wife, mom, equestrian, stoner, disabled 57 she/her

The first time it happens, it’s so subtle you barely register it. A comment slipped under her breath while you’re grabbing gear.

“Funny,” she murmurs, eyes flicking over you, “how he never shuts up about you. You’d think he’d want something a little less… predictable.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

She just smiles, sweet as anything, like she didn’t say a word.

After that, it becomes a pattern.

Little things. Sharp things. Things no one else hears.

“You know he only keeps you around because you’re familiar, right?”

“You should see the way he looks at me when you’re not there.”

“You’re not exactly hard to replace.”

Each one lands softer than a punch but sinks deeper.

And the worst part?

No one would believe you.

Because Marnie is perfect on paper. Efficient. Respected. The kind of agent people trust without question. And you… you’re just the best friend who’s been around too long, maybe a little too close for comfort.

So you don’t say anything.

You just start stepping back.

It’s small at first. Sitting a little farther away during briefings. Letting conversations drift without jumping in. Skipping movie nights because you’re “tired.” Avoiding the way Bucky’s arm naturally drapes over the back of your chair like it always has.

He notices.

Bucky’s always been tuned into you in a way that borders on instinct, and it doesn’t take long before his brows start to knit together every time you slip out of a room too early or dodge his questions.

“You good?” he asks one night, catching you in the hallway.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, offering a smile that doesn’t quite stick. “Just tired.”

His eyes narrow slightly, not buying it. “You’ve been ‘tired’ for like a week.”

You shrug, already stepping back. “Mission coming up. Just in my head, I guess.”

He doesn’t like that answer, you can tell. But Marnie calls his name from the common room, and the moment breaks.

You pretend not to notice how easily he lets himself be pulled away.

---

The mission is supposed to be straightforward.

Infiltrate. Extract intel. Get out.

You, Bucky, Sam, Steve, Natasha, and Marnie.

It goes sideways almost immediately.

Alarms blare. Footsteps thunder down corridors. The team splits on instinct, falling into smaller units to cover more ground.

You end up with Marnie.

For a second, you think maybe this is a chance to prove something—to smooth over whatever tension has been building, even if it’s mostly one-sided.

You move together down a dim hallway, backs to the wall, weapons raised.

“Two guards ahead,” you whisper.

“I see them,” she replies.

You take one. She takes the other.

Clean. Efficient.

For a moment, it feels normal.

Then more footsteps echo—too many.

Your grip tightens on your weapon. “We need to regroup.”

Marnie glances around the corner, assessing. “You hold them here. I’ll circle around and flank.”

Your stomach twists. “That’s not—”

“I’ve got it,” she cuts you off smoothly, already stepping back. “Try to keep up.”

And then she’s gone.

You’re left standing there as five—no, six—armed men round the corner.

For a split second, you just stare after her, disbelief cracking through you.

She knew. She knew exactly how many there were, and she left anyway.

There’s no time to dwell on it.

You move.

You fight.

You’ve been in worse situations, you tell yourself. You can handle it.

But six on one is never a fair fight.

The first hit lands hard against your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs. You recover, swing, drop one, but another comes from behind, slamming you into the wall. Pain sparks across your vision. You taste blood.

You keep going. You have to. But it’s too much.

A boot catches your knee. You go down. A fist cracks against your jaw. Your head snaps to the side, vision blurring.

Somewhere down the hall, there’s shouting then gunfire.

Precise. Controlled.

The pressure around you disappears almost as quickly as it came.

You don’t even see who takes the last shot.

Everything fades to black.

---

When you come to, it’s quiet.

The sterile hum of the med bay wraps around you, steady and unforgiving. Your body aches in places you can’t even fully register yet, heavy and distant.

There’s a hand in yours.

Warm. Familiar. Bucky.

His head is bowed, shoulders hunched like he’s carrying something too heavy to hold. His grip tightens the second you shift.

“Hey—hey,” he breathes, voice rough, snapping upright. “You’re awake. Doll, hey, look at me.”

Your eyes struggle to focus, but you find him eventually.

He looks… wrecked.

“You’re okay,” he keeps saying, like he’s trying to convince himself. “You’re okay.”

Your throat feels like sandpaper. “Buck…”

He swallows hard, squeezing your hand. “I’m here.”

There’s movement behind him—Steve, Sam, Natasha—but Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off you.

And then Steve speaks, quiet but firm.

“Sam saw what happened.”

The words hang in the air.

Bucky stills.

“What?” he asks slowly.

Sam steps forward, jaw tight. “Marie left her. On purpose. There were six guys and she—she just walked away, man.”

The room shifts.

You see it happen in real time, the moment the pieces click into place in Bucky’s mind. Every unanswered question. Every time you pulled away. Every “I’m fine” that clearly wasn’t.

His grip on your hand trembles.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, voice breaking in a way you’ve never heard before.

You blink up at him, exhaustion pulling at you. “Didn’t think you’d believe me.”

The hurt that flashes across his face is immediate and devastating.

“I always believe you,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your chest tightens.

“I’m sorry,” he adds quickly, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen it. I should’ve—God, I left you alone with her—”

“Buck,” you interrupt weakly. “Not your fault.”

“It is,” he insists, voice rising. “I was too busy—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. “She’s gone. Nat dealt with it.”

There’s something final in that.

You don’t ask.

You don’t need to.

Silence settles again, softer this time.

Bucky leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, his voice dropping to something fragile.

“I thought you were pulling away because you didn’t need me anymore,” he admits. “I didn’t think it was because I was letting someone hurt you.”

Your heart stutters.

“I could never not need you,” you whisper.

His eyes search yours, desperate, like he’s been waiting to hear that.

“Yeah?” he asks, almost afraid.

You nod as much as you can. “Yeah.”

Something in him finally breaks open.

“I love you,” he says, the words tumbling out like they’ve been trapped for too long. “I think I always have. I just—I didn’t want to mess up what we had, and then she—” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. You matter.”

Your breath catches.

Even through the pain, even through the haze, warmth spreads through your chest.

“Took you long enough,” you murmur, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

He lets out a shaky laugh, relief flooding his features. “Yeah. I know.”

His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, grounding, careful.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. “Not ever again. You don’t have to fight alone. Not while I’m here.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, holding on just as firmly.

“Good,” you whisper.

And this time, when your eyes drift closed again, it’s not from pain.

Okay. You work with the Avengers. You have stood in rooms with people who could level buildings. You have completed extractions in active combat zones. You have done things that required considerably more nerve than walking across a gym floor and asking one man what your problem is. You can do this. You are doing this. You're going.

You go.

Across the gym, Bucky is having a separate but related crisis.

Say it, he thinks. Sam said say it. Sam said just say it, James, stop making it weird, it cannot possibly get weirder than it already is, so just — 

He watches you stand up straighter, watches you set your jaw the way you do when you've made a decision. He watches you start walking toward him, and every single prepared sentence he's spent four days constructing evaporates completely.

He straightens up, putting his shoulders back. He breathes out once through his nose.

Say it.

You stop in front of him. He's looking at you. You're looking somewhere around his collarbone because his face has always been the problem, the weight of it, and you can't look at it directly right now.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," you start.

"I need to tell you something," he says at the same time.

You both stop. He gestures, slightly, with one hand. You first. You shake your head. You first. He nods once, like accepting a mission parameter. Then there is a brief silence in which he appears to be locating something inside himself that doesn't come easily.

"I think about you," he says. "A lot. More than — " he pauses, seems to decide that more than is a road he doesn't know how to finish, and reroutes. "You're the first thing I think about in the morning. Most mornings."

You stare at him. Your brain does a fast, wrong translation.

"I'm sorry," you say.

Something moves across his face. "What."

"I'm sorry," you repeat, to his collarbone, "for whatever I did. I've been going over it and I can't figure out what, but clearly something — "

"That's not — " he stops, and tries again. "I wasn't saying that as a bad thing."

"Right," you say, in the tone of someone who absolutely does not believe that.

He looks at the ceiling for a moment and then looks back at you. Bucky plants his feet straight.

"When you're in a room," he says, slowly, carefully, like he's translating from a language he's still learning, "it's quieter. In my head. It's been loud for a long time and when you're around it — stops. That's not something that happens to me."

You are quiet for a moment.

"Is it the mug?" you say.

Bucky blinks. "What."

"I used your mug. The grey one. I washed it but maybe I put it back wrong or — "

"This isn't about a mug," he says, with great patience.

"The obstacle course?"

"No."

"I beat your time."

"I know."

"By four seconds, I know that probably — "

"I don't care about the obstacle course," he says. "I've never thought about the obstacle course. Please." He exhales, trying to find the thread again, somewhere. He does, and pulls on it. "I gave you my rifle," he says.

You go very still.

"I've never given anyone my rifle," he continues. "I want you to know that. I need you to know that, actually, because I think — " he stops, rebuilds. "I gave it to you because I wanted to. Because I trust you with things that matter to me."

The silence stretches long enough to be uncomfortable.

"Did I scratch it?" you say quietly.

"What — " he closes his eyes for just a second, before opening them. "No. You didn't scratch it. It's fine. You were — your shots were incredible, that's the — " he stops again.

Bucky's three sentences away from where he wants to be and he can't seem to close the distance. He looks at you. You're looking at the floor, tracing the edge of a panel with your eyes, and he's looking at the ceiling again, at the flickering light in the far corner that no one has fixed.

There are approximately four feet between you that feel considerably larger than that. He tries one more time.

"I like you," he says. Just that, flat and direct and stripped of all the scaffolding because the scaffolding isn't working. "I like you and I don't — I'm not good at this. I know I'm not good at this. But I needed you to know that the way I've been — it was never — it was always — " he stops and looks at you. "It was never a bad thing, what I feel. It's not a bad thing."

Something small and white walks into the gym. You both look down.

Alpine surveys the situation with the expression of a creature who has found two people being unnecessarily complicated about something very simple.

Swalks in a slow deliberate figure of eight between your legs, purring at a volume that seems unreasonable for her size. Something in your face does the thing it does when you're not performing anything.

"Oh," you say softly. "Hi. Hello, who are you?"

Alpine headbutts your hand with considerable force. You make a small sound. You are now entirely focused on the cat, which means you are no longer focused on your own hands, your own shoes, the specific floor panel you've been staring at.

So, you’re certainly not focused on Bucky, which is the only reason you miss what happens to his face when he watches you with her.

He crouches down.

"Hey, baby," he says, to Alpine, in a voice about forty percent softer than anything you've heard from him, and Alpine abandons you immediately to climb onto his knee. He lets her. He runs his hand down her back and she presses into it.

He exhales, quietly, and then — because he's down here, because it's a different angle, because he's spent weeks looking at you from across rooms and corridors and ridgelines but not like this, not close and low and quiet — he glances up.

The thought arrives before he can stop it. He'd looked at you from many angles. Across briefing tables, through scope lenses, from the other end of long corridors. But this one — you close, and soft, and unguarded, not knowing he's looking — this one was different. This one he thinks he'll carry for a while.

You reach down to pet Alpine. He catches your wrist.

Not hard — barely anything, just his fingers closing gently around it. You go still, and he turns your hand over slowly, pressing his lips to your palm. Quiet and certain. The way he does everything when he's actually sure of it.

You look at him.

He's already looking at you. That same look, the one that's been there for weeks in the corners of rooms and the edges of missions. Except now there's nothing between you and it. And there’s no misconception or misunderstanding. It’s just his face, open in a way you've never seen it, and the understanding of what you've been seeing this whole time settling into place all at once.

"I like you too, Buck," you murmur. Your eyes move over his face like you're still learning it, this version of it, the one he's been keeping underneath everything else. "I was scared I'd disappointed you. That's — that's why I couldn't look at you. I thought you were angry and I couldn't figure out what I'd done and I just kept — " you stop, almost laughing a little. "I kept waiting for it to get worse."

Something in his expression shifts — not pain exactly, but close to it, the specific kind that comes from understanding something too late.

"No," he says, quietly. "Never that."

Alpine climbs off his knee and sits between you both with the air of someone who has successfully managed a very difficult negotiation and would like to be acknowledged for it.

In the doorway, Sam stops walking, with Steve, two steps behind him, stopping also.

They stand there for a moment, looking at the scene across the gym — Bucky on one knee, your hand in his, Alpine between you, the particular quality of the quiet from this distance —

"Is he — " Steve starts.

"No," Sam says immediately.

"Sam, he's on one knee — "

"He's petting the cat, Steve — "

"He was petting the cat, now he's holding her hand — "

"That's not a proposal, that's a — "

"You told him to go talk to them and now he's on one knee holding their hand, Sam — "

"I told him to confess," Sam says, with great emphasis, "I did not tell him to propose, those are two entirely separate conversations that I very clearly delineated — "

Steve turns to look at him with an expression of profound betrayal. "You said you had it handled."

"I did have it handled. Look at them, Steve. It's handled."

Steve looks. The gym is very quiet from here. Bucky is saying something low that they can't hear, and you're laughing — actually laughing, the real one, not the polite one — and Alpine is sitting between you both like she planned the entire thing.

Something in Steve's face settles.

"...okay," he says, after a moment.

"Thank you."

"You're still an idiot."

"Absolutely," Sam agrees, and neither of them moves toward the exit yet, standing there a little longer in the doorway, not wanting to be the thing that breaks it.

$ tag @twentytomidnight @froggibus

$ vi dont-shoot-your-shot.txt (v1) dont-shoot-your-shot-v2.txt

"No, no — " he waves a hand, "that was the right call." He says decisively, as he is absolutely not going to elaborate on why. You let it go. You get to the shooting range.

"He asked me to go," you say, "and I went, and it was — actually fine, it was genuinely fine, I had a good time." You pause. "But he kept smiling."

"Smiling," Steve repeats.

"Every time he hit a target, which was every time. Just — " you make a vague gesture, " — this small, private smile, like he was really pleased with himself, and I couldn't tell if he was showing off or warning me or — " you stop. "Is this a competition thing? Did I accidentally start a competition?"

Steve opens his mouth, glances briefly over your shoulder, and closes it again. When he looks back at you his expression has been carefully reset to something warm and unhurried. It would’ve been more convincing if you hadn't just watched him do it in real time.

"It's not a competition thing," he says.

"Then what is the smile?"

Across the gym, Bucky has not moved in four minutes.

He'd come in for a workout, that had been the plan. The plan had been going fine until he'd seen you cross the floor toward Steve with the specific purposeful energy. Looks like you had something serious to say. So, now the plan is on hold indefinitely because you are talking to Steve, who’s listening with his head tilted and his full attention.

All the while, Bucky’s standing next to the punching bag he has not touched once with his arms crossed and an expression that Sam would later describe, generously, as a little intense.

He can’t exactly hear much from here, so he's not eavesdropping or anything. He just hasn't left yet. That's all.

He's simply still here, in this spot, not doing anything, watching Steve say something that makes you frown slightly and tilt your head. He’s feeling something in his chest that he doesn't have a clean name for but sits somewhere between that should be me you're talking to and Steve, you better not be saying anything.

Steve glances over at him, pensive. Bucky does not alter his expression. Steve looks away.

"Honestly," Steve says, with the measured tone of a man picking his words like he's crossing a frozen lake, "that's just— that's just how he looks sometimes. When he' — " another flicker over your shoulder, barely a second, just his eyes, and then back to you, and he looks for a moment like a man sending a very urgent telegram with his face, "— when he's comfortable. That's a comfortable expression for him."

"He looked like he was winning something."

"He— " Steve stops, exhales largely. "He was probably just having a good time."

"Steve."

"I genuinely believe that to be true," he says, and he does, technically, believe that to be true, which is why he's able to maintain eye contact while saying it.

He glances over your shoulder again, just for a fraction of a second, and whatever he sees there makes something in his jaw tighten. He looks back at you immediately. Smiles. It's a very good smile. He's been doing this a long time, you’re getting worried for Steve here.

"So the staring," you say. "Eleven incidents. That's just— comfort?"

"Bucky's had a— " Steve pauses, seems to reconsider the entire sentence, and rebuilds it from scratch. "He's still working on how he is around people. Around certain people especially." He nods slightly, just once, like he's making a point. You're not sure what the point is. "Sometimes that looks different than you'd expect."

"It looks like surveillance."

"It's not surveillance."

"How would you know?"

"Because I know him," Steve says, with a patience that is very slightly strained at the edges now, "and I'm telling you it's not surveillance." He glances over your shoulder for the third time and this time doesn't quite manage to get his expression back in order before he turns to you again. There it is — just for a second — something that looks almost like a man trying not to visibly panic.

You know that look. You've seen it on people right before they tell you something is directly behind you.

The gym feels very quiet all of a sudden.

"Steve," you say slowly.

"Mm," says Steve.

"He's right behind me, isn't he?"

Steve says nothing. His expression says everything. You do not turn around.

# fic inspo:

$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger

$ vi dont-shoot-your-shot.txt (v1)

Before he can gather what's left of his dignity, you take a step closer. 

Bucky yields the space automatically and steps back, then again and again. By the time it occurs to him what he's doing, he's somehow surrendered the entire doorway and retreated halfway into his apartment without putting up so much as a token resistance. 

You reach him and place a hand against his chest. The touch is light, barely there, it still feels for him like being struck by lightning.

You push him aside and walk past him into the apartment as though you've been invited.

The door clicks shut behind you.

"You’re such a little bitty pretty one," you murmur, as though you aren't nearly a foot shorter than him.

A strangled sound escapes your handsome neighbour, and his face somehow manages to turn an even deeper shade of red.

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

God, he's so adorable.

You trail a finger down the front of his faded red henley. 

Bucky's breathing stutters. He can feel it and there’s nothing he can do about it. His cock thickens and hardens in his pants, straining blatantly against the fabric and there is no chance of hiding it. 

"Come on and talk to me," you tease softly. “Tell me what you are thinking about?”

His mother called your name as she hugged you. “We’re so happy you’re here!”

You smiled and hugged her back, “Scott told me you have a lot of plans ahead.”

“You have no idea, this week’s gonna be amazing!”

“Mr. Summers.” You looked at his father, and he hugged you immediately.

“When are you gonna stop calling me that? It’s been years.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t think I can stop.”

Some kind of tension in the air could be felt. They were explaining the plans for the week while you looked around, only thinking about what Bucky could possibly be doing.

In the middle of the dinner, your phone rang. You peeked and noticed his name lighting up your screen.

“Who’s it?” Scott furrowed, and you shrugged.

