepackaged sides and meat in the oven. Your dad never cooked so he never taught you. He just ordered from a catering company. It's expensive but if it's anything he enjoys, he never cheaps out.

You lean in the corner of the counter. You're restless. You keep expecting your dad to storm in. To accuse you of lying. He doesn't.

Him and Austin enter the kitchen but don't even notice you on their way to the deck. The door shuts and you check the timer on the stove. You're not very hungry. You're nervous. There's so many uncertainties. Will your dad find out? Will Nick message? Is this anything or just a game? Better yet, is it all in your head?

💜

You yawn and nestle down into the pillows. Your lab is early in the morning. You'll need to be rested up. You're exhausted yet wide awake. You just haven't been able to settle.

You close your eyes and try to make your body relax. As you do, you stretch your arms to the sides, fingertips at the edge of the mattress. You feel tiny in the bed. Alone.

Your phone vibrates as if on cue. Before you can let him invade your mind, Nick texts. You hesitate before you unlock the phone. The conversation pops up. Shoot, he'll know you read it.

'Hey princess. Got where I need to be. Bed time?'

You chew your lip. You can't figure out how to answer. You type and backspace so many times. You hope he isn't watching those three dots.

'Just laying in bed. Glad you're safe.' That's fine, right? Nothing weird.

'Big room. Far away. Location is confidential but nice. Am I keeping you up?'

'No. Can't sleep.'

You hit send and stare. Ugh. You should say more but you really don't know what to say.

That worry quickly turns to fright. You sit up as you hit the volume button to hush the ringer. He's video calling. Oh no.

You answer just to stop the vibration. You see the rectangle in the corner, your silhouette lit by the glow of the phone. The rest of the screen is taken up by Nick.

"Hey, I can't see you, princess."

You squeak. You twist around and reach for the lamp. You turn it on and sit back.

"Sorry," you speak softly. "Had the lights off."

"That's alright, princess. Just wanted to see that pretty face." He smirks.

"Oh..." you see your own smile in the corner and want to hide. You're so stupid.

"Lonely here. Just me. Observation mission. Real scintillating stuff."

"Really?"

"Nah.Not really." He tilts his head. "How about I show you the room?"

"If you want," you tense and look above your phone, listening intently to the hallway.

"You're quiet, princess. I can barely hear you."

"Yeah, er... sorry, I don't wanna wake anyone up." You say. You know you won't, everyone else is still awake. You just don't want them to hear you.

"So caring," he praises. "Here, let me flip this."

Suddenly, the image switches as the lens view changes. You see the suite. It's nice. The furniture is modern. A round poof to match the geometric pillows on the couch and the square chair. The decor is the sort of upscale that is almost uncomfortable.

"It looks nice," you whisper.

"Yeah, baby?" He walks around. "Got a bar..." he goes to the glass bartop. "Mini fridge," he shows you the transparent door and all the bottles. "Lots...." he aims at the shelves of glasses. "But no one to share it with."

He walks along the balcony doors that look onto a sparkling skyline then back to the room. He approaches an open door and goes through. He shows you the bedroom. It's just as big as the other room. The bed is neatly made in all white and a large circle mirror hangs behind it, reflecting the rest of the space and something more...

You cover your mouth as your eyes round. "It's a nice bed, huh? Haven't tested it out yet. I'm restless."

"Uh huh," you murmur behind your fingers as you stare at the mirror.

He's in nothing but his boxers. You can see his naked torso and legs. He's slightly obscured by the distance and bed, but you can't look away. His muscles are thick and carved out perfectly.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Nick..."

"Princess," he counters.

"I..."

"Go on, princess."

"I can... see you."

He clucks and flips the camera back to his face. He chuckles. "You like what you see?"

You blink. You open your mouth then shut it. You try again. You have no words.

"I work out so... I hope so," he says.

Silence. Still.

You're dumb. You're lame. And he knows it. You can't even speak because he's the first man ever you've seen like that. And the hottest one.

"Well... you saw me, how about you let me see what you got on?" He purrs.

You cough. "Huh? Er?"

"Come on. Unless... you're not naked, are you?"

You gasp and tug at your collar, visible in the lower part of the frame. He laughs again.

"Teasing. Come on, baby. I'm so far away. I miss you."

"Miss me?" You gulp.

"Sure. I think I've been pretty damn obvious." His face turns serious and you can see the movement around him. He sits. "Sweetheart, I could get in a lot of trouble for it. For just saying so, but I'm really into you. You know that right? You probably see right through me, huh?"

You stare. You look at yourself in the corner. You look terrified. You are terrified. Your heart is thumping so loud.

"If you're not into it, you can just end the call right now." It's hard to tell where he's looking but you just know he's watching you. Waiting.

"I...I'm just... surprised," you croak.

"Surprised? By what?"

"That... that... you... you're saying you like me?"

HIs mouth slants, "baby, I more than like you."

Your brows rise and your head pulses dizzily. Woah.

"You okay?"

"Good," you eke out. "I'm... I..."

"So... can I see your jammies?" He asks,

The question helps you focus. You let out a droning 'uh' as you look down at yourself. You glance at him again.

"Once sec."

You get up on your knees then lean on one hand. You put the phone against the foot board and back up. You angle to get yourself in frame. You feel so strange. It's nothing special. Striped linen pajamas; a button-up tee and pants.

He hums. "You look good, princess. Cozy."

You scramble to grab the phone again, "I do?"

"Sure. I think you'd look even better in something... silkier. It's so hot out. I'm sure a cute little night gown would be much better."

"Oh, maybe."

"Something... pink? I think you'd look good in satin."

"You... do?"

"Well, I think a lot of things about you. I can't lie about that," he lays back and holds his phone by his stomach so you can see his chest. Your eyes threaten to roll back. You feel faint. "I keep thinking about how much room there is in this bed. How nice it'd be to have you next to me."

"Oh?"

"Oh," he echoes coyly. "What do you think? You like that idea? Get all nice and cuddly together?"

"Sure," you breathe. "That's... that's... nice."

Bucky had closed on the house exactly nine months and fourteen days ago. A week later, he’d married you under a willow tree in the backyard with no fanfare, only Sam, Joaquin, and Isaiah Bradley as guests, and a ring you both picked out from a vintage shop in Brooklyn. Sam had joked that it must have been the best day of his overextended, complicated life.

He was right. 

Still, not a single member of his newly assembled team had a clue.

