Ms_Chuckles

You shifted your longing gaze from the warm confines of the safehouse and looked ahead at the evening sky. The warmth from the sun gave you some respite from the shivering chills your body felt. You've always loved sunsets, but this one felt dreadful.

The sun was still high on the horizon. You'd slumped here around morning to escape the harsh light, but now, as the shadows grew behind you and the air turned colder, you couldn't shake the fear that the night would dawn for you much earlier.

A strong gust of wind had you hugging yourself for the warmth. You had thrown away the jacket and the tracking device in the water as a diversion for the two agents trailing behind you a few hours ago. You've lost them at the creek, and they must have thought you fell into it after sustaining injuries.

That was a few hours ago. Now, as the sun traversed into the horizon, doubt crippled you.

And just like that, your mind sought solace in thoughts of Bucky like it usually did.

When he fell off that train, did he lay there in the cold, half-conscious and hopeful. Did it feel like this? Or was he blissfully unconscious until his fate was sealed?

You've hated Hydra for everything that they did, but you hated them with vengeance for what they did to the man you loved.

When you first met Bucky, you were floored by how intensely handsome he looked. But you never intended to be anything but friends despite the crush. But after a year, you irrefutably fell for him. Nobody knew about it as you didn't share it with another soul for fear of mockery.

That stupidly gorgeous, brooding, ocean-blue-eyed, perfect man deserved whatever he wished for in this world. And he didn't clearly wish for you. He made it clear time and time when he avoided you.

'Mind your business.'  That memory vividly haunted you every second since the moment he uttered those words. Your heart splintered with pain, unable to contain.

In hindsight, your taking up this mission was fueled by the aftermath of the emotions.

Now, there was a chance you would never see him or your friends.

In intellection, you shouldn't have poured your heart into your journal. What if someone read it? What if Bucky read it? Would he feel sad if you weren't around anymore? Would he feel a twinge of guilt for what he'd said to you that day?

Ugh!

Bucky did have a point, though. You should have minded your business, but the heart was a greedy bitch. Right? You were so hopelessly smitten with that man.

Your eyes followed a leaf cascading down gracefully from the tree, and it fell right on your wounded calf.

You picked it up, your fingers trembling as you examined the crimson stain it had collected from your bruise. For a moment, a morbid thought crossed your mind. Maybe you could write your thoughts in blood. Would anyone even find them?

There's so much you wanted to tell. There were so many things left undone. You wanted to tell Peter to stop being a coward and confess to his friend. You wanted to give Natasha her birthday gift and see the rare softness in her smile. You wanted to take Steve to that art gallery featuring sketches you'd secretly submitted under his name. You wanted to visit Laura and the kids, hug Pepper, and one-up Tony.

And Bucky. You wanted him to find happiness. And you also selfishly wished that he smiled at you once, just once, before…

The edges of your vision blurred, and you flailed sideways, letting your hand take the weight of the body you collapsed at the foot of the tree uncomfortably.

You should probably muster everything in you to get yourself to the safehouse, but it felt like a Herculean task. Still you tried and moved an inch, but you collapsed right there, sprawled on your back.

It was what it was.

Keep me company. You mouthed to the tree above, the trilling birds, and the squirrel that curiously kept its distance, munching on the acorn it had carried from the tree you laid beneath.

You tilted your head and felt the evening hues dance behind your teary lids before you fell asleep.

****

George Finley was intimidated by Bucky Barnes, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was the former Winter Soldier, now Avenger. No, it was not the reputation that made George fear the man, but it all had to do with the sheer animosity directed his way by the supersoldier.

George wondered why because he had only met the Sergeant three times, including today, but each encounter had left him a bundle of nerves that almost had him take Benzodiazepines.

The second time had left him the most shaken. George had watched, dumbstruck, as Bucky crushed a metal water bottle in his bare hand. It hadn't even been his metal arm.

At the time, George had foolishly believed Bucky's excuse: "Still getting used to the strength," he'd said with a shrug to George's colleague, Tina, who shrieked in fear. Bucky looked straight at George, flexing the Vibranium arm for good measure. George hadn't given it much thought then because he hadn't realized then what had triggered the display of strength.

After today, George wasn't just intimidated--he was terrified, and for good reason. The strong grip of the Sergeant's hand from earlier, when he had hauled him out of the medbay and barked that he had 90 seconds to pack everything necessary, had been enough to leave a red, angry bruise on his wrist. The memory of being all but carried to the jet by the towering supersoldier made George's stomach churn.

George avoided the Sergeant throughout the long jet ride, staying as far away as possible. He briefly considered striking up a conversation with the pilot to ease his nerves, but quickly dismissed the idea, fearing that any movement, however innocent, could trigger the supersoldier's wrath toward him.

So, when George watched the Sergeant freeze at the sight of you lying wounded on the ground, partially covered by scattered leaves, it all became clear. George had assessed your condition upon finding you-you'd lost blood, but you still had a pulse and were stable. Yet the super soldier stood utterly motionless, as if paralyzed, and on the verge of collapse.

"Sergeant, we need to get her to the safe house." George could see nothing was registering in the supersoldier's head. He had to explicitly yell at him, "SERGEANT BARNES, SHE's OKAY… we need to get her there to treat her better."

George had seen a lot of cases in his modest experience, but he had never seen a more apt representation of 'breath being restored.' Sergeant Barnes took a startling breath, nodded helplessly, and lifted you carefully, wincing himself at your injuries, chanting, 'You're okay' under his breath.

