June 2026

by @navybrat817

📙 Drive You Home | comf | 12k | You’re Bucky’s favorite passenger. He knows your schedule by heart. The same day, time, and location. You’re kind. You talk to him like he’s more than just the man behind the wheel. You always tip well.

📙 Last Call | Bucky helps you out of the bar after a few drinks.

📙 Come Home | Bucky wants you to come home.

📙 it's all for you by @mwahforbucky | Your sweet neighbour harbours a crush on you and painfully watches you stay in a toxic relationship, he wishes he could be yours. He would treat you so well.

📙 eighteen hours. by @buckyseternaldoll | +18 | Weeks apart on separate missions leave you and Bucky Barnes aching, desperate, and one heartbeat away from unraveling. The reunion? Eighteen hours of pure, breathless release.

by @aquaticmercy

📙 Bucky Likes Your Tramp Stamp | he gets turned on when he finds out you have a tramp stamp

📙 Smug About It | Bucky Has a Praise Kink and You’re Smug About It

📙 Confessions by @mickimoo1409 | You and Bucky have been in an arranged marriage for a year and finally get the nerve to confess your feelings to each other. 

📙 Drowned in You by @bees-library3 | +18 | After a disaster of a press conference, Bucky copes by fucking you in the shower.

📙 Patch you up by @multiversefanfics | After a mission gone sideways, Bucky is patching you up and some things are said and maybe taken the wrong way.

📙 the final act by @w1nter-fairy | +18 | 10k | Loving Bucky Barnes was never supposed to happen. He was older, off-limits; but stolen nights turn into something neither of you can't ignore and when the truth comes out, it threatens to destroy everything. Because some acts aren't meant to last... and some loves refuses to end when the curtain falls.

by @sunday-bug

📙 Twisted in Bedsheets | +18

📙 Primary Source

📙 Town Gossip | Lee Bodecker x Reader

📙 Clapping Erasers (And Cheeks)

📙 sexting with bucky by @godmadeaterribleerror

📙 Private Affairs by @saiyanprincessswanie | +18 | Bucky and Reader have a secret relationship that they don’t want to share with anyone.

📙 Nutshell by @superbassbuck | 11k | You are Bucky’s most prized possession. Your mind, body, and soul were crafted by his own hands—he gave you life, and he could just as easily take it away. He never imagined he’d feel threatened by his own creation, until the day you began to have desires of your own.

by @societyfolklore

📙 Every Word | Lance Tucker x Reader

📙 Window Seat | Chris Beck x Reader

📙 Good Time | Lee Bodecker x Reader

📙 Give Me a Whirl | Lee Bodecker x Reader

📙 Caught Your Name | Max Burnett x Reader

📙 Premonition | Chase Collins x Female Reader

📙 Another Reason | Nick Fowler x Reader

📙 Stay the Night | Hal Carter x Reader

📙 Look At Me | +18

📙 Just Competitive | +18 | Sam’s new gf keeps waking you up

📙 Make Things Right | Steven Kemp x Reader

by @winteryn

📙 BUNNY GONE WILD | +18 | the winter soldier infiltrates a college halloween party to follow the pretty girl with bunny ears who collided into him on the sidewalk. 

📙 ROUGH HANDS, STRAWBERRY KISSES & OTHER SOFT THINGS | +18 | 26k | navigating your first relationship feels overwhelming at times—every touch, every question, every new feeling makes you wonder if you’re doing things right. thankfully, bucky loves you with enough patience and gentleness to turn every new experience into a reason to hold you a little closer. or, a collection of moments in which your boyfriend teaches you that love was never supposed to feel frightening—not when it’s held in careful hands like his.

📙 FRAGMENTS OF A LONELY TIDE | series | a grumpy dockworker reluctantly rescues you—a stranded, wounded mermaid—with every intention of sending you back to the sea once you’ve healed. until the idea of losing you becomes something he can no longer bear.

📙 Heiress in Hiding by @semper-nox | +18 | 20k | stucky x reader | Backstage, you were just the agency’s trusted makeup artist... until the calls got urgent, the secrets got heavier, and Steve and Bucky realized you weren’t only hiding stress… you were hiding a whole identity. When the truth finally comes out, they have to decide what’s real: your name, your power, or the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to protect.

by @phoenix-in-writing

📙 Get Lost In It | +18 | Andrew x Reader | On a night out, you meet a man who claims he was looking for you all along. But was he really though?

📙 Art History | An after hours meeting proves that you may need more than just a private lesson to bring your grades up.

📙 The Scam | Max Burnett x Reader | No one said the world of fraud was simple. It's even less so when your mentor doesn't allow you to fulfill your end of the deal.

📙 Pan Fried | Steve Kemp x reader | Maybe...grabbing a cast iron skillet wasn't the best idea...

📙 Wheel of Wonder | Somehow, your new boyfriend sweet talked you onto The Wonder Wheel at Coney Island despite you being afraid of heights.

📙 The Stork Club | Bucky lays eyes on the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, and is convinced he has a shot.

📙 Anonymous Contact | Anonymity is the name of the game. But what happens when he keeps coming back?

📙 Princess Treatment | Being the prized possession of one James Buchanan Barnes sure did come with a lot of perks.

📙 The Fixer | Sent to spy on The Asset in Romania, you bite off more than you can chew.

📙 Hold the Door

📙 Bedtime Story | Maybe that last shot was a bad idea.

📙 Old Money | Leo Reilly x Reader | A game of strip poker has it's stakes raised.

📙 run little bunny by @bucksangel | +18 | Being John Walker’s assistant is hard; he’s mean, disrespectful, misogynistic, the whole nine yards. On top of that, he hardly pays you fairly. So, when you’re fired for a mistake you’re sure wasn’t your fault, you’re at risk of being kicked out by your rude roommates. Luckily for you, James Barnes, a wildly successful CEO, has found his way into your life. And he’s going to take such good care of you.

📙 Bad timing by @imnotjustreadingg-volume-two | +18 | Bucky took something Sam gave him as a joke... turned out it wasn't a joke

by @gravelocked

📙 voice message | +18 | multiple x reader

📙 mean | +18 | multiple x reader

by @jamesbbcrnes

📙 SAVE ME A DANCE

📙 ROUGH DAY

📙 APOLOGISE

📙 HAUNTING PAST

📙 GONNA MAKE HER MINE

📙 I’LL BE SEEIN’ YOU

📙 YOU’RE THE ONE

📙 GIRL CRUSH

📙 BEDTIME

📙 GLITTERY CHAOS

by @azriona

📙 She's Singing | Why is Bucky's new teammate singing?!?!?

📙 Slow Dance | The music may change, but the dance doesn't. (And isn't that the way it should be?)

📙 Misdirection | You're dancing. Bucky's watching. Neither of you are paying attention.

📙 Right Place, Wrong Time | In 1972, the Asset broke free of his handlers. He was found in New York City three weeks later.

📙 The Jackknife | The shark has such teeth, dear. And there is work to be done.

by @sassandscribbles

📙 Memories worth a lifetime | a car ride, an old song, and memories worth lifetime.

📙 Wrong Place, Wrong time | Empty meeting rooms are not supposed to be used for fucking your boyfriend before a mission. But since when do you follow any rules?

📙 Mine | +18 | The winter soldier visits you late at night. And only wants one thing.

by @stardustrider

📙 Rules Are for Breaking

📙 Good time

📙 A Good Man by @apenny4thots | A night in has Bucky reflecting on time lost.

by @perdidosbucky-yyo

📙 Can't Promise | Professor Barnes tries to break up with you.

📙 SWEET TOOTH | Your sweet tooth will be your downfall

by @cueloki

📙 New neighbors

📙 The first move

📙 soft by @maerieee

📙 Brown Sugar and Gunmetal vol.3 by @vunblr | +18 | 11k | Who would have thought that an inconspicuous vent in a bakery alley would be what brought them together: the omega who never felt right with any alpha, and the asset who wasn't supposed to want at all.

by @metal-armed-muse

📙 bucky barnes vs. one (1) annotated romance novel | +18 | Bucky finds your romance novel. Bucky reads the highlighted part. Bucky discovers you've both been silently wanting the same thing. Bucky proves he’s incapable of acting normal about this information.

📙 BAD HABITS | +18 | 12k | What’s so bad about Bucky Barnes? The fact that he watches you or calls you kid while he does it?

by @buckyalpine

📙 most soft shy little bunny ever | +18 | You know who'd talk you through it? Bucky. Bucky would talk you through it.

📙 cameras to HD quality | +18 | "So what you're saying is that footage would've recorded everything in the kitchen from morning to evening and the middle of the night...everything?"

📙 kiss cam by @barnesafterglow | fluff | when you and bucky go on a date, you end up on the kiss cam

📙 Double Blind by @wkemeup | Set up on what might be the worst blind date you’d ever been on, you find yourself captivated by the mysterious bartender instead 

📙 your man loves by @kittennextdoor | +18 | your man loves when you fuck him back

📙 loca by @late-to-the-party-81 | Nick Fowler x reader

📙 Starry summer by @w1nter-fairy | +18 | For months, Bucky has looked forward to one thing: seeing his favorite camgirl live. He never expected to find her poolside in a white bikini... or discover that she's been flirting with him all summer long.

📙 All You Get by @tw1sters | +18 | Nick Fowler x reader | Nick Fowler is not the man of your dreams, not with the way he refuses to love, but you can't help yourself anyway.

by @iamthatonefangirl

📙 fallout | +18

📙 valentine's day | +18

📙 whirlwind | +18

by @stanmarvelous

📙 Born to Sing

📙 Fooled

📙 Gonna Make Her Mine, All Mine

📙 stuck in bed by @aerisque | After spending the entire day curled up in ded with painful cramps, you do everything you can to keep Bucky from finding out

📙 I’ll Take the Sticks, I’ll Take the Stones by @singulartoast | You dislike the false glamour of politics, but your husband Bucky is there to shield and steer you through.

<part15 ...

You and Bucky started your evening by watching a movie. ‘Revenge Of The Sith’, Bucky picked this time and groaned a bit when you started fawning over Anakin. By the end of it, you two were just talking, about the movie, a mission that tired you both the week before and even if Bucky liked that new dish soap he picked last time you went for groceries. Your voice a low, familiar hum that calm him as you curled into his side on the too-small couch in his Brooklyn apartment. The one he’d picked because it forced you close. You’d always suspected that.