They knew Bucky Barnes, the leader of the New Avengers, war-hardened and famously chronically single. They knew the efficient, don’t-ask-me-about-my-weekends version of him. They did not know that the same man kissed his wife’s temple every morning before she left for work, took out the trash without being asked, and spent his evenings slow dancing with you in the kitchen to whatever jazz record was spinning on the old turntable.

That part of him was private.

He didn’t keep you a secret out of shame — Bucky showed how much he loved you in the ways that mattered. But with many of his old enemies still out there, keeping you out of the spotlight was non-negotiable. 

It was especially necessary now that the New Avengers were under public scrutiny, the media hounding them with every move, and Val running ops like a government-sponsored reality show.

But, of course, what he least expected happened.

When Val asked Mel to source a top-tier interior designer for the Watchtower’s massive renovation, Bucky didn’t say anything.

He didn’t pull any strings. He didn’t say a word.

But of course, Mel found your firm. It was one of the best in town, after all.

Of course, all he could do was stare blankly when Mel casually dropped your name in a team meeting two weeks later. You, who’d been growing your design firm from the ground up, known for clean lines and warm spaces and zero tolerance for pretentious decor.

And when you told Bucky that you’d accepted the Watchtower job, he’d smiled weakly and said, “We’ll figure it out.”

Which led to this moment.

—

Your first day on the job was a Monday morning. 

You stepped into the lobby of the newly renamed Watchtower, hard hat hooked on your hip, leather-bound notebook under one arm, and your chewed up pencil behind your ear.

You, as planned, acted completely unfamiliar with the man you’d kissed goodbye at 7 a.m. over toast.

You approached the cluster of Avengers who’d been haphazardly gathered for your arrival — Ava, John, Yelena, Bob, Alexei, and Bucky. Your husband leaned against a column, arms folded, feigning indifference while silently praying his face didn’t give away his precious little secret.

But then your eyes met.

For one fleeting moment, your smile brightened. But you covered it up and offered him a hand like you hadn’t fallen asleep his bare chest fourteen  hours ago, and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m your interior designer.”

Bucky took your hand.

The handshake lasted two seconds too long.

“James Barnes,” he said. “Pleasure.”

Ava raised an eyebrow.

You let go of his hand, nodded politely, and turned to the others to introduce yourself. 

Your voice was steady, your posture perfect, but Bucky noticed the way you tapped your thumb against the spine of your notebook — the tiniest nervous habit. He kissed that hand every night.

When you walked off to start your tour, Ava elbowed Bucky in the ribs.

“She is too pretty. If you don’t ask her out, I will.”

“M’ not into her,” Bucky said. It was the worst lie he’d told in years.

“C’mon man,” John chuckled. “That looked like love at first right.”

Bucky just shrugged and turned away, pretending to be interested in a support beam.

—

Six Weeks Later

You were everywhere.

Literally everywhere inside the Watchtower. 

You were in hallways, stairwells, and repurposed labs. You were under floorboards to check for old wiring. You were balancing precariously on scaffolding with paint samples in one hand and a clipboard in the other. You had a team, sure, but you were the kind of interior designer who believed that breathing the same dust as your contractors was the only way to truly understand your art.

Within a month, you turned a gutted superhero facility into your battlefield.

And you made it look good.

You had turned bare concrete into well thought out sketches, made a temporary lounge out of broken furniture and vintage rugs, and wrestled the tower’s unmaintained lighting grid into semi-functional compliance. You worked long hours. You cursed openly at bad insulation. You drank your coffee black and your water in gallons, and somewhere along the way, the tower became a passion project, your baby. 

And the New Avengers grew fond of you. 

They tried to be subtle about it, watching you from doorways or pausing in their sparring sessions whenever you passed through to say hi. 

You’d wave a friendly hi back, before going back to being all-business.

At this point, you and Bucky had practiced your we-just-met act to an Oscar-worthy level. You faked polite smiles, formal greetings, and total lack of familiarity, even when you showered together the night before. 

But sometimes, it slipped through the cracks. 

You can help but steal glances at each other — each one lasting just a little too long. His hand would find your lower back when he leaned over your desk to study a blueprint, fingertips brushing that sensitive spot just beneath your shirt hem. Your voice dropped half an octave whenever you addressed him in front of others, slipping in sergeant under your breath like it wasn’t a private reference from your bedroom.

Sometimes, you’d pass him in the hallway and murmur things quiet enough only he could hear. A reminder of what you’d do to him the moment he got home. Or what he’d done to you the last time he snuck back to the house for the night. You’d say it just loud enough to leave him frozen in place for a second — then he’d look like he needed to punch a wall or take a very cold shower to stay professional.

You made it impossible to concentrate.

So Bucky, for all his practiced stoicism and control, was coming undone.

Which was probably why the team started to notice.

Or, more accurately, why John Walker lost his goddamn mind one Tuesday afternoon.

The makeshift common room — still mid-renovation — was still half-furnished, but they made it work. Yelena was scrolling through her phone while Bob napped on a deflated air mattress. Ava cleaned her knives at the dining table that had mismatched chairs. Alexei was rearranging the fridge after someone messed up his system.

Bucky stood near the large window, arms folded, pretending to be interested in the HVAC schematics you were showing to one of your contractors across the room.

You laughed at something the guy said, and Bucky’s eyes twitched in jealousy. 

That was all it took.

John groaned loud enough to echo off the half-installed acoustic panels. Then, on his last straw, he flopped onto the couch dramatically.

“If you like her, Barnes, just ask her out already. Jesus,” John said, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve been eye-fucking her across the hall for a month.”

Bucky just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“She’s out of my league,” he said coolly. It was a textbook deflection. “Besides, she’s not even my type.”

Yelena immediately snorted. “Liar.”

Ava didn’t look up from her knives. “Liar.”

Even Bob, barely conscious, mumbled. “Liarrrr.”

Alexei only chuckled.

“What is wrong with you?!” John sat up, “You’re literally, like—what? A hundred and ten years old? You can’t still be doing the whole ‘girls don’t like me’ routine.”

Bucky gave a half-shrug, still not looking away from where you were, now climbing a ladder with a pencil behind your ear.

“She’s here to work,” he said. “I respect that.”

“Ah,” Alexei scoffed. “Is that why you follow her around like Roomba?”

Bucky had no answer to that.

—

One Afternoon

Today had been a long day

It was dusty. It was loud. Contractors bickered, blueprints got smudged, and Bucky had looked unreasonably good doing absolutely nothing — just standing around in that damn new uniform with the red star on his right arm.