“Oh… Uh… Work.” You lied, standing up, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You walked upstairs and hid yourself in your room.

“Hi, sunshine.” His voice came weary through the phone.

“Oh, James. You got me all worried.” You hurried to answer.

“Where are you?” You could hear a hurt tone in his voice.

“How do you know I’m not at home?”

“Do you really think I didn’t ask Banner to take care of you?”

“Fair point. I’m in the Hamptons…”

“Still with Scott, huh?”

“Yeah… this was planned.”

“Honey, you don’t have to excuse yourself with me. I don’t care if you’re with him or not…”

You didn’t want to take it to heart, but his tone came harshly, and you felt guilty. You were trying to find words to answer, but you remained silent.

“No… Fuck… I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t want to make it sound like that.”

“It’s fine… James… Can we talk later? I was in the middle of the dinner.”

He growled.

“I’ll see you when I get back to the city.”

“See you, James.”

You got back to the table, and they were back to talking about business.

“Everything alright, babe?” Scott placed his hand on your leg as you sat.

“All fine. The new girl is still adapting.” You smiled wryly.

“They should be ready for your leaving.” His mother spoke, “It’s gonna be soon. They need to be prepared.”

“Huh?” You tilted your head. “I’m not planning on changing jobs soon.”

Scott coughed, trying to ease the tension.

When the night ended, the words of your mother-in-law were now imprinted on your mind. You have never told anyone you were even thinking about leaving your job. Yes, you hated it with a special heat, but that didn’t mean you wanted to leave.

Scott had blacked out in bed, and you stood up to take a walk in the cottage’s garden. When you crossed his father’s studio, you could hear his voice coming from there. He was talking with his wife.

“Well! I didn’t know she was planning to keep that shitty job after the wedding…” She mumbled through her teeth.

“Maybe she doesn’t know he wants to propose… Maybe he’s not even planning on proposing soon… Maybe we misunderstood.”

Your world fell to your feet immediately.

You were about to break up with him… and he was planning on proposing?

You decided to stop eavesdropping and walked towards the door. The air outside was thick and humid, and your skin felt sticky.

Then, his name showed up again on your screen.

“Hi, James.” You answered immediately.

“Someone’s waiting for you at the back entrance. You got ten minutes before he goes and knocks on the door.”

“What?”

“Ten minutes. The clock is ticking.”

He hung up, and you decided not to waste any minute. You knew him. You knew he was not lying. Now, your short and revealing pajama set felt completely inappropriate as you ran to the back door of the villa, your bare feet hurt from the feeling of the ground and the garden.

When you arrived, a black car waited for you. There, Clint, with a fed-up expression, opened the back door for you to get in.

The gate creaked as you opened it, but it was too far to be heard by anyone in the main house.

“Good night, Clint.”

“Night.” He answered, not even looking at you.

It was partly out of respect, partly out of being mad for having to do this.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer.

“Is he mad?” He growled, “Clint…”

“Not with you if that’s your question.”

“Oh…”

“Is he fine?” You were now worried.

“He will be.”

The drive was short. The cottage was big, not as big as you could think a property of a made man should be.

Clint parked out of the main entrance and walked you through the house to an office in the back of the place.

“He’s there… Just… Be ready…” He opened the door and stepped aside.

“Thank you, Clint.”

You walked in, and your barefoot steps echoed through the room. He was sitting on a chair with his back to the door.

“James?” You mumbled.

He turned around, and you finally noticed his face. His cheekbones were completely shattered, his lips were busted, and some dry blood stained his face.

“What the hell happened to you?”

He drank from a glass, “Occupational hazards…”

“No, those are not…” You grunted and went back to the doors, “Clint?”

He opened the door immediately and looked at you, “Yes?”

“You have something to clean up his wounds?”

He chuckled and nodded.

You were facing the door, waiting for him as he came back with a first aid kit.

“Thank you, Clint.”

You walked towards him, and he had remained silent since you turned your back on him. You sat on the desk in front of him and leaned in to start cleaning his wounds.

He was grunting, gripping the mahogany desk you were sitting at.

“You don’t have to do this,” he mumbled, “Sweetheart, I was an asshole earlier.”

You shook your head and took more alcohol, dampening the cotton.

“This’ gonna hurt, James.”

He chuckled, “Probably not as much as it hurt when it happened.”

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

“Not really.”

“Fair.”

You were looking at his eyes, those blue eyes kept you completely out of your right mind. What were you doing in a mob’s vacation home when you were supposed to be sleeping next to your… apparently future husband?

“Fuck it,” He took you by your waist and made you sit on his lap—you were sitting on just one leg, but something inside made you move your legs to straddle him. His hands gripped your waist, and you turned around to dampen the cotton again.

“Look at this. Tell me the man who did this isn't still alive?” You furrowed when you were finally able to clean a blood stain on his cheek.

“He wishes he were not…”

“Ok… Ok… Stop… I don’t know why I asked that…” He chuckled.

Furrowing and whining, he gripped your waist while you finished cleaning him up.

“And now, look at you. As beautiful as always.”

“James…” The tone in your voice was pathetic.

“Let me do the talk first.” He begged, “I was an asshole, and I’m tired of pretending that I don’t care that you’re still with Scott, and knowing you’re there with him… it’s killing me…”

“That’s why you came all your way here?”

He nodded.

“James…” You sighed, “I think I’m getting married.”

He choked on his own saliva, “The fuck you mean?”

“His parents were talking about me quitting my job, and then I eavesdropped, and they were talking about him proposing or something like that…”

“And do you want that, sunshine?”

You shook your head, “But I think that’s next… Isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily…” His hand found a strand of hair and tucked it behind your ear. “Well, then... If I know you well... This could be one of the last times we see each other, right?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I’m about to do this…” His hands cupped your face, and he kissed you like he was starving, like your lips were the last meal he was ever going to have. Your fingers grasped his suit, without realizing that you pulled him incredibly closer, you were panting as his tongue found yours and made you wish this could last forever.

“And a sweetheart like you would never engage in something like this while being married.”

A tear left your eye.

“No… No… Don’t… Fuck… Don’t cry, sweetheart. Don’t do this to me. You’re gonna kill me…”

“I don’t want to get married, James…” You whined.

He stroked your hair and placed you in the crook of his neck, “You know you don’t have to, right?”

A knock on the door startled you both.

“It’s time,” Clint claimed from the other side of the door. You looked at him, tilting your head.

“I knew we weren’t going to be able to decide to bring you back home on time, so I asked Clint to do it for us.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. Carefully, he took you off his lap and walked you to the door.

“When are you coming back?” You turned to face him.

“I’ll be there when you get back if you still wanna see me when you get back.” He ticked his jaw.

You stood on your feet and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t get in too much trouble.”

He scoffed, “Same to you.”

The way back home was silent. When he parked in the same spot where he had picked you up from, you looked at the big house.

“They haven’t woken up. Someone has been checking up.” You nodded.

“Clint, can I ask you something?” You looked at him through the rearview mirror.

“Go ahead.”

“What is this with Bucky and I?” He turned around, looking at you.

“If you are asking me if he’s interested in you, I think you know the answer.”

A note of his perfume still lingered on your clothes, and the earlier kiss still burned your lips.

“And is it real?”

He shrugged. Men in this field didn’t have the privilege of finding a woman like you, who was not interested at all in their money and power, but at the same time, he knew well Bucky at this point, and he knew he was capable of doing anything for you… For the best and the worst.

“It’s time for you to go, they haven’t woken up, and you’re still on time to sleep at least a few hours.”

“Good night, Clint.”

“Night.” He waited for you to walk into the house.

The morning had been hurried—you noticed how Scott kept avoiding you, and the more he did it, the more nervous you got. You didn’t want to get to the point where he was going to ask you to marry him, and now you had on your shoulders the kiss you and Bucky had shared earlier.

You were sitting in front of the mirror while you put your makeup on when Scott arrived and sat on the couch next to you. You noticed he was nervous; he was not even looking you in the eyes as he always had before. His hands kept toying with his fingers.

“It’s everything alright, Scott?” He shook his head.

“Promise me you won’t get mad.”

“Huh?” You put down the brush, “Why would I get mad?”

“I know this is not… the best moment to do it… but… I think this isn't going anywhere anymore.” He hurried to say.

You were trying to wrap your mind around the word that had just come out of his mouth.

“Come again?”

He sighed and stroked his hair. “I know it's a bit impractical to do it this way, but you love these trips, and you were so excited about seeing my parents, and they love you…”

You were seeing red. Your mouth was sealed in a line.

“Why would you invite me to a whole fucking weekend at your parents’ cottage just to break up with me halfway through?!” You shouted.

“I know… But I just realized I don’t feel the same about you anymore… This feels wrong but… I want you to have a good last weekend here… and we could keep it a secret till we go back home!”

You stood up.

“Are you being serious?”

“Yeah… I mean… We can skip the touching… Unless you want it…”

There were not enough words in your dictionary to respond to the nonsense he was saying.

“You know you're a piece of shit, right?”

You grumbled and stood up, starting to pack up your things.

“What… What are you doing?”

“Packing up, don't you see?” You motioned, “I'm not staying to help you keep up your image.”

He chuckled. Cynically. That mocking laugh that always made you mad.

“And how do you think you're leaving?”

“Oh, you don't have to worry about me…”

“My parents are not taking you back home.”

“I’m not saying that.”

Once he noticed he was not receiving any responses he left your shared room. You kept packing up until you had everything in your suitcase. When you finally found your suitcases all done, you took your phone out.

His number was the last in your call log.

Not even a second ring had sounded when he answered.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Bucky seemed busy, “All alright?”

“Not really… But… Did you already leave?”

“Not really. We were getting ready to leave.”

“Could you… Pick me up, too?”

Silence.

“I’ll be there in an hour. Time enough for you to pack up?”

“I’ve already packed up.”

“Back entrance?”

He joked.

“What about a main entrance meeting?”

A small chuckle could be heard on the other side of the line.

“Twenty minutes, I’ll be there for you.”

“See you in a minute, James.”

No one was to be seen, and you took your suitcases to the main entrance. You logged in the PIN to open the gate, and then, a black Audi arrived—ostentatious, pretentious.

Bucky—himself—got out of the car; black suit, face healing, woodsy scent filled up your lungs even from a distance. He stood still and stoic in front of you.

“Morning?” You smiled shyly.

“Is that all?” He tilted his head when he saw the three suitcases.

“It was a full week trip!” You whined. He shook his head and started to load his trunk while you remained silent.

And then, you finally came to a realization.

“James… How did you know where to find me?” You crossed your arms on your chest.

“Are you really asking me that?” He was organizing the suitcases in the truck. You nodded. “Well, one call and I found the address.”

“And why did you come today, and didn’t send Clint again?”

“I thought you needed me more than Clint.”

“Good call.” You smiled.

“Where the fuck do you think you are going?!” Scott's voice came loud from the entrance. Bucky smiled mischievously.

“James. Don’t.” You stopped him by his chest, “Let me take care of it.”

He sighed and kept going with your belongings.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, and who the hell is this idiot?”

Bucky didn’t even bat an eye at him.

“He’s a friend. He’s taking me home.” Bucky chuckled and shut the trunk.

He walked like a gazelle to your side. He didn’t touch you; he just remained by your side, letting you handle the situation.

“You’re not fucking leaving… I told you you were going to wait till the end of the week.” He tried to yank you by the waist, but Bucky was faster and gripped Scott’s waist to push him.

You knew Scott was not an aggressive man, but you also knew he depended on his parents’ money, and he had been on a tight line for months, and he was about to lose everything as soon as they knew you were leaving.

“Scott, it’s for the best.” You pulled Bucky back and put yourself in the middle of them both. “James, go to the car.”

There was no living man who had ordered Bucky to do anything. And there you were, asking him to restrain himself from defending you.

“I prefer to stay.” His gravelly voice made Scott take a step back, “But I’m gonna stay aside.”

“Now, Scott. Your parents are a second away from coming. Do you really want them to know why I left? ‘Cause I’m completely ready to tell them what’s going on.”

“Are you cheating on me with him?” The cynicism in his tone was completely unbelievable.

“He’s just a friend.” You used the exact tone he had used with you every time you confronted him.

Bucky scoffed a laugh. “Sunshine, we need to leave. I have some things to do.”

You nodded and patted Scott’s chest. “If you need to blame me to try to keep your parents happy, just tell them I cheated… Or whatever makes you feel happy. I’m removing my name from the lease, and I’ll be leaving as soon as possible. You won’t see me at the apartment when you come back.”

“Oh, you are gonna leave?” He chuckled, “And how are you gonna do that?”

“Well, as you said, every time your parents removed their help from you, I always find my way to solve problems… So, I’ll find my way again.”

The open door was waiting for you, and Bucky offered his hands to help you get in. Then, he walked directly to his door. “Nice to meet you, Scott. I’m the way.”

Heat crawled to your cheeks when you saw Scott’s jaw drop to the floor.

“James!” You scolded him, and he just laughed.

He was talking on the phone while you typed on yours, trying to contact your landlord. You wanted to solve everything as soon as possible—even more when you thought about going back to him just to keep the peace.

“Yes. That address.” Bucky talked to his phone. “Uh… at least four men, I need that to get done today.”

"Do you have pets?” He talked to you.

“No?” You answered doubtfully.

“No pets. Yeah. I’ll send you the list of things.”

He hung up and handed you his phone.

“Send a text to that last dialed number with the things you need to take.”

“I… don’t… We don’t own too much. Most of the furniture was bought by his parents… Maybe just my clothes? I don’t care for the furniture…”

You started texting them a list of your things. When you finally finished typing everything, you gave him back his phone.

“Now… Do you wanna tell me what happened?” He was driving, but his hand found your leg, his thumb traced circles in your thigh; it was delicate, more like a tender gesture.

“Apparently… Scott was not going to propose…”

Bucky’s jaw clenched.

“And then?”

“He broke up with me… and he expected me to stay the whole week to keep pretending we were a couple in front of his parents.”

“Why?”

“His parents have been threatening for years to stop the support because he can’t hold a job… I was the most stable thing he had…”

“Look at him. Losing the only good thing he had.”

A twitching smile showed on his lips.

“Now… Where are we going?”

“Well… Your favorite person is waiting for you at my place. I’ll go and handle some things, and then I’ll bring your things to your new place.”

“James… I’m not living with you.”You hurried to interrupt, and he chuckled.

“As much as I wished that was real, I’m gonna find you a nice place, and you will be living there.” He looked at you, “Besides… Who do you think I am? I’m gonna let you take your time, and when you’re ready, I’m gonna take you on the most beautiful dates and give you flowers… I’m gonna show you what a real man can do.”

“You’ve already done that for the last few months… What’s gonna be the difference?”

“I was respecting that you were a taken lady… Now you’re completely free to fall in love with me.”

“Oh, you were respecting that?” You mockingly asked, raising your eyebrow.

“Oh, she’s got jokes now.”

You chuckled and finally held his hand. For the first time in months, it didn’t feel wrong to touch him; it felt like it was meant to be, and you loved the fact that he never crossed any boundary you had set previously. He was a powerful man; he could’ve had everything he wanted, but even he knew he had to fight for you. He had to fight to have a real place in your life, and he was willing to take every step to fit in your life.

“James…”

You interrupted his thoughts.

“Mhm?”

“You need to promise me you’re not gonna do anything against Scott.”

He furrowed. “Why not?”

“‘Cause it’s over. We don’t need to do anything else.”

“If he starts bothering you, I’m gonna do something about it.”

“Deal.” He smiled.“So… My Nat’s waiting for me at home?”

‘Home…’ He thought. He loved the way you called his house ‘home’. Even if you had been there just once, he knew you knew that it was completely yours to possess.

“Your Nat?” A fake tint of jealousy could be heard.

“My Nat. That’s my Nat.” You claimed proudly. And he knew you were only teasing.

“Don’t make me question if I still want her on my side, because now I’m not gonna feel safe leaving you alone with her.”

“Oh… you weren’t joking?”Your voice changed immediately; he noticed you were disappointed.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you really gonna leave?”

“Well... I was... But that voice makes me want to leave everything a mess and just hug you to my chest as soon as we get home.”

“That would be nice.” You admitted.

“Can you accept that I leave you with Nat for a little bit while I take some calls… and then I’ll be all yours.”

“I thought you were already all mine?”

He grunted. “Don’t make me question my decision of forgetting I’m respecting your time to heal.”

You lifted your hands in fake surrender.

When you finally got to his place. He made you wait and opened your door for you. At the main entrance, Natasha was already waiting for you. When you were about to run at her, he stopped you by the wrist.

“Have a great evening, and I’ll see you tonight.”

You nodded and smiled, “Promise you won’t arrive as beaten as I found you last night?”

“I’ll try my best.” You nodded and tiptoed, cupping his face with your hands.

Your fingers traced shapes in his cheeks. When you gathered enough courage, you kissed him fearlessly. His hands found your waist and embraced you, just to cup the back of your neck, his tongue found yours like he was starving.

And he felt like he was.

He had been waiting for this moment since the first time you kissed his cheek in farewell.

And now that he had you in that exact place, he was enjoying how soft your velvety lips felt, how your breath hitched with every grip of his hands.

“James…” You mumbled between kisses. “Please tell me you’re coming back.”

“What are you even talking about? I’m finally able to touch heaven with the tip of my fingers by kissing you…” He pecked your lips, “I’ll be back, my sunshine.”

“When’s my turn?” Natasha teased, getting closer to you.

“Fuck you, Natasha.” Bucky flipped her off.

You giggled and looked at her. Bucky was still holding you by your wrist, and now your hands rested on his arms.

“Be glad that I know you would never betray me.”

You shook your head, “We will be fine, James.”

He didn’t waste any chance he got and kissed you again. “I need to get going, I think it’s the third time we've tried to say goodbye.”

You created a distance and decided to walk to Natasha, who greeted you with a hug and a tight grip to keep you by her side. You waved bye at him, and finally, he left to run some errands.

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You are beyond interested, you're obsessed.

Bucky Barnes, the only Howling Commando to give his life for his country... and then come back to life 70 years later looking the exact same?

Yeah, the math isn't exactly clicking for you, but you care less about the how or why, when you can focus on the who.

You have an apartment, in Upstate New York, and it just so happens that your window gives you an unobstructed view... right into one James Buchanan Barnes' window, which he leaves open even while he changes.

So, maybe you have a bit of a problem, but god, you just can't help yourself.