Once Bucky realized there was no more popcorn, he stood up, walking towards the kitchen for more and in that moment, you sat on the floor, loving the way the rug he bought a couple months ago felt on your knees. He came back and his grin made you feel your cheeks warm. He didn’t say a thing and only sat back down, sprawled across the couch, all six feet of super-soldier taking up every inch of the cushions like a very large, very dangerous housecat claiming a sunbeam.

The only light in his living room is the blue-white glow of the city through the window, catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the metal glint of his left hand resting on the back of the couch. He’s warm. Solid. A wall of muscle and quiet tension that only ever seems to unspool completely when it’s just the two of you. He’d been sharing the popcorn with you, feeding you from the bowl in his hands while you sat down, facing him.

After a few minutes, you realized that Bucky hadn’t said a word for a while, only humming when you say something and the truth is that he’d been watching you. Watching the way your hair fell over your shoulder, the way you bit your lip when you told a particular fascinating story that happened on your trip with Wanda, the way you shifted occasionally to get more comfortable on the floor until eventually you’d leaned back against the couch between his legs.

That was when you’d felt it.

Not intentionally—God, not intentionally at first. You’d just been trying to find a position that didn’t make your neck hurt, so you’d tilted your head back, let it rest against the inside of his thigh, and blinked up at him for no reason other than to check if he was still awake.

He was awake. He was very, painfully, obviously awake.

The bulge in his jeans was impossible to miss from this angle. You could see the thick curve of it, heavy and half-hard, pressed against the rough fabric like it was trying to escape. And there was something about the way he was looking at you—bottom lip caught between his teeth, pupils blown wide despite the dim lighting, chest barely moving like he was afraid to breathe too loud and break whatever spell had fallen over the room—that made you want to be very, very still.

His left leg is bouncing—a nervous tic he’s never quite shaken despite the century of life behind him. You press your palm flat against his shin, stilling the motion, and the muscle immediately goes soft under your touch.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is a low rumble, already frayed at the edges. “What are you really doing down there?”

You don't answer with words. You just turn around on your knees and shift closer, nudging his knees apart with your shoulders until you can slot yourself perfectly back into the vee of his legs. His thighs are thick, solid as oak trees, and when you let the weight of your head fall against the inside of his right thigh, you feel the immediate, violent tremor that runs through him. The bowl drops, the popcorn making a disaster that neither you or Bucky pay attention to. His flesh hand comes up to hover uselessly over your hair, not quite touching, like he’s afraid you’re a hallucination.

“This okay?” you murmur, but you know it’s more than okay. You can feel the answer pressed against the curve of your cheek, hidden beneath the worn dark blue jeans he’d pulled on after his shower. It’s not subtle. It’s a heavy, thick shape, half-hard and twitching with every exhale you deliberately push through your nose against the sensitive seam of his thigh.

Bucky swallows so loud you hear it click. “You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, and it sounds like a prayer.

That’s when you look up.

You take your time, letting your lashes drag against the coarse fabric of his jeans as you tilt your chin. First, you see the white-knuckle grip he has on the arm of the couch—his flesh hand, veins standing out like rivers. Then his stomach, the muscles jumping beneath his thin henley. And finally, his face.

Oh, his face.

Your man looks utterly wrecked and you haven’t even touched him yet. His jaw is slack, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and his eyes—those impossibly blue, ocean-deep eyes—are blown so wide with want that the pupil has swallowed nearly all the iris. He’s staring down at you like you’re the last source of light in a universe going dark.

You blink up at him, slow and syrupy sweet. Innocent. The picture of placid devotion. “What?” you ask, your voice a featherlight thing. “I’m just sitting here.”

A broken sound catches in his throat. Not a groan, not a sigh—something higher, more desperate. A whimper. You’ve heard him roar in battle, heard him snarl at threats, heard him laugh that rare, beautiful laugh. But this. This small, punched-out noise of pure, unraveling need? It goes straight between your own legs like a live wire.

“You know,” he grits out, finally letting his hand fall to cup the back of your skull. He doesn’t push. He just holds, his thumb stroking a frantic rhythm behind your ear. “You know exactly what you’re fucking doing.”

You turn your head, just a fraction, just enough to press your open mouth to the inside of his thigh. You only taste the cloth but still, there’s his essence there and when you drag your tongue in a wet, slow stripe over the fabric, his hips jerk off the couch. His cock bumps against your cheekbone, a hot, heavy brand even through the layers, and you feel a gush of slickness soak through your own underwear.

“Bucky,” you say, and it’s the first real thing you’ve said. Not a question. A promise.

His metal hand comes up to cover his own mouth, the cold vibranium stark against his flushed lips. “Don’t,” he begs, but he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. Don’t stop? Don’t look at him like that? Don’t make him come apart before you’ve even gotten his jeans off?

Then his hand came up to cup your cheek, the vibranium somehow warm against your skin, and he said your name like it was the only word he had left. “What do you want?” he asked, and his voice was so soft, so careful, so achingly tender that you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours. Anything. Everything. Just tell me.”

You turned your head just enough to press a kiss to his palm, then his wrist. “I want to make you feel good,” you said. “I want to take care of you. I want to watch you fall apart because of me. Can I do that, James? Can I be good for you?”

His answer was to pull you forward by the back of your neck and kiss you like he was drowning.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, hungry, all teeth and tongue and the kind of wanting that came from years of deprivation. He kissed you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, like he needed to taste every corner of your mouth to convince himself you were real.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. His lips were kiss-swollen, his eyes half-lidded, and the bulge in his jeans had gone from noticeable to obscene.

“Floor,” he said, and his voice was wrecked. “You want to be on the floor, sweetheart? Then stay on the floor. But if you’re going to kneel there looking like that, you’d better put that pretty mouth to use.”

The command in his voice made your stomach flip. You’d seen Bucky be soft, had held him through nightmares and panic attacks and the kind of grief that came from losing seventy years of your life. But this Bucky—the one who looked at you like he wanted to devour you, the one whose chest was heaving with the effort of restraint—this Bucky made your thighs press together.

You’re merciless. You nuzzle closer, letting your nose trace the prominent line of his erection through the dark denim. He’s thick, so fucking thick, and when you breathe in, you can smell him—musk and heat and something uniquely Bucky that makes your mouth water. He watches your fingers work on his belt, work the leather free, the metal buckle clinking softly. His breath is coming in short, sharp pants. His thighs are trembling under your hands, the muscles jumping like live wires. You take your time, dragging the zipper down tooth by tooth, and you feel the tension in him ratchet higher with every click. Your fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans, and he lifts his hips before you even have to ask, a man desperate to give you anything, everything.

You blink again. Sweeter this time and pull them down just past his thighs, just enough. His cock springs free, slapping against his lower belly with a wet sound, the tip already glistening, flushed a deep, angry red. He’s beautiful. All of him is beautiful, but this—the vulnerability of him, the way he’s trembling like a leaf in a storm while you’re still fully clothed—is a different kind of gorgeous. Thick enough to stretch your jaw, long enough to make your mouth water, curving slightly towards his stomach. You’ve had it in every way imaginable, but seeing it like this—inches from your face, twitching under your gaze—never gets old.

“Look at me,” you command softly, and his gaze snaps down to yours. There are tears clinging to his lashes. Actual tears. He is so far gone for you, so utterly, pathetically down bad, that just the sight of you kneeling between his thighs has him on the verge of sobbing. “Buck,” you murmur, your voice a soft, sleepy thing. “You’re all tense.”

He makes a sound. A strangled, low thing that rumbles up from the back of his throat. His right hand comes up, hovering in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with it—touch you, push you away, fist it in his own hair. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing the grey of his iruses until they’re almost black.

“Fuck,” you breathed, and it wasn’t performative. It was genuine awe. “You’re so big, Buck. How is this going to fit?”

His head fell back against the couch cushion with a thud. “Don’t. Don’t say things like that. I’m already—“ He groaned as you wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the weight of him in your palm. “I’m not going to last. You know I’m not going to last. You’re too much. You’re too fucking much, and I love you, and I can’t—“

Bucky makes another sound. A desperate, keening little whimper that would embarrass him if he had any blood left in his brain. “Stop looking at it like that,” he begs.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s a—a popsicle. Like you’re about to—fuck, sweetheart, your mouth. I can feel you thinking about it.”

You grin, wide and sharp, and finally, finally, you wrap your hand around the base. He’s hot. Velvet over steel. He jerks in your grip, and a bead of precum wells up at the tip, pearly and glistening in the low light.

You lean in, slow, and you don’t break eye contact. You let your tongue dart out, just the very tip, and you lick it away.

Bucky’s entire body seizes. His metal hand slams down on the couch arm, leaving dents in the leather. His right hand flies to your hair, not pushing, just… holding. Anchoring. His fingers twist into the strands, and he’s shaking.

“Oh, God,” he whispers. “Oh, God. Please. Please, baby. I need—I need you to—”

“You need me to what?” you ask, and you kiss the head of his cock. Soft. Chaste. A peck. Like you’re saying goodnight.

He sobs. Actually sobs, a wet, broken sound that goes straight between your legs. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say it.”

“Suck it,” he gasps, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Please suck my cock. Please. I’ve been good. I’ve been so good all day, I did the dishes, I didn’t complain about the traffic, I—please, sweetheart, just—I need your mouth. I need it so bad I can’t think.” He whines a bit, making your thighs clench. “I’m not gonna last,” he warns, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “Baby, please, I can’t—you waited too long, you were down there looking so pretty, I already almost—“

You cut him off by leaning forward and dragging the flat of your tongue from the base of his shaft to the very tip.

The sound he makes is inhuman. A deep, guttural keen that vibrates through the floorboards. His back arches off the couch, his metal hand scrabbling for purchase on the cushion, tearing a small hole in the fabric. His hips buck again, and you let him, letting the head of his cock bump against your lips, your chin, smearing precome across your skin like a gloss.

“Please,” he sobs, and it’s not a controlled plea. It’s a wrecked, animal noise. “Please, sweetheart, I need your mouth, I need—fuck, I need.”

You take pity on him. You’re not cruel, not really. You just like him like this—wrecked and begging and so full of want it spills out of every word.