And it became as vivid as a 3D ultrasound image to George now. That fateful day, when he and his colleague, Tina, had been talking casually, George had mentioned that he thought you were cute and wondered if you might go on a date with him. He didn't notice Bucky standing nearby until he heard Tina's shriek and turned and saw the bottle crumble in the Sergeant's hand.

Yeah, the animosity made sense after one whole year.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was hopelessly in love with you.

~

Somewhere while treating you, the super soldier softly grunted an apology for earlier and he had muttered, "Call me Bucky," and George internally sighed happily.

Later, as the two sat in tense silence, George clung to a sliver of hope. Maybe--just maybe--helping to take care of you would finally earn him a spot in Bucky's good books. Or, at the very least, it might get him out of Bucky's bad ones.

So far, it didn't seem likely.

The night dragged on awkwardly. The few words exchanged were clipped and terse. Bucky had mentioned that their jet had gone for backup, ferrying prisoners from a nearby Hydra camp, which meant they were stuck here for now.

They'd eaten instant noodles in silence. George had unapologetically finished his portion because he was barely surviving on a pizza that he ate last night during his shift at the Compound. Bucky barely touched his noodles, twirling the fork while sitting beside you and watching you. After he ate, Bucky pointed at the couch and said, "Sleep."

George was grateful and knew no storm could move Bucky from your side. So, he scurried away to catch up on some sleep after staying awake for almost a whole day. God, it felt like his residency days.

As he lay there, he wondered whether Bucky confessed his feelings because, as far as George and a few other guys who crushed on you knew, you were very much single.

~

George was jolted awake a few hours later by a sharp, insistent shaking. His eyes flew open to see Bucky looming over him, tensed.

"Why isn't she awake yet?" Bucky hissed lowly, and George scrambled upright. He cast a look your way and then at the tall man.

"She's fine," George croaked, rubbing the sleep away from his face and trying to sound calm. "Painkillers are working. She just needs rest."

But Bucky's piercing glare didn't waver.

Resigned, George got up and checked on you again. "She's doing better," he said after a moment, gesturing toward you. "See? Steady breathing, color's back. Temperature's normal. You can relax."

Bucky nodded curtly and moved to the kitchen, fussing over the coffee machine.

George was not lying. You were recovering much faster. He saw a cup filled with water and a rag of a cloth beside the cot. Bucky must have sat beside you all night. It must have helped bring down the fever.

"Did you sleep at all, Sergeant?" He asked curiously, but all he got was a grunt. George took that as a "no."

Leaning back against the wall beside the small aisle of the kitchen, George sighed, exhaustion settling over him after sleeping on that hard, rickety couch. Please wake up soon, he thought. If not for your sake, then for the sanity of a supersoldier.

****

You woke to the aroma of coffee. And then you heard the shuffling. The surface beneath you felt much softer than you remembered, too soft to be the cold, hard ground.

Were you dreaming?

Your hazy consciousness urged you to move your head, and as you did, you felt the unmistakable comfort of a pillow beneath it.

Oh.

Slowly, you willed your eyes to open, squinting as they adjusted to the warm light of the room.

A figure hovered nearby, and he looked oddly familiar. You blinked again, the image sharpening into focus.

Dr. Finley?

"Your hair's longer," you mumbled, or at least, you thought you did. The words came out slurred, and the effort left your throat burning.

"What?" Dr. Finley's voice sounded distant, as if muffled by a cloth, "Sorry, I didn't catch that. Relax. You've gotta have some water…take it slow."

You licked your lips. Water. Yes, you needed water.

Before you could nod, you became aware of the presence on your other side. A tall, muscular man, all too familiar scent.

Bucky.

He sat beside you, the bed dipping under his weight, a small Dixie cup of water in his hand. Seeing him made you gasp softly, from exhaustion or maybe disbelief.

This had to be a dream.

Your eyelids fluttered closed again tiredly.

But then you heard Bucky calling your name so softly. It felt too real yet unbelievable. Your eyes cracked open, the haze in your mind lifting ever so slightly.

"Drink it, please," Dr. Finley said, but it wasn't his voice you were focusing on. It was Bucky's warm, calloused hand slipping beneath your neck, cradling it as he carefully lifted you.

"Slowly," Bucky murmured, his tone softer than you'd ever heard it. His touch was warming, soothing, and worrying you all the same.

The cool water met your parched lips, and you drank greedily, welcoming the relief it brought to your dry throat.

"Good," Dr. Finley said, watching you closely as Bucky eased you back down, his movements almost unnervingly tender.

"You hurt yourself pretty badly. Lost a lot of blood, but you're okay now. Nothing some rest won't fix." Dr. Finley said.

You nodded faintly, your voice hoarse as you asked, "Did they catch the two agents? The Hydra base?"

Dr. Finley hesitated, his eyes flicking to Bucky. "Yeah, the team handled it. But you should focus on healing…"

You barely heard the rest. Your mind was spinning, questions bubbling to the surface.

Why was Bucky here? Was this Steve's doing? Memories of your last interaction with Bucky vividly flashed, 'Mind your business.' It made your body tense instinctively, and the shift didn't go unnoticed.

Both men were staring at you now, concerned.