You hadn’t had more than a couple hours alone where you weren’t sleeping or eating— not at home, and especially not in the Tower, when at least one other team member would be hovering like a nosy, overgrown child.

So when you saw Bucky slipping into the elevator alone, you called out for him.

“Mr. Barnes,” you half-shouted to get his attention, jogging across the hall. “Hold the door.”

He pressed the button with his metal hand, glancing up with a fond smile. “Didn’t know we were doing last names now,” he said, just above a whisper.

“Would you rather I call you Sergeant?” you replied quietly as you slipped inside, brushing past him just enough to make it intentional.

The doors slid shut.

And then, just as the elevator began its slow descent, you heard a mechanical in the belly of the Watchtower. The lights above flickered once—then again—before cutting out entirely.

A single red emergency light buzzed to life.

You stumbled slightly, grabbing onto Bucky’s arm instinctively. 

“What was that?” you asked.

“Power’s off,” he confirmed, chuckling when you jumped, kissing your temple to let you know that it was going to be okay, that the elevator was ventilated well enough for you to survive a long time in there. 

You slapped the emergency call button, and…. Nothing. Not even a buzz.

You blinked up at the ceiling like divine intervention might come through the grates. 

“Bucky,” you pouted, clutching his arm a little tighter, “do something.”

“I am doing something,” he said as he crouched down and nudged at the panel, making no real effort. “It's just not working.”

“Well, pry the door open or—use your metal arm or something!”

He shot you a dry look over his shoulder. “Can’t. This thing was built to withstand the hulk.”

You watched him stand and lean back against the wall like he was settling in. Like… he didn’t mind this.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you sighed, “I’ve got to meet the people installing wallpaper in ten minutes.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, his eyes maddeningly calm. “Could be worse,” he offered with a shrug.

“Bucky,” you warned, eyes narrowing.

“What?” he replied, too innocently, too calmly.

“We’re technically both on the clock,” you reminded him.

He shrugged. “We’re also stuck. Sounds like PTO to me.”

You rolled your eyes, but can’t help the smile on the corners of your mouth. “You’re impossible.”

That crooked grin formed on his face. “You’re tellin’ me you haven’t missed me, doll?”

“Don’t,” you said, pointing a finger to his chest.

“Don’t what?”

“That voice. That look. You're gonna  get us in trouble.”

He pushed off the wall and stepped closer. He was not touching you, but he was near enough that your heart began its traitorous dance, even after all this time. “We’ve barely touched each other. Last time was what— four days ago?”

“Four days is not that long,” you said.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It used to be four hours.”

You swallowed hard, but he was not done yet. 

“Used to be I couldn’t walk past you in our house without stopping to touch you.”

You looked away, heat creeping up your neck.

“Used to be I’d wake up with your thighs already wrapped around my face,” his voice dropped an octave lower, “And now I’m lucky if I get a quick kiss before you run off to yell at plumbers.”

“I did give you a kiss this morning,” you looked up at him.

“Not the kind I meant,” he said, eyes glued to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

You choked on a laugh, shoving at his chest weakly. “That’s very inappropriate, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m your husband.” He bit your earlobe gently. “And I’m tired of pretending we don’t wake up in the same bed.”

“We’ve got… responsibilities.” Your fingers were already in his hair. “People are counting on us.”

“Let them wait,” he muttered, kissing you slow and deep now, mouth moving with that sinful confidence that made your knees buckle. “You’ve been killing me all week, walking around this place like you don’t belong to me.”

“I am yours,” you whispered against his lips, heat coiling in your belly. “But the cameras—”

“Power’s off.” He reminded, hand sliding up your thigh, curling behind your knee and hiking your leg around his hip. “You need this. I know you do.”

“You’re cocky.”

“I’m right,” he said, kissing you again. This time you kissed him back harder.

Your body gave in before your words did. It always did with him.

And as his fingers slipped past the lace of your underwear and his mouth returned to your neck, you forgot entirely about the elevator, the job, the rules.

You weren’t the Watchtower’s interior designer anymore.

You were just his wife.

And he was very, very good at reminding you why.

Neither of you noticed the faint red light in the ceiling blink back to life. Didn’t notice the tiny lens in the far corner of the elevator was still functional. 

You had no idea Yelena had rigged a backup battery into the surveillance system.

And you definitely didn’t know the power outage wasn’t an accident.

It was a setup.

—

Later that afternoon 

The new Avengers gathered in the security room like kids about to witness an R-rated movie.

And in a way… they were.

Yelena had the footage queued up. She sat with arms folded, boots propped up on the console, a smug grin across her face.

This was her idea, after all— playing matchmaker as a favour to Bucky. 

“It’s visual-only,” she said, almost too casually. “No audio. You know—normal CCTV stuff. But we don’t need sound to read body language.”

She hit play.

The plan was simple: trap Bucky Barnes and that absurdly hot interior designer in the Watchtower elevator to see if he finally made a move.

“Ten bucks says he doesn’t even talk to her,” Ava declared, leaning against the wall.

“I say he kisses her,” Bob offered gently, still half-asleep in sweatpants, rubbing his eyes. “Just a little one. He’s always so tense, it would be nice to see him… be sweet.”

John had brought popcorn like it was a movie premiere. “I want to believe he asked her out,” he said. 

“Today is the day,” Alexei nodded in agreement, “ I can feel it.”

The screen flickered to life.

Bucky stepped into the elevator first, holding the door for you. 

The doors closed.

Nothing out of the ordinary at first. It looked like normal conversation.

Then the elevator stopped.

You pressed the emergency call button. Nothing. 

Bucky tried the panel, giving up too quickly.

Yelena’s grin widened. “Showtime.”

And then, Bucky stepped closer, whispering something into your ears.

“Classic,” John said, leaning in. “Here we go. Here comes the kiss on the cheek.”

The kiss landed on your lips instead.

It was not a peck. To everyone’s surprise, it was hungry.

The room went deathly silent.

Ava’s arms slowly uncrossed. “Okay….”

Bob’s mouth parted. “Oh…”

Then— then came the second kiss.

It was longer. 

Your hands in his hair. His metal arm was up… your skirt? 

Your back hit the elevator wall.

John sat forward slowly. “Wait… wait.”

Then, you climbed him.

It got very explicit very quickly.

John’s popcorn slid from his lap, forgotten.