He's right there, he has no idea that you exist, and you get to see this man in all his glory every day.

Speaking of, you just woke up. It's 06:15, which means Bucky has been up for an hour.

Crud.

You really hope you didn't miss it, as perverse the thought is.

You, not so stealthily, creep to your window and use your phone camera to zoom in(because while you have an unobstructed view, the view is still a good dozen acres away). You bite your lip, feeling a mix of guilt and pure longing as Bucky steps perfectly into view, his muscular back to you, and his long hair covering his pretty face.

Turn around, you think, heart pounding. You don't even know I'm here.

Now of course, Bucky knew someone had been watching him.

He isn't a super soldier for nothing.

But what he didn't expect, was to like the attention.

As dirty as it is, as sinful as it is...

he just wants to feel wanted.

He wants to be admired.

He wants to be touched with a gentle hand instead of being treated like a weapon.

He's a man too, under all that tough soldier.

He's a man, and he knows a woman is watching him, and for some inexplicable reason, he revels in that knowledge.

So, turning slowly, he lets his button-up shirt fall open and reveal the deep contours of his torso, littered in fading scars and birthmarks.

He looks out through the window, a devastatingly slow smile spreading across his face as he catches the glint of a phone camera, and he waves.

"I know you like what you see."

The other window shuts their curtains quickly, and Bucky chuckles softly as he turns back around and finishes changing his clothes.

This isn't the last I'll see of her, Bucky thinks to himself before opening his door and starting his day.

You [9:33 pm]

you promised looked me in my eyes and said that we would still be friends

Another hit of anger mixed with frustration smacked against your ribs as memories of promises that were not kept swam into your vision.

You [9:34 pm]

lying dickhead

With that, you tossed your phone onto the small coffee table littered with snacks, empty beer bottles, and a few ash trays.

You heard it buzz once, knocking against a glass bottle, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. A headache was settling deep behind your eyes from being so misled by someone you thought cared for you.

"Baby," you heard the muffled voice from somewhere above the pillow you had placed over your eyes against the harsh florescent lights.

You grunted in response, waving a blind hand in the direction of the voice.

The pillow was yanked from your head in the next second, your sound of protest now filling the small green room.

"Lying dickhead?" your boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, and drummer of the band that just played a sold out show in Madison Square Garden whispered dangerously. His phone with the text messages you sent in anger held within an inch of your nose.

You drew your lips in, determined not to laugh at your own dramatics. "You ate the last of the peanut butter cups." As if that was a good enough excuse to text him a string of messages while he played the show of his life.

A long suffering sigh left his chest as he looked to the heavens for help.

"Baby," he said again, slower this time, and slotting himself between your thighs. "Let me make it up to you."

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Chapter Two

The dull, thrumming ache between your thighs was the first thing you noticed when you finally woke up.

You hadn't slept the whole night through — after the first round of sex, you'd dozed for an hour or so, before waking to find him still naked next to you. One thing quickly led to another, and you'd ended up on top of him, riding him hard. He hadn't even pulled out when you collapsed on his chest and drifted off again.

The third time, he'd settled behind you, slipping inside you with ease. He muttered in your ear, telling you how perfect you felt and how good you were being. He took his time, fucking you with a slow purpose, bringing you an entirely new kind of pleasure.

(Keep us, keep us, keep us, your hindbrain had chanted — and, honestly, you couldn't be sure that the words didn't leave your lips too.)

So, when you woke, you felt thoroughly fucked in a way you'd never experienced before. But, more than that, you actually felt sated. The part of you that craved and needed physical intimacy was silent. You didn't roll over to reach for him, desperate for another round, and you didn't slip your hand between your legs as you'd done so many mornings as Rick snored beside you.

You were... content.

Snuggling down beneath the thin sheet, you breathed in his scent and the scent of what you'd spent the night doing. It was enough to have you finally rolling onto your side, hand searching the bed for him.

Only, he wasn't there.

You were alone.

Sitting up, you glanced around the room. His bedroom. The door to the en-suite was open and he was nowhere to be seen. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 13:27 and you felt a wave of embarrassment. He'd probably been gone for hours and you hadn't even noticed.

Your body ached as you sat, clutching the sheet to your naked form, looking around for your clothes, but your dress was nowhere to be found. All you could find were the tattered remains of your panties, set aside like a trophy atop a set of drawers.

You waited a few more minutes, hoping that Steve would return, but the house seemed silent around you. You couldn't just stay in bed waiting for him all day. Besides that, you really needed to pee.

Pulling the sheet with you, you slipped into the en-suite, taking a moment to glance around first at the large claw-foot bathtub, then the large shower cubicle. The room itself was bigger than your bedroom...

Or, well, not your bedroom anymore, you supposed since you didn't have a home to go to.

You did what you needed to do and lingered for a few minutes, cleaning yourself up while casually looking over Steve's things, indulging yourself and sniffing a few of his toiletries. It was no wonder he smelled so good. During the course of your snooping, you found his laundry hamper and decided to grab the shirt on the top of the pile.

Enveloped in his scent, you wanted nothing more than to return to bed and wait for him to return, hoping that he'd fuck you again. (And again, and again.) But you couldn't. For all you knew, he was waiting for you somewhere else in the house, desperate to get rid of you now that he'd had his fill.

It was a sobering thought and exactly what you needed.

With your panties torn and ruined, you had no choice but to slip out of his room in nothing but his shirt. Thankfully it came down to your knees but as you walked through the long corridor you still felt practically naked.

You hadn't noticed just how big the house was last night but now, in the cold light of day, you realised that house probably wasn't the right word. Mansion was more like it.

You turned a corner that led onto a landing with a double staircase, one to your left the other, closer to your right. Glancing over the banister, you looked down at the large entrance hall and spotted someone. She had her back to you, so you cleared your throat as you made your way down stairs, alerting her to your presence.

A maid, you realised. The house was so big they had a maid.

She looked at you like it was perfectly normal to have a half-naked omega roaming the halls of the house. Maybe it was, maybe you were just the most recent in a long line. Fuck, could this day get any worse?

"Sorry, I'm looking for —"

"Mr Barnes is the only one here right now and he's in the kitchen," she said with a friendly enough smile but the tone of someone who had better things to be doing. When she noticed your confusion, she waved her hand. "Down there, last door on the right."

You muttered your thanks and started towards the kitchen, hoping that Mr Barnes was Steve and that he'd at least offer you some breakfast before kicking you out.

Your heart sank at the sight of Bucky, leaning over the counter, waiting for the coffee machine.

You stepped back, wanting to retreat before he noticed you, but —

"Morning, doll. Want a coffee?" 

The tone of his voice should have bothered you almost as much as the smug smile on his lips, but something else caught your attention, something you hadn't noticed the night before. 

His arm.

Or... not his arm. It was a metallic prosthetic.

What had happened to him?

Fuck, was it offensive to want to know? Were you staring? Why were you staring? Oh god, did he know you were staring?

Swallowing around the lump that had firmly lodged itself in your throat, you managed to nod. "Uh, yeah, coffee would be great."

If he noticed or cared that you had been staring at his arm, he didn't let it show. He just turned his attention back to the coffee maker. "You take it with cream or sugar?"

You remained in the doorway, warily eyeing his back — and not at all taking in the way his tight tee-shirt showed off his toned body.

(Imagine digging our nails into those shoulders, that voice in your head crooned, holding on tight as he fucks us.)

You couldn't tell if it was the fact he was being nice to you or the very real idea that spending a night with an alpha had rewired you on some baser level, but it took everything you had to keep your distance from him.

"Yes," you said, then, "both. Three spoons of sugar, please."

He gave a soft laugh that sent a strange thrill through you.

(Yes, make him happy. Make him want us.)

"That's a lot of sugar for someone who's already so sweet." A cold shiver crawled down your spine, both from his words and the way he looked at you when he turned, mug in hand. There was a hunger in his eyes that was all alpha. "Here you go, doll."

He didn't hand you the mug, he just placed it down on the counter beside him, waiting for you to go to him.

It felt like a trap. 

You lingered in the doorway for a few seconds, torn between refusing the coffee and getting out of there, and showing him that, whatever this was, he wasn't going to get to you. Stubborn pride had you going for the second option, and you instantly regretted it.

His nose twitched as you took that first step, then the corner of his lips tugged upwards. Your quick attempt at cleaning yourself up clearly hadn't been enough to beat his sensitive alpha senses.

"So, was it everything you hoped it'd be?" He asked before you could even reach for the mug. His gaze slid down your body, the look so brazen that it almost felt like a physical caress trailing down to your bare legs and back up again. "I could hear you, you know. With the way you were moaning, anyone would think you'd never been fucked by an alpha before."

Your cheeks heated and your thighs pressed together of their own volition. It didn't take long for him to put two and two together, his grin growing wider.

"Shit, no wonder you were so eager." He stood away from the counter and took the smallest of steps to put himself between you and the door. "No wonder you were so willing to put out for an alpha who won't keep you."

You turned and shifted, trying to create some space between you, only to find yourself backed into a corner. Pressing yourself back, you tried to keep your head high, defiant, but you made the mistake of taking a steadying breath, breathing in his scent. Your head swam as he closed the distance, stopping in front of you and caging you in with hands on either side of you.

If you screamed, would someone come to help you?

(Why would we scream?)

"I can't blame him," Bucky muttered, bowing his head and pressing his face into the crook of your neck, just as he had last night. He inhaled and your legs trembled. "You smell fucking delicious."

"You're a pig," you said, but your words lacked any sharpness.

He was disgusting. The whole situation was disgusting but — fuck, you could already feel that familiar, needy heat blooming inside you.

"I think you like it. I think you get off on me treating you like shit," he continued, pressing closer, letting the tip of his nose graze the length of your gland.

It was so brazen and unexpected that you froze, letting him press as close as he wanted.

"N-no. You're wrong," you said in a breathless whisper. "I think you're disgusting."

"Liar," he said, taking another deep inhale. "You're dripping under that shirt. I can smell it. Did he not satisfy you last night? Did the good guy routine not do it for you? Were you faking all of those screams?"

Stubble scratched against your sensitive skin as he pressed a wet kiss to your gland. You let slip a keening whine, unable to control yourself. Another deep breath filled your lungs with his scent, distracting you as he lifted you and placed you on the counter. 

Bucky stepped between your legs and you felt the cold press of metal trailing up your thigh — his fingers. He was slipping his fingers between your legs.

"He won't keep you," he muttered again, his tongue slipping out to lave your gland, causing your whole body to jolt, trying to push closer to him. "But, before he lets you go, I'm sure we'll have plenty of fun with you."

(Yes, yes, yes — oh fuck, yes, your hindbrain cried, fighting to overwhelm your common sense.)

At some point you'd raised your hands to push him away, but now they just sat on his strong chest, gripping his shirt, unable to let go. You were at the mercy of your biology as his fingers reached the apex of your thighs and a single metal digit ran through your embarrassingly slick folds.

"Did he tell you that we share sometimes?" He muttered against your neck with another wet kiss while his finger teased your clit. "Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Two alpha's fucking your tight little —"

He pulled back, leaving you dazed and barely breathing, an uncontrollable want thrumming through every fibre of your being. You let him go, though your hindbrain mourned the loss of his touch. It wasn't until he'd returned to his spot by the coffee maker that you had the sense to close your legs.

Just in time for Steve to appear.

Steve looked at you, then at Bucky. 

"What did you do?" He asked, not sounding angry, just put out.

"Nothing," Bucky grunted. Steve's gaze hardened and fraction and Bucky headed to the door. "If you don't want to share her, you should've said."

Steve stepped aside, letting Bucky leave. His gaze followed after the other alpha before slowly turning back to you, taking in the sight of you in his shirt, perched on the edge of the counter.

"Sorry about him."

"What's his problem, anyway?" You asked, slipping off the counter as casually as you could manage.

Steve let out a laugh. "That's a long story, sweetheart."

Ignoring the way your legs were trembling, you grabbed the coffee Bucky had made for you and took a slow drink, watching as Steve moved closer. 

This time you didn't shrink back — when Steve moved towards you, it didn't feel like a predator hunting its prey — you watched him over your mug, and let him cage you against the counter just as Bucky had.

The thrum you felt inside of you was different with Steve. You still felt an uncontrollable want but it wasn't enough to render you senseless. 

You kept drinking until he plucked the mug from your hand and put it back on the counter. His arms slipped around you and, before you could even think to ask what he was doing, he kissed you.

His tongue pressed against the seam of your lips and you eagerly parted for him, letting him kiss you with a deep hunger that quickly reignited the sparks that Bucky had lit inside you. There was something primal and claiming to it, like he was trying to wipe away whatever might have just happened between you and Bucky, like he knew but he didn't care.

And you let him. You gave yourself to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him close.

It didn't last and, despite your hindbrain wanting nothing more than to be bent over the kitchen counter and fucked within an inch of your life, Steve pulled back. But he didn't go far. His hand took yours and he all but pulled you from the kitchen.

You eagerly followed after, assuming that he was taking you back to bed, but instead of turning right at the top of the stairs, he turned left, leading you in the opposite direction from his bedroom.

You wanted to ask where he was taking you and what was going on. More importantly, you wanted to ask if he knew what Bucky had just done — you wanted to understand their dynamic and what Bucky had meant about sharing. Was that what you were there for, or would Steve see it as a betrayal if anything happened between you and Bucky?

Packs were always complicated. It was why you'd never considered joining one. In some packs omegas could belong to their alphas or to the whole pack. You weren't sure how Bucky and Steve worked — hell, you weren't even sure how many people were in their pack.

But Steve must have known. Not only did he seem to know Bucky well, he must have been able to smell him on you...

So, clearly that meant that he wasn't angry about it.

Your thoughts stopped as you were pulled into a bedroom. It was smaller than Steve's room, empty, with nothing more than a bed, a wardrobe, and a set of drawers. There was a door leading out onto a balcony and, beyond that, in the distance you could see the city.

He let go of your hand and turned to face you.

"What do you think?" He asked.

You gave him a confused look. "Of what?"

"The room — your room."

"My..." 

Words failed you. There were too many things you wanted to ask, so many things you wanted to say. He was just giving you a place to stay? Why couldn't you stay in his room with him? From the way he'd kissed you in the kitchen he clearly still wanted you...

"You need a place to stay and we've got plenty of space," he explained. “That is... if you want it...”

(Stay... stay for the alpha. He's giving us a gift. Thank him. Thank him.)

The little voice was right in the worst way. You needed a place to stay and he was giving you that. You should be grateful and not ask too many questions. No one had ever just done something nice for you before. There was always a catch, always something that they wanted before they gave you anything. But Steve was just offering you a place.

You surged forward, catching him off guard. You kissed him the way he'd kissed you in the kitchen, with an eager intensity, giving yourself over to him. But it didn't feel like enough. All of your senses felt like they were cranked up to eleven and you needed to do something.

Dropping to your knees, you started to fumble with his belt, then his pants.

"You don't have to —" he stopped short the second you reached into his pants to grip his cock.

His arousal spiked as you started to stroke him, his scent helping you forget all about Bucky. You took a deep breath and allowed yourself to get lost in it, to let your hindbrain take the wheel and take whatever she wanted. For the first minute, you were content to stroke him, watching as he got hard in your grip, letting you see just how big he was.

Then you leaned in, chasing your hand with your tongue as it striped up and down the considerable length of him. It wasn't long before pre-cum started to leak from his tip and you made a show of greedily licking it up. His breath caught and your whole body heated. You were pleasing him, making him gasp. You were in control.

You gave a slow and sensual lick, swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock before sliding your lips over him and slowly starting to take him into your mouth. Your movements were deliberate and slow to begin with, wanting to show him not just that you appreciated his offer but that you were worthy of it, worthy of a place in his life. Maybe he wouldn't claim you, but did that really matter if he was willing to keep you safe?

Moaning, you started to bob your head, following the movement with your hand, making sure no inch of him went untouched. Even though this was all for him, you quickly felt your own arousal starting to build. One glance up at him through your lashes was almost enough to undo you.

When his fingers slipped into your hair, you moaned around him, some part of you eager to give up the control you'd literally just been celebrating.

His hips jerked forward, causing the crown of his cock to nudge the back of your throat. Your eyes watered and you softly gagged, but you didn't stop, sucking in your cheeks as your free hand gripped his hip. The sound of your wet lips on his skin coupled with his heavy breathing had you fighting the urge to slip your hands between your thighs — or worse, grinding yourself against his boot.

You relaxed your throat and managed to take a little bit more of him. His fingers twitched in your hair and his gaze darkened with want, obviously enjoying the sensation of your throat around him. You gulped and tried to swallow, tried to take more and more, feeling needy and greedy, desperate for everything you could get. A tear rolled down your cheek from your watering eyes, but you paid it no mind. You were enjoying yourself too much to stop.

Muffled moans started to spill more freely from you, each one vibrating around his cock and causing his hips to jerk. You trailed your tongue up and down him, tracing the thick vein on the underside of his cock, giving him everything you could to try and make him happy before giving him what he really wanted.

What every alpha wanted.

Control.

You found his hand on the back of your head and gave it a squeeze, silently giving him permission to take over.

A low sound came from the back of his throat, a purely alpha sound that made you tremble. His grip tightened on your hair, almost painfully so, and he started to move his hips.

"Such a good little omega," he grunted.

(A good omega for our alpha, your hindbrain whined.)

You had to grip his waist to keep yourself steady as he set a faster pace, chasing his pleasure. His groans were the final straw — you couldn't help yourself, you had to slip your hand between your thighs and sate the urgent need inside you. There was something about him being in charge that made you lose all control and act every bit the omega.

"Are you —" he didn't even have to finish the question.

The sight of you on your knees in front of him, his cock in your mouth and your hand between your thighs had him practically growling. And that just made you want more.

(Yes, yes, yes... make the alpha happy, make the alpha keep us. We want to stay with the alpha. We want this. Over and over and over.)

Your fingers teased your clit with a rough and desperate rhythm, trying to keep time with his thrusts. You stared up at him feeling an odd sense of contentment washing over you, like you were exactly where you needed to be.

Pleasure quickly began to build inside you. It had been building since your run-in with Bucky and, now, it was approaching fever pitch. 

Steve gave you a warning before he came, but you had no intention of stopping, and hearing him groaning your name was more than enough to push you over the edge too. You swallowed thickly as finished in your mouth, making sure not a single drop went to waste. The taste of him on your tongue was intoxicating, and you already knew you’d never have enough of it.