"Hey, easy," Bucky said quickly, his brows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

You nodded curtly, though your pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze and the hand resting on your forehead and scalp. You were too exhausted to deal with this, with him. Maybe… maybe if you pretended to fall back asleep, it would all go away.

"You should rest as much as you can," Bucky said. You didn't reply. Instead, you closed your eyes again, letting the warmth of the pillow pull you into the safe, inside hell and heaven of your mind.

****

Washing away the tiredness and the dried blood felt good. Bucky had gone out of his way to set up everything for you--a chair, a bucket of warm water he'd heated himself, and a clean towel he must've found somewhere in the back room. He'd even stepped outside, giving you privacy as you awkwardly washed up.

Every time you glanced at the closed door, you could practically feel him stare at you from the other side.

The blue Henley, his worn blue Henley, sat on the chair nearby, and he apologized for not carrying your clothes when he carefully removed his shirt and sat it on the small shelf beside the shower, reachable to you. You had no idea what to say to that except nod with a barely there smile. Your mind ate away at the idea of wearing his clothes. It was such a terrible circumstance, and you really wanted this all to end.

Earlier, when you requested to wash up after waking up all sweaty as your fever came down, you were looking straight at George, asking him, but George shared a look with Bucky--who you've been trying to actively avoid looking--and hurried outside about making a call, flashing an awkward grin, mumbling, 'He's got it.'

No. You groaned internally. George didn't understand that Bucky didn't want you to be anywhere near him.

Why was Bucky even here? Why was he going out of his way to help you? Was he guilty? Did he feel bad? Was that it?

By the time you were finished and had carefully changed into the Henley that smelled like him, felt like a warm hug on a cold day, and made you even giddier, exhaustion tugged at your limbs.

Bucky appeared a moment later when you called him, moving cautiously, his eyes scanning you, checking for any signs of distress. He carried a bottle of water, twisting off the cap before handing it to you without a word.

You accepted it with a murmured thanks, sipping slowly. His eyes flickered down your body briefly before returning to meet yours. You flushed under his watchful gaze.

Neither of you filled the silence, yet it felt threateningly loud!

~

Bucky helped you ease onto the bed, his brow furrowing as he caught your wince. Your legs stung despite his gentle touch. Once settled, you sat upright, your legs carefully placed on the floor.

You glanced up at Bucky, craning your neck from where you sat. "You didn't have to… do all this," you murmured uncertainly, guilt lacing your tone, and you averted your gaze. "I mean… thank you, but… you shouldn't…"

Bucky cut you off before you could finish, shaking his head vehemently, "Don't," he rasped, his voice intense. His eyes locked onto yours, almost pleading.

"Bucky," you called out softly, and to your utter shock, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his metal hand bracing on the floor while his right hand hovered near your leg, hesitant, unsure. The sight made your breath hitch, and you instinctively leaned back, utterly shocked.

"I haven't heard you call my name for four days." Bucky rasped, clearing his throat. He stared for a few long seconds before ruefully continuing, "I've been desperate to hear it," he admitted with a humorless chuckle, the sound edged with self-deprecation.

"Wh… what?" you stammered dumbly, your mind scrambling to process his words. Why would he say that?

He smiled at you, his smile not reaching his eyes, almost sad, making your heart tug painfully.

"Don't thank me," he said hoarsely, straightening so he was at your eye level. His voice cracked as his head dipped slightly, his shoulders slumping, "Don't… don't make it sound like that. Like you're not worth."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Your throat tightened, the lump of unspoken emotion making it impossible.

"I'm sorry, doll," he murmured, his eyes searching yours.

When you looked confused, he cleared his throat, and his gaze shifted.

Gently, he reached out and pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch sent instant warmth to the last of your nerves.

He licked his criminally pink lips, "Sorry for saying… you know," he gestured with a tilt of his head, silently pleading with you to understand without making him say it aloud.

A scorned heart could wound anyone, but couple it with a marching mind on painkillers; it made you say things without a damn filter.

"Mind my business?" you asked rather softly.

He exhaled a long sigh, his eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head. "I..."

You watched as his shoulders trembled. His right hand gripped the edge of the bed beside your leg, his knuckles white under the strain while the other rested against his side, the Vibranium glinting faintly in the dim light.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice ragged, broken. His head dipped lower, the tremors wracking his body with every inhale. "I'm so sorry…"

"Bucky…" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your chest aching at the sight of him like this.

He looked at you then, his eyes red-rimmed, tears streaking his face, raw and vulnerable. You'd never seen him so torn. It hurt you to see such a formidable, resilient man so vulnerable before your very eyes.

"I didn't mean it," he rasped, his voice cracking. "God, I didn't mean it. I was a coward. I was scared, and I... I pushed you away because I thought I didn't deserve you. I don't deserve you." He sucked in a shuddering breath, his eyes glistening as he shook his head. "But I can't do it anymore. I can't act like you…"

There was a lot to unpack there. You didn't want to assume where the conversation was headed. Your mind was still grappling with everything he was saying.

Your hand moved on its own, gently brushing the dampness from his cheeks as you leaned forward, your heart lodged in your throat. "Bucky, it's okay…"

"NO," he hissed, his voice breaking. Tears spilled freely down his face. "No… you were this close to… I almost lost you, and I would've lost the chance to tell you how much I… how much I love you..."

"What," you let out a disbelieving laugh.