Alexei was blinking like he’d witnessed a cult ritual.

Ava whispered, “Jesus Christ.”

Bob clutched the arms of his chair. “That’s— that’s not him asking her out on a date.”

“Is the—” Alexei squinted, his voice dry, “—is the camera shaking?”

“No,” Ava said hoarsely. “That’s the elevator shaking.”

“Fuck,” John gasped. “We should— we should stop.”

Yelena stared at the screen, frozen. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Alexei held up a trembling finger. “He has not taken her to dinner. There was no courtship. There was no honour.”

Ava turned away from the monitor. “Turn it off. Turn it off!”

Yelena did.

The room plunged into an eerie silence.

Bob was still cross-legged on the floor. “I… I think there was a round two. Like… halfway through. I think I counted it. Different positions. Less vertical.”

They were all pale now.

Yelena stood up like she’d survived a car crash. “We are never speaking of this.”

“Delete the footage,” Ava added. “Burn it. Hack the cloud. Scrub the backups.”

“Gone,” Yelena said grimly. “It’s already gone.”

Alexei placed his mug down. “He has not even taken her out on date yet,” he repeated, horrified.

John slumped back into his chair, stunned “I’ll never look at elevators the same way.”

No one—not one of them—suspected marriage. No one suspected long-time commitment.

Not even a little.

They thought they’d witnessed a slip. A one-time break in Barnes’ solitude, a rare show of his desire.

They had no idea he fucked you like that at home every other day.

They just thought Bucky Barnes had the most soul-shattering game any man had ever possessed.

And not a single one of them ever got in that elevator without wincing ever again.

—

Six Weeks Later

It started out like any other off-day in the suburbs.

The early morning was quiet, with pale light spilling across the hardwood floors, the distant hum of a lawn mower down the street, and the smell of Bucky’s burnt-but-endearing attempt at breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. 

It was supposed to be peaceful.

But you were in the bathroom, staring at the positive pregnancy test with your hands trembling and your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

Pregnant.

Three times, all different brands.

It wasn’t planned, not really. You have been talking about it, and even said you’d give it a go by the end of the year. 

Hell, you were on even the pill. But the last couple months had been a blur— long hours at the tower and stress-induced forgetfulness. 

Somewhere in the chaos of overtime and rushing out the door with a protein bar instead of breakfast, you must’ve slipped up. Maybe once. Maybe twice. Maybe that was enough.

You barely heard your own footsteps as you tiptoed down the hallway in a fog, still holding one of the tests like it might disappear if you blinked. Bucky was at the kitchen counter, humming under his breath, shirtless in his gray sweatpants, a bowl of strawberries in front of him with his dog tags reflecting in the morning sun.

He turned when he heard you come in, and his smile immediately faltered.

He could tell by the look on your face that something was… off.

“Sweetheart?” His brow furrowed as he stepped toward you, eyes looking over as if scanning for wounds. “Are you okay?”

You tried to say something, but nothing came out. You just looked at him with wide eyes, parted lips, and the test clenched tightly in your hand. 

His hands gently closed around your arms.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Breathe, doll. Tell me what’s going on. Did something happen?”

You shook your head, lip trembling. “No. Nothing like that. I just… I…”

He ducked his head, trying to catch your eyes. “Look at me,” he said, less demanding but more gentle. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, we can fix it. Just tell me.”

Your breath hitched. You looked down, uncurled your fingers, and held out the test.

Bucky looked at it.

Then up at you.

“…What is this?” he asked, almost cautiously. Like he needed confirmation.

You opened your mouth, but your voice cracked before it even came out. “I think I’m pregnant.”

He blinked twice. “You’re—”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “I—I know. I was on the pill. I swear I was. But with everything going on at the tower and those back-to-back all-nighters and fuck, James, I must’ve messed up, I must’ve missed one or two—”

“Wait. Wait—wait,” he said suddenly. He stepped back just enough to look at you fully, like he needed the whole picture to understand. “You’re serious?”

You nodded again. “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t joke about this.”

He was completely still, like the words were sinking into him bit by bit.

And then, to your surprise, he let out a shaky breath, laughed a little, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re pregnant.”

You looked at him nervously, heart pounding. “I—I mean, it’s early. Like really early. Just a few weeks, I think. We don’t have to freak out. We can talk about it. Think about it. We can—”

But he cut you off, stepping forward again and cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. His eyes were glistening.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out. I’m just—holy shit, baby. I— you’re growing a little version of us in there. We’re doing this... if you… if you want this, too.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, your arms wrapping around him instinctively.

“We’re doing this,” you whispered back, like saying it out loud made it more real. “I… I do want this.”

He kissed the top of your head, your temple, your cheek. “We were headed here anyway. Maybe I didn’t know it’d happen now, but…” He leaned back to look at you, eyes full of wonder. “I love you so much.”

You sniffled, laughing through it. “I was so scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said, “Never with me.”

There was a long moment where the two of you just held each other, breathing in the warmth of the moment. When…

“So, uh. What do we tell the team?”

You chuckled. “About what? The baby or the fact that we’re married?”

He winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Bucky wanted to share his joy, he really did. 

But he still had enemies. The kind who would use anything, anyone, to get to him.

And he would rather die than see your name — and his baby’s— end up on one of their lists.

“You still want to keep it quiet?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. He looked at your stomach, his teeth clenching. 

“I don’t want anyone knowing if it puts you in danger,” he said finally. “I don’t care what they think of me. I just want you safe. Our family safe.”

You nodded. “Okay. So... in two or three months— the tower renovations’ll be done by then. I can just wear baggy clothes.”

He gave you a wary look. “You already wear baggy clothes.”

You shrugged. “I’ll wear bigger ones.”

Surely, this was a foolproof plan, right? 

—

It was successful for all of two weeks. You played your part, showed up to the tower, exchanged the usual small talk with the team, and pretended everything was normal, all while avoiding harmful construction materials and focusing on furnishing.

Then one morning, you looked pale coming out of the toilet, wiping acid from the corner of your mouth with tissue. Bob looked over, eyebrows raised in concern. You waved him off with a smile. 

“Fuck morning sickness,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

And that was it. You didn’t even think twice. You were too focused on the nausea, the spinning room, the unpleasant taste in your mouth. You didn’t realise you’d said it.

Bob didn’t clock it right away either. You’d already left the room by the time the words caught up with him. He was halfway through his coffee, reading a book, when—

He froze. His eyes widened.