When he was done, he slumped back against the set of drawers, tucked himself away, and offered you a hand up.

Your legs trembled, but you managed to stand again, eagerly pressing your body to his as he snaked a possessive arm around your waist.

"I can’t keep you," he said with a soft exhale. "I won't claim you, but..."

That one little syllable hung in the air, giving you a small slither of hope that your life was finally going to get better.

"But?"

"But there's a place for you here, if you want it."

"A... place?" You had a thousand questions but you weren't sure how to ask them. You were still trembling from your orgasm, still pressed so close to him, wrapped up in his arms and in his scent.

"Stay here and I'll take care of you. All your needs, all your urges," he said, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. "I'm willing to do everything an alpha would do for their omega, except claim you."

"You'll take care of me?" You asked. Steve nodded. "What do you get out of it?"

"I have urges too," he shrugged. "My line of work makes it hard for me to have an omega, but you just sort of fell into my lap, and I can't resist a damsel in distress."

His line of work? How did running a club (several clubs) make it hard for him to have an omega?

"There's plenty of space here, and I have the money to support you until you find something more permanent," he continued. "And besides, I want more nights like last night..."

Your legs trembled and you pressed yourself closer to him. He was going to let you stay so he could have you there any time he wanted to fuck. Maybe it should have bothered you, maybe you should have wanted more, but your heart had been wounded by Rick and you didn't want to go through that again. You didn't want to get attached if he didn't want you the same way.

"Okay," you said softly, pressing your face against his chest.

(We'll make him want to keep us. Make him want to claim us.)

"Good, I'll take you to get your things," He looked at you and smiled. "As much as I like seeing you in my clothes, I need to be able to think about something other than your body. I checked the security footage from last night,your ex left with your purse. We'll get everything of yours and you'll never have to see him again."

It was as if he'd already known that this was how things would go — not the blowjob, but you agreeing to stay with him and unofficially be his omega. Again, it should have bothered you, should have at least given you pause to wonder if you were being manipulated or used just for sex, but the scent of his arousal was still thick around you and the taste of him lingered on your tongue.

"But, I should warn you, there are rules to living here with us," he said, cupping your cheek and making sure your eyes were on him.

"Rules?" You repeated, a lump forming in your throat. "What kind of rules?"

His thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek, in a tender but possessive way, making you want to agree to anything he asked of you.

"You can't go out on your own — if you need to go somewhere, either me or Bucky will take you," Steve said. "Anything you see or hear here needs to stay between us, no matter what it is or how important you think it might be. And I need to know that I can have you whenever I want to. If you find another alpha who's worthy of you and you want to leave, I'll let you go, but until then, you're mine."

You lost yourself in his blue eyes and rich scent and nodded. Losing some of your freedom was a small price to pay if it meant being looked after by an alpha like him. If it meant being in his arms and in his bed.

He smiled and slowly released you from his grasp.

"There's some clothes in the drawer — you're a little bit smaller than Nat, but you should be able to find something that fits."

"Nat?" Your head swam as you took a step back, some desperate part of you protesting the slightest space between your bodies.

"Are you jealous, omega?" He asked, not even bothering to hold back his smile.

"No, I just..." 

Okay, so you weren't jealous, but if this Nat was another omega, you knew you would be.

"She's part of the pack," Steve explained. "Another alpha."

You frowned. Alpha's were rare and it was unusual to find two in a pack, never mind three. "Another alpha?"

"We're not a typical pack," was all he offered. "Have a shower and get dressed, omega. Get yourself settled in, then come downstairs. I'll take you to get your things."

He left before you could think to stop him and your hindbrain mourned his loss as if you'd never see him again. You wondered if you'd ever get used to being around alphas and the way they made you feel. It didn't quite match how you'd expected it to be, but you certainly weren't complaining.

Once he was gone, you slipped into the ensuite bathroom and took a quick shower. Then you started to familiarise yourself with the room, easily finding the clothes that he had mentioned. Whoever this Nat was, she was bigger than you — not surprising, given she was an alpha — and the first pair of jeans you tried on almost drowned you. Even her leggings were too long.

You settled for a light, summer dress — it was still too big, but the loose fit wasn't quite as noticeable once you cinched the waist with a belt. And you felt a lot more comfortable not wearing panties with the dress. That was a line you didn't want to cross; it was all well and good borrowing some clothing, but wearing someone else's underwear was another matter entirely. You found a light grey jacket in the wardrobe that matched the blue dress, and that just left shoes.

Padding back downstairs, you could hear Steve and Bucky talking in the kitchen.

"How long?" Bucky asked, and you stilled a few steps from the door.

"As long as she needs." Steve.

"Do you think it's safe keeping her —"

"I'm not keeping her, Buck."

"Does she know that?" Bucky asked, and you could picture the smug look on his face.

"She knows. And I set some ground rules for her. She won't get in the way. She's a good omega."

(He thinks we're good. We are good. We'll be the best he's ever had. We'll make him want to keep us, your hindbrain squealed.)

"Yeah, and you know why that is, don't you?" Bucky said.

"Enough, that's not —" Steve fell silent.

You waited a beat, then started to worry that they knew you were there, listening in. When they didn't continue, you started to move, walking into the kitchen as if you'd only just come downstairs.

Steve's eyes raked up and down your body, his gaze causing gooseflesh on every inch of skin he looked at.

You forced a slow breath, reminding yourself how acute the alphas' senses were, and how easily they could tell when you were aroused. But, when you allowed yourself a glance at Bucky, you realised you couldn't tell which of the alphas was affecting you the most. You hated it. You didn't want to feel any emotion inspired by Bucky aside from annoyance, but you couldn't say with any certainty that the weakness in your knees was all because of Steve either.

"Are you ready to go?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I just need my shoes," you answered.

Steve's gaze dropped to your bare feet and — fuck, how did that turn you on? You wished that you'd spent more time with alphas in the past, just so you could understand how much of what you felt was normal and how much of it was just them. 

"They're by the door. I had them cleaned for you."

Your eyes caught Bucky's as you turned to leave the kitchen, and heat instantly started to pool low in your stomach. As much as you wanted to hate him, there was just something about him, something that made your insides thrum with a hunger you couldn't explain. He was a disgusting pig but, somehow, the draw to him was stronger than it was to Steve.

Shaking your head, you pushed the thought away. You'd ignore it. Ignore him. Steve was the one offering to look after you, the one that wanted you around. Steve was the one who'd get your attention.

It took less than a minute to find your boots and pull them on. A skitter of pleasure ran through you just at the sight of them; cleaned and shined, looking good as new. If this was how thoroughly Steve was going to look after you, then you were going to have a very comfortable time with him.

You'd just have to make sure you avoided Bucky from now on...

"No," Bucky said as you returned to the kitchen.

"You heard Sam, he needs me to deal with it," Steve said, shooting you an apologetic look the second he noticed you. "I need to go take care of something at the club. Bucky is going to take you to get your things."

"What? No, I —" you started and stopped just as abruptly when Steve’s eyebrow raised at your very quick protests. "I can wait."

"Sweetheart," Steve said softly, "it's okay, Buck'll take good care of you. Besides, if you're sticking around, you two really should get to know each other."

Bucky's words from earlier rang in your ears; did he tell you that we share sometimes?

"Fine. I'll take her." Bucky spoke before you got the chance to think of an excuse.

"Great." Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead and left, barely giving you a second to even wrap your head around what was happening.

It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. 

Bucky said nothing. 

You said nothing. 

You waited for a hole to open up beneath your feet and swallow you whole but it never happened.

"C'mon then, doll." The words felt like a death sentence as they left his lips because you weren't sure what being alone with him again was going to do to you.

But you followed after him as he led you out the side door to a dark SUV and got in when he opened the door for you. The only words you managed to speak were your former address when he asked for it. Then, you spent the whole ride across town awkwardly staring forward, not wanting to look his way. You tried your damnedest not to breathe, not wanting his scent filling your nose and lungs.

If Bucky noticed any of it, he kept it to himself, seeming content to just quietly drive you across the city.

Neither of you spoke until he pulled up outside Rick's building.

"What are you doing?" You asked as Bucky got out of the car.

"Helping you get your things."

"You're not coming with me."

"He put his hands on you last night, there's no chance I'm leaving you alone with him."

The look on Bucky's face told you that there was going to be no reasoning with him, but that didn't stop you from trying. "I'll be fine. He's never been like that before. And, besides, I hit him first..."

"Seriously? You think that makes it okay?"

No. You didn't. But it had taken Bucky saying it to make you realise it. You shouldn't have lashed out at Rick, but he never should've raised his hand to you either.

"Fine," you grumbled.

You didn't say another word as you led him up to the little fourth floor apartment that had been, until last night, your home. It wasn't until you reached the door that you started to wonder what you were going to find if you knocked — had he already moved Cindy in? Were you about to interrupt some tender moment between the two? Would you be able to face her without breaking her nose?

Fortunately, when the door was answered, it was just Rick. In his boxers. Looking bruised and hungover.

"You came home?" He said, almost sounding happy to see you, but that stopped the moment he saw Bucky lurking behind you. "Oh..."

"I just want my things," you said, trying to keep any and all hurt from your voice. You hated how you suddenly felt, standing in front of him like an open wound, and you felt like such an idiot for ever thinking that there might be a future with him.

Rick looked at you, then at Bucky before standing aside and letting you in.

Bucky followed after you like an unwanted shadow as you stepped into the apartment. Compared to Steve's house — or was it Steve's and Bucky's? — the apartment was small, little more than a shoebox. It felt suffocating to be back there after just one night in an actual mansion.

Rick followed Bucky — though he kept a very respectful distance.

You tried your best to ignore both of them and focused on gathering your things from the bedroom. You started with the more expensive things; your laptop and drawing tablet.

No one said anything until the silence got to be too much for Rick.

"Is this how it's going to be now?" He asked. "The silent treatment whenever we're in the same room?"

"There is no now. I'm getting my stuff and then I'm gone," you said, keeping your back to him as you unplugged your printer. "We're never going to be in the same room again."

"Look, I know I fucked up and things didn't pan out the way you wanted them to, but we could still be friends. You don't need to run off with an alpha you don't even know."

Bucky gave a low grunt that had Rick looking close to shitting himself, but the alpha didn't say anything.

You turned to glare at your ex. "Friends? You raised your hand to me. I never want to see you again."

"Fuck, do you alway have to be so fucking dramatic? You hit me first, remember?"

"Yeah and you deserved it."

Rick shook his head and let out a bitter laugh. "I should've known better than to date a fucking omega — this is why I chose Cindy over you. She doesn't get emotional over dumb shit."

It was strange in hindsight how often he'd made comments about you being emotional or for getting upset. Worst still was how often you'd allowed yourself to believe him. For eighteen months he'd made you feel like you were too sensitive just because you were an omega, and you'd let so much shit slide because of it.

"Yeah, well I hope you make each other miserable. I feel sorry for the baby,' you snapped back.

Rick took a step towards you but thought better of it as Bucky straightened.

"Just get your stuff and get the fuck out." He turned and walked out, leaving you alone with Bucky again.

"He cheated on you?" Bucky asked once the beta was gone. There was an anger in his voice that you didn't understand, partly because you'd assumed that he already knew but mostly because you didn't expect him to care.

"What d'you care?" You said, turning your attention back to your packing.

He was silent for a beat, then; "he usually talk to you like that?"

You shrugged, still not sure why any of it mattered to him.

"I should've broken his fucking jaw." 

It wasn't some idle threat. He started towards the door, giving you no time to think before moving. You put yourself in front of him, hands on his arms, trying to stop him.

"Don't. Just... just leave it." You said. "He's not worth it."

You instantly realised your mistake. Too close. You were standing far too close. And, just as it had earlier, his scent started to infect you. Bucky followed as you stumbled backwards, and you found yourself pressed against the dresser. His gaze dropped to your lips and your heart started to race as he crowded you.

"What are you doing?" You hissed, daring to glance towards the door, making sure Rick wasn't lurking.

"Finishing what we started this morning." His head bowed and he let his lips ghost against yours. "I know you're not wearing anything under that dress..."

You almost lifted your face to force his lips to do more than just graze yours but the last vestiges of your common sense won out. Slamming your hands against his chest, you pushed him as hard as you could.

Bucky barely moved.

"Back off," you told him, despite the voice in your head pleading to let him bend you over the dresser and fuck you hard while your ex sat in the next room.

A low sound vibrated in the back of his throat and his head dipped again. He inhaled deeply and a tremor ran down your spine, heat licking through your core and giving him exactly what he wanted. Then he pulled away, grinning.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "Hurry the fuck up."

Two boxes, a suitcase, and a backpack later, your entire life was packed away, and you were ready to head back to your new home and figure out just what the fuck you were going to do.

A/N : See what I mean about people being assholes in this one? Don't worry, the why's will be explained in later chapters. Anyway, thanks for the great response to the first part of this, I'm really glad people enjoyed it, and I hope you like what I have planned for it going forward.

Again, there's no set upload schedule for this one, but there is a tag list or you can subscribe to the story on Ao3.

As always I love and appreciate every like/comment/reblog and keyboard smash of love. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you all have a great week!

Taglist :

@buckysbbydoll @s0uz4s @bartonsparrow25 @insomniac-astronomer @am-3-thyst

Chapter One

It was funny just how quickly everything could fall apart.

Hilarious even.

"It's nothing personal," he said with a fake smile, as if trampling all over your heart was a casual affair. "It's just... well, I always wanted a family some day..."

It wasn't the words that hurt, it was what he didn't say. Rick wanted a family, just not with you. He didn't have the balls to say the quiet part out loud; he didn't want to have kids with you because they would likely turn out to be omegas.

A year and a half ago, it wouldn't have bothered you. You would have shook his hand and wished him all the best — it wasn't like you didn't have a firsthand understanding of just how fucking difficult it was being an omega, after all. But he had taken up eighteen months of your life, happy to share your bed, your heats, without so much of a word about the future beyond the next day.

He'd let you get invested, let you believe that your relationship was going somewhere.

The beta hadn't cared about your designation when it had meant getting laid almost every single night and paid time off work every month to help with your heats.

Clearly, he'd realised that the clock was ticking and he either needed to commit to you for the family he wanted, or find someone else.

But, asshole that he was, he'd decided to do it in the middle of a night club.

On your birthday.

And you — stupid, stupid you — had let yourself hope that his recent awkwardness around you had been because he was planning on making things official and offering to claim you.

So, to say you were upset was an understatement.

Fucking livid was closer to the mark.

"Are you even listening to me?" He had the audacity to snap at you, pulling you from thoughts of murder.

You stared, almost lost for words — how did he think that he was the injured party in this?

The urge to lash out started to grow inside you, the urge to slam your first into his stupid face. But you didn't. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of behaving like the overly emotional omega he always claimed you were whenever you argued. If this was the end, you were going to end things with dignity, keeping your head held high.

"Yes, I'm listening," you snapped back. "I'm waiting for the part where you explain why you decided to wait until now to tell me."

It was cruel and, while Rick was a lot of things, he was rarely ever cruel.

He let out a slow breath. "Because I didn't want you to hear it from someone else..."

"Hear what?" Had you missed something?

"Cindy is pregnant."

Why did it matter that Cindy was...

Oh. It took an embarrassingly long moment for the penny to drop. But when it did, any and all thoughts of remaining dignified abandoned you.

"You were cheating on me?" You seethed.

"I wouldn't call it cheating. What we had was fun, but we both knew it was never going to —"

You didn't wait for him to finish before walking away. He called after but made no attempt to follow you. At least, not until he saw where you were headed.

You crossed the dancefloor, heading back to where your so-called friends were sitting, all oblivious to what had just happened. Cindy was smiling over her drink, looking so fucking smug. You'd never been close to her, or any of Rick's friends really, but you'd always made an effort to try and be nice to them.

And you, idiot that you were, had allowed yourself to believe that the betas had accepted you, that they saw you as one of their own.

Next thing you knew, there was a glass in your hand and Cindy was wearing your strawberry daiquiri. The sight of her blonde hair and white dress stained red filled you with a sweet sense of revenge. It took a moment for everyone to catch up and realise what you'd done — all while everyone shifted away from Cindy and the spreading liquid.

"You little omega bitch," Cindy spat, climbing to her feet.

 "Beta skank," you retorted.

She stepped forward and you balled your fist, ready to throw a punch, but before you could swing, you were lifted off the ground.

Rick pulled you away, while everyone else rushed to comfort poor Cindy.

You kicked and thrashed as he half-pulled, half-carried you across the club, not letting go until you were in a secluded corner by the bathrooms. The second you were on your feet again, you swung for him, slapping him hard across the face. It caught him off guard and sent him reeling to the side, but he was ready when you went to hit him again.

He caught your wrist and twisted it, forcing your back against the wall. 

"I get that you're pissed," he said through gritted teeth, easily holding you in place as you struggled, "but I can talk to Cindy, tell her that you still need me. I can still be there — y'know, for heats and shit, just until —"

The nerve, the fucking audacity of him had you driving your knee into his crotch, making it so it would be a very long time before he'd even be able to think about sex again.

He let go, staggering back as rage spread across his face.

"You little fucking —" his hand rose and you shrank back, bracing for a hit that never came.

Before he'd even started to swing, he was tugged backwards with such a force he almost fell over. He managed to recover but, instead of going for you again, he turned to throw a punch at whoever had grabbed him.

A second later, Rick was on the ground, blood pouring from his nose.

You dared to look at your saviour; blonde, tall, athletic, and —

Oh, he was an alpha.

Rick had no idea. His muted beta senses couldn't pick up the signs like your omega sense could. So, he got back up, thinking he stood a chance at winning a fight.

He didn't.

He took another swing and found himself on his ass again, a pained oof escaping him as he hit the floor. His eyes met yours, and you couldn't tell if he was expecting you to step in and save him, or pleading with you to help. After what he'd done, he was getting nothing from you.

"Get him out of here, Buck," the alpha said. You realised that he wasn't alone when another alpha stepped around him. "And make sure he doesn't come back."

"With pleasure." While the first alpha had the looks of an Abercrombie and Fitch model, the second had a dangerous air about him that made your legs feel weak. His eyes caught yours and your heart stuttered. Then he was gone, dragging Rick across the floor by the collar.

You sagged back against the wall, the adrenaline draining from your body and leaving you feeling exhausted. You were alone. Completely and utterly alone. In the space of five minutes, your entire life had fallen apart.