You wrap your lips around the head and sink down.

The sound he made was inhuman. It was a sob and a moan and a prayer all rolled into one, and it vibrated through the room like a physical force. His hips bucked involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your throat, and you had to brace your hands on his thighs to keep from gagging.

“Sorry—shit, sorry, I’m sorry—” He was already apologizing, already trying to pull back, but you held on. You looked up at him through wet lashes, tears already forming at the corners of your eyes from the stretch, and you saw the exact moment he broke.

“Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Baby. Baby, please.”

You couldn’t answer with your mouth full, so you showed him instead. You relaxed your throat, took him deeper, let the tip press against the back of your palate until your eyes watered and your nose pressed against the thatch of dark hair at his base. You held there for a moment, feeling him pulse against your tongue, tasting the salt of his precome spreading across your taste buds.

His hands fly to your head, both of them now, flesh and metal tangling in your hair. He doesn’t push. He holds, his grip desperate but reverent, as if you’re something holy he’s terrified of breaking. You take him deeper, relaxing your throat, letting him feel the wet, silky clutch of it. His hips stutter, barely controlled, and he starts to babble.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, that’s—you’re so good, you’re so fucking good, how are you this good—I love you, I love you, I’m sorry for swearing, I’m sorry, fuck, fuck—“

You pull off with a wet pop, just to look at him. Just to watch the devastation on his face. His chest is heaving, his hair is plastered to his forehead, and his eyes are glazed, unfocused, like he’s already floating somewhere above his body.

“You apologize right now, honey?” you ask and smirk, licking your lips slowly, deliberately.

He chokes on a laugh that turns into a moan. “You make me—ah—you make me crazy, I can’t think straight, everything’s just—please put it back, I was so close, baby, I was so fucking close—“

You oblige. But this time, you don’t tease. You swallow him down to the root, and you stay there. Your throat works around him, your tongue pressing flat against the thick vein on the underside, and you feel the exact moment he shatters.

You hum around him, a low vibration, and his hand tightens in your hair. “Fuck. Fuck, baby, that’s—that’s it. Just like that. Oh, Jesus.”

You take him deeper, inch by aching inch. You let your tongue press flat against the vein on the underside. You let your saliva pool and drip, messy and wet, because you know he likes it sloppy. You know he likes the sounds—the wet, obscene gluck of your mouth working him, the way you gag just a little when he hits the back of your throat.

He’s babbling now. A stream of consciousness, raw and unfiltered.

“So good. So fucking good at this. Look at you—look at my pretty girl with her mouth full of my cock. You’re so—oh—you’re so beautiful like this. On your knees for me. Blinking up at me with those pretty fucking eyes.”

You moan in answer, and the vibration makes his whole body shudder.

When you finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected your bottom lip to the head of his cock. You wiped it away with the back of your hand and smiled up at him.

“Good?”

Bucky looked like he was having a religious experience. His mouth was open, his eyes were glassy, and his chest was heaving like he’d just run a marathon. His metal hand was gripping the couch cushion so hard that you could hear the fabric starting to tear.

“Good,” he repeated, and then laughed, a broken, breathless sound. “Good. Yeah. That was—you’re trying to kill me. You’re literally trying to murder me, and I’m going to let you, because I can’t—I can’t fucking think when you look at me like that.”

“Then don’t think,” you said again, and went back down.

You built a rhythm this time, slow and deliberate. You wanted to savor him, wanted to learn every sound he made, every twitch of his hips, every tremor in his thighs. You found that he was vocal—god, was he vocal—and that every time you hummed around him, he made this desperate little whimper that went straight to your core.

“Please,” he kept saying, like a mantra. “Please, please, please—“

You weren’t sure what he was asking for. More? Less? Permission to come? Permission to grab your hair and fuck your throat the way you could tell he wanted to? It didn’t matter. You knew what you wanted to give him.

You pull off slowly, dragging your lips up the length of him, and you let the tip pop out of your mouth with a wet sound. A string of spit connects you to him, and you break it with a flick of your tongue.

“More,” you say, your voice hoarse. “Tell me more.”

He looks down at you, and his eyes are glazed, his mouth open, his chest heaving. He looks like a man who’s been drowning and just found air.

“I think about this all the time,” he confesses, and his voice is a whisper now, raw and honest. “When I’m on missions. When we’re in meetings with the team and they won’t shut up and then you’re there writing whatever in your book in those old sweatpants and you look do hot it makes me so hard. When I’m trying to sleep. I think about you on your knees. I think about the way you look up at me. Like I’m—like I’m something worth kneeling for.”

You feel a hot, sharp ache bloom in your chest. It’s not just the words. It’s the way he says them. Like a secret. Like a prayer.

“You are,” you say, and you mean it. “You’re everything worth kneeling for.”

You take him back again into your mouth. You sink down until your throat spasms around him, until tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You stay there for a count of three, four, five, your nails digging into his thighs. Your head kept bobbing up and down, your hand working on the base when you were too busy sucking and licking at his head.

It starts with a whimper—high, thin, desperate. Then his whole body seizes, his thighs clamping around your ribs like a vise, his hands yanking your hair hard enough to sting. He screams. A muffled, desperate thing, bitten off behind his fist. His whole body arches off the couch, and his hips jerk, and this time he doesn’t stop them. He thrusts up into your throat, shallow and frantic, and you let him. You take it. You fucking love it.

“I’m gonna—baby, I’m gonna come,” he warns, his voice cracking. “You have to—if you don’t want—fuck, you have to stop—”

You double down. You suck harder, hollow your cheeks, bob your head in a fast, filthy rhythm. You reach up and cup his balls, heavy and tight, and you roll them gently in your palm and just like that, he comes apart.

He comes with a broken wail, a broken shout of your name his hips pumping up into your mouth, his release hitting the back of your throat in hot, thick pulses. You swallow everything, greedy for it, and you keep sucking, keep milking him, moaning around him as the vibrations draw out every last shudder from his frame, until he’s whimpering.

He goes limp like a marionette with cut strings.

You stay where you are, mouth soft around his softening length, until his fingers loosen in your hair and start stroking, gentle now, soothing and pushing at your head, too sensitive to take any more. Only then you pull off slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Your lips are swollen, your chin wet, your eyes still glassy with tears. You look up at him, and he’s crying.

Tears stream silently down his temples, disappearing into his hairline. His lips are parted, panting, and he’s staring at the ceiling like he’s just seen the face of God. You press a kiss to the inside of his thigh, then his knee, then crawl up his body until you’re straddling his lap, your forehead pressed to his.

“Hey,” you whisper, cupping his stubbled jaw. “You okay?”

He blinks. His eyes focus on your face, and a smile breaks across his tear-stained cheeks—wobbly, radiant, so full of love it makes your own chest ache. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you so tightly you can’t move, burying his face in your neck.

“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your skin, voice wrecked and hoarse. “I love you. I can’t words. I forgot how to words.”

You laugh, soft and fond, and kiss the side of his head. “That’s okay. I love you too.”

He’s a disaster. Sprawled across the couch, his jeans around his knees, his chest heaving. His face is flushed, his eyes are wet, and he’s staring at you like you’ve hung the moon.

“Come here,” he rasps, and he hauls you against his chest, burying his face in your neck. His arms wrap around you, tight and desperate, flesh hand and metal hand both clutching at your back like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your skin. “I love you so much. That was—fuck. That was—”

“Good?” you offer, running your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“I blacked out for a second,” he admits. “Like, actually blacked out. Saw the light. Met God and he just said, ‘Tell your girlfriend she’s a menace.’”

You laugh, a bright, startled sound, and he lifts his head just enough to look at you. There’s so much warmth in his eyes. So much softness. The kind of love that doesn’t need words, that lives in the curve of his smile and the way his thumb is tracing circles on your spine.

“I’m not done with you,” you say, and you feel him stir again beneath you. Already. The supersoldier serum is a gift.

His eyebrows shoot up. “You want—now?”

“I want to ride you,” you say, plain and simple. “I want to be on top. I want to watch your face while I fuck myself on your cock.”

His hands tighten on your hips. His pupils dilate again, swallowing the grey. “Yeah,” he breathes, licking his bottom lip while watching your face. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, I want that. I want that so bad.”

You don’t bother with stripping. You just reach down and shove your own shorts and underwear to the side, just enough to bare yourself. You’re soaked, slick and ready, and when you line him up and sink down onto him in one slow, steady motion, you both groan.

He’s thick inside you, stretching you open, filling you up. You pause when he’s fully seated, just breathing, just feeling. His head falls forward to rest against your collarbone, and his hands are shaking on your waist.

“So tight,” he whispers. “So warm. Fuck, sweetheart. You feel like coming home even when I fucked you this morning. Oh shit.”

You start to move.

Slow at first. A gentle roll of your hips, a lazy grind that makes his eyes flutter shut. You brace your hands on his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle flex under your palms, and you find a rhythm. Up and down. Rocking and circling. Every drag of his cock against your walls sends sparks up your spine.

He’s watching you. His eyes are open now, dark and hungry, tracking every shift of your expression. Your bitten lips. Your flushed cheeks. The way your head falls back when you find the right angle.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, and his voice is low and rough and so full of awe. “That’s my girl. Take what you need. Use me. I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours.”

You speed up. The couch creaks under you, the springs groaning in protest. Your thighs are burning, but you don’t care. You chase the feeling building low in your belly, the tight coil of pleasure that’s winding tighter with every thrust.

Bucky’s hands roam. Up your sides, under your shirt, across your stomach. His metal fingers are cool against your heated skin, a delicious contrast. He palms your breasts, thumbs your nipples, and you moan, loud and wanton.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, and his voice is breaking again. “Look at you. Riding me like you were made for it. Like you were made for me.”

“I was,” you gasp. “I was made for you, Bucky. Only you.”

His hips buck up to meet yours, and the new angle makes you see stars. You cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he does it again. And again. A relentless, perfect rhythm that has you teetering on the edge.

“Come for me,” he begs, and his hands are gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Please, baby. I want to feel you come around my cock. I want you to—fuck—I want you to soak me. Let go. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You fall.

It crashes over you like a wave, white-hot and blinding, and you scream his name. Your body clenches around him, vice-tight, and he follows right after, a broken moan torn from his chest as he spills inside you.