“Wait…”

Morning sickness?

—

Bob didn’t say anything right away.

He sat there for a moment, staring at the spot where you’d stood. 

Morning sickness, his brain repeated again, louder now.

He stood up so fast his chair rolled back and hit the wall.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a closed-door meeting in Conference Room 7.

Ava, Yelena, Alexei, and John filed in, curious and worried—it wasn’t often that Bob called a we-need-to-talk-right-now meeting that didn’t involve a breach or a fire drill.

Bob stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, unreadable.

“She’s pregnant,” he said flatly.

Everyone blinked.

“…Who?” Ava asked, tilting her head.

Bob stared at her. “Bucky’s little elevator secret.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “How… How do you know?”

“She….” Bob started. “She said something about morning sickness.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh,” said Alexei, thoughtfully.

“...Oh,” Ava echoed.

Yelena’s eyes widened. “OH?”

John straightened up in his chair. “Hold on. Do you think—” He looked around the room, dropping his voice to a whisper, “—do you think Bucky could be the dad?”

They all looked at each other. The memory hit them at once like a suppressed group hallucination.

No one’s talked about it since. 

Not out of respect, but out of sheer trauma suppression and the fact that, frankly, they weren’t paid enough to bring it up.

“I mean,” Ava said slowly, “Did anyone see him with a condom?”

“Not that I can remember,” Yelena shuddered, brow furrowed. “But I wasn’t exactly memorising it.”

“Elevator baby,” Alexei whispered, stunned.

Bob just nodded grimly.

Then John, who’d been thinking too hard, looked up. “Do you think Bucky knows?”

The room went completely silent.

Ava blinked. “Shit.”

Yelena exhaled through her nose. “He’s either going to marry her in a panic or pass out.”

John rubbed his temples. “Do we… do we tell him?”

Bob looked down nervously. “Better question—who’s going to tell him?”

Everyone looked at each other.

No one volunteered.

So they did it together.

—

They confronted Bucky two hours later. In the gym, of all places.

He was mid-rep when they approached—shirt damp with sweat, and music blaring in his ears. His brows furrowed in concentration as he finished his set and racked the barbell with a clang.

That’s when he noticed them.

Five fully-grown adults in a semicircle, watching him. Staring, like it was going to be a goddamn intervention.

He tilted his head. “...who did you kill and where did you bury the body?”

Bob cleared his throat, stepping forward like a nervous HR rep. “Umm, that’s not why we’re here.”

Bucky pulled out one earbud. “Then what’s going on?”

“We need to talk.”

That phrase never meant anything good, and they all knew it. Ava shifted her weight from foot to foot like she had somewhere more pleasant to be (a landmine field, perhaps). John had his arms crossed and was chewing the inside of his cheek. Alexei was trying to look fatherly and failing spectacularly. And Yelena—oh, Yelena—was vibrating with the kind of energy that suggested she either had bad news or gossip so juicy it came with a side of fries.

Bucky glanced at them, suspicious. “Okay… what is this? Am I getting voted off the team?”

Yelena stepped forward, and just… spat it out. “She’s pregnant.”

That landed like a punch to the solar plexus. His brain buffered.

Oh shit. Oh shit. 

They knew. They’d figured it out.

How?

He licked his lips, then attempted to play dumb. “….Who?”

Ava folded her arms. “We have a feeling,” she started, unimpressed, “you might be able to figure it out. Considering you had some… fun… in the elevator a couple months ago.”

Bucky’s eyes twitched.” I—what? You’re saying—how do you even know about that?” 

Yelena raised a hand, almost sheepishly. “We, uh… we might’ve set up the elevator failure.”

John immediately smacked the back of her shoulder. “You. Not we. That was your idea.”

“I said might’ve!” she hissed.

“What we’re saying,” Alexei interjected, rubbing a hand down his face like a weary dad at a PTA meeting, “is that there is chance you are going to be dad.”

Bucky tried to laugh. It came out like a goose being strangled. “I’m not ready to move on from the elevator camera. That’s a massive violation of privacy. I—what kind of sick—”

“You did it in public,” Ava interrupted coldly.

“And you’re not denying it,” Bob added.

“I’m just saying,” Bucky snapped, pointing wildly, “you kept it? You still have the tape? Can I see it?”

Everyone groaned in unison.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “You might have gotten a hook up pregnant, and the first thing you care about is your sex tape? Seriously?”

Bucky didn’t respond, which said a lot.

Bob said plainly, “But we’re pretty sure you didn’t use protection.”

“She was on the pill!” Bucky snapped.

“You still don’t do hookups bare, Bucky!” Ava exclaimed, voice rising.

“She hadn’t had sex with anyone else in years!”

“Anyone… else?” John asked, skeptical.

Bucky opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

And shut up.

Bucky groaned, dragging his hands down his face like he was trying to scrape the stress off his skin.

Then, finally, with a voice so quiet it barely made it through the hum of fluorescent lights, he finally said, “She’s…my wife.”

A beat passed with silence.

Then Ava shrieked, “I’m sorry—WHAT?!”

“When?!” John thundered.

“About a year ago,” Bucky admitted. “We kept it a secret. It wasn’t safe for her. I didn’t want anyone coming after her because of me.”

Alexei frowned, tone softer now. “And now…”

“Now she’s having my baby,” Bucky said. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And I don’t know how to protect her from this. From all of this.”

“Fuck,” John let out a low whistle. “Is it… is it the elevator baby?”

“We did the math,” Bucky turned beet red, “there is a… pretty good chance that’s the case.” 

“Elevator baby,” Yelena echoed, eyes wide. 

She sounded almost proud.

Bucky looked at each of them— serious now. “You can’t tell anyone,” he warned, “She’s… she’s everything to me. If this gets out—if she’s hurt, if someone uses her to get to me—I wouldn’t— couldn’t— live with myself.”

And just like that, gone was the teasing.

They stood there, in a loose circle around him, the lights humming overhead, the scent of sweat in the air. A line crossed, and secrets spilled open. This was a line where their friendship was tested—and affirmed.

John, finally, clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Congrats, man. You’re gonna be a dad.”

“Elevator dad,” Yelena added.

“Don’t,” Bucky warned, but he was smiling, just a little.

—

The shift was subtle at first.

Alexei started carrying things for you.

You’d walk into a room with a stack of sample boards or fabric swatches for a renovation pitch, and before you could even blink, he’d be at your side, snatching half of them away and saying, “You should not be lifting this.”