"Hey, are you okay?" He said, reminding you that the alpha was still there.

He stepped closer and you realised how pathetic you must have looked, slumped against the wall like a frightened animal.

"Yeah, I, uh..."

You finally looked at him. Really looked. Alpha through and through, beautiful in a way that had you blinking, thinking it was your omega sense playing a trick. A shuddering breath escaped you as his scent reached you; an earthy smell that reminded you of a forest after the rain.

Your omega stirred inside you — it had been so long since you'd last been around an alpha, and your instinctual desire left your cheeks burning with embarrassment. Something in the way he looked at you had you wondering if you were the first omega he'd seen in a while. After all, omegas were even rarer than alphas in places like New York.

All it took was a sniff from him to confirm it. He knew what you were.

It should have scared you, knowing how easily an alpha could turn your biology against you, knowing how their urges could be almost as uncontrollable as yours at times. But it didn't.

A shiver ran up your spine as his expression softened.

"There's no need to be afraid. No one is going to hurt you here," he said, offering you his hand. "Come with me."

Your response was instinctual and automatic, slotting your hand into his. The contact was enough to have heat sparking in your belly, though you tried to ignore it.

His fingers wrapped around yours, grip firm but loose, giving you the illusion that you could escape him if you wanted to. Though, rationally, you knew you stood no chance at outrunning an alpha.

People stepped aside for him as he led you across the club, eyes widening at the sight of him. Betas, all of them — they had no idea that he was an alpha, but they could all see the gorgeous specimen of a man as he passed them.

A familiar face caught your attention. Cindy gaped at you and the man holding your hand, her dress stained despite her best attempts to dry it.

"Friend of yours?" The alpha asked.

"No, she just ruined my life."

"We'll see about that," he said, giving a subtle smile.

He led you beyond the velvet rope that separated the VIP area from the main club, the bouncer instantly stepping aside for him. You thought you heard someone call him sir, but you were too busy taking in the clean and much quieter area, away from the bustle of the dance floor.

His hand slipped from yours as you reached a booth and pressed gently on your lower back, urging you to sit. the hand trailed from your back to your waist as you followed his silent command, skin heating beneath his touch.

Was it shock or some innate desire that had you following him without question? Were you thinking clearly, or was your hindbrain in the driving seat?

You were almost disappointed when he slid into the booth opposite you instead of sitting next to you. And, while there were other people in the VIP area, your every sense was trained on him. It was almost overwhelming — his proximity, the way your emotions were still running rampant — and you'd never felt anything like it.

(He saved you, the alpha protected you, he’s big and strong, everything we want, everything we needed —)

Shaking your head, you tried to silence your hindbrain.

Without a word, three glasses were placed on the table, along with a bottle of whisky. He must have given some sign to the bartender, because he hadn't uttered a word.

He filled two glasses, then slid one to you.

"It'll help settle your nerves," he said.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the glass, eyes still fixed on him. It should have worried you how your every thought was him; his approving gaze as you knocked back the drink, his scent, his smile, and the way his throat bobbed when he drained his own glass.

The whisky burned its way down your throat, causing the heat that was building low in your belly to intensify. Realistically, you knew it was just biology but, honestly? You were more than happy to go with it after the night you'd had.

That was why you didn't say anything or try to stop him when he refilled your glass.

"I'm Steve," he said.

You'd been so caught up in everything that you hadn't even thought about his name. You quickly offered your name in a low, timid voice.

There was silence for a moment, like he was waiting for you to continue, to address the elephant in the room.

"You're — you're an alpha."

"I am," he said, not bothering to point out the obvious about your biology.

Despite already knowing it, his confirmation set your hindbrain buzzing and had the purely omega part of you desperate to be let out. And you almost let it, but it was dangerous to give in to that side of your nature, no matter how sweetly it begged.

You took another drink, scrunching your nose as the alcohol burned its way down your throat again.

"Want to talk about it?" Steve offered.

The question alone was enough to send you into a tailspin — you'd done nothing wrong, but you still felt ashamed, like you should have done more to keep Rick faithful. As an omega, you weren't meant to be alone and it felt like a failing to still be single at your age.

Your gaze dropped to the table.

"Was that guy your boyfriend?" He continued.

"He was," you said. Steve stayed quiet, letting you decide if you wanted to elaborate. "I just found out he's been cheating on me and she's pregnant."

He blew out his cheeks and shook his head. "He sounds like a real idiot to me, sweetheart. You're better off without him."

Sweetheart? Your omega preened.

"How long were you together?"

"About a year and a half," you said, taking another drink. "He said he wanted a family, just not with me..."

"Because you're an omega?"

"Yeah — not that he cared about my designation when it meant getting laid every night." The second you realised what you'd said, your cheeks grew hotter. Maybe you'd had enough to drink.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it won't take him long to realise he made a mistake letting you go."

You smiled, and it was strange because you couldn't remember the last time you'd just smiled at anything. Hell, you couldn't even remember the last time anyone had been genuinely nice to you without some ulterior motive.

You reached for your glass again and took another drink, trying to drown the realisation that you couldn't remember the last time you'd actually been happy.

"I don't know why he had to wait to tell me on my birthday though..." you said, not able to hold it in.

"It's your birthday?" He asked, annoyance lacing his tone.

You nodded.

"In that case, we need to celebrate."

He refilled your glass again, sparking a longing ache inside of you — you wanted him to look after you, to take care of you. You wanted to belong and be kept.

No — no, that wasn't what you wanted.

That was the alcohol and your hindbrain talking.

Only...

Even if you didn't want any of that, you needed it. So much of your life had been tied up in Rick and the future you thought you'd have. He'd helped support you financially, and all of your stuff was still at his place...

"Happy birthday," Steve said, pulling you back to the moment as he raised his glass in toast.

You raised your glass in response, then took a slow drink, eyes dropping again.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just..." you fell silent for a few seconds, "I don't know. I just thought by the time I got to this age that things would be different."

"How did you think it was going to be?" He sat back, giving you space to think.

"I thought I'd at least have a steady job, or some money saved..."

"You don't have a job?"

You shook your head. "I work freelance mostly, but it doesn't exactly pay well," you explained. "It's hard getting steady work when I can only work three weeks a month."

He gave an understanding nod. While alpha's didn't have to suffer monthly because of their designation, every three or so months, their ruts would hit and their primal instincts would take control for a week.

Just the thought of Steve rutting had you shifting in your seat, blood running hot. You'd never been with an alpha, let alone one in rut. Your mouth went dry as you pictured it; him on top of you, behind you, inside you. You forced yourself to drain your glass just to take your mind off of it, but the buzz of alcohol was already dulling your inhibitions, making you want.

The problem with Rick was that he'd always encouraged these moments — though, admittedly, the beta had never affected you quite as much as Steve was managing to — he'd always been more than happy to end a night out or pull you into a bathroom if it meant getting his dick wet. Your heart fluttered every time Steve looked at you, sparking a visceral reaction in your body. That he was listening to you, showing an interest, made you feel seen in a way that you hadn't since you'd first started dating Rick.

He asked you a few questions about your work and you explained that you were an artist, but you mostly did graphic design because it paid better. Sometimes you'd do commission, things like portraits and paintings of people's pets, but it was mostly things like corporate logos that paid the bills.

Steven seemed interested — more interested than Rick had ever been — and kept asking you questions. Where were you from? A little town in Ohio. What brought you to New York? You wanted a change of scenery. Did you come to the club a lot? Yes, but only when Rick wanted to.

"We don't get many omegas in here," Steve said. You gave him a questioning look. "I — we — own the place."

"You own the club?" It shouldn't have surprised you, alpha's tended to be successful.

"This one and a couple of others across the city," he shrugged.

We. You wanted to ask what he'd meant by that but before you could find the words, someone slid into the booth beside you.

"He's been dealt with," the dark haired alpha said.

He pulled a cloth from his jacket and proceeded to wipe blood off his gloves. It should have unsettled you, terrified you even — what the fuck had he done to Rick? — instead more heat licked through your body, this time settling at your core. Steve's scent had been intoxicating enough, now that you had to contend with two alphas you felt like you were drowning and all you wanted to do was take a deep breath.

You were so used to being around betas that you didn't realise your own scent was betraying you until Bucky looked your way, his cold blue eyes narrowing as he took the smallest sniff. But you couldn't help it, couldn't control it. The whisky certainly wasn't helping. Smothered by two very distinct alpha scents, your hindbrain got bolder and harder to ignore.

(Imagine being between them, letting them hold you, touch you, fuck you, the voice in the back of your head said. She was really starting to get out of control.)

"This is Bucky," Steve said, introducing his friend either missing or ignoring how your breathing had turned shallow.

When he introduced you to Bucky, you managed a smile.

"Did her friend give you any trouble?" Steve asked.

"No, but I made sure he won't come back. And I had a nice long chat about him raising his hand to women," Bucky said, filling himself a glass and shooting you a glance. "He won't bother you again."

Your brain practically misfired; half an hour ago you'd found out that your boyfriend was cheating on you, now you had two alpha's protecting you.

The thoughts in your head got louder and louder, your omega half wanting to throw herself at the alpha's. It was pathetic, but clearly you weren't above being a little pathetic when you were drunk and heartbroken.

"Keep her company for a minute. I need to go see Sam about something," Steve said, pulling you back to the moment. He slid out of the booth, and left you alone with Bucky.

For all of a second, you dared to hope that it would be easier to focus with only one alpha, but if anything it was harder. His scent was stronger, almost overpowering — probably because he was sitting closer. Burning wood and roasted coffee, strong, dark scents that made you tremble in anticipation. Though what you were anticipating, you couldn't quite say.

"He's not gonna keep you," Bucky said the moment Steve left the VIP area.

"What?"

"Steve. He likes to play the hero, but if you're looking for an alpha to claim you, it won't be him."

You didn't think he was saying it to be cruel, but it felt cruel. It made something in the back of your mind itch, and you wanted nothing more than to scratch it out.

"Are the two of you..." you left the question unfinished, knowing he'd be able to fill in the blanks. Steve had said we earlier, maybe that meant that he and Bucky were bonded or even mates. It wasn't entirely unheard of for two alpha's to mate.

"We're a pack."

Oh, that made sense. They had a pack bond — not quite the same as a romantic bond or a mating bond, but close enough.

"I don't want anything from him," you said, forcing yourself to keep your head up high.

Bucky smirked, his eyes running up and down your body. "You think I can't smell what you want?"

Squirming, you backed away from him, forcing yourself into the corner of the booth. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He didn't let you put any space between you, he slid closer, boxing you in. When he draped an arm across the back of the booth, your heart almost stopped. He leaned in close, that dangerous scent threatening to swallow you whole. "I can smell how wet you are."

You should have been disgusted. You should have pushed him away — especially as he tangled his fingers in your hair — but you didn't. There was just... something about him that held you in place. Even as he leaned closer, the tip of his nose grazed your throat, your mating gland.

A whimper slipped from your lips and he pulled away, a triumphant grin on his lips. "Typical omega."

"What —" the moment had left you too dazed to summon the ire you knew you should have been feeling, "— what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me? I'm not the one getting hot and bothered over someone I only just met."

"That's — I'm not." Where had the fight gone you'd had not an hour ago when you slapped Rick? Why were you letting this prick talk to you like that? Letting him nuzzle at your mating gland?

And why the fuck was your hindbrain desperate for you to press yourself closer to him?

"When he takes you to bed tonight, just remember that you'll be out in the morning."

You opened your mouth to respond just as Steve slid back into the booth.

"You two playing nice?" He asked, smiling at just how close Bucky was to you.

Bucky pulled away instantly. "I'll go check everything's okay in the office. Let me know when you want to leave."

He barely gave you a second glance as he knocked back his drink and stepped out of the booth. But you watched him and you hated yourself for it, almost as much as you hated how right he'd been. You were wet and, despite his warning about Steve, part of you was eager to offer yourself up to the alpha.

And if Bucky could read you that easily, you were pretty certain that Steve knew too.

"Don't mind him, he's a miserable old man." Steve said.

"I should go," you said abruptly, deciding that nothing good was going to come of any of this.

"What did he say to you?" He sounded almost resigned to the fact that Bucky must have said something terrible.

But, as uncomfortable as the interaction had been, you didn't want to cause drama in someone else's pack. "Nothing. Really. It's just getting late and I need to figure out where I'm staying tonight and —"

You fell silent with the awful realisation that you had no idea where your purse was. Where your phone was.

"What's wrong?"

"I left my purse with Rick's friends — everything was in there, my phone, my credit card..." your panic was palpable and a brief flicker of worry on Steve's face was enough to tell you he could smell it.

You made to slide out of the booth, but stopped when his hand covered yours. For a second your worry and panic just vanished, and all you could think about was how soft and warm his hand was.

Words failed as you looked at him, but he didn't need you to say anything. He gave a wave of his hand, drawing the bouncer to the table and quickly explained the situation. The big man nodded before heading out into the club proper to try and find you things. While you didn't think Rick or his friends would steal from you, they were no longer under any obligation to make sure no one else did.

"It's okay," Steve said, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

(The alpha is taking care of us, protecting us, comforting us... we should let him have us, your hindbrain whined.)

"Everything's fallen apart," you murmured, ignoring the voice telling you to throw yourself at him. "I've got no money, nowhere to go..."

"Don't worry about any of that. I'll make sure you're okay."

His thumb continued its tender caress and what little remained of your common sense started to slip away. So much so that your free hand drifted back to your glass and raised it to your lips.

"He said you won't keep me," you confessed, looking first at Steve's face, then his hand on yours. "Your friend. He said if you take me home, you won't keep me."

"Do you want to be kept?" He asked, thumb never stilling.

(YES.)

"N-no," you answered, all too aware of the spike in your arousal. "I don't want to be kept, I just want... I want to feel like I matter..."

It should have been harder to admit considering he was practically a stranger, but the alcohol mixed with the intoxicating scent of alpha had rendered you needy, making you want. By this point in the evening, you would have already fucked Rick and he would have done his best to sate your urges, instead you were sitting across from an alpha and contending with a longing ache between your thighs.

"I could make you feel like you matter," he said, voice turning low and deep.

"You... you could?"

He nodded. "I know exactly what an omega like you needs."

That was good because you had absolutely no idea what an omega like you needed.

The bouncer returned, explaining that your purse was nowhere to be found and that your 'friends' had left, but you were too caught up in what Steve had said and the promise that lurked beneath his words. 

"Stay with me tonight while I track down your things." It wasn't an offer or a suggestion, more a command.

You nodded before even taking a second to think about it, but what else were you going to do? All of your so-called friends were really Rick's friends and, without your credit card, you wouldn't be able to stay at a hotel. The only other option was crawling back to Rick, and it would be a cold day in hell before you allowed yourself to do that.

No, an alpha wanted to care for you and your biology made it impossible to refuse.

His hand took hold of yours again and, without a word, he helped you from the booth. Your legs trembled beneath you and you couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or what you were about to do. You stumbled and found yourself against his chest, an arm protectively wrapped around your waist.

"Easy there," he said softly.

(So strong, so protective... we can make him want to keep us...) 

The heat that had been building inside you over the last couple of hours reached a fever pitch, every fibre of your being thrumming with an aching want that you'd never experienced before. It took every ounce of your frayed self-control to pull yourself away from him, instead of lingering and breathing in his scent.

You were a mess of urges and barely coherent thoughts as he led you out the back of the club to where a black SUV was parked.

Bucky was waiting by the car and shook his head when he saw you.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, doll," he muttered as he opened the back door.

"Leave it, Buck. She knows what she wants," Steve said, helping you into the car. You missed whatever Bucky grumbled in response.

Steve got into the car beside you, draping an arm around you and pulling you into his side. As Bucky got in and started the car, Steve nuzzled at your neck, lips and the tip of his nose grazing your gland.

You had to bite your lip to keep from whimpering, acutely aware the Bucky was right there.

"Don't worry about him, sweetheart," Steve murmured. "He doesn't care what we get up to back here."

His hand found your thigh and your hindbrain went into overdrive, wanting you to beg and plead for his touch. All rational thought abandoned you. If he'd dared to shift his hand higher, you would have let him — hell, you would have parted your legs for him. The needy ache between your thighs turned into a pulsing want, and when you heard Steve inhale, you knew he could smell your arousal.

"You really need this, don't you?" He said, still keeping his voice low — though, if you'd been thinking clearly, you would have known that Bucky could hear every word.

You nodded, angling your head to give him better access to your neck and slipping a little further into a state of mindless omega lust.

"You know... we could smell you the moment you got to the club," he continued, "but when we saw you with that beta, we assumed you were spoken for. If I’d known what he was like, I would’ve rescued you hours ago..."

There were no words, no rational thoughts left.

(He wanted us... he wanted us all night, your hindbrain sang in triumph.)

It was a short drive — at least, it felt short, but your grip on reality was tenuous at best while he was nuzzling at your neck — and the car was soon stopped in front of a large house, gated off from the rest of the world. You had no idea where you were, but you didn't care. All you cared about was Steve and the way he was leading you into his home.

(Alpha, alpha, alpha, the voice in your head chanted.)

The further you got into the house, the harder it became to ignore the scent of his arousal. It was suffocating. Every breath you took was him. You'd never experienced anything like it, beta scents were too muted, too bland to cause so visceral a reaction in you. Your own scent was out of control and long forgotten, but you didn't care about hiding it anymore. You wanted him.

A door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in a dimly lit room and, finally, his lips found yours.

He pressed you back against the door, caging you in with his body, devouring you with his kiss. You let slip a desperate whine, a purely omega sound that betrayed every ounce of your longing. Your knuckles ached and you realised that you were gripping his shirt, eagerly holding him in the kiss, as if you thought he might slip away from you.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked.

"Yes."

He took a shuddered breath. "I won't keep you."

It should have stung, should have made you reconsider, but you were too far gone, fighting a losing battle against your hindbrain and your omega. Besides, you had needs and, even if it was only one night, you already knew he'd know exactly how to satisfy you.

(We can make him keep us, the voice in your head said again.)

"I know."

You barely got the words out before his lips were on you again. He lifted you, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning wildly as his hips pressed to yours and you felt the hard outline of his cock between your thighs.

"I can smell how wet you are," he groaned, grinding against you.

Your mind flashed back to the club, to Bucky, to the way it had felt as his nose grazed your gland, and you moaned again. Fuck — why were you thinking about that asshole while Steve had you in his arms? And why did you wonder what it’d feel like to be in his arms?