You collapse against him, boneless and trembling. His arms close around you, holding you safe, and you press your face into the crook of his neck. His heart is pounding against your chest, a wild, frantic rhythm that slowly, slowly begins to slow.

Neither of you speaks for a long time. The city hums outside the window. The couch is a mess. You’re both a mess.

He presses a kiss to your temple. Then your forehead. Then the tip of your nose.

“I’m fucking down bad for you,” he says quietly, like a confession. “Like, embarrassingly down bad. Sam and Steve make fun of me. Natasha says I look at you like a puppy watching its owner eat bacon.”

You laugh, weak and breathless. “A puppy?”

“A very pathetic, very lovesick puppy,” he confirms. “She’s not wrong.”

You tilt your head back to look at him. He’s soft now. Sated. The sharp edges of his want have smoothed into something gentle and warm. He’s still flushed, still a little sweaty, and his hair is a complete disaster.

“Good,” you say, and you kiss the underside of his jaw. “Because I’m down bad for you too. Embarrassingly. Pathetically.”

He grins, wide and bright, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Later, after he’s carried you to the bathroom and cleaned you up with ridiculous tenderness, after he’s changed the sheets on the bed because “there’s no way we’re sleeping on that couch tonight, sweetheart, it’s a biohazard”—later, when you’re tucked under the blankets with his arm around your waist and his face buried in your hair, he speaks again.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“Next time,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Can I kneel for you?”

You turn in his arms, pressing your forehead to his and grin. It's a silent conversation, knowing that he loves spending his time like that. He kisses you then, soft and slow, and you fall asleep like that. Tangled together. Wrapped up in each other. Two people so ridiculously, embarrassingly, down bad that it loops all the way back around to being the easiest thing in the world.

You weren't sure what you were doing, honestly. It had been years since your last heat, and now you felt it coming on too fast, and you weren't in a safe place. You had neither nest nor alpha to help you through it.

But the omega inside you knew what to do, and you picked up a scent so delicious it made your mouth and cunt water. Stumbling through the door of a wood-working shop, you looked around in distress, trying to find the alpha your body was craving.

When you didn't see him anywhere, you let out a distressed chirp. Through a back door came an answering growl, and seconds later, a huge man opened it. You'd never seen him before, new to the little village as you were, but he was everything you ever dreamed of in an alpha. Now that he was closer, and you were in his space, his scent surrounded you in a way that made slick gush from between your legs.

"Please, help me!" you begged him, and steadied yourself on the workbench beside you as a wave of painful desire washed over you.

Not answering, he simply walked past you to lock the door and turn the sign from open to closed. You watched him with big eyes, wondering what he was going to do next. He walked back to you, pinning you against the workbench, and bent down to inhale your scent right at your neck. There was no mistaking the hard ridge of his cock pressing against you.

"Fucking sweetest thing I've ever smelled, omega. I know just the place for you to have your nest while I take care of you."

Your body caved to him, and you let him lift you and take you into the back of the shop, clinging to him and rubbing against him to get coated in his perfume. Up a flight of stairs was the apartment he lived in, and the bed was perfectly huge. Together, he helped you make a nest from his clothes and blankets, before stripping first your clothes and then his own.

That’s what pulls him out of it. He exhales slowly, runs a hand over his mouth, and finally steps forward. Picks the test up. Looks at it closer this time, like maybe it’ll change if he stares hard enough. It doesn’t. He lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving huff of a laugh. “…We’re having a baby.” It’s not a question.

When he walks back into the bedroom, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in your shirt, eyes searching his face like you’re bracing for something—fear, anger, doubt.

Nick sees it immediately. And it guts him. “Hey,” he says, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Hey, none of that.” He crosses the room in a few strides and crouches in front of you, big hands coming up to hold your face, grounding you. “Look at me.”

You do.

“I’m not mad,” he says firmly. “I’m not… running, or whatever the hell you think.” His thumb brushes under your eye. “You kidding me? That’s—” he shakes his head, almost smiling, overwhelmed. “That’s mine. That’s ours.”

Your breath stutters. “You’re… happy?”

Nick lets out a low laugh, something rough and real. “Terrified,” he admits. “But yeah. Yeah, I’m happy.” He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes for a second like he needs to steady himself. Then his hand slides down, slow, almost reverent, to rest against your stomach. Something shifts in him right there.

You feel it.

Nick has always been protective—dangerous men are, it comes with the territory—but this is different. This is deeper. Quieter. Colder. More final. “You’re not going out alone anymore,” he mutters, already thinking ahead. “No more late nights. No more—hell, I’m getting someone with you when I can’t be there.”

“Nick—”

“No,” he cuts in, but his voice isn’t harsh. It’s firm. Unmovable. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just you now.” His hand presses a little more firmly over your stomach, like he’s shielding something already. “This is everything.”

—

The change is immediate. It’s in the way he walks—closer to you, always between you and the door, the street, anyone who looks twice. It’s in how his hand never really leaves you anymore, always resting at your back or your hip or low on your stomach like he needs constant reassurance you’re still there.

Alive. Safe.

His guys notice. They see the way Nick’s temper shortens, the way he doesn’t tolerate mistakes anymore. The way one wrong move gets you a look that could end careers… or lives.

“Boss has something to lose now,” someone mutters one night. They’re right. And that makes him more dangerous than ever.

—

But at home? He’s different. Softer in ways he doesn’t let anyone else see.

You wake up one night to find him sitting beside you, lamp on, just… watching you. “Nick?” you mumble.

He startles slightly, like he didn’t expect to be caught. “Go back to sleep,” he says quietly.

You push yourself up on your elbows, squinting at him. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He hesitates. Then his hand comes to your stomach again, gentle. “Just making sure,” he says.

“Of what?”

His jaw tightens slightly. “That you’re still here in the morning.”

The words hang heavy between you. You sit up fully now, reaching for him. “Nick…”

He exhales, shaking his head like he said too much. “I’ve buried people for less than what I do every day,” he mutters. “I’ve made enemies that don’t forget. And now—” his hand spreads over you again, protective, possessive in the quietest way. “Now I got you. And a kid on the way.”

You take his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “We’re not going anywhere,” you whisper.

His eyes search yours like he wants to believe that. Like he doesn’t. “…I might leave it,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Leave… what?”

“All of it.” His voice is low, serious. “The business. The jobs. The whole damn thing.”

That does shock you. Nick doesn’t walk away from things. Nick is the thing people don’t walk away from. “Nick… you built this.”

“I know.”

“And you’d just—what? Walk away?”

His gaze drops back to your stomach. “For them?” he says quietly. “Yeah.” There’s no hesitation. No doubt. Just that same terrifying certainty he brings to everything—except now it’s pointed in a different direction.

Not violence.

Not power.

You.

Your future.

Your child.

“I don’t need the money,” he continues. “Don’t need the reputation. All that does is paint a target on your back.” His jaw tightens. “I’m not raising my kid in that.”

You swallow hard. “You really mean that.”

He looks at you like it’s obvious. “I’d burn the whole thing down if it meant you were safe.”

Your breath catches at that—at the intensity, the promise, the quiet threat underneath it.

And then he softens again, just for you. His thumb brushes your cheek. “You’re not losing me,” he says. “You’re gaining a version of me nobody else gets.”

You lean into him, heart full and aching all at once. “Good,” you whisper. “Because they don’t deserve you.”

Notes: I haven't posted anything in a while because I haven't managed to finish my drafts, but I finally had a burst of inspiration tonight after seeing the gif (which I found on Pinterest, by the way). I've been wanting to write something about Lee for a while now, and I finally got around to it today.

Masterlist.

The cool morning air gently caressed Lee's face as he gazed listlessly at the verdant horizon.

Sunlight filtering through the pines cast lazy patterns on the wooden planks of the porch, where he sat waiting in his rocking chair.

His mood, initially calm, was beginning to sour as he watched the sun slowly climb higher; soon, the walk to the lake would be unbearable.

The night before, just before you'd fallen asleep from the exhaustion of an intense night out, he'd told you he wanted to take you early so you could admire the view and maybe dip your feet in the water. But now it was getting late, and you still hadn't gotten up.

Minutes ticked by, and he was about to get up to go find you himself when the soft rustling of your bare feet on the wood stopped him in his tracks.

When the screen opened, I expected to see you ready, shoes dangling from your hands. Instead, you appeared disheveled, wrapped in his white sheriff's shirt, which fit you like a little dress.

"Good morning, darling." You crooned sweetly as you approached.

You settled into his lap naturally, as if it had always been your place. Your legs swung over the armrest, one arm encircling his neck and the other resting on his cheek, pulling him closer to leave a series of soft kisses on his skin.

His hands, almost instinctively, went to your waist and hips. His fingers tightened slightly against the fabric when you pressed your breasts against his, his fingers not feeling the lace of your panties beneath your shirt.

"We had plans for this morning, remember?" He murmured, with a hint of displeasure.

But you continued kissing him, tracing his cheek to his jawline, feeling the light brush of his stubble without it bothering you.

Your body moved gently against his, and your persistence finally betrayed you: you had woken up today particularly demanding of his attention.

"It doesn't matter… we can do it tomorrow."

And also… a little capricious.

He had to fix that.

Your hand gently pulled her face closer to yours, placing short, impatient kisses on his lips, which he didn't return, making you let out a soft moan.

Lee let out a low sigh, more resigned than annoyed.

The lake, the walk, the tranquility he had planned... All of that seemed to slip away with every second you tried to provoke him, to quell the hunger you'd woken up with.

"You always do the same thing, beautiful..." he murmured against your lips.

His fingers, which had been tense, finally relaxed, only to slide beneath your shirt. He squeezed the flesh of your hip before leaning his head back slightly to return your insistent kisses with that slow, sensuality you loved.

There was something about the way you settled in, the confidence with which you invaded his space, that disarmed almost any attempt to stand firm.

Almost.

Because Lee loved putting you in your place.

And you loved it when he did.

His hand on your back gathered the fabric into a fist, leaving your bottom exposed so he could caress and squeeze those perfect, tender globes of flesh.

"I should get you something shorter than my shirts..." he murmured huskily as his lips traced your jawline. "Maybe a cute apron, so I can watch that cute little bottom peek out every time you bend down to take the cookies out of the oven..."