No. No. It couldn't be. But he was before you, his hand gripping yours so firmly, hovering over you so close that you could feel the heat of him, his warmth wrapped around you like a blanket.

"Make me your business," he exclaimed, his voice trembling as he grabbed your hand, firmly clutching it to his face. The stubble on his jaw felt rough against your palm, a strangely sensual sensation that sent a shiver down your spine. "Please. Make me your goddamn business. I don't care if I don't deserve it. I don't care if it's selfish. Just...let me be yours."

Your lips parted, your breath catching as his words slammed into you. His eyes searched yours desperately, pleading.

If you were in a state of better comprehension and reception, you might have called him a dork, an adorably hot one, too, because who else would say, "Make me your business"? It almost made you smile.

"Bucky…" you whispered again, your voice shaking, your free hand brushing back a strand of hair from his forehead. "I…I didn't think you…"

Tears blurred your vision, the intensity of his unfinished words leaving you breathless. You hesitantly cupped his face with both hands now, your thumbs gently wiping away the damp trails of tears on his cheeks.

Your heart ached, trying to find the words.

"Don't cry," you murmured, your own voice cracking as you leaned in closer, your forehead resting against his. "Please don't cry. I'm here. I'm right here."

His forehead dropped against yours heavily, his breath uneven and ragged as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. You held him there, your hands gentle on his face.

"I don't want you to mind your business… never, never… just make me your business… I'm not perfect, but please… just give me a chance… and I will treat you right..." he confessed, and your entire body trembled.

A happy sob broke free from your throat, shaking your head in disbelief, unable to fully comprehend.

"I would," he said, his voice fierce, his grip on your hand tightening as he surged forward just enough that you could feel his lips so close against yours. "I would. Every damn day. Please…"

It pained you to see him plead.

His confession made you euphoric, yet speechless.

You wanted to shout it, to scream that you loved him too, that you had always loved him, but the words caught in your throat.

Somewhere in the depths of your mind, this felt like a fairytale, one that you would wake up from any moment, realizing you were still lying under the tree, cursing your mind for crafting such a beautiful dream.

When you didn't say a word, his expression faltered, and he began to inch away, shoulders and jaw clenched.

"Did I... did I get it wrong? Do you not like me?" he whispered, and your heart shattered at the vulnerability in his voice.

Even if it felt so surreal, and even if it was a dream, you couldn't be the reason for his sadness. So, you shook your head, blinking away the tears that blurred your vision, and a smile formed on your lips effortlessly.

"No, Bucky... you didn't get anything wrong," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I am hopelessly in love with you. It's truly worrisome how much," you added with a soft chuckle, the sound light and shaky, your heart bursting.

He chuckled, relief washing over him as he leaned forward again, carefully cradling your jaw. "Can we have tea tomorrow? You don't have to lift a finger. I'll make it for us and get all your favorites from Deniro's, even those weird-looking cake pops," he pleaded, his eyes warm with hope. You laughed, nodding frantically, heart swelling with joy that he remembered your favorite cafe.

"Get up and sit here, please. You've been kneeling there; sure, your old knees will start aching..." You pointed gently at the spot beside you.

Bucky rolled his eyes with a playful glint dancing in them, he inched forward, bringing his body even closer to you, careful to avoid your legs, his frame engulfing yours.

"I just need to do this…" He whispered against your lips, waiting.

You leaned forward, heart pounding as the heat of his lips tickled yours.

You really had no idea what kissing Bucky Barnes would feel like. You imagined it a million times, though, but you hadn't realized how perfectly consuming it would be. Bucky kissed like it was his first-ever kiss. Maybe it was after Hydra and everything, the way he pecked slowly at first and then sighed with a groan. Then, he licked his lips, carding his fingers in your hair and pulled you even closer.

"You taste so goddamn divine," he growled, softly breaking the kiss, letting his lips suck onto your lower lip, and you moaned helplessly. The sound spurred him on, and he suckled on your lower lip, tongue, and teeth, tracing your lips.

You couldn't take it anymore. Desperately, your hands found his neck, and you pulled him, and he eagerly pushed his tongue against yours. You clenched delightfully at the way you were turned on, and a moan escaped you. Bucky frantically grabbed your back, pressing you against his chest. His undershirt didn't hide his broad muscles flexing making you even more hot and bothered. Your tits practically smushed against his broad chest, and you readily complied, reducing the space between you both even more if possible.

A shooting pain made you hiss, and Bucky pushed himself away, his eyes wide, flushed, and dazed.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, so sorry…" he whispered, placing his hands gently on your outer thighs. Your skin blazed where he touched, goosebumps trailing in its wake.

Your breathing was shallow as you gulped, one hand resting on his cheek and the other clutching his right palm.

"I'm okay. Don't apologize. You're fine, more than fine. We should probably just wait it out," you blushed, gesturing to your bandaged legs.

Bucky nodded, smiling, his darkened eyes crinkling with lightness, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

He was so bloody gorgeous. It was fucking unreal.

An exaggerated sound of someone clearing their throat broke your reverie. Dr. Finley stood at the entrance, wide-eyed, awkwardly shifting on his feet. You felt embarrassed, wondering just how much he had witnessed.

"Um... sorry to interrupt, but the jet is here... We are expected to leave," Dr. Finley said, his voice nearly at a squeaky pitch.

Bucky glared at the man.

"Thanks, Dr. Finley," you managed to say.