You tilted your head the first time. “I… I’m okay, Alexei.”

He just stared back, deadpan. “Does not mean you should.” And then walked away before you could argue.

Then there was Ava, who started checking the air quality constantly.

“Gotta keep the air pure,” she’d say, making sure your workstation was well-ventilated from paint fumes. 

You started to get suspicious after the third can of air purifier she smuggled into the conference room.

And then came John, who strolled past your desk one morning with a coffee in one hand and a brochure in the other. He stopped like he just happened to remember something.

“Oh hey,” he said, waving the paper around. “That new baby store down the street? Massive sale. Car seats, little shoes, those bib things shaped like bandanas? You know, the cool ones. Just… figured I’d pass it along. Y’know. In case… anyone.”

You squinted. “Anyone?”

He coughed. “Just in case anyone… likes sales.”

Right.

It wasn’t until Yelena hugged you, that the alarm bells started getting harder to ignore.

She pulled away, uncharacteristically gentle, and said, “You’re good at taking care of things.”

“…Okay,” you said cautiously, “Are you dying?”

She just blinked. “No. I just think you are doing great.” She paused. “And you should not wear heels. They’re bad for your ankles.”

That was it.

You came home that night, dumped your bag by the door, and found Bucky on the couch eating mac and cheese he probably stole from the tower. 

He looked up, beaming. “Hey, doll. You okay?”

You squinted at him. “Do you know something I don’t?”

He tilted his head. “About what?”

You flopped next to him, sighing. “Yelena hugged me today.”

His eyes widened. “…Oh.”

“And told me I’m good at taking care of things.”

He was dead silent.

“John is talking about baby boutiques to me. Ava keeps purifying the air. And I’m pretty sure Bob gave me vitamin water.”

Bucky looked down.

You gave him a pointed look. “So, I’m just gonna ask: Did you tell them?”

He winced. His whole face did the oh-no-don’t-be-mad-at-me scrunch.

“Umm…” he said.

“Oh my god.”

“I—I didn’t tell them, technically,” he started, clearly floundering. “They figured it out! Bob overheard something, and then there was a meeting, and I got cornered at the gym and they were all standing in a circle like some kind of intervention and they were like ‘we know,’ and I panicked and I didn’t want to lie and—”

“Bucky.”

He stopped, biting his lip.

“I’m not mad,” you said, cutting him off before the ramble could spiral into an apology monologue. “I’m… relieved.”

His brow furrowed. “You are?”

You nodded. “Do you know how exhausting it is trying to hide a whole human and pretend I’m not in love with you?”

“I just wanted you to be safe.” He looked down, a little guilty. “I thought if they didn’t know, there’d be less risk.”

“I know,” you murmured, reaching over to take his hand. “But honey…  they’re not strangers. They’re your people. Our people, now.”

He smiled, fingers threading through yours. “Yelena did threaten to murder anyone who so much as looked at you wrong.”

“See?” You leaned in, kissing his cheek. “That’s the kind of prenatal care I’m talking about.”

He chuckled, pulling you close, one hand resting gently against your stomach. “We’ll still keep it quiet outside the tower. For safety.”

“Of course,” you said. “But at least I don’t have to hide there.”

Then Bucky said, “Also… Bob wants to throw you a secret baby shower. In the hangar. With… themed cupcakes.”

—

Eight Months Later

Jamie was six weeks old the first time you brought him to the Watchtower.

He was bundled up in a little blue onesie with a cartoon white wolf on the chest, swaddled like a burrito in a cotton blanket, and blissfully asleep in your arms.

The 87th floor had been converted for the three of you— a secure residential wing with baby gates and blackout curtains and a surprisingly tasteful wallpaper Bucky picked himself. You were here to check it out, and also introduce your baby to the team.

Most days, you would stay at the house in the suburbs, where birds chirped and neighbors waved and no one could hear Bucky singing lullabies off-key at 2 a.m. But it was nice to know you had a home in the Watchtower.

You barely stepped in the common room when the team got up.

“Is that him?” Ava whispered like she was approaching royalty.

“Don’t crowd the baby,” Bucky said, holding out an arm protectively.

John peered over Ava’s shoulder. “He looks like a tiny Bucky. But like, angrier. Is that even possible?”

Jamie yawned.

Yelena, unusually soft-voiced, leaned in “Look at him. So small. So squishy. Like a baby potato with many opinions.”

“He does look judgmental,” Bob offered.

“He is judgmental,” you smiled.

—

There were a couple more visits after that before your first official night at the tower. 

They’d been asking for weeks to hold him now. 

Every visit, every mission debrief, every team meeting that you attended with Jamie snoozing in a carrier strapped to your chest, someone would inevitably ask:

“Can I hold him?”

The answer had always been not yet.

Not until he had more of an immune system than a fruit fly.

Especially not until Bob stopped referring to his hands as “clean-ish.”

But today, Jamie was twelve weeks old. 

Today was the day.

You warned them ahead of time, sending them a group text. Bucky enforced it like a drill sergeant, passing non-alcohol hand sanitiser around like communion.

The baby was clean. The adults were clean. The air smelled faintly of lemon.

Yelena was first, practically vibrating as she took Jamie into her arms like a sacred artifact.

“Bozhe moi,” she whispered, eyes wide. 

“He’s real,” Bob said, as Jamie curled his arm around his finger, “we can touch him.”

Then John took a turn, cradling Jamie like he was made of glass. Bucky, perhaps knowing he had some experience and was trying to make amends with his own son, trusted him most. “He’s so… light.“

Eventually, one by one, everyone got their turn.

And then… Alexei.

He stepped forward quietly, hands extended, palms open and ready. There was a certain fondness in his eyes.

You gently handed Jamie over, and Alexei took him with a grace that didn’t match his usual bull-in-a-china-shop aesthetic. He rocked him slightly and began saying something soft in Russian. It sounded like a lullaby.

Jamie adorably blinked up at him.

And then, with the seriousness of a priest delivering a sermon, Alexei slowly walked across the room… and stopped in front of the elevator.

“Little Jamie,” he said in a soothing voice, still swaying, “this, my sweet little cherub, is where you were conceived.”

“Dad!” Yelena whisper-shouted, her hands in the air. “Stop!”

“I’m just telling him the truth!” Alexei protested.

“He’s a baby!” Ava barked. 

“He needs context!”