The rocking chair creaked softly as he moved you just enough to make you feel his growing interest beneath you.

A small shiver ran down your spine as Lee's hand began to travel up your side until it reached your breasts. His thumb brushed against your nipple with deliberate pressure, and you let out a longing sigh.

"Damn, look at you," he whispered, his voice husky, deep with desire. "This little slut barely woke up and she's already craving Daddy's attention."

He caressed your entire chest. Calluses dug into your sensitive skin in a way that made you arch at his touch as your folds moistened.

Lee unbuttoned your shirt just enough to expose your breasts to the morning air, and his mouth latched onto them in a dirty, open suction, a suction that made you moan with delight at the attention you were receiving. Lee only pulled back to see it glisten with the smear of his saliva.

His hand moved back down to grasp your ass, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh as his hips moved up, rubbing his erection against you.

"You're a tease."

His breath hit your ear before his teeth caught your lobe, tugging playfully as his palm slapped your ass. The high-pitched sound echoed through the trees, accompanied by your squeal.

"Daddy likes to spank me..." you whispered, already incredibly aroused by the heat on your buttocks.

Lee's laughter was rough with excitement.

"Of course he does," he growled, delivering another hard slap that made you shudder against him. "A cute little ass, all red and marked, just for me... Fucking perfect."

"D-Daddy..." you squealed as his hand slapped harder, making your hips clench against his.

Your buttocks were painted a soft pink, the outline of his fingers imprinted on your skin, and a heat that only made you crave more, your pussy a testament to that.

“I’m going to drag you back inside,” he promised in his dark voice. “Daddy will show you what real spanking feels like when I have you bent over the table.”

His palm landed again, stinging more this time. Your gasp in response made his cock twitch beneath you, straining against the denim.

The rocking chair protested violently as he suddenly stood up, pinning your legs beneath your knees and placing his other hand on your back, while your arms clung to his neck.

You desperately sought his lips, kissing him with need and passion, feeling his tongue slip into your mouth as he managed to open the screen door and enter the cabin to take you where he promised.

You moaned in protest as Lee broke the kiss so he could release your legs and force you to let go. With his hands on your hips, he turned you around, bending you over the wooden dining table, your ass at his mercy.

His hands caressed your hot cheeks, pushing your shirt higher up your waist.

Lee's breath was ragged as he yanked off his belt. The leather slid through the denim belt loops with a hiss that made your thighs tremble.

"Look at you..." He growled. His free hand smoothed the hot curve of your ass. "All pretty and pink, begging for more..."

The first slash of the belt landed with a crunch that made you jump up on your tiptoes. Your answering cry echoed off the cabin walls as your fingers gripped the edges of the table.

"D-Daddy!"

"Harder," he demanded as his boot pushed against your foot, spreading your legs wider. "I want more of those sweet little sounds."

He dragged the cold leather between your legs, spreading your moisture across the material and making you moan for the brief attention where you needed it most.

Another lash, this one lower, right where your ass met your thigh, made your back arch wildly and your pussy drip even more. Your eyes soon watered from the pleasurable pain that was starting to turn your ass red.

The belt whistled through the air again, followed by another crack accompanied by your whimpers.

"You love that, huh?" His hand reached possessively over where the leather had kissed your skin. "You're all wet like the little slut you are," he growled.

His thumb slid between your folds, collecting some of your lubrication, and then two fingers went separately to your clitoris, rubbing it just enough to make you sob. But then he pulled his hand away again.

The next lash was deliberately harder, enough to make you jerk your hips forward and your pussy rub against the cold wood.

"Daddy... I-I need you so much, Daddy..." you moaned through tears. "I'll be a good girl and take what you give me."

Each strike of the belt against your sensitive skin made you sob and writhe against the table, finding pleasure in rubbing your swollen clitoris against the edge.

Lee's own hips jerked involuntarily as he watched you rub against him, staining the table with your aroused fluids. Your young, sweet, and angelic appearance contrasted sharply with the needy and desperate girl you truly were.

You were the dirtiest and most exciting image he had ever seen in his entire life.

It only took a few taps of the belt and the intense thrusts of your hips for you to gasp and moan your orgasm. A sharp, short one, leaving you not entirely satisfied.

His breath caught in his throat as your thighs trembled, and he dropped the belt to the floor.

"Ruined by just Daddy's belt marks on this gorgeous ass," he hissed, gripping your hips tightly.

One of his hands slid through the mess between your legs, collecting your lubrication before sliding two fingers inside without warning.

Your walls tightened around him instantly, and the moment his fingers curled, pressing and massaging exactly where they needed to, you arched your back against the table and sobbed with delight as your legs twisted.

His fingers withdrew, and before you could complain, the metallic click of your zipper being lowered kept you silent and eager.

Lee barely lowered his clothes enough for his cock to spring free, followed by the wet thud of his bare skin hitting your wet folds.

"Stay put," he ordered, his voice tense, as he guided himself to your hypersensitive entrance. "I'm going to give you what that greedy cunt has been asking for."

With a brutal thrust, he enveloped himself, up to the hilt, in your hot, dripping cunt. His groan joined your shattered sob as your walls contracted around him.

"Fuck! That's right... Squeeze me that hard."

His hips moved forward, pressing you harder against the table.

"Oh, God!" you moaned, trembling and tearful. "Y-You always fill me up so good, Daddy!"

Your hands went to your buttocks, which were hot and red from the previous rough treatment, to spread them apart and let him fill you completely with each violent thrust.

"Mine," he growled as his hand went to the back of your neck to keep you pressed against the wood.

The smacking of skin against skin muffled your moans as he thrust roughly, seeking his own orgasm. His grunts were harsh and heart-rending.

Lee realized you were close to orgasm because of the way your pussy was sucking him in harder and your moans and whimpers were higher than before because of the heat and tingling that swirled in your belly. He redoubled his efforts, further abusing your delicate pussy.

"S-Shit, baby." He groaned breathlessly. “I’m going to fill you up, you’re going to drip so much.”

His rhythm faltered, then stopped; his release flooded you with a groan that vibrated through your spine as you reached an overwhelming orgasm that left you breathless and weak.

The cabin fell silent, except for your shared gasps; he released the back of your neck and his forehead fell between your shoulder blades as he caught his breath.

The parameters Steve Kemp had set forth were two fold. One, find a victim. Two, bring her to him. As a reward, your shackles would be loosened - both physically and mentally.

Maybe you shouldn't have let Stockholm Syndrome take over. But you knew that the man that courted you for months and slept in your bed before he kidnapped you to upstate New York was still in there. And if by bringing him a victim you would be able to live in domestic bliss? Well, there was shockingly little that would stand in your way.

"Steve, I - I fucked up," your voice trembled, watching scarlet billows start to spread onto the stark white tiles. That was going to be a bitch to clean. Your weapon of choice, a cast iron skillet, clattered to the floor as the events of what transpired caught up to you.

Okay, maybe a skillet shouldn't have been the first thing to reach your grasp, but you were desperate. Days of trying to convince your new 'friend' to take a trip with you was making you grow impatient. And with Steve dangling the promise like a carrot, you…snapped. In a panic, you called the only person you could for help.

A deep sigh sounded on the other end of the line. "Was she scared when you hit her?"

"No…no, she didn't even know it was coming."

A hum of approval had your heart leaping. Maybe you hadn't fucked up too terribly. "Then the meat is still salvageable. I'll be there soon to help you, sweets. I'm so proud of you for doing what I asked."

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It wasn’t on purpose.

When he was young, he was so deadset on becoming a surgeon that everything else became an afterthought. He maintained relationships here and there (he wasn’t a saint) but by the time he was an attending none of his girlfriends managed to keep up with his relentless schedule, demanding workload, and emotionally reserved nature.

Truly, he doesn't blame them. He wasn't exactly carving out the time for them either --- too focused on being the best and too single-minded in his career to put any relationship as a priority.

Long story short – good surgeon, bad boyfriend.

And then he woke up and he was 40 years old with a very pissed off mother.

When he reluctantly asked his friends about it, the warnings were immediate and repetitive.

Dating in the modern century is different now. The women are different. Difficult.

Too demanding. Too clingy. Too much.

By the time Yolanda sidelined him quietly with a proposition, he was already dreading the worst and preparing himself to disappoint his mother for the first time in his life.

You were a welcome (gorgeous) surprise.

Yolanda’s friend of a friend of a friend that she set him up with. Something about a ‘sweetie-pie that could just soften you up, big guy’.

What she failed to mention was the noticeable difference in years between the two of you.

He was never one to go for someone young just to compensate for a void in his life or make himself feel better about getting older. Even though he saw the appeal, it was never a requirement. If you had asked him before the date, he would’ve thought dating someone younger was more trouble than it was worth.

But watching you beam as he waits for you by the door of the café he had reserved a table for today’s date, holding a fresh pink bouquet of flowers just because Yolanda mentioned that it was your favorite, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was too confident with that assumption.

“Flowers on the first date? You’re winning me over already.”

He couldn’t help but frown in confusion, remembering a coworker's quip about not coming on too strong. Already feeling an unfamiliar feeling of minuscule panic creeping up his throat. “Is it too much?”

Your eyes widened, head shaking, “No! No, they're beautiful. It’s just – men don’t really – it’s less of a thing now.”

He hums, deciding that that was stupid. Especially when he saw just how beautiful the flowers looked when you held them --- like they belonged in your arms. He opens the door for you. “That’s a shame.”

You laugh, head back and so carefree. It warms something in his belly. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

The two of you continued a casual conversation as you lined up for your orders, an official introduction of sorts. Thankfully, it wasn’t as awkward as he dreaded, your cheerful disposition perfectly counteracted his restrained one.

He couldn’t help but notice you intimately checking out the pastries bar but not ordering any when you got to the counter. Thankfully, he was quick enough to take note of those that caught your eyes for longer than half a second, ordering it along with his drink and swiping his card for both of your orders.

As he pulled back a chair, he noticed the few seconds of shock on your face before you sat. A small touch on his bicep and a bashful ‘thank you’ had him concluding that this was also no longer ‘a thing’ in this generation.

If he were honest, he'd admit he was dreading this. It's been a while since his last proper date. He wasn't sure if he could muster up enough topics to keep the conversation going or accidentally say something rude or stupid that would turn this date into a humiliation ritual.