"Take as a doctor's note," he paused, glancing at you, "You should probably avoid any strenuous activities until you heal," he said, awkwardly shuffling on his feet before taking off.

Bucky rolled his eyes, and you choked on your breath.

"Ready to go?" Bucky asked, unbothered, with a grin on his face. You nodded. His thumb gently grasped your lower lip, pulling it away from your teeth. It made your heart frolic in sweet agony.

"Don't tempt me, please." He growled, making you gasp at the tone.

And it truly felt dreamlike that night when Bucky held you in your room at the compound, sleeping soundly like a baby. He wrapped you tightly in his arms, your legs resting on the wedge pillow he 'borrowed' from someone's room. You'd probably find out tomorrow when everyone was back.

You slept feeling perfectly whole. And you felt invigorating, like finally accomplishing something you'd suffered through for so long or shedding a heavy weight you'd been carrying for far too long.

Baring your souls and unburdening emotions to become one!

A perfect catharsis, indeed!

Well?🩷🥹

If you wanna be tagged in my works, add yourself here. <3 Please send me a message if you wanna be removed from the Tag list. :)

The tech lead actually took a physical step back, his bravado evaporating the moment Steve's shadow fell over him.

"Excuse me," Steve said. The frequency of his voice seemed to vibrate right through the frantic noise in your head, obliterating half of your stress instantly. He didn't even acknowledge the other man's existence. His blue eyes locked onto yours, softening with a look of deep, observant concern.

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

You blinked, your brain struggling to switch gears from liquid cooling to your man.

"Steve? I'm right in the middle of a…" You gestured vaguely at the mess of schematics. It was a damned meeting you'd been praying to escape for hours, but the professional guilt still clung to you.

"It's kinda urgent," he repeated, his eyebrows scrunched in a way that made your heart jump. You quickly gave a once-over. He looked alright. Your mind immediately went to Bucky…was he hurt? Was there a mission that you were not aware of? You'd been so busy you felt like floating through the days. Without another word to the stunned tech lead, you excused yourself and followed Steve into the hallway.

As soon as the doors closed behind you, Steve turned immediately, his large hand winding around your waist to pull you into his space. You stumbled slightly, steadying yourself with your hands flat against his firm chest.

"Steve, what's going on? Is everything…"

"You look like you're about to snap in half," he murmured, cutting you off. He reached up, his thumb grazing the pulse point at the base of your throat, feeling the frantic rhythm of your lingering adrenaline. "Bucky's downstairs. The car is packed. We're leaving."

"Steve, I can't," you protested, your hands flying up to gesture wildly at the door you'd just exited. "We're a week behind on the next design phase, and if I don't finish figuring things out, the whole project stalls…"

"You've got five minutes," he interrupted.

His voice dropped an octave, shifting into that 'Captain' tone, the one that had led armies. It wrapped around you like an unyielding vine. It was a gentle warning, but a warning nonetheless.

"Go back in there, tell them what they need to know for the weekend. If you aren't out by the time the clock hits five, I'm coming back in there and putting you over my shoulder. I don't care who's watching."

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him about the deadlines and the arrays, but the steady, burning look in his eyes stopped the words cold. He wasn't joking. He was perfectly willing to carry you through a building full of high-ranking scientists.

"Five minutes," he reminded you, stepping back just enough to let you move, though his gaze never left your face. He leaned in one last time, a mischievous glint glimmering in his eyes. "Personally? I'd love an excuse to come back in and get you."

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant, exhausted smile finally breaking through the stress. You knew when you were beaten, and you were beaten long ago. Turning back toward the door, you prepared to give the tech lead the shortest briefing of his life.

Bucky was leaning against the driver's side door, looking far too relaxed in that blue Henley.

As you reached him, trailing behind Steve with your arms crossed and a pout that was mostly performative at this point, Bucky reached out. He cupped your jaw, tilting your face up.

"Thought for sure you'd be coming out over his shoulder," Bucky chuckled, as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss.

"I would've been if I stayed one second longer," you grumbled, though the fight was rapidly draining out of you.

Steve's grin widened, triumphant and impossibly bright as he tossed your laptop bag into the car. He looked back at Bucky, clapping a hand on the roof of the SUV.

"Told ya," he said, his voice brimming with that insufferable lift. "Five-minute warning worked like a charm. Didn't even have to break out the tactical carry."

"You need a break, sweetheart, and that's that." Bucky reaffirmed.

"I'm just outnumbered," you muttered against his chest as he pulled you into a quick, rib-crushing hug.

"Correct," Bucky murmured, already steering you toward the open passenger door with a smirk. "Now get in the car before Steve decides he wants to jog to the cabin and pull us there himself."

Steve scoffed, pulling you in for a kiss.

Charming idiots.

The transition from the sterile tension of the lab to the silence of the woods was almost jarring. As the SUV crunched over the last stretch of gravel, the cabin emerged from the treeline like something pulled from a dream--surreal, secluded, and perfect. Just stunningly perfect.

The structure was a beautiful contradiction of rugged timber and soft, inviting light. On the north side, the forest seemed to be trying to reclaim it; thick, ancient branches of hemlock and oak draped over the roof like a heavy green velvet cloak, shielding it from the rest of the world.

On the south side, the cabin opened up to a sprawling stone patio. It was laid with irregular flags of slate that still held the dying warmth of the afternoon sun. A set of Adirondack chairs sat perched near a fieldstone fire pit, overlooking a steep drop that revealed a breathtaking view of the valley below, now swathed in the purple haze of twilight.