“HE NEEDS A NAP!” John insisted.

Alexei looked down at Jamie, who stared back, completely unbothered.

“I think he gets it,” Alexei said, beaming.

Jamie sneezed.

Bucky buried his face in your shoulder. “I can’t believe we let him hold the baby.”

You, already laughing, said, “At least he didn’t point out the exact panel of the wall.”

Alexei turned around, lifting Jamie like Simba. “And over here, by button 13, that’s where your father’s ass was—”

“OH MY GOD,” Yelena wailed, launching a pillow at him.

Bob hastily caught it. “We shouldn’t throw things when the baby is airborne.”

John held out his arms. “Give him back before you scare him with a detailed retelling.” 

Alexei sighed, but passed Jamie over. “You are going to be great warrior like your father, Jamie.”

You settled onto the couch beside Bucky, your body relaxing as you leaned into him. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then let his lips linger in your hair. He never failed to remind you that you were safe. That Jamie was safe.

Your eyes drifted across the room— your strange, chaotic, beautiful little makeshift family in a room that was a labour of your love. Bob was wiping down a clean countertop for the third time. Ava and Yelena were mid-argument about the correct way to swaddle a baby, neither remotely qualified but equally committed. 

Jamie, unfazed by the commotion, cooed contentedly in John’s arms, his tiny fingers reaching for the man’s bead as Alexei kept talking to him in russian.

Your heart felt like it might burst.

He had your nose, Bucky’s eyes, and all the love in the world.

In the background, Alexei’s voice rose again, brimming with mischief. “Next time, I’ll show him the armoury.”

“NO!” came the instant chorus from everyone in the room.

You couldn’t help it, so you laughed.

Jamie was loved. Fiercely, ridiculously loved.

And there wasn’t a person in this room who wouldn’t burn the world down for him.

-end.

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@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125 @buckybarneswife125

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

The scent of freshly brewed coffee cut through the last traces of sleep, warming you up as you loaded the plates with various foods and set them on the island. You rinsed the dishes and cleaned the counters while you waited for Bucky, doing a silly little dance in-between tasks. It wasn't your day to tidy up the kitchen, but you weren't going to be a jerk and leave it a mess. 

“Someone’s happy this morning,” Ava said from behind you, and you somehow didn't jump at the sound. You were all getting used to her phasing in and out of the rooms. “Let me guess. Morning sex?”

Was it obvious since you were only in your robe and underwear? “Maybe,” you teased. 

The wonderful ache between your legs was a nice reminder of how Bucky woke you earlier, making you shiver. You felt his fingers and tongue working you over before you opened your eyes, and you barely recovered from your first orgasm before he had his cock in you. It wasn't rushed either. He took his time, making you feel every delicious inch as he thrust slow and deep. Even when you came again he didn't stop. 

“‘Attagirl,” he smiled against your lips while you trembled beneath him, his body effectively caging you in. “But you can give me one more. I know you can.”

“Bucky,” you whined, wanting nothing more than for him to fill you to the brim. 

“Just one more, sweetheart.” A hand moved between your bodies so he could play you like a well tuned instrument. “One more and I’ll give it to you.”

You did, and so did he, your name tumbling from his lips as he spilled into you. Who wouldn't give Bucky another orgasm if he gently demanded it? Three orgasms wasn't a bad way to start the day. A girl could do much worse. 

“Lucky,” she smirked, snapping you out of your thoughts when she snatched a bite of food from Bucky’s plate. “Mmm. Remind me to have you make me breakfast the next time you have morning sex.”

“Hey!” you yelled, but there was laughter in your eyes when she took another bite and phased away. “You’ll pay for that!”

“Who will pay for what?” Bucky asked when he walked into the room, making your breath catch in your throat. 

Bucky's hair was tucked behind his ears today, bringing your attention to his steel eyes before you took in the rest of him. His suit was tailored impeccably to his large frame, and he wore it well. He carried himself with composed ease, his steps deliberate and head held high. His presence demanded attention without appearing arrogant, which was tough to balance. He was all man. 

He was your man. 

“Fuck me,” you breathed. 

Bucky may not be a Congressman anymore, but he would have had your vote for anything and everything he ever wanted. 

His eyes flashed with unmistakable lust and pride as he walked toward you, making your stomach flip. “Already did.”

“You did, and you can do that again later,” you said, reaching up to trace his mouth. 

You smiled when he kissed your fingers. It was an honor to touch him and that wasn't at all an exaggeration. You noticed how tense he got when some got too close to him, but not you. Never you. 

“So, I look handsome?” he asked casually, adjusting his tie. “Not that I’m trying to look handsome. I’m only wearing this since I have a meeting, and I might get a few dirty looks if I show up in tactical gear.”

You almost teased that he was fishing for a compliment, but you saw just a flicker of his confidence waver as he waited for your answer. “Suit or tactical gear, you’re the most handsome man I've ever seen.”

He breathed out, his confidence back in full force. “I’m glad to hear that.” Sliding a hand over the curve of your hip, his fingers dug in, a protective and possessive touch, when he brought his mouth to your ear. “And I may have to wear suits around you more often since it turns you on so much.”

You tried to play coy, as if your nipples hadn’t peaked and your clit didn't throb. “Who said I'm turned on?” 

Bucky chuckled and lowered his head, his teeth nipping your neck and drawing a whimper from you. His lips moved up to find your ear again while you tried to keep your breathing steady. “Don't have to say it, sweetheart. I can smell you,” he whispered. You couldn't hide anything with those heightened senses of his, a blessing or a curse depending on how you looked at it. “Ruined your panties the second I walked in here.”

Your eyes closed. He was right, the smug bastard. Damn him. Damn him to Hell. No, not there. That was too cruel. Your bed would do nicely. 

It was insane the more you thought about it. The man could breathe and it would send your libido into overdrive. Feminism? Where did it go? One murder strut or grumpy stare and it went out the window along with your panties. One smile and it melted your insides. 

What had he done to you?

“You're unbelievable,” you sighed. 

He pulled back, searching your face. “What do you mean?” 

“I was a strong and capable woman before I came here,” you said, the words sounding ridiculous as soon as they left your mouth. 

“And you still are,” he assured you. Bucky was one of your biggest supporters, always. 

“It’s just… Do you have any idea what that’s like? To just look at someone and get turned on?” You stepped out of reach and gestured to him. You asked yourself some days how Bucky Barnes could possibly be real. How did someone like him exist? “You breathe and I get aroused. That isn't normal.”