"Have you ever been with an alpha?"

"N-no," you answered, stammering as his hips shifted again.

A low sound vibrated from the back of his throat, a possessive alpha sound that made you tremble in his arms.

"Once you have an alpha, you'll never be satisfied with a beta again."

You were sure his words were meant as a warning, to let you know that you were about to cross a line, but you didn't care. He'd made you feel more in the last two hours than Rick had made you feel in eighteen months, and you needed it. You needed one night where life felt good.

Fingers tangled in his hair, giving a light tug, forcing him to look at you. "I know, I just... I need..."

You couldn't find the words, but he could.

"You need an alpha to take care of you?" He said and you nodded. "You want to feel like you matter — you do matter."

He turned, easily carrying you away from the door and further into the room. He placed you down beside the bed and made quick work of unzipping your dress, pushing it from your shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. Your hands started to tug at the buttons of his shirt, while Steve's hands explored the skin that he'd uncovered. You'd never been more glad of not wearing a bra.

Shrugging off his shirt, he stepped closer, forcing you backwards. The backs of your knees hit the bed and you fell back, landing with your legs splayed. An open invitation to the alpha. Through the gloom you could make out his eyes, fixed on you as he quickly stripped down to his boxers.

When he touched you again, he dragged his hand up your thigh to your panties. A sharp tug was all it took to rip them away from your body and, before you had time to think about it you felt his hot breath between your legs.

A soft but desperate keen escaped you as his fingers slipped through your slick arousal, spreading you open and bearing you to him as he —

"Oh fuck, Steve!" You cried the moment you felt his tongue on you.

Your hips jerked as his tongue ran through your folds, lapping your slick before moving to tease your throbbing clit. Nothing had ever felt so good, nothing had ever made you feel so desperate and needy. Every nerve in your body sparked with pleasure as his tongue moved, and every breath you took was him.

Fingers tangled in his hair, but when you tried to move, tried to grind yourself against his lips and tongue, he let out a low growl and pressed a hand to your stomach, pinning you down.

(Fuck, he's so dominant, submit, submit, submit, your hindbrain squealed in ecstasy.)

"Please!" You begged, not caring how loud you were being.

Every shred of restraint you possessed was officially gone, replaced entirely by your hindbrain and your omega desires. You were running on pure instinct, and that instinct said to lay back and take whatever the alpha was offering.

You came easily, your fingers tugging at his hair as you drowned in pure pleasure, desperate for more. He kept going, kept sliding the flat of his tongue against you until you were a shuddering, overstimulated mess. Already you were regretting that it would be a one night only thing.

The mattress dipped as Steve crawled up your body, lips and tongue exploring every inch of skin he came across. You gasped and whined as his teeth grazed your nipple, and — honestly? In that moment there wasn't a damned thing you wouldn't have done if he'd asked you to. He continued upwards after a few seconds, playfully nipping at your collarbone and kissing your neck before leaning over you.

Light filled the room and you couldn't suddenly see him perfectly. He'd turned on a lamp and was staring down at you with a barely restrained hunger. When he licked his lips, you realised that his chin was glistening with your slick. The delicious sight was so distracting that you didn't notice him reaching between your thighs until two fingers sank inside you.

He kissed you, swallowing the moan that tried to bubble out of you, and muffling his own groan.

His fingers moved, easily sliding in and out of your cunt, making you writhe beneath him. It wasn't enough. You needed more. You needed all of him. You wanted his cock.

"Soon," he murmured, as if he read your mind, bending and scissoring his fingers inside you. "I want to make sure you're ready. I don't want to hurt you."

At any other time you would have appreciated the sweetness of the gesture, but you were beyond sweetness. You were nothing more than a creature of pure need. He kissed you again before you could complain, a quiet display of who was in charge. And you loved it. You wanted more of it, for him to take complete control.

His thumb pressed against your clit with each plunge of his fingers and you felt that telltale tension starting to coil in your stomach again. You were going to come and then he was going to fuck you. The thought alone had your thighs trembling and you were so worked up that you almost screamed when his fingers bent inside you, teasing that special spot inside you.

The second orgasm was more intense than the first, enough that you started to purr as you moaned, your omega half wresting control from you completely.

How had you survived without the touch of an alpha for so long? How had you spent eighteen months with Rick when you could have been having something like this?

You whined as he withdrew his fingers, but your feelings of emptiness were quickly forgotten as he brought them to your lips and slipped them into your mouth. Moaning, you sucked his fingers, enjoying the taste of yourself on them. Your eyes closed, licking and sucking until he pulled his hand away.

When you looked again, he'd pulled a condom from the nightstand and was rolling it down his length. Your breath caught at the sight of him kneeling between your spread legs, his cock hard and — fuck, he was so much bigger than you were used to.

He finished with the condom and you pouted, your hindbrain sulking, wanting him to fuck you bare. It was a good thing he hadn't asked you because you probably would have begged him for it.

"Present for me, omega," he said, his voice suddenly much lower, more gravelly than before.

Oh, you realised, his alpha was finally coming out to play.

Your body shook and trembled, but you immediately did as you were told, clumsily moving to your hands and knees in front of him. It had been so long since you'd presented for anyone, but the moment you were settled, everything in your mind seemed to blank. This was where you belonged, where you were meant to be.

Your back arched as he dragged a finger down your spine and across to your hip, where he gripped you tight. The slightest nudge of his cock was all it took to have you moaning again, his hold stopping you from impaling yourself on him before he was ready. Sensitive and needy, you whined, unable to even form the words you'd need to beg him to fuck you.

But you didn't need to beg because he wanted the same thing as you.

He held you in place as he sank his cock into the waiting heat of you. The sensation had you cursing and whining and moaning, making all manner of noises that could no doubt be heard on the other side of the house. He moved slowly, almost delicately, trying to save you from any discomfort.

But any discomfort was secondary to the way your body thrummed with need, pushing you to heights you'd never experienced before. Being with an alpha was everything you'd never even realised you'd needed. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he groaned, bottoming out. "That's a good omega."

It spoke to something deep and primal within you, and all you wanted to be was good for the alpha.

(Your alpha.)

No, not your alpha. Just your alpha... for the night.

He fucked you with slow, deep strokes, letting you feel every inch of him and, when you tried to move, tried to push back against him, he tightened his grip on you hips and held you in place.

It made your hindbrain sing to feel completely at his mercy, his to do with as he pleased — and he certainly seemed pleased to be fucking you. Pleasure became the only thing that mattered and every other thought vanished from your head; there was no more break up, no more Rick and Cindy, and no worries about what you'd do in the morning. There was just Steve, inside you, fucking you to heights you hadn't even known existed before tonight.

After years of betas who only wanted to use you for your libido, you finally knew what it was like to be with someone who knew how to bring you pleasure.

Your eyes rolled back and you gave in to the primal part of you, eagerly whining and moaning as he dragged his cock in and out of your cunt. He easily pushed you to another orgasm, letting out a low groan of his own as your walls fluttered and clenched around him.

When he pulled out, leaving you empty and bereft, you felt like the world was ending. You babbled and protested, every fibre of your being mourning his loss.

The two seconds it took for him to move you onto your back and slide back inside you were two of the longest seconds of your life.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he started to move again, keeping him close, making sure he didn't pull out again. His hands gripped your hips, strong arms effortlessly pulling you into every thrust of his hips.

"Steve..." you moaned.

He fucked you until you came again, then he followed suit. You whined at the dull sensation of his cock throbbing inside you, wishing you'd begged him not to wear a condom.

When he pulled out and rolled away, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling, a strange laugh bubbling out of you.

"Something funny?" Steve asked, settling beside you.

It took you a moment to find your voice again. "I just never knew being with an alpha would be like... like that..."

(Make him keep us. He needs to keep us. We need that again. We need to belong to him.)

You were too exhausted to even try to rationalise what your hindbrain wanted, you just curled up against Steve and fell asleep.

A/N : So, first and foremost, there is no upload schedule for this fic. I have around 5 chapters planned but I have no idea if it will take two weeks or two months between chapters. If you want to follow this, I can do a tag list, otherwise, I'd suggestion subscribing on Ao3 (hungermakesmonsters). Second, if you're new here... I don't normally write Steve Rogers (you can probably tell). So, to avoid disappointment, don't feel like you have to follow me if you're expecting more of that (though, never say never, I guess?)

Third, this is going to be a darker story. It's not all cuteness and rainbows, and people will be assholes. That said, it's not going to be dead-dove dark, just some crime and a little bit of violence. And, obviously, there's the sex-positive omegaverse elements. As always, each chapter will have TWs listed.

Finally, thank you so much for checking this out!

The bastard was smiling too.

His face screamed ‘Told you so’.

You glowered at him for a second before muttering out, "Yeah, yeah".

The rain was starting to fall quicker now, and it seemed like it was going to get heavier. Water droplets were matting your hair and sticking your clothes to your body, and you started shivering.

"Fuck." you mumbled to yourself, looking down at your shirt that was now sticking to you for a completely different reason. Still, you were thankful it wasn't poor quality and was not exposing your assets.

You felt eyes on you, and you looked up to see James staring at you with a blank expression.

His gaze darted down, where he could see the fabric of your shirt clinging tight, outlining your figure and emphasizing the curve of your breasts.

He abruptly snapped his eyes back up to your face, and you saw his neck and cheeks tinging red.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very aware of everything; your waterlogged clothes, your cold fingers, his gaze on you. The pounding of your heart…

You didn't comment on his gaze, folding your arms across your chest as you started trudging towards the park gate.

“You sure you wanna go by yourself?” He asked amidst the drizzle.

“I’ll be fine.” you said without turning.

“You’re already wet.” he commented, light footsteps staring behind you. You didn’t reply, too focused on avoiding puddles and saving your converse.

"Jesus, could you be any more stubborn?" James' voice came from behind you.

A hand suddenly touched your shoulder, and you jumped, turning around with wide eyes.

"Wha—"

But you hadn't even got the words out fully when he had scooped you up into his arms. You were pressed flush against his chest, his arms under your thighs, hands under your ass, holding you up.

Your hands automatically went up to grip onto his shoulders, fingers clutching onto his wet shirt.

Your cheeks burned as you stared at him, half flushed from annoyance, and half from something else.

"What the hell are you—" You started but he cut you off.

"Shut up for once." he grumbled, covering both your heads with his jacket.

You gaped at him, completely dumbstruck and lost for words.

Every part of your body was burning; from humiliation, from the rain, from him. His arms were strong, and you could feel the way his muscles flexed under his wet shirt. The stubble on his chin and jaw was rubbing against your cold cheek, and the only thing that managed to squeeze out of your throat was, “What the hell are you doing?"

"Saving your goddamn ass from falling sick." He murmured, and before you could retort, he started walking, carrying you along with him.

Being this close to him was a sensory overload. Every part of your body was hyperaware of him, it felt like he was everywhere.

His feet were clunking on the cement with every step, and there was so much heat rising up from his body.

"This.. I'm sure there is a better way of doing.. this." you murmured, focusing intently on his shoulder.

His arms flexed as he walked, the muscles in his back flexing and tensing next to your face.

You could feel his breath on your neck, his chest pressed against yours, his heartbeat thumping against your sternum.

"This is the fastest way." he grunted.

You swallowed painfully.

"I can't believe you're actually carrying me." you mumbled, finally settling to rest your forehead against his neck.

His hands were strong, clenching your thighs. You could feel the roughness of the pads of his fingers in your flesh, probably from being working on cars all day, you thought.

Your mind suddenly wondered what else those thick fingers would be good at.

You shook that thought out of your head.

Absolutely not… this was a one off.

He grunted, and you inhaled.

He smelled musky and masculine, somewhere between grease and fruity. This close to him, you could even smell the soap he used. It suited him.

"You're so heavy." he murmured, his words vibrating through his chest.

You scoffed, lifting your head up.

"I'm not— I’m a healthy weight." you protested indignantly.

He scoffed in reply.

"You sure are heavy as hell." he grumbled, tightening his grip on your thighs.

You swallowed at the action, your body thrumming. He was acting gruff and annoyed, but his touch was gentle, as if he was terrified of hurting you.

"You still don't know how to talk to girls." you grumbled, faintly annoyed and a lot of offended

"That's ‘cause you're no girly girl." he retorted, his hands clenching your legs again unconsciously.

"So you can call me fat?" you retorted, ignoring the way his light stubble was brushing against your cheek

"I didn't say you were fat, I said you're heavy." he grunted again, his breath fanning over the side of your neck.

Your body felt like it was on fire. You were sure he could feel the rise and fall of your chest, and the rapid pounding of your heartbeat.

His arms and fingers were still holding you up, not even a little tired yet, if he was annoyed at carrying you, his hands showed no signs of it.

"It’s the same thing." you replied dryly.

"It's not." he protested stubbornly, the vibration of his words shooting goosebumps down your spine.

His fingers flexed against your legs again, and you clenched your thighs to avoid shivering.

Goddammit, you could feel every muscle in his chest pressing up against you. It was excruciating.

"Whatever, I don't care what you think about me." you muttered, half a lie.

"How far are we?" you said instead.

"Not far." he grunted.

He seemed to step faster now, practically striding with you in his arms.

He suddenly halted, his body going stiff, and you looked up at him, bewildered.

"What—" you started.

"Sh."

Before you could protest again, his hand rose up to cover your mouth, cutting off the rest of your words. Your eyes widened, and your hands automatically reached up to grip his wet shirt.

You tried saying something indignantly, but all that came out was a muffled mess of sounds.

His hand over your mouth felt deliciously calloused, rough against your lips and cheeks. You couldn’t help but notice how close your faces were to each other now, noses almost touching, if it weren't for his hand, that is.

You could see the different flecks of color in his eyes this close, the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. He was staring down at you, his brows slightly pinched.

Then, from somewhere a faint sound of children laughing caught you by surprise. You turned your head under the jacket towards the sound, then back at him.

He sighed deeply, before lowering his hand (much to your displeasure).

“Where are we? Why are there kids here?” you whispered, brows furrowed as you tried to remember who had kids this young near your neighbourhood.

He slowly shifted to the side on the sidewalk, before replying.

“That’s Steve’s kids.”

You blinked.

“Steve as in Steve Rogers? The scrawny kid?” you asked in disbelief.

“Yeah.” he muttered.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. He just kept staring at you, a storm of unreadable emotions in his eyes. His hands flexed again, before he slowly lowered you. Your brain was still catching up with the knowledge revealed as you stood shakily.

You turned slightly, lifting the edge of the jacket as if seeing it for yourself would make you believe it. The rain was a little more than a drizzle now.

From afar, you could make out two kids in bright rain coats, one jumping in puddles while the other was trying to sail a paper boat which was far too wet. You glanced at James and back, your mouth opening and closing around words you couldn’t think of.

“Isn’t he.. wasn’t he the same age as us?” you finally managed to say.

James shrugged lightly. “Yeah. He had them with his high school sweetheart.” he replied.

You nodded dumbly, still looking at them as if staring would make it make sense.

The sight felt so familiar you felt a tug in your gut, the same plastic-y coats which would do little to keep out the rain, the same puddle splashing, except you used to do it on each other, not caring about your shoes. The same toothy grin that never seemed to leave your faces as you enjoyed the rain.

It felt so far away, but you still remembered some details, almost without meaning to. You remembered when your oddly shaped boat swam limply across the streams, when you almost slipped into a grate trying to save it. You remembered your muddy hands, Bucky's green rain coat which was way too big on him, even the tooth he broke when he fell after you.

As if they sensed your forlorn staring, the one jumping in puddles caught your gaze, her head tilting at what you imagined would be an obscure sight. You shifted away from him immediately, his jacket slipping off your head.

You heard a sigh behind you and a rustle of fabric as he took it off his head as well. It was then you noticed that he had stopped under a tree, which blocked out most of the rain. Before you could comment on it, a high pitched “Uncle Bucky!” cut through the air, followed by loud splashy footsteps.

Without much ceremony, they jumped him so hard you thought they would knock him down, but he caught them with practiced ease, a tired smile on his lips.

“Hey kiddo.” he said, hugging them back before tickling them. The two of them immediately burst into laughter, wiggling away from his grasp as their half toothy smile grew.

You felt strangely mesmerized by the sight. He talked to them so freely, so normally, that it made you feel out of place. That this version of him wasn’t meant for you to see. Your feet shifted slowly away from them, trying to camouflage into the tree.

Before you could think of an escape plan, a warm voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Holy, is it really you?” Steve said with mild surprise. You turned swiftly, trying to school your expression.

“Oh, hey Steve.” you said, slightly awkward. You weren’t really friends with him, but you knew him like everybody in this town knew everybody.

“Hey, it’s good to see you back.” he said, warm eyes like always. “It’s good to see you too.” you replied with a small smile. He had.. filled out in the best way possible, almost in the same way as James, his short golden hair adding to the charisma. For a moment you thought if your entire town had been blessed with good looks while you were gone.

“I see you’ve met the little munchkins already.” he chuckled, making you snap out of the slight daze.

You gave him a polite smile. “They’re adorable.” came automatically. Steve just smiled proudly, but you could feel Bucky’s gaze at the back of your neck.

The kids were now staring at you, making you feel weirdly self conscious, standing in damp clothes.

Steve introduced them to you with a wide smile, and you waved awkwardly at them, trying not to cringe slightly when he added Aunt to your name.

The shorter one’s head tilted. “How come she’s an aunt? We’ve never seen her.”

Your smile tightened a little. “It’s fine.. You don’t have to call me that.. Just my name is fine.” you said.

James snorted at that. “You’ve never seen her because she doesn’t live here.” he said to the child.

“You’re from somewhere else?” the other one quipped with wide eyes.

“I’m not..” it came a little sharply, directed at James, but you softened it. “I’m from here, but I work in the city.” you explained to her.

“Woah.. that’s so cool. Dad told me the city has the biggest slides!” she said, much to James’ dislike.

“Do you mean the amusement parks? Yeah, they’re very big.” I replied.

Their eyes sparkled with excitement and you felt like you had to go on. “There’s uh.. this ride that you sit on and it flips you upside down, and one where you do loop de loop in the air.” you said. They clapped their hands in excitement.

“Will you take us there! I wanna do a loop de loop.” the taller one said, making your eyes widen. You glanced at a smiling Steve and a slightly grumpy James.

“Uh.. I don’t know.” you murmured with an awkward laugh. They immediately pouted, turning to their dad. “Can we go, dad, please please please?”