Heavenly.

It was chilly, biting at your cheeks with a crispness that tasted of damp earth and pine resin. Every time you inhaled, the cold felt like it was scrubbing the scent of recycled office air out of your lungs. Your breathing finally leveled out, smoothing into a steady, deep cadence. For the first time in weeks, the only "thermal array" you had to worry about was the heat of the hearth waiting for you inside.

You gasped at the beauty of it all. As you looked around amazed at the scenary, Bucky decided to give you a piggyback ride and who in the right mind would say no to that.

As soon you stepped in, you were carried straight to the bedroom.

In no time, you were stripped and spread between your two men.

"One more, Plum, you can give us one more," Bucky groaned, his thrusts deepening.

You shook your head, whimpering in pleasure.

"She will, Buck," Steve rasped against your neck, pulling your thighs wider for Bucky to grind deliciously against you. With your back to Steve's front, he easily wrapped an arm around your throat, pulling your head up to give you a kiss.

You cried out loud as Bucky decided it was the moment to suck on your tit. In mere seconds, you were falling apart. Bucky groaned, pulling your face close to look you in the eye as he came.

"So pretty, babygirl," he whispered, tugging you into his arms and you let him. Their intoxicating smell wafting around you and the fire crackling in the hearth put you asleep in mere seconds.

You lay there, head smushed on Bucky's chest, limbs tangled between Steve's thighs, and fingers clutching onto Steve's hand, which was wrapped around your waist. They had cleaned you up and put on a soft, oversized t-shirt.

Steve waited a full five minutes after your eyes closed before he dared to move, gently tucking the edge of the blanket around your chin. "Look at her," he whispered, his voice thick with affection wrapped in worry. "You should've seen her in that lab, Buck. I thought she was going to bite that guy's head off."

Bucky let out a silent huff of a laugh, his chest vibrating against your back. He adjusted his arm protectively wrapping you more closer to him weight across your waist.

"Look at those eyebags, she's fucking sapped," Bucky whispered.

"Stubborn as a mule," Steve said, moving closer.

"You mean to say as stubborn as you?" Bucky raised a brow.

Steve rolled his eyes, scoffing weakly.

Bucky snorted, the sound raspy in the quiet room. "Don't you start, Punk. With all the 'I can do this all day.' Where do you think she learned that it's okay to run yourself into the ground?"

"I am not that stubborn," Steve countered, though his protest was weak.

"Right," Bucky whispered, his eyes gleaming with fond exasperation in the firelight. "Honestly, Steve, between the two of you, I'm the only reasonable one in this relationship."

Steve raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at Bucky, "Reasonable? You're the one who wanted to barge in and beat the shit out of the people worrying her."

"Hey," Bucky muttered defensively, his jaw tightening slightly before he softened again, looking down at you.

Steve reached over, his hand resting briefly on Bucky's shoulder, bridging the gap over your sleeping form. "Well, she's here now."

"Yeah," Bucky murmured, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cushion. "Mission accomplished."

Bucky had breakfast ready the moment you'd stepped through the door. You tried to sidestep him, your mind still buzzing with the phantom sleep and the orgasms, but Bucky was faster. With a low, rumbling hum of disagreement, he snagged your waist, his large hand anchoring you before he effortlessly pulled you back and settled you firmly onto his lap.

"I'm not hungry, Buck," you insisted, your voice small as you tried to wiggle away from the heat of his chest.

"Oh, I'm not asking, Plum," he countered, his voice a smooth, gravelly command that brooked no argument. He picked up the fork, his metal fingers glinting under the kitchen lights as he held a perfect bite toward you. "Now open your mouth."

Your protests were wild, a flurry of "I'm fine" and "maybe later," but he simply waited you out with that steady, unimpressed gaze until you finally gave in. You let him feed you, one bite at a time.

"Good girl," Bucky murmured with a soft, satisfied smile, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your cheek the moment the plate was clear.

"What's he up to?" you asked, glancing toward the empty hallway, curious about the sudden lack of your other man.

"He's outside," Bucky said, shifting his weight comfortably beneath you. "Chopping some wood."

Your eyebrows shot up instantly, a devious spark lighting up your eyes as you realized exactly what that entailed. "And we're sitting here and missing out?" you asked, a breathless chuckle escaping you as you started to scramble off his lap. "Absolutely not. Let's go."

Bucky let out a short, rhythmic snicker, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched your sudden surge of energy. "Yes, ma'am," he said, offering no resistance as you grabbed his hand and began dragging him toward the door, eager to find where the sound of the axe was echoing through the trees.

You and Bucky settled on the weathered, wooden porch stairs. You leaned into him, your shoulder tucking under his, and he didn't hesitate, draping his thick arm around you, his thumb tracing absentminded circles over your arm as he rested his cheek against the top of your head.

Steve stood planted, his legs set wide for stability, the heavy splitting maul resting momentarily on the block. His skin is already gleaming, a light sheen of sweat catching the warm light, accentuating the deep, familiar contours of his physique...the broad slope of his shoulders, the thick ropes of his biceps, and the V-taper leading to his waist.

Good lord!

With an easy grace, he hoisted the maul high. The muscles across his back bunched and tightened. Muscles so fucking defined that it made you want to climb him up. He paused for a heartbeat at the apex before unleashing the downward swing with smooth power.