No other man had that kind of power over you, body or heart, until him. 

The warm chuckle from your boyfriend had you fighting not to smile. “One, we’re not normal. Two, your breathing turns me on, too. And three, I do know it’s like to just look at someone and get aroused because that happens when I look at you,” he said, taking your hand to bring you back to him. He placed it against his crotch and grew harder under your touch. “We’re a match made in heaven, Hell, whatever you want to call it.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks. You two were a good match. “It isn't just arousal when I look at you. It’s…” You took a breath and gripped his jacket with your other hand, trying to be careful not to wrinkle it. “You smile at me and…” 

“And what?” he asked, catching your eye and softly smiling. 

You swallowed, your eyes suddenly misting over before you dropped your hands. It was alarming how quickly your emotions took over in regard to Bucky. “I see a future with you there.”

Bucky cupped your cheeks when you tried to duck your head. He had stripped you bare more than once, but saying something like that made you feel more vulnerable than when you were naked. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“You have the power to break me,” you whispered, your eyes shutting. Not to hide, but to keep the tears at bay. “Which should be terrifying, but it’s very exhilarating.”

To give that much of yourself to another, to trust them to that extent, wasn't easy. But if life taught you anything, it was that it was too short and you had to seize every opportunity to live it to the fullest. Who better to do that with than Bucky Barnes?

You cleared your throat when he didn't say anything, his eyes a storm of emotions when you opened yours. “Your breakfast is getting cold. You should-”

He surged forward, his lips covering yours. The pad of his thumbs brushed your cheeks when he deepened the kiss, coaxing you to open your mouth to his. Emotions surged through you, your heart nearly overflowing as you held onto each other. You felt everything all at once and let yourself be swept away. 

He slowly broke the kiss allowing you both to savor the lingering touch of each other's lips and take a much needed breath. “You could break me, too, but you won't,” he said, his forehead resting against yours as you attempted to calm your racing heart. “Just like I'd never break you.”

It was a vow that resonated in your core, a declaration of love, one that had you kissing him again and silently promising the same. “Match made in heaven or Hell, huh?”

“And where you go, I’ll follow,” he smiled. 

You'd follow him, too. “Well, right now you need to eat breakfast and head out so you aren't late for your meeting.”

He groaned and refrained from rolling his eyes. “This suit is coming off as soon as I get back,” he said, much to your disappointment. Or maybe your delight. 

“Right when you get back?” You bit your lip. “Will you use the tie on me?” 

“I can,” he smirked, making your body heat up all over again. “Can have a little fun in the office, too. Pretend I’m your boss and-”

“Or I could be your boss since I'm strong and capable,” you teased. 

He moaned, seemingly into that idea as he backed you against the island. “Boss or not, I’ll still bend you over the desk or have you sit on it while I eat your pretty pussy.”

You whined. There was no stopping Bucky when he was hungry. He’d spread your legs and stay between them until you cried, lap up every drop and still want more. 

His hands roamed your body, forgetting all about breakfast. “Fuck you raw and fill you up just the way you-”

Bob cleared his throat, both of you turning toward the sound. How long had the poor guy been standing there? “Just getting a drink,” he said, quickly going to the fridge and avoiding looking at you. “I’m not even here.”

“Sorry, Bob,” you smiled sheepishly when he grabbed his drink and bolted. “We should probably rent a hotel room or something soon and give the team a break.”

You and Bucky could be extremely private some days and others there was no stopping you. How the team put up with it you had no idea. Maybe because you made each other happy. It still had to be slightly obnoxious for them. 

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his handsome face, too. “Or we could always do a campout on the roof so we aren't too far away,” he suggested. 

You smiled as you imagined it. Looking out over the city and watching the stars before cuddling up in a tent. A cabin getaway was also something to keep in mind for the future when you two could take a break together. Peaceful, quiet. Something just for the two of you. 

“A roof campout sounds nice,” you said. 

“Good,” Bucky smirked before he picked you up and set you on the island. “Campout later. Right now I want breakfast.”

“Bucky, your meeting.” 

“I won't be late.”

You didn't resist when he opened your legs. “Ava said no more fooling around in the kitchen since we eat here,” you reminded him. Alexei would probably encourage it. “And I just cleaned up, and you haven't eaten the food I made.”

“I’ll clean up the mess,” he winked as he crouched down. “And I’ll eat after I eat.”

And he did. 

We deserve this. Bucky deserves this. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

So, so beautiful! Times like that when I wish I had a rewind button for the movie theater. I need to run my fingers through those gorgeous locks. Preferably while he's between my thighs.

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, they should’ve seen it coming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently the display was the official announcement.

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

“Training room,” Yelena said.

Ava nodded. “Kitchen.”

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

“Jesus Christ,” John muttered.

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

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

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

You mull your response, temptation sweeping through your veins, calling you to give in. Your eyes follow the toddlers roaming the backyard, gazes laser focused on the dark green grass beneath them. Bee leans over, grabbing two lavender eggs, her growing collection almost tipping out of her basket.

"Lookit pink stawburts. My favorites," Bee says, jumping up and down, like she doesn't have a basket full of her favorite candies sitting on one of the benches. "What you get Frankie?"

Bucky hums again, drawing your attention back to him. "I can always take it back."

You scoff. This man has never taken a gift back. He's hidden new necklaces in your vanity, given Bee matching items so you couldn't say no to whatever he splurged on, left things in your purse and have the audacity to look shocked and confused when you asked him how they got there.

But take back a gift? He doesn't know how to do that.

"Let me see it, Barnes," you reply, heart warming when you feel him smile against your neck.

"Anything for you. Malyshka," he murmurs in return, revealing his hand, a charm bracelet dangles between his fingers. A little chubby bumblebee, an easel, the Barnes family emblem and a pair of miniature wedding rings are nestled between the easter themed charms. It's a gorgeous piece that just so happens to match the dress you're wearing.

"It's beautiful," you say, lifting your wrist. He closes the delicate clasp with ease, so used to putting jewelry on your body.

"Yes you are." This time you can't stop the grin from pulling at your lips even when you see him smirk. He's good and he knows you know how good he is.

For a few moments, the two of you stay like that. Your newest charm bracelet warm on your skin, a gentle breeze fluttering the bottom of your dress and Bucky's chin on your shoulder, the two of you watching Bee and Frankie run around the yard finding brightly colored eggs, excited for each one.