But you were pleasant company and a surprisingly great conversationalist. Picking up where he was prone to awkward silences. You carried the conversation with an ease that he admired. To his surprise, the conversation shifted from one topic to another, and by the end of the night, you somehow even managed to get him actually interested in the New York sports team you were dedicated to. A sport he had never given a thought to his entire life.

“You live in Pittsburgh.”

“So?” you giggle at his obvious accusation.

“Now, that’s just treason.”

That got an adorably loud laugh out of you that embarrassingly puffs out his chest – he knew he wasn’t exactly the funny type so to have you genuinely throwing your head back at his banter felt good.

Three drinks, 6 pastries, and too much caffeine later, he realized it had already turned dark outside and your friend (probably Yolanda wanting all the details) was already texting you incessantly about dinner.

“So, how much do I owe you?”

He looks down at you in confusion as he helps you put your jacket on.

“For what?”

A respectful palm gently leads you by the curve of your back and into his car, which was parked just a few feet from the café.

“Lunch.”

He shuts the door, still confused even as he pulls out of the curb.

“I asked you out, it’s on me.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask me out. We were set up.”

He rolls his eyes at that, huffing out a laugh. Cheeky brat.

“I’m the man. I pay for dinner.”

“That’s very old-fashioned of you, Brendon.”

“Well, I am 15 years your senior, baby." It doesn’t escape him how you press your legs together at that statement. Interesting. “I get to be old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

You turn your body fully toward him, blessing him with a shy, sweet smile.

“Old-fashioned enough to not to kiss on the first date?”

He takes a deep breath, pressing on the gas.

“Old-fashioned enough to ask first."

‘Busy morning and tied up in surgery this afternoon. I’ve got about 30 minutes for a call at 11:30 if you're free?’

‘Sounds perfect. Can’t wait <3”

“👍”

“What’s this?”

You flip the thick piece of paper back and forth as if the words were written in hieroglyphics.

He watches you register what he had just done.

“Tickets. For the Knicks game this weekend.”

You stare at him as if he just popped out a second head so he sighs and continues. “You said you loved them on our first date.”

“Brendon.”

“It’s the Eastern Conference Finals.”

“Brendon.”

“What?”

“It’s in New York.”

He cocks his head at another pair of tickets sitting on his coffee table.

“Those are our plane tickets.”

“You bought plane tickets?!”

“Can’t exactly walk there, sweetheart.”

“You bought Knicks tickets, plane tickets, and planned an entire trip without telling me?”

“Well, such is the nature of a surprise.”

You actually let out a snort of laughter before jumping into his lap on the couch pressing kisses and ‘thank you’s’ on whatever skin you could reach. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You haven’t even heard of the restaurant reservation yet.”

Or the fact that he somehow tracked down a friend of a friend of a friend who is somehow dating someone working game day operations just to make sure the kiss cam landed on the two of you during half-time.

And they said he wasn’t a romantic.

It took Park 3 months in your relationship to realize … you have never truly slept over his place.

When you mentioned on your second date that you were a virgin and that you planned to wait until marriage, he was – for the sake of honesty – taken aback.

Not that there was anything wrong with it and you had bashfully admitted that you were willing to do some 'other stuff' as long as you didn’t go 'all the way'. Something about a vow with the women in your family that the only man who should be able to touch you is the one who is willing to commit.

It makes sense, in theory. But they never took into consideration that the man who plans to worship the ground you walk on is a stressed-out orthopedic surgeon in a trauma center whose only source of relaxation is in between your thighs.

So, yeah. He was a bit taken aback. And frustrated.

But he respected it.

(He was too far gone for you to let this minor complication stand in his way.)

Sucked it up like a man, met your parents, swore to them that this relationship would end in marriage once you were ready, and now added meditation to his workout routine so he wouldn’t pop a boner every time you lounged around his place in just his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

He asks from the en-suite bathroom’s door, finally ready for bed after a long day of bullshit in the hospital only to find his girlfriend quietly trying to book a taxi from his bed.

“Oh! I figured you’d be too tired to drive me back home so I was just going to book a car.”

He frowns in confusion. Quickly walking to where you were lounging in his bed to grab your phone and cancel it.

“Wha – hey!”

“I think we’re past asking permission to stay over.”

You open your mouth to protest before hesitating, choosing instead to crawl to the edge of the bed so you can sit by where he was standing. The fresh smell of his soap, body wash, and clean skin lights your skin on fire.

“I don’t have my skincare stuff in here,” you weakly protested.

He hummed, hands petting the back of your head.“Let’s go buy it tomorrow after brunch. It’s my day off.”

You beamed, gasping in glee. “Really?”

"Really." He can’t help but chuckle at your delight – so pleased with a couple hundred dollars of products. Seems he wasn’t doing quite a good enough job spoiling you, he plans to change that starting tomorrow. “Anything else I should know before our first official sleepover?”

You rubbed your cheeks into his hands like a cat before shyly nodding.

“I know you’re having a hard time with the … abstinence thing,” you pout your lips up at him, your chin digging firmly on his navel which definitely didn’t help.

He clears his throat, taking a beat to look up at the ceiling and collect himself before letting his hands cup your cheeks, “I’m a grown man, babydoll. I can handle sleeping next to my woman without pouncing on her.”

“I trust you, Bren,” you insist earnestly. “But it doesn’t mean I want to frustrate you any more than I already do.”

“Hey, where is this coming from? I’ll behave,” he pokes the tip of your nose to lighten your mood but you only bit your bottom lip in even more hesitation. “Or is there another reason?”

He wouldn’t want to push you if you were truly uncomfortable.

“The thing is,” you groan, cupping the hands holding your face. “I can only sleep naked.”

If he had to go back to the bathroom for five minutes to listen to the calming meditation exercise his therapist recommended to him, it would be something the two of you agreed to take to the grave.

“Alright, my eyes are closed, babydoll.”

He prepared as best as he could.

Lights are off, sleep mask on.

Now he just needs to not think about his girlfriend sleeping naked beside him for the entire night. His adorable, sweet, angel of a woman who is not wearing a stitch of clothing on her bo –

“Thanks for doing this, baby.”

He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels you press a kiss to his cheeks.

He grips the comforter so tight he swears his nails ripped through it. “Warn a man next time.”

Your giggle disappears under the duvet. He makes it a point to put a pillow between the two of you – for your sake and mostly his.

It’ll be fine. Everything will be –

-- fucked! He is so fucking fucked.

The nudity wasn’t the challenge – difficult, yes but manageable with the proper monk-like focus. What you have failed to disclose was that you slept like a possessed octopus. Something he himself only found out when he felt your entire body weight on top of him at 2:47 in the morning.

Once he felt the swell of your chest on his ribs his entire body instinctively flinched so quickly, he almost developed a cramp.

“S-Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying to see if he could jog you out of your sleep gently to save him from the suffering of having to push you back.

To his horror, you just whined, grabbing even more tightly to his biceps as you dragged your body up the length of his so you could push your face in the juncture of his neck.

The contrast of the warmth of your skin on his, the small puffs of air a siren’s call on his ear, and the plump of your lips grazing his neck as you sleepily mumble mindless nothings was torture to his already frazzled sense of self-control.

He grips his bedsheet tightly, knowing his willpower would snap if his hands ever got ahold of you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“’luv yu’, Bren.”

He sucks in a breath. What the – did you just say – “Babydoll?”

“So nice to me,” you whimper the words on his neck. “Love you so much.”

That felt like a jagged knife of guilt to his heart.

The shame and responsibility you felt for what he could only believe other lovers saw as a drawback or a burden. It must’ve been a heavy weight to carry for his sweet girl.

He swears you won’t have to carry it anymore as long as he is here.

He holds his breath for 10 seconds and lets it out for 5. He thinks about surgical risks, antibiotics, anesthesia regulation, and proper post-op instruction. Thinks about Gloria on his neck, the pressure to live up to their expectation as the upcoming Chief of Surgery. He thinks about Robinavitch’s jealousy even though the both of them knew the pressure Brendon was in would eventually fling the ER attending from the roof he so often escaped to.

Anything and everything to keep his mind clear and disciplined as he refuses to be another weak man who resents your boundaries.

With a deep breath he finally gathers you in his arms, curling around you until his body threatens to swallow you whole.

Saying instead the words that always seemed to get stuck between his heart and his tongue whenever you looked at him. Reminding himself to repeat it tomorrow before you could say it first.

He’s an old-fashioned man, after all.

“I love you, babydoll.”

'Going to the gym but i'm gonna be busy all day. Text me '911' if it's an emergency and my assistant will track me down.'

'Go it. I'm planning to cook you steak for dinner tonight, can I use your kitchen?'

'DON'T SEND ME MONEY. It's my treat.'

'I know your fingers are hovering Brendon Park. Don't!'

'Fine'

'Fine <3'

'Check your jewelry box. I slipped a spare key to my place there.'

'Okay <3'

'Wait what.'

“Hi, babyyyy,” you jump into his arms as he drops his work bag unceremoniously on the floor.

Your text that said you were going to spend your day off going to the grocery store and preparing him a steak dinner genuinely was the only thing that pushed him through a long day of surgeries and consultations.

He lets you rope him into a kiss, sitting the two of you down on his couch as you continue to map out his face with your mouth.

“Missed you so much,” you mutter in between kisses. He smiles at your earnest confession. “Say you missed me too.”

You press a finger on his chest, and he glances down at it as if unconvinced. You squawk in offense and try to get off his lap but not before getting caught in his arms and flipped into the couch.

“You’re all I ever thought about all day, sweetheart.”

You hum, running your hand on his hair. “That’s a dangerous habit, doctor.”

“Don’t worry. I’m a professional.”

With one last deep kiss he lets you out of his arms and back into the kitchen. He prepares to stand up and set the table but you pressed a hand into his chest with an explicit instruction to go shower and relax.

“It’ll be ready when you’re out.”

By the time he was done, you were already getting the wine out of the chiller. “Oh, by the way, some important-looking envelope from your bank arrived.”

You point a finger at the side table by the door. He opens it, his eyes moving carefully with each line.

“Babydoll?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you give me your landlord’s bank details?”

A pause, he turns back to see you staring at him in bewilderment.

“Uh, what for?”

He drops the letter on the coffee table before walking towards you. “I need it to set up an auto-pay in my account.”