The maul dropped with brutal speed, hitting the dead center of the log. There's a sharp CRACK that echoed off the trees, and the two halves of the log spring apart symmetrically, landing neatly at his feet. Steve barely broke the rhythm. Before the sound even faded, he'd bent down to hoist the next piece of oak onto the block. He took a breath, his chest expanding, a slight ripple passing through his abdominal muscles as he readied the maul once more. The fragrance of pine resin and freshly split wood drifted thick on the cool air, mingling with the primal scent of your soldier.

Fuckin' hell!

What did you do to deserve your godly men? You were a lucky bitch, alright.

"Here to help me?" Steve asked, his voice carried effortlessly through the clearing. He didn't stop his rhythm. He reached down, calloused fingers hooking into a fresh log of oak, and hoisted it onto the stump with a grunt of effort that made the muscles in his forearms cord like steel cable.

Show off.

"No," you said, a traitorous giggle bubbling up as you watched the way the rising sun caught the sheen of sweat on his shoulder blades. You tucked your chin closer to Bucky's chest, hiding a devious smirk. "We're strictly here for the entertainment. It's a very high-quality show."

Steve paused, the heavy splitting maul resting near his boots. He looked over his shoulder, squinting against the golden hour light, his hair tousled and damp against his forehead. "You coming, Buck? Or are you just going to sit there with our girl and objectify me?"

Bucky didn't move an inch. He just squeezed you a little tighter, his chest vibrating with a low, rumbling chuckle. "What she said," he jested, his voice raspy and relaxed. He tilted his head, eyeing Steve's form with an appreciative sort of mischief. "Besides, you look fine without my help. Real fine."

"Real fine," you echoed with a dramatic, dreamy sigh, letting your head fall back against Bucky's shoulder so you could take in the full view of Steve's V-tapered back.

Steve let out a huff. With one final, fluid motion, he brought the maul down, burying the blade deep into the heart of the last log with a final, echoing thud. He left it there, the handle quivering, and turned fully toward the porch.

He stood there for a moment, chest heaving with the exertion, hands settling on his hips. He was flushed from the work, his skin glowing in the amber light, but it was the stupidly cute, lopsided smile on his face that really did you in.

"Tease me and see where that'll get you," he declared, his voice dropping into that low, 'Captain' register that usually made people stand at attention, but here, it was a playful promise.

That, of course, was all the permission you and Bucky needed. The teasing only intensified as Steve finally bridged the gap between the chopping block and the porch, smelling of fresh wood shavings and salt. He didn't just give you a good time, he showed you a real fine time.

Well? 😏

Take a moment to reblog if you enjoyed reading it. 🥹

"That's it". You abandoned the work and strode toward him, eyes fixed on his chest. He looked practically lickable.

"Stop it. I'm trying to work," you whined, failing to mask the tremor in your voice.

Bucky set the weights down with a dull thud and stood to his full height, a smug, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'm working out too, beautiful," he murmured, stepping into your space and leaning down until his breath hitched against your lips.

Your eyes narrowed, trying to summon a shred of resistance. "You could lift that entire couch single-handedly without breaking a sweat," you countered, poking a defiant finger into his chest. "You don't need to exert yourself this much."

Bucky caught your wrist, and before you could protest, his other arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "What's your point?"

You gasped, your resolve shattering. Every instinct urged you to pull away, but you were paralyzed by the scent of him.

"You're such a little shit, Buck," you groaned, your fingers finally giving in and tangling into his hair. "You know exactly what you're doing to me."

"Oh, I haven't done a thing to you yet, my love" he growled.

Before you could say another word, his mouth crashed onto yours. In one fluid move, he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around his torso as he claimed you completely.

So, how was it? Did it tickle your pickle? 🤭

"That's it". You abandoned the work and strode toward him, eyes fixed on his chest. He looked practically lickable.

"Stop it. I'm trying to work," you whined, failing to mask the tremor in your voice.

Bucky set the weights down with a dull thud and stood to his full height, a smug, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'm working out too, beautiful," he murmured, stepping into your space and leaning down until his breath hitched against your lips.

Your eyes narrowed, trying to summon a shred of resistance. "You could lift that entire couch single-handedly without breaking a sweat," you countered, poking a defiant finger into his chest. "You don't need to exert yourself this much."

Bucky caught your wrist, and before you could protest, his other arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "What's your point?"

You gasped, your resolve shattering. Every instinct urged you to pull away, but you were paralyzed by the scent of him.

"You're such a little shit, Buck," you groaned, your fingers finally giving in and tangling into his hair. "You know exactly what you're doing to me."

"Oh, I haven't done a thing to you yet, my love" he growled.

Before you could say another word, his mouth crashed onto yours. In one fluid move, he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around his torso as he claimed you completely.

So, how was it? Did it tickle your pickle? 🤭

"Unbelievable," you laughed, waiting for him to laught it off.

He didn't laugh, and your smile faded. "Oh my God, you're serious."

He pressed a distracting kiss to your cheek. Before you could react, he slyly brought your hands behind your back, and a sharp zip-zip-zip echoed through the room.

"Jack!"

"You refuse to clock out," he reasoned.

"This is kidnapping!"

"Whatever you wanna call it, babygirl."

"You can't arrest me for working!"

"I'm not arresting you. I'm taking my girl home." Your whole body flushed.