He huffed out a small laugh, and before you could point out that you hadn’t agreed, Steve saved you the trouble. “We’ll go when the weather’s clear, okay?”

They immediately brightened up and nodded eagerly. And like the usual attention span of kids, moved on to jumping into puddles.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you take them.” you murmured to Steve. He waved it off with his hand.

“It’s alright, they’ll forget about it in a few days. Bucky always leads them on about ice cream trucks and they get excited without ever seeing them.” he says amusedly.

James chuckled. “I just like making life tough for you.” he said, clapping Steve’s back. Steve rolled his eyes, nudging him in the ribs.

“So, have you come to stay this time around?” Steve asked.

“Not really, I just came to visit.” you replied politely.

“Oh, that’s still good. I’m glad you got to meet my kids atleast.” he said.

“How old are they, by the way?” you asked.

“Four. They’re twins.” Steve replied, beaming. You smiled and nodded, doing the math in your head.

“Wow, that’s.. congratulations.”

“I’m glad I ran into you, but I should probably head home. Good night.” you greeted him with a smile, before turning and leaving.

Behind you, James stood beside Steve, eyeing you for a moment before turning to his friend.

“I can’t believe she’s back.” Steve said with a small smile, making him roll his eyes.

“Of course she was gonna come back at some point.” he muttered.

“You convinced me that she wasn’t, that her life was perfect there.” Steve replied, almost amusedly.

“Whatever, she still pisses me off.” he grunted, and Steve laughed.

“You two still bicker like kids.” Steve poked his ribs.

James shoved him off playfully before starting towards his house. “See you at the fest, Stevie.” he gave a short wave before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

The rain had almost completely stopped as you turned the corner on your street. A loud thunder suddenly cracked overhead, making you flinch and grip yourself tighter instinctively.

You didn’t even register the sound of muffled steps until the familiar mocking tone of James came from behind you.

"It's just some thunder, don’t tell me you still scare like a kid." he huffed amusedly.

You turned just slightly, shooting him a look. “It took me by surprise.” you replied, trying to ignore how his slightly damp shirt looked far too good. He chuckled, jacket slung on his shoulder as he walked behind you, off by a few steps.

You continued walking. “Following me now, are you?” you muttered.

“I live on this street, longer than you have actually.” he pointed out, making you roll your eyes.

“That doesn’t mean you have to walk behind me like some creep.” you replied.

“So you want me to walk with you? Like we’re friends or something? Oh wait, you said we aren’t.” he said, knowing it would push your buttons.

When you didn’t reply, he rolled his eyes. His steps faltered for a second when he carefully looked over you.

"You're shivering." he said, like he hadn’t thought about that.

"It's kinda hard not to when you're soaking." you grumbled, hands still around yourself.

He sighed, before muttering something that sounded like ‘why lord’, before catching up to you in a few strides. He didn’t stop you, just wrung out his leather jacket once and draped it over you.

You wanted to argue, but the warmth of it made you sigh softly. The fabric smelled faintly like motor oil and grease.

The streetlights flickered over the two of you as you walked.

“Thanks.” you muttered. “I didn’t know you did chivalry.”

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe I do. Got a problem with that?"

His voice was laced with slight annoyance, but there was something else underneath it too - a hint of defensiveness.

“I guess I don’t. You’re still very facetious though.” you said, glancing at him.

He stopped walking abruptly, his boots squelching in a puddle.

“Facetious?” his brows pinched, almost adorably, you thought. “You callin’ me names, after I carried your stubborn ass through the rain?” he huffed.

"I didn't ask to be carried, you did that." you pointed out.

James' face twisted a little, but his tone was still even.

"You were too slow. Staying in that goddamn rain for so long would get you sick, of course I was gonna carry you." he said like it made perfect sense, his gaze boring into you.

"But no, you have to argue with me, don't you? Even when I'm just trying to keep your ass safe."

"I don't need to be kept safe, I'm not a child." you said, stopping in front of your gate.

“You sure do act like one.” he muttered under his breath, continuing on his way to his house next door.

“I heard that.” you said, eyeing his back. He half turned, then rolled his eyes and continued walking.

“Acting like a child is still better than acting like a lost puppy who has no one else to follow.” you reported, crossing your arms.

James stopped dead in his tracks.

His face went completely blank as he turned.

For a second, he just stared at you — really stared — like he was seeing you for the first time. Like your words had physically punched him.

Then something flickered behind his eyes. Hurt? Betrayal? Disbelief?

He didn't say anything yet.

Your brain screamed at you for a moment, alarms blaring.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quiet. Not angry anymore — just… tired.

"Okay."

One word. Flat and empty.

Then he turned on his heel to walk away without another glance at you.

You blinked, staring at his retreating back.

His shoulders were tense, posture stiff as he pushed open his gate.

Your brain scrambled for words, something, anything to say.

“Wait, your.. your jacket.” you called out.

“Don’t need it.” James said without looking your way, not slowing down.

His voice was cold now - detached. Like he'd flipped a switch and shut everything off.

You watched him disappear into the house, too stunned to move, your heart twisting violently in your chest.

You should run after him. Call out to him, get him to stop, maybe even apologize—

But you couldn't. The words got stuck in your throat, and your legs felt like lead weights.

The look on his face when you'd called him a lost puppy, like you'd… hurt him, finally crossed the line. It was stuck in your mind, replaying over and over again.

Eventually you went inside and dried off. But you couldn't stop thinking about him.

Outside, the skies had cleared again, leaving the air cool. You paced in your room, feeling a mix of guilt and sorrow.

You flopped on your bed, looking at the ceiling.

He was right, he had helped you even though you were awful to him.

You closed your eyes, trying to shut off your brain. But all that did was bring up every time you had been rude to him.

“He started it,” you said out loud. “He was rude to me first.” you tried to reason with yourself, turning on your side.

But for what? He was just upset that you left.

The hours ticked by and sleep refused to come as you argued with your brain.

Whenever you closed your eyes, images of James' face kept flashing in your mind — angry, hurt, cold, annoyed. The memory of his expression when you'd called him a lost puppy was seared into your brain.

Your stomach twisted every time you recalled all that you'd said. You hadn't even tried to stop him when he walked away…

You sat up on your bed with an annoyed huff, cursing at your mind. You knew it wouldn’t calm down until you talked it out. So you picked up your phone and dialled your therapist/friend.

“Hey Sam.. I’m sorry for bothering you this late. Do you have a minute?” you said quietly.

On the other end, you heard rustling of sheets and a small grunt. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“No.. not exactly just..” you sighed, closing your eyes. “Coming here was more taxing than I thought.”

“Is it.. because of your parents?” he asked gently, knowing it wasn’t really an open topic for you.

“Partially.. yeah. But it’s not just him, I.. ran into my childhood friend here, and things aren’t going great with him. I don’t really feel like myself, I’m just angry all the time.. and he hasn’t even done that many things wrong, he was just upset that I left.” you said, voice growing smaller with each sentence.

Sam listened patiently before asking, “You think you’ve wronged him by leaving?”

“A little, I guess. I know I left for myself, but I didn’t mean to hurt him.” As you said that, you realized how hypocritical it sounded. You ended up retelling Sam everything that went down, up until him leaving.

Sam sighed softly. “Your friendship sounds complicated.” he said, his tone light enough to make you feel better.

“I don’t even know if it’s that anymore..” you huffed an almost laugh.

“Whatever it is, it’s hurting you both from what it seems. Now you have a choice, you either pull back completely, act like you dont want to see him ever again.” he said carefully.

“Or, you swallow your pride, just for some time, and try to apologize. And I guess you can tell which one I’d suggest you to do.” he said. You knew he would never force you to make a decision.

“Shouldn’t he apologize too? Who knows what else he’s been talking about me with my dad.” you said.

Sam called your name carefully. “I agree that was a shitty thing to do, but I can only make you understand your actions, not him. Maybe if you ask him politely he’ll understand it was shitty.”

You sighed, rolling on your side. “You don’t know him, he won’t do that.”

“Exactly, I don’t, but you do. And I know you can be the bigger person here, yeah?” he said.

“Yeah.” you murmured quietly.

“Good. Now I’m charging double for this session because you interrupted my REM sleep.” he said jokingly, making your lips quirk.

“Like your greedy ass needs more money.” you said affectionately.

He made an indignant sound .“I, at the very least, deserve a drink for sorting out your boy problems.” he said, and you could hear him smirking.

“Fine, I’ll treat you when I get back, happy Mr. Greedy?” you teased. “Very.” he replied with a laugh.

“Alright, well get your “REM sleep” then.” you said.

“Good night, grumpy.” he said, yawning. “Send me a pic of your good deeds.”

Three simple words. But not the ones you wanted. For all the joy they’re bearing, they’re punching holes into the very fabric of your soul. And yet, you smile bright as the sun, your eyes shining. He will never know. You hug him tightly, patting him on the back. And he’s laughing, hugging you back, his eyes lit with happiness.

“Oh, Bucky, I’m so happy for you!” And that’s the worst. Because every word that makes your heart bleed is true. You want nothing more than his happiness because you love him so much. Even if his happiness is not with you.

You don’t remember how you came to be his best friend. Shared moments of quiet at first. Sharing interests, a book, a coffee. Sharing silence when the world was too loud for him. Lending him your calm, his head in your lap when everything was too hard to bear in his mind. Walks late at night to watch the stars. Telling each other what you think, arguing ‘till the door slams, reconciling in front of a diner. And yet, you were always just friends.

You remember when he brought her. Shy and blushing, holding onto him as if he was her lifeline. And he had come right for you, and she had said, in her soft voice, how much Bucky had spoken about you. You had been surprised, but you had kept your smile. Because he wanted you to meet her. She was a fragile, little, thing, with a soft smile and wide eyes, stylish like a doll. As far from you as could be, with your loud laugh and functional clothes. She was delicate like a sweet flower where you were strong like a young tree. And so different from Bucky as well. And maybe this was why he chose her and not you.

And so you kept smiling, because Bucky was smiling to her, holding her like a precious thing. The most precious of all.

“I trust you. You’re my best friend. You don’t know what it means that you accepted her.”

Can a heart break multiple times? Yours did, again and again. But you keep being kind to her. Slapping John in the head when he made some inappropriate jokes, being there for her when Bucky was away on a mission. She even calls you Big Sister. You hate it. Because you envy her. And yet, you’re still here. But not for her. For Bucky, always for him.

And then, one day, Bucky requested your help for something very important. And your heart cracked again, for you knew what it was. And when he brought you to this jeweler, your heart faltered. And yet, you went with him, knowing that you would help him choose. Because he loved her. And she made him happy.

And now, you’re here, a glass in your hand, smile plastered on your face, celebrating with everyone in the team. Even Mel and Valentina are here, and Valentina even paid for the champagne. Bucky is smiling, eyes twinkling with joy. The light in him is beautiful to see, even if your heart is like ashes under this sun. And yet, you keep your smile for him and you keep laughing at his jokes. Then, he comes close to you, putting his arm on your shoulder. You smile up to him, the weight of his arm another shard in your heart.

“I owe you so much.” You arch an eyebrow, surprised, “you’ve taught me how to love, how to be myself again.” And there is so much emotion in his eyes. He chuckles softly, “and she loves the ring.”

The corner of your lips tremble but you hide it behind your drink. “Don’t mention it.” Because it hurts too much to hear him say this. Because it brings questions that it’s too late to answer. But he will not know.

He smiles softly and leans to kiss you, oh so gently, on the cheek, the stubble rough against your skin. He blushes slightly and suddenly hugs you fiercely. You hug him back, because you can’t stop it. He is so happy and he wants to share it with you. You can’t ruin this for him. Not after all he went through. And yet, it’s killing you inside.

“She is organizing everything! Every little detail.” He smiles again, eyes lost for a moment as he looks at you, “Soon I’ll be able to give the invitation. You’ll come, right?” For a moment, his eyes are searching yours. But you keep the pain hidden and you just chuckle softly.

“As if I could ever miss the wedding of my best-friend.” And yet, your mind treacherously changed it to the man I love.

~~~

The mission had devolved into disaster so quickly it should have been comical. But you are in no place to laugh. Not when your voice is choked by your tears, not when your heartbeat is a drum without rhythm, not when you’re so terrified at the idea of losing Bucky.

Because now this man, the self proclaimed Nightmare King, is here, holding Bucky’s life in his hands. Each and every one of the other people on the mission is trapped in their own realm of debilitating fear and terrors.

And Bucky, your Bucky, is not immune. Even though the Nightmare King is right beside him, smirking as he is preparing to end the life of the man you love, Bucky’s eyes are staring in nothingness. Ugly sobs are wracking him, his body shaking. You can hear him repeat, over and over again, “No. No. No. No.” He is barely breathing, as if each word is stealing his life away, as if his heart has been ripped away.

You have no strength left to try to imagine what he’s seeing. Every muscle in your body is shaking so hard you barely can hold your own weapons. But you cannot let Bucky die. So you fight, inch by inch, crawling your way towards the two men. Tears of terror running along your cheeks, your only thought: I cannot lose him.

Yes. He loves another but he is alive and happy. And you can still see him and the twinkle in his eyes when he sees you. Losing him to another still means being able to watch him smile, to feel the warmth of his hugs. Even if it hurts. You welcome this pain, as long as Bucky is happy. But if he dies? Then the world would be a cold and empty space, where the sun would no longer warm your soul. And this man is trying to snuff out Bucky’s light.

You cannot let it happen. So now, shivering and sickly, you’re terrified and sobbing abjectly. And when the Nightmare King sees you, crawling towards him, weapons barely drawn, his smirk slowly disappears, replaced by a mask of incredulity.

“No. NO! That’s impossible! You should be prone, lost in your Nightmare!!”

“T-This… This i-is m-my n-nightmare….” You hiccup, finally standing on wobbly legs, the rage fueling your limbs, fighting off the effect of the fear. You straighten, staring him down. “B-but I promised myself to never let it happen.” And you charge.

When thinking back, you knew you were lucky. The so-called Nightmare King was probably taken by surprise. Or maybe he was so sure of his powers, he didn’t prepare a back up plan… Or simply, once his concentration had wavered, his powers were no longer affecting the others. You’ll never know. Because once you start fighting him, he does not stay long. He pushes you away, taking advantage of your weakened states and turns on his heels, fleeing.

You stumble back, swearing under your breath. At the same time Bucky snaps out of his stupor, his eyes suddenly on you, wide, confused, questioning. Then all the others, one by one, come back to reality, shocked but ready to fight. And fight they did, pursuing the man through his stronghold.

Bucky checks on you but you shake your head, “I’m good. Go get him. GO!” he nods and, with one last glance at you, he sets off after the guy. You are too shaken by your experience, too ashamed of how you felt. So you stay behind. And when the others pass you, you nod and show the other people trapped around you. You’ll stay behind to help them evacuate. That will be your excuse. Because you can’t be at Bucky’s side right now.

~~~

Morning in the Watchtower. You hear them as you finish packing. They talk in low whispers, loud exclamations quickly snuffed. They let you sleep, you had seemed so worn out after this mission. You hadn’t argued and went straight to your room, already knowing what you would do in the morning.

But you know, you hear them, wondering how you resisted, what power you had been hiding. Because you had none, until now. And they are excited to know more. And you hear his voice, Bucky, low, tense, asking them to calm down. You wonder if he is curious as well, you assume as much. You know him too well.

The silence falls like a slab of cement as they see you passing with a suitcase. You had hoped to leave discreetly, even though you knew it was futile and maybe even unfair. None of them did anything wrong. You’re the only one to blame. They’re all looking at you, exchanging quick glances between each other, confused. And Bucky, face pale, eyes searching, stands slowly. And you know you should leave now, before it’s too late. But you can’t.

And so you wait for him as he walks briskly towards you.

“Hey, what’s up?”

His voice is soft, a bit shaky. You hadn’t spoken since the day before. You can still see in your mind the moment you thought he would die. You look down. You can’t face him. The pain is too deep, the fear still there. The nightmare cracked open the walls you didn’t know you built around your heart. And now you cannot hide anymore how you feel.

“I have to go.” To your surprise, your voice is calm, if quiet.

“No. Wait. Wait a minute.” His tone. There is something akin to panic. You hate yourself. He has done nothing.

“Bucky…” just saying his name is agony. You shake your head, try to smile but it falters, quivering at the corner. You turn, it’s time to leave but his hand finds your arm. There is no strength in his grip but there is warmth. And it burns through your clothes. And yet, you still.

“Speak to me.” His voice wavers, “Please?” and you hate yourself because you know you’re going to hurt him.

“I have to go, Bucky. Please, let me go.” And you finally look at him, eyes pleading. And in his eyes, oh so blue, you see it, the hurt, the confusion. And it’s bittersweet. Because you know he cares. But not in the way you need.

“But you saved us!” “Yeah! That’s a cool power!” “We need you!” “Who’s going to make the coffee now?” They are all speaking over each other, too surprised, too confused by your desire to leave them. For a moment, you feel dizzy, torn apart. And Bucky. He is watching you, trying to piece this together.

“Tell me. You are my friend.” It’s barely a whisper. Now, he is the one pleading with you. And you regret doing this, it’s not his fault. And he deserves the truth. Even if it destroys what’s left of your friendship. And even though you know it’ll hurt him. Because Bucky is a good man. And yet, you’ll tell him.

“There is no… I have no power, Bucky. I was terrified. But not by an illusion.” You stop, the scene still so vivid in your mind, “I was living my worst nightmare.” Your voice wavers, eyes wet. You add, soft enough that he’s the only one hearing, “Seeing the man I love almost be killed.” Your voice dies on the last words. And your eyes search his, hoping he will understand. Praying you won’t have to say it out loud, in the end.

But he frowns, confused and, maybe, somewhat betrayed. And the look on his face twists a knife in your heart. His hand slides, lifeless, from your arm. You thought you couldn’t be hurt anymore. And yet, your heart finds another way to break.

So you say it, finally.

“You, Bucky.” You don’t say that it has always been him. You don’t need to add another layer of guilt as you see it, slowly rising, in the way his jaw ticks, the way his eyes widened. And you want to take the pain away, to swallow it in yours. You can take it. You will always take it from him.

You go on, “I’m sorry.” And the words are like jagged glass into an open wound and they twist slowly. And you have to close your eyes for a moment, to not break right there. And yet you keep speaking, as if now that your heart is broken like an eggshell, everything you held close can’t help but come pouring out.