You blink up at him as he casually presses a kiss on your lips before sitting at his seat beside yours.

“Are you … moving?” You ask even though you had to admit how incredulous it was. Why would he switch his immaculate penthouse to your subpar building? Is he buying the building then?

“No, for your apartment, honey,” he continues patiently, taking your hand.

Your eyes widened, finally getting what he is implying. “What?! Why – you don’t have to do that! I-I know I complain a lot but I’m fine really!”

He presses a kiss on the back of your hand. “I know, sweetie. But I’m planning on moving you with me by the end of the year, and I want that transition to be as smooth as possible for you.”

Your mouth opens and closes in shock as he drops two bombs on you at once.

“Are … are you asking me to move in with you?”

He slices a piece of his steak before feeding it to you.

“By the end of the year,” he reiterates casually. “At least that’s the deadline I gave my realtor.”

You audibly swallow the barely chewed steak, pushing it down with large gulps of wine.

“I … I don’t want to make it seem like I-I’m a gold digger or something.”

His face hardens at that. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious. People talk.”

“Let them talk,” the reprimand was there but it was gentle. “I know why you’re here.”

That softens you.

“Because I’m funny and a good lay.”

You almost snorted your wine into your nose and he finally smiles hearing you laugh. He raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘see?’.

“Brendon –”

“Hey,” he takes your hand, pulling you closer and letting the chair screech in protest. “You’re allowed to like the things I do for you. I work hard, I make good money. And I’d rather spend it making you happy than letting it sit there in the bank.”

He holds your hesitant eyes, only letting a victorious smile appear on his face when you let out a resigned sigh.

You stand up and he automatically pushes his chair back so you can sit in his lap.

“Okay. Thank you. I love you and I will move in with you by the end of the year even though you technically didn't ask.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispers on your lips. “Also, that was your new credit card in the envelope.”

The kid was barely a year old, completely mellow. He didn’t cry, he wasn’t scared. Honestly, the little guy barely even realized he existed.

But when you slipped back through the crowd and approached Bucky with a baby resting on your hip, his confident politician facade instantly cracked. Surprise washed over sharp features.

"Whose kid is that?" Bucky asked, his blue eyes shifting from his champagne glass to the boy, watching with an intense curiosity.

"Oh, I’m just taking care of him while his mom finishes a meeting," you smiled, gently rocking the little guy, whose tiny legs were wrapped comfortably around your hip. "Isn't he a cutie?"

Bucky just nodded, standing entirely rigid. The formidable congressman clearly had zero experience with children.

"Do you want to try holding him? He’s really sweet," you offered playfully.

James quickly shook his head, taking a half-step back. "No, doll. Absolutely not. I wouldn't want to scare him and make this venue even louder than it already is," he sighed, casting a glance over the roaring cocktail party.

You stepped closer, deliberately pushing the baby into his personal space. "Come on, just take him for a second while I run to the restroom... please, Congressman?"

He hesitated, eyeing the kid like a tactical threat, before finally giving in with a defeated nod.

As expected, Bucky Barnes had absolutely no idea how to carry a child. He held the baby at a considerable, defensive distance from his chest with both hands, using only his right hand to grip the body and keeping his left prosthetic arm entirely stiff under his expensive suit, terrified of accidentally applying too much pressure. You burst out laughing at the sheer contrast of his massive, broad shoulders looking completely paralyzed by eight kilos of diapers and cheeks.

"Stop making fun of me," Bucky muttered under his breath, staring down at the child between his arms with utter confusion and a slight pout.

Before leaving him to his fate, you leaned in, your hands guiding his large hand, shifting his grip to show him how to actually cradle the baby safely against his chest.

You made your way through the sea of expensive silk dresses and flowing champagne. Standing in front of the restroom mirror, you quickly adjusted your makeup, the cold marble of the sink a sharp contrast to the sudden warmth settling in your chest. You didn't dare articulate the thought out loud, but your reflection knew it anyway.

When you returned to the main hall, the sight waiting for you in the corner of the lounge made you stop in your tracks.

The cold, calculated politician hadn't completely disappeared, but he had let his guard drop just enough for an audience of one. Bucky had retreated slightly from the heavy crowd, the boy now resting comfortably against his chest. He wasn't making a scene, but his thumb was gently tracing the baby’s tiny knuckles, and he was murmuring something low and private that made the toddler tug clumsily at his silk lapels, completely unaware to the dangerous history of the man holding him.

"So... how did it go?" you asked softly as you approached, extending your arms to take the baby back.

But Bucky took a deliberate step back, his arms tightening just a fraction. He didn't want to let go yet. A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips, breaking the rigid lines of his congressman persona.

"Well," Bucky murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, private register meant only for you. "Turns out the little fella loves my arm. And he highly enjoys laughing directly in my face whenever I try to look serious."

Bucky’s voice rose like the impending drawback before the crash of a devastating tidal wave. His last words ended with the grit of a growl against the phone.

That phone call would end, very few words filtering past the glass as you watched him pace past it.

He'd do his best to reassure you before they arrived, and just as you welcomed his calming touch against your skin, you followed him out past the trees to see for yourself how safe it was supposed to be.

The deer that graced the stream with its little fawn in tow was, in fact, the luckiest doe he had ever seen in his whole life. Possibly a sign that the fates sat in his favor as the thoughtless animal flicked its ear back towards the subtle crunch of leaves underneath your feet.

A Beta staff member would arrive shortly after the two of you returned to the cabin.

Their company shirt was a starch blue, tucked into stiff khaki pants. They bore no identifying smell and no real discernible emotion behind their plastic smile. Betas used to make you feel what you thought was comfort, but standing with one now was looking at an automaton. A ghost in the flesh with no real presence. They almost always smell the same, maybe with some small distinction between each one. But now, the only scent that filled the room was Bucky’s. It was earthy, fine leather, spiced with lingering aggression after his previous call to management and building frustration.

Your skin felt clammy, and you worked to wipe away the beaded sweat at the nape of your neck as it threatened to trail over the small bruises left over your scent glands.

You are all too familiar with what stress can do to an omega body, manipulating hormones and cracking through to a fresh heat. It used to scare the hell out of you, but in this moment as the discomfort began building, you felt each cramp fizzle out as you clung closer to Bucky. Letting his scent surround you made the pain subside even without his physical touch.

He simply apologizes again, his words sounding unchanged from when they rang out of the phone, only this time it was in person.

“I…I was just very scared.”

Your irritation has since subsided, and you dismiss his sincerity, or lack thereof, by oversimplifying what had happened.

“I just didn’t expect to see one of them staring at me like that.”

“Of course.”

“We’ll be doing our best to keep them away from the cabins.”

“If there’s anything else you need, please let us know, and rest assured you will be compensated." Their eyes drift slightly towards Bucky as their sentence ends.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t shift, his eyes stabbing steadily into the beta’s chest. Their face contorted slightly with a tight smile as they withstood his heavy aura before finally being dismissed and quickly leaving the cabin.

The door clatters shut, falling back with a punch of wind.

You take the relief that follows and let it take the weight from your shoulders, letting you slump back against Bucky’s arms.

The rumble of his voice vibrates against your back as he calls to you, asking, “Do’ya feel any better?”

“Kinda” not really.

The beta’s cold and plastic demeanor left you unnerved, and the draining of adrenaline from your veins made you sweat something awful.

“It helped more when you took me outside.”

He breathes a short sigh of relief, yet the tension still persists at the base of his neck. He was still somewhat shaken from all that had happened, although in a far different way than what had terrified you. It was all he’d done, all the steps he’d taken, and to still nearly have you chased away from him.

It had been nerve-wracking to convince you to come here so soon. To beg you to trust him with your heat so he could finally look upon your real face and not that of a grainy image.

All the moments, the small moments that counted the most before finally having you open up to him. It was like coaxing a flower to unfold its petals for the first time in millennia.

But, there was a snake in the garden. Tender hands hiding thorns as Bucky had moments that made him feel at his lowest. Breaking your trust and letting you believe lies just to keep you close to him.

He threw away your protection, pale little pills long since flushed away.

Then there was last night.

In his eyes it was a moment where something unknown threatened to take you from him. A creature cloaked in moonlight is hiding in wait to sink its teeth into his scared omega. In reality it was only a mirrored image of a lost lamb having escaped the wolf in sheep's clothes, looking back at you through a barrier of glass.

The sound of your scream split across his ears that night and lingered like an echo to gnaw into his stomach.

Friend, foe, fallen angel. None mattered.

If any dared to stand in his way now, he was ready to strike them out of his path.

He’d never gone so far, but he can’t fight himself when he thinks he’s losing you.

From lapse of judgment to complete desperation, he could feel more and more of his inner Alpha sneaking closer to the surface. Through a battle against an early rut, some of his base instincts had slipped past to embed against his skin, waiting and ready to strike while he was most vulnerable.

Strike while he is at his calmest within your embrace.

Absent-mindedly, he had reached for you, pulling you against his chest with a wide, warm hand against your back. You held him just as tight, burrowing between his neck and shoulder.

He had seen the way you began to degrade into your heat as the stress settled in your stomach to simmer. It had fallen into a false dormancy, once satiated before the failing flame was fanned against its will.

He reaches up to your chin, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he pushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

He smells your sweat; the flood of your soft scent, once stinging the air with fear and unripened citrus, was now warm and slightly spiced like cinnamon and nutmeg on the tongue.

He leans further into you, slowly chasing the soft touch of your skin against his. He brushes his nose along your neck, spreading the dew on your skin along his cheek.

“Can we stay?” he asks, whispering nearly with a growl as he bites back against his own lip to stifle something so predatory in the wake of your delicate state.

“Can I keep you, omega?”

He nearly whimpered, still low in his throat as he cupped your face in his warm hands. His touch caused the heat already seething under your skin to burn against the surface with just the brush of his fingers.

The discomfort, the small amount of pain, was not enough to deter you from his touch, so you let your eyes fall closed instead as you spoke back.

“Yes.”

The word barely brushed your lips, falling like a feather against windless air.

He wants to remind you of another reason you came out here with him. Wants you to know you could seek pleasure for more than self-preservation.

Your heat might have simmered, but something in you felt bolder than before.