"I can't," you tried again. "I have…"

"You have thirty seconds to voluntarily walk out," he whispered against your lips.

"No."

"Okay."

Jack stepped back and dramatically rolled up his sleeves. "If you don't wanna walk, I'm carrying you out over my shoulder. Looking exactly like this."

You glanced at your bound hands. "Fine," you conceded.

Jack smirked, pulling out shears to cleanly snip the plastic. "See? Wasn't so hard."

You rubbed your wrists with a huff. "I'm still reporting you to HR."

"Go ahead. They're the ones who told me to make you go home."

"And the zip ties?"

Jack shrugged, utterly unapologetic. "Those were my idea. And I can think of a better use," he said, claiming your lips.

Well?🥹

"That's it". You abandoned the work and strode toward him, eyes fixed on his chest. He looked practically lickable.

"Stop it. I'm trying to work," you whined, failing to mask the tremor in your voice.

Bucky set the weights down with a dull thud and stood to his full height, a smug, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'm working out too, beautiful," he murmured, stepping into your space and leaning down until his breath hitched against your lips.

Your eyes narrowed, trying to summon a shred of resistance. "You could lift that entire couch single-handedly without breaking a sweat," you countered, poking a defiant finger into his chest. "You don't need to exert yourself this much."

Bucky caught your wrist, and before you could protest, his other arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "What's your point?"

You gasped, your resolve shattering. Every instinct urged you to pull away, but you were paralyzed by the scent of him.

"You're such a little shit, Buck," you groaned, your fingers finally giving in and tangling into his hair. "You know exactly what you're doing to me."

"Oh, I haven't done a thing to you yet, my love" he growled.

Before you could say another word, his mouth crashed onto yours. In one fluid move, he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around his torso as he claimed you completely.

So, how was it? Did it tickle your pickle? 🤭

"Unbelievable," you laughed, waiting for him to laught it off.

He didn't laugh, and your smile faded. "Oh my God, you're serious."

He pressed a distracting kiss to your cheek. Before you could react, he slyly brought your hands behind your back, and a sharp zip-zip-zip echoed through the room.

"Jack!"

"You refuse to clock out," he reasoned.

"This is kidnapping!"

"Whatever you wanna call it, babygirl."

"You can't arrest me for working!"

"I'm not arresting you. I'm taking my girl home." Your whole body flushed.

"I can't," you tried again. "I have…"

"You have thirty seconds to voluntarily walk out," he whispered against your lips.

"No."

"Okay."

Jack stepped back and dramatically rolled up his sleeves. "If you don't wanna walk, I'm carrying you out over my shoulder. Looking exactly like this."

You glanced at your bound hands. "Fine," you conceded.

Jack smirked, pulling out shears to cleanly snip the plastic. "See? Wasn't so hard."

You rubbed your wrists with a huff. "I'm still reporting you to HR."

"Go ahead. They're the ones who told me to make you go home."

"And the zip ties?"

Jack shrugged, utterly unapologetic. "Those were my idea. And I can think of a better use," he said, claiming your lips.

Well?🥹

"Unbelievable," you laughed, waiting for him to laught it off.

He didn't laugh, and your smile faded. "Oh my God, you're serious."

He pressed a distracting kiss to your cheek. Before you could react, he slyly brought your hands behind your back, and a sharp zip-zip-zip echoed through the room.

"Jack!"

"You refuse to clock out," he reasoned.

"This is kidnapping!"

"Whatever you wanna call it, babygirl."

"You can't arrest me for working!"

"I'm not arresting you. I'm taking my girl home." Your whole body flushed.

"I can't," you tried again. "I have…"

"You have thirty seconds to voluntarily walk out," he whispered against your lips.

"No."

"Okay."

Jack stepped back and dramatically rolled up his sleeves. "If you don't wanna walk, I'm carrying you out over my shoulder. Looking exactly like this."

You glanced at your bound hands. "Fine," you conceded.

Jack smirked, pulling out shears to cleanly snip the plastic. "See? Wasn't so hard."

You rubbed your wrists with a huff. "I'm still reporting you to HR."

"Go ahead. They're the ones who told me to make you go home."

"And the zip ties?"

Jack shrugged, utterly unapologetic. "Those were my idea. And I can think of a better use," he said, claiming your lips.

Well?🥹

"That's it". You abandoned the work and strode toward him, eyes fixed on his chest. He looked practically lickable.

"Stop it. I'm trying to work," you whined, failing to mask the tremor in your voice.

Bucky set the weights down with a dull thud and stood to his full height, a smug, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'm working out too, beautiful," he murmured, stepping into your space and leaning down until his breath hitched against your lips.

Your eyes narrowed, trying to summon a shred of resistance. "You could lift that entire couch single-handedly without breaking a sweat," you countered, poking a defiant finger into his chest. "You don't need to exert yourself this much."

Bucky caught your wrist, and before you could protest, his other arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "What's your point?"

You gasped, your resolve shattering. Every instinct urged you to pull away, but you were paralyzed by the scent of him.

"You're such a little shit, Buck," you groaned, your fingers finally giving in and tangling into his hair. "You know exactly what you're doing to me."

"Oh, I haven't done a thing to you yet, my love" he growled.

Before you could say another word, his mouth crashed onto yours. In one fluid move, he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around his torso as he claimed you completely.

So, how was it? Did it tickle your pickle? 🤭