“I love you Bucky,” and you see him flinch. Your heart falters, and you’re surprised it’s still beating, it hurts so much. And yet you go on, “I love you so much that I want to see you happy, because you deserve to be happy, to have the best of what life can offer. You deserve everything and more…” your words die in your throat at the sight of his face, stricken and pale. You know you have to leave, now, because you can’t keep hurting him. And so you take his cold hands in yours, in this last moment where you’re close to him. Because if you can, you will still save him.

“Would you do something for me?”

And even after everything you told him, he doesn’t hesitate before answering, “Anything.” And it breaks your heart, as if there were still splinters left to shatter.

“Grab life by the throat and be happy. The happiest you can be. Have the best life ever! Marry, have kids and grand-kids. Get the life of your dreams and more. Take it. You deserve all of it, never doubt that.” He says nothing, his eyes wide, never leaving your face. And yet you find the strength to smile again. “Do that for me, okay?”

You keep smiling as you wave to the others, looking at you in stunned silence. And you walk away, holding the pieces of your soul close to you. You cannot break now, you have to leave, to go away, to stay strong so that Bucky will not be hurt even more.

And the city of New York passes in front of you as your cab drives you away from the Watchtower, from your life there, from your friends, from Bucky. And then there is the bustle of the airport and you still keep your peace, your hands tight against your chest, hoping the pain cannot be seen. And once you’re nestled in your seat in the plane, rolled into a ball against the airplane window, you’re too afraid to let it bleed and so you tighten around yourself, hoping you’ll hold.

And then, you see through this new cab’s window, the landscape rolls, towards your home, and your mind is blissfully empty. Your cell is in your hand before you can think, ready to send a message, like you did so many times before, to tell him you arrived safely. You freeze, fingers hovering. You can’t. Not anymore.

And then you arrive, and you pay and everything is mechanical and slow, as if your life has been caught in some time slowing machine. And you turn, and your childhood house is waiting, warm light pooling on the darkening ground as the sun sets behind the hills. It smells of hay and horses and the sounds of the cab leaving you here is like a final goodbye.

You feel the snap behind your ribs the moment your mother appears on the stairs. And when she calls your name, startled, surprised, you know you’re going to shatter. And then…

Your father is here, hugging you so fiercely that, for an instant, the agony in your body is still. And you don’t remember how you ended up in his arms. And the warmth around you finally seeps through your cold mind. And you shatter.

The sobs are ugly, rough, wracking your whole body, as if being punched. They don’t understand, you didn’t tell them anything. And yet, they don’t ask questions, they just hold you through it all, until you fall asleep on the couch, exhausted, drained by your tears.

When you wake up in the morning, the pain is still there. Worst of all, it is everywhere. And your mind reels in horror at what you did. For you’re sure Bucky is wounded. You betrayed his trust, and left before his wedding. And in the moment, all you can see are the blue of his eyes when you left, like a sea of despair. You should never have spoken.

And so you ask your parents for work, any work. To bury the guilt and shame and pain under sweat and dirt. And it works for the day. And when you swing the ax and the wood splinters, you do not think. And when you work in the field, your back is stiff under the sun, your mind is empty as the cloudless sky. And yet, when the sun sets and the long shadows of the night are pouring through the cracks of life, the emptiness in your chest is howling and you do not know how to close it.

And so you sit with your parents in front of the old TV. And your mother has made your favorite meal, and you feel as if the child in you is slowly taking your hand, to bring you back to a place where the hurt is allowed to be less loud. And your father brings chocolate bars and drinks. And while the child never drinks, you recognize those moments from your childhood. And you spend the evening, and then the night, hiding behind the child you were. And you finally fall asleep in your mother’s arms.

And each morning, you begin anew, the same routine. And slowly the pain becomes a companion, not jagged teeth ripping everything inside you. It is almost comfortable. You even find the strength to explain to your mother and father. And they do not judge you. They do not offer empty words of comfort or promises of healing. Only the solid shoulder of your father, the warmth of your mother’s hug.

And so you go on with life because this is how it is. And yet, the guilt is still there, tainted by the yearning. For you miss Bucky but it’s heavy, it’s a weight. Like an addiction. You know this love hurts you and yet, you miss him. And yet sometimes you feel free, for now there is nothing left to hide. The cut is clean, there is no turning back. But sometimes, it feels as though you are missing a limb.

The ghost presence of him is in everything you see, everything you eat, everything you read. For you told him you would come here together. You told him you would show him your life here. The slow mornings with the smell of your mom’s waffles. The days of work, fueled by the warmth of the sun and the laugh of your father. The soft evenings, where the sky is so clear, the stars seem within reach. But he is not here to share with you the beauty of the light, the scent of the smoke, the sound of the rain. Bucky is far away… and yet, you feel him everywhere you are, in everything you do.

As time passes, bitterness begins gnawing at the pain. The wedding should be soon. While you refuse to watch the calendar, you know it in your bones. And yet, there’s been no invite. And the absence is burrowing in your soul. Did Bucky choose to not invite you? Would it be too much for him to see you again? Or maybe he is trying to protect you? And not knowing is the worst, because your mind is aflame with anger that he made the choice for you.

The thing is, even if you don’t know what your choice would have been, you would have preferred being able to decide yourself. But the calendar tells the story. And now, it is over. And it hurts, a throbbing pain, ever present.

Until one day, you are out, cutting wood. The ax is flying, an extension of your arms, each strike, rippling through your muscle, feels like life trying to worm its way back into your heart. You stop, breathing hard. The landscape is beautiful around you. The sun is young, the air still fresh from the morning. Birds are chirping and the smell of the wet earth is like an invitation for a lazy walk. And yet, your chest is tight, as if your memories of him are trying to crush you.

Then anger comes, you feel the pressure, behind your ribs, your eyes, in your throat. Until you scream. You scream for the unfairness of it all, for the path never taken, for the guilt you’re still bearing, for the love that refuses to die, for the fact you still want to live and be happy. You scream until you’re raw, until it hurts and slowly you sink on the ground, kneeling under the pain, and the regret. And yet, it feels lighter.

You can breathe now.

And the days that come after are a little bit sweeter. And it is as if your smile has found its way back, small and hesitant, but here nonetheless.

And one day, you decide to go for a long ride. You told your mother and father. You spent the day out, rediscovering a world for yourself, without Bucky. It is still painful, but there is space for peace now, finally.

~~~

Later, when you come back, you feel at ease with yourself for the first time in a while. You dismount, relaxed and you whisper soft words to your mare as you bring her close to the front porch.

This is why the sight of the bike jars you, as if you have been struck by lightning. For a moment, you’re torn. A sudden burst of joy, warm and heady like a strong liquor, and an icy blade ripping through your soul and heart, both at the same time.

What is he doing here? And then comes the realization that he may have come with his wife. You freeze, heart in your throat. You cannot face them. Not yet. Not now that you’ve only just learned to breathe again.

So you slowly back away, as if facing an enemy. But your body is fighting itself. You’re shivering as a part of you pleads for Bucky to come out so that you can see him one last time. But the other part is screaming at you to flee the pain. With an effort, you’re finally able to turn, walking feebly back to your horse.

Breathing hard, you lean against her neck, the warmth of her body is like a wall against the pain of your heart.

Footsteps. You freeze, your mind blank, your heart beating like a bird trapped in a cage, blood rushing in your ears. And yet, when he calls softly for you, you hear it.

You close your eyes, holding onto the saddle as your legs weaken under you. You stay hidden behind your mare, grateful for her strength when you’ve none left, unable to move now.

You hear Bucky’s boots on the dirt. He’s moving slowly towards you. You should go away, leave but you can’t, rooted on the spot by the sheer need to see him. It is visceral, you can feel a physical pull towards him even though you can’t see him.

You see gloved fingers appear over the neck of the horse, carding through her mane. Your mare is patient. She does not move, her ears picking towards the new presence, mildly curious. Your eyes, on the other hand, are glued to those fingers, slowly sliding out of view while you hear Bucky’s footsteps as he moves around your horse. You’re frozen in place, a hand still on the saddle, as he finally stands in front of you.

To see him is like a cold shower. Your heart splits in two. And yet, a part of you feels complete again. There is no smile on his face but there’s no anger either. His eyes are searching yours for a long, silent, moment. You drink in his presence, his scent, burning his image into your mind for he will disappear again, and you will stay behind bereft, empty once again.

He takes another step, stops, then turns to look at the horse beside you, patting her neck.

“She looks like a good mare.”

Your mind is blank. Your body is in a state of panic, ready to bolt and still unable to move, like a rabbit in the headlights of a car.

Then his eyes come back to you.

“You never told me.” His voice is soft and yet you feel something like pain underlying those simple words. You try to find something, anything to say. But for all the words flailing in your head, there’s only one coming out.

“No.”

His eyes never leave you. You are not sure what to read in them but you see shadows below them, as if sleep has escaped him for a long time. Your heart twists. You had never wanted to hurt him. A tear rolls down your cheek and you’re surprised you still have some left in you. You wipe it quickly but you glimpse the flicker of anguish in his eyes. He has seen it. And the guilt twists deeper in your heart.

But then, anger rears its head, like a snake awakened by your mixed feelings. You clench your fist. He sees it and his lips curve slightly into a half-smile. It fans your anger. You want to yell, to scream at him, to shake him and erase this smile. You want to show him the bleeding gap in your chest. It’s so strong you’re panting. No. Bucky didn’t know. He’s innocent.

The thoughts are like ice sliding along your spine. You lowered your eyes, slowly, tired now, the last dredge of anger draining everything.

“You let me choose someone else.”

His voice is barely a whisper. And you’re not sure you heard him correctly. You look up and realize he has closed the gap between you. His hand has slid slowly along your mare’s neck, a mere inch from your fingers. You notice that, if you stretch your hand, you could touch his, if you wanted.

But then the words echo in your mind. They slowly crystallize in your heart, twisting like a butterfly in a web. The silence is too much and not enough all at once.

“And yet, here I am.” His voice, low, trembling slightly as his eyes bore into you. And you shake your head. When you speak, trying to bring normalcy in this moment, your voice is small in your ears.

“I don’t understand.”

“You robbed me of my choice.”

“I-what?” you blink, confused for an instant. Until something snaps in you. Maybe it’s back into place, maybe it’s finally breaking but the anger comes back, stronger this time, bitter as bile. And your voice slices the air.

 “I did nothing. I was just your friend. You chose not to be with me first.”

Each word is venomous. You thought you had healed, but seeing him now is like reopening the wound, digging in it. You square your shoulders, ready for a fight. But Bucky’s face has gone pale as his shoulders sag. Yet, he does not avoid your eyes. To your surprise, he nods.

“You’re right.”

But those words do nothing. They’re bland and empty. They mean nothing. You snap.

“Why are you here?”

This is the right question. You need to know, to understand. And much more than that. You need to heal. You have the right to be free of this pain.

“I miss you…” the admission unsettles you. He says it in a small, almost child-like voice. You frown, shake your head.

“You are… you were my friend…” when he corrects himself, he winces, as if pained physically. “You were my safe place. My perfect piece of the puzzle.”

Is this an accusation you hear in his voice? You clench your teeth, seething. And then, you spit it, years of jealousy in a few words.

“You chose her.”

He closes his eyes, lowers his head. Strangely, you don’t feel better. Seeing him defeated in front of you does not bring you any relief. Finally, you ask again, gentler this time.

“Why are you here?” and not on your honeymoon. Those words you keep. They are still too painful, even to think.

Bucky opens his mouth then closes it, he looks at the sky as if trying to find the right words among the stars. He takes a deep breath and, with his eyes on you again, he whispers.

“I need you.”

You stay rooted on the spot, your eyes wide. Your heart is thudding loudly against your ribs, almost painful. You want to deny, to punch him, to slap him… He must see the fury in your eyes because he closes his hand on yours. His touch both soothes and hurts you. You yank away your hand while your mare snorts, nervous.

Bucky takes a step back but he’s still watching you.

“You cannot say that. Not after…” you gesture vaguely, away from your home… There are so many things. He does not have the right.

“I know.” He takes a breath and, releasing it slowly, he says, “I realize now I was a coward. I was so terrified. I said nothing.”

No. It wasn’t possible.

“What does that mean?”

“It was easier. You were there. Always at my side. You stayed, whatever I was putting you through. I thought… that it was better to say nothing than telling you how I felt and then… losing you.”

You do not react. You feel empty, your mind buzzing strangely. Bucky frowns. He wants to touch you but you hold your hand up. And he stops there, looking desperate, maybe waiting for you to say something. But you cannot speak. Not yet.

“All those years?”

He nods, his eyes are shining now but you push again. You need to know.

“What about the wedding?”

Bucky winces again and looks away. You feel cold all over but then he whispers in a huff.

“Canceled.”

You stay there mouth agape, the word impossible to understand.

“Do you know what the Nightmare King showed me?”

You blink and close your mouth with a snap. You’re confused again by this change of conversation, you shake your head. You don’t know. But your heart is beating so quickly, as if it knows something you keep denying.

“You. Leaving me.”

The ground must have opened under your feet because you feel yourself slide. You don’t hear him moving, you don’t see anything. But suddenly, you’re on the ground, his cold vibranium arm on your back, holding you upright, while his thumb gently rubs circles on your hand. You try to breathe. He’s too close, you’re too hot. Bucky says nothing, his eyes on you, waiting.

You can smell him. You can feel his warmth. You want to crawl under his skin, you want to become one with him. It has been so long. “Bucky…” you don’t know what to say. Even saying his name is painful and yet, it feels good.

“I should have spoken sooner. I should have…” his whispers falters, his mouth in your hair and you close your eyes, letting the words slowly sink in. For the moment, you do not answer. You stay there, immobile, hearing his heart thumping strongly, a mirror of yours.

Then you feel it. Bucky is shaking. And you slowly come to realize what he must have done. As if reading your thoughts, he adds voice breaking,

“I hurt you. I hurt her. I hurt everyone. It’s what I always do. I wanted to spare you. I always wanted…” his voice falters then he whispers “But in trying to spare you, I only made your pain worse.”

You say nothing. You don’t need to add to his anguish. Besides you’re exhausted beyond what you thought possible. Then you realize your parents must wonder what is going on. They are probably waiting in the house, unwilling to bother you. You move.

Bucky’s reflex is to tighten his hold but then, as if realizing, he releases you slowly, as if regretting.

“Help me stand.”

He nods and you cling to him as you both straighten up. Your mare is there, looking at both of you with her dark and limpid eyes. You laugh. And Bucky looks at you, a bit surprised.

“She must think we’re crazy.” He turns to look at the horse and he exhales a tired laugh. But then, he turns to you, his eyes serious and sad.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

You look at him. His eyes are red rimmed, his hair a mess, although it could be from the ride on his bike. And because you know him, you know he must hate himself right now. Because you can imagine her now, lonely, left behind. You know how it feels. You want to forgive him unconditionally, and yet this is not what you say.

“It’ll take time. I’ll need to relearn trust.”

He swallows thickly, you see his throat bobs. He looks away, his flesh hand coming quickly as if erasing something from his face. And you remember who he is. What he has gone through. Of course, it’s not an excuse. But it is a reason.

You close the gap between you, putting both your hands on his chest.

“But I would like to hear you say it.”

Gingerly, Bucky puts his hands on your shoulders, his eyes are roaming on your face, you wonder if he sees the tears, the pain. Probably. And yet, you see the corner of his lips slowly tug upward, a faint smile. Slowly, he leans towards you.

Your heart beats so strongly, the blood rushes in your ears. Your knees are wobbly under you and your fingers cling to his shirt. And when his lips finally touch yours.

There is a moment when the whole world ceases to exist. Only the warmth of his mouth, of his hands against you, is real.

You open your eyes, not realizing you had closed them. And Bucky looks at you, as if you were the most precious thing in the whole universe.

“I love you.” Those three words. You waited so long, you lost hope, you left and tore yourself apart, thinking you would never hear them. And yet, here you are. In his arms.

“I love you too.”

You hear him take a deep, shaky breath. As if you finally allowed him to breathe again. But he’s not the only one. You feel whole. But not as before. There are wounds to heal, and corners to smooth. Both of you will need to rebuild.

And yet, you’re hopeful now.

Later, you leave on the back of his bike for the road trip back to the Tower. Your parents seemed happy for the both of you. Even though your father gave Bucky the look. You almost choked on your laugh while Bucky only ducked his head and promised he would take care of you.

You’re holding tight on to him, your arms around his body. You’re slotted against him, savoring the closeness, the warmth. His hand finds your thigh from time to time, as if checking you are real and here with him. In front of you the sun is slowly setting, painting the landscape in red, purple and blue.

Princess and the Poppers the pop band took hold of every tween's heart versus The New Avengerz, the industrial rock band taking over the masses by storm, you started your music careers at the same time and from day one the media pitted you against each other.

Eventually everyone was either a princess or an avenger, the internet went crazy every time you shared the same stage, finding looks of hatred where there wasn't any. Your agent said it was normal, good publicity even, so you went along with it

But even with fake celebrity gossip, you never get off scot-free, a nasty rumor started popping in, after the paparazzi released a photo of you leaving a bar late at night with all the members of The New Avengerz; lipstick smudged, messy hair and disheveled clothes…

It was safe to say the tabloids had a field day with this picture, branding you as the New Avengerz' number one whore, and that was the nicest thing they had to say, and what's worse is that not a single one of them denied it.

The feud became real, and you and your girls were out for blood. If TNAz had a concert in the city you took their spot, new single coming out? Princess and the Poppers just announced their upcoming album.

You wanted them to bleed money, you wanted them gone and forgotten, specially their drummer Bucky Barnes.

Tonight MTV was throwing one of their famous parties and Princess and the Poppers were asked to open. Now as you tested the sound, you heard their loud bickering voices before you saw them come through the doors, for rockstars they really were cliché.

You knew they would perform too tonight, but you hoped you'd be done before they arrived for their sound check. "I thought there was a smell of wine and cheap perfume!" you and your girls laughed but there was no affection in your eyes, "why do you even bother with sound checks? Isn't your music supposed to sound like garbage?" you wondered out loud, deeply enjoying their angry faces.

Before John or Yelena could talk trash, Bucky beat them to it "There she is, our number one fan" his voice was laced with cruel intentions, — bastard. —

You decided you weren't going to be baited by the likes of him, so you and your band continued as if no one was around, "You know, you're going to have to talk to me eventually!" he shouted as if he was entitled to even be listened to.