You lean into his hands when he cups your cheek and gratefully indulge in his kiss when he leans in to steal it.

You let him relax you; you let him escalate. The kiss is going deep, nearly biting, with his fingers digging into your sides.

Something aggressive was pushing against his psyche harder with the previous rush of endorphins. Like a feral dog guarding the remains of its home, its last safe haven. Growling and baring its sharp and menacing teeth against an unseen adversary just within earshot as the leaves rustled around him.

His last safe place was you.

Instead of shying away like you had before, you let yourself enjoy it.

In the wake of a rising beast you still had yet to see in its truest form, you still felt safe in his arms, and you continued to let yourself sink deeper.

You are the calm sea, water warmed by the afternoon glow of the sun. But, he crashes like dangerous waves, gradually overpowering your languid current with each overlap of power.

Your lips slip along the tender cherried skin that splits to show his pearly teeth. His aggression grows, pathways once blocked slowly opening to him as he nipped at the tender flesh of pinks and raw reds along your little mouth.

A sharp whimper escapes from the tangle between you; a yelp against the growing pressure of his bite forces him to pull back slightly. Still connected and yet detached. He smelled your fear peaking again in response to this small burst of pain and subconsciously relents, leaving only a reddened bruise in his wake.

Your scent is wild, ebbing and crashing through the sting of painful iron and citrus to a sad spiced cinnamon. A beckoning smell calling him to comfort you for his crimes.

Your body fought your mind. You'd never felt so conflicted, and it made your stomach drop so hard it brought you to the floor, hitting the wood with your knees as you doubled over in pain.

He falls with you, bringing your face into his hands. His presence helps; the pain in your stomach is now a dull ache, and you can begin to breathe again.

It’s always the heat, molten magma bubbling in your veins before you begin to hyperventilate. Breathing and yet never getting the right amount of air.

You grip at Bucky’s clothes, nails stretching the flannel fabric of his shirt as you force yourself into a tightly curled back against his chest and stomach.

“I…” you grapple against what little of his skin is exposed as you pull at the collar of his shirt, hot puffs of air whimpering over the length of his neck and below his stubbled chin. ”I can’t take it.”

This was the storm, the angry waves of boiling water drowning you. A battle of wills you never won alone. A heat mixed with fear and pain.

His nails dug into your back, nearly pushing through the fabric of your dress as he balled the faded pastel cloth into a tightened red fist.

Everything hurts this time. Your skin stings as if abused by an unseen sun, your joints ache from miles you hadn’t run, and your core throbs and squeezes in protest of a missing knot meant to stretch the tender muscle.

This feeling was too familiar, too terrible. It was always the beginning of the end.

You didn’t want to wake up in the hospital again.

“Bucky.” You called to him, your voice hoarse as the tears flooded, hot streams gushing across your cheeks and pooling around your chin before seeping into the thin white fabric of the tank top hiding beneath his shirt.

“Help me.”

He held you tighter, face buried against your shoulder, smeared with sweat and a thick feminine scent as he opened his mouth to lavish the salted taste of your skin with his tongue.

Eyes wild like turbulent water thrashing under a navy sky broken with sharp blue cracks of lightning.

Slowly shedding away his humanity, his scent floods the small space between you. He is “Alpha” just as you mumble the denomination against his chest, lips wobbling against thin tufts of body hair that peppered over and between his pecs.

“Help me.” Was the final cry, weak and barely audible.

Then he’s upon you, pinning you to the floor.

He’s nipping, nuzzling, agitating that node at the base of your neck to stir up your pheromones.

His hands claw up your dress, digging into the waist of your panties before sliding them off your legs to be discarded and unseen.

You have to hold onto him; he’s the only rock you have to cling to, and you let him pull you under his heavy tide.

It would be enough to make him the monster he fought not to be, an utter savage trapping you in a cage of immovable limbs.

His eyes clouded over with something dark and feral as you watched as that gentle gleam broke away, a pain, a fight finally lost as it dribbled with the trail of a bitter tear. His brow furrowed, jaw clenched tight to make his cheekbone lock against the side of his face.

Thick and calloused fingers burrow beneath your dress, crawling over the top of your thigh to bury themselves into your panties. He finds your warm blossom among the dampened fabric, pushing your soft lower lips apart between two of his nimble digits to dive into your dewy center.

He lets you swallow him past the bend of his fingers and all the way to his scarred knuckles. He feels you constrict around him, whimpering against his neck as your hips shake with each small movement he makes.

It was so much to experience, yet not nearly enough to satiate your aching body after all it had grown accustomed to while sharing his company these past few days.

Your whimper of frustration breaks through the soft music of mingled breaths, prompting him to abruptly tear his fingers from your lower body. It stings slightly with the rough and hasty drag of his skin back through your tender folds, making you wince slightly.

All sense of gentle James had bled away. The care he would give to caress your tender skin was replaced with hungry hands squeezing your soft flesh with nearly bruising force.

His fingers became ravenous, tearing at the button and zipper of his jeans until a tiny mental snap popped away from the denim and circled the floor beside you. Metal interlocking teeth were bent out of their respective shapes, and the seam sitting below it was torn in his haste to free himself.

Skin can finally be shared. The scattering of coarse hair along his belly drags over your upper thigh as your dress is hiked higher and he pulls himself forward.

His nails dig into the soft cotton and lace that still hides you from him as he drags the offending fabric off around your knees and towards your ankles. The popping of thin stitching can be faintly heard and yet entirely ignored as he sets his sights on tearing down his own boxers next.

The floor bears no comfort, a hard and cold surface to absorb some of the heat from your tempered body as your knees fall further apart, strong hands pushing them further until they too are pressed against the glossy wood below you.

He’s finally uncaged, freed from his tether of an iron leash as his thick, earthy scent bellowed out from a steam of sweat across his chest and neck. The length of him stood thick, hot, and pulsing with anticipation as it pushed and prodded at your lower lips. Like clumsily kissing, trying to find an even rhythm before a hand must come down between you to properly align him towards your entrance.

You were already drowning in feminine slick, easing his rough passage as he buried himself with haste. Straight to the hilt, fighting little friction from your sensitive inner walls, and with no warning.

A sharp moan was pressed from your lungs at the abrupt intrusion and was met with a low growl rumbling from his throat to vibrate over your cheek.

Not a single second was wasted as his hips moved without worry of your adjustment, dragging back and pistoning down so as to chase a once severely denied pleasure.

You squeeze your knees against the sides of his hips, pushing him inward just a little harder with each thrust forward.

His hair fanned along his forehead, dampened by sweat and sticking to his skin.

His hands slid to cup the back of your thighs, somewhat to anchor himself before pulling at your legs to drag them up to frame his upper body.

His back arched, hips falling down to re-envelop his cock in the warmth of your body. Dragging out into the mercy of the cool air of the cabin and plunging back down into the searing magma of your heated cunt.

The cradle of your knees was hooked over his biceps, calves pointed outward, and toes curled in against the forefoot.

The spilling of his name like a river over your wobbly lips. Weak and crackled with the shaking of your voice as you whimpered and whispered “James” again and again as necessary as breathing.

Your body lurched forward, abdominal muscles burning as you tilted up to reach his lips with the desperate swipe of the tip of your reddened tongue.

Your face was pink, a cherried flush crawling over your skin as blood flooded to your head and cheeks.

His hand was fisted against the floor, acting as an anchor to hold himself above you as his knees gave way with each downward thrust of his hips.

The muscles of his arm straining to keep himself aloft before finally giving way to fall into you.

He cradled your shoulders to pillow your own descent, his lips crashing against yours to return that sought-after kiss before your head inevitably fell back with the burst of a breathless moan. Your own arms wrapped around his back, your fingertips digging into his skin to nearly cut it down to its thinnest layer. A small amount of pain bloomed with each line that welted red and raised under the drag of your nails.

His face fell to your throat, dragging his nose across your neck before lavishing over your skin with his tongue.

Your lower body fluttered, the frantic beating of delicate butterfly wings, with each rough movement. Feeling his presence from the sting of an abrupt intrusion at the innermost lips of your entrance, a delicious ache of subtle friction tearing along the inner canal of your tender cunt. It went deeper still with a thrum of immediate pressure each time his velvet head struck against the bottom of your reservoir like a nine-pound hammer against molten steel.

His lips parted further and further apart, and his jaw clicked against his efforts not to bare his teeth. A billowing of hot breath and wet canines spread out over the side of your throat. Only grazing for now, but soon more of his self-control would fall against the last boundary he still maintained.

He bit down slowly, no doubt repainting your skin with a fresh bruise in the shake of his premolars, fighting with all his limited might to keep from tearing into your shoulder. His eyes were pressed closed, a tight pinch that made the muscles in his forehead ache and thin trails of tears taint his stubbled cheeks.

Something was building, a weight stifling his thrusts slightly as your entrance pushed against his growing thickness. His knot had begun to form, and each thrust required more and more strength to push the building bulb past the opening of your entrance.

You stretched further, accommodating his growing size as he swelled more and more with each ragged movement.

You felt the change in pressure, the uneven depths he fell to as he continued to pull and push himself into you. The hard roll of his knot against your inner walls, dragging over the tender flesh like a jade ball rubbing away a stubborn ache in an overworked muscle.

It spurred you further towards the edge, the feeling of completion looming closer and closer as it teasingly tickled the back of your cunt before trailing numbly further towards the surface.

In one moment the knot could barely find purchase to slip past the opening of your bruised flower, and in the next it broke past the barrier to fill you all the way into the bottom of your belly as your stomach was forced to press every so slightly against your diaphragm.

His teeth dug harder and harder, surpassing a bruise and breaking the skin.

Like the skin of an overripe fruit popping under the pressure of his teeth and spilling with sweet juice over his lips to drip across his jaw and neck.

The sound of it echoed in your ears as you fell from earth into a wide and empty cosmos. Every decibel of your scream was eaten by that vast and endless nothingness as your mind folded inward and hot bursts of sun pushed against the back of your eyes.

“Alpha!” came out as a last gasp to erupt from your shivering body as you succumbed to the overwhelming feeling of his mark being burned into your body from the inside and out.

Your knees quaked, nearly vibrating as his jaw clamped down in an unbreakable vice against your neck.

You rode through the pain and turbulent rapid of your climax as it carried you through its violent riptide. A dull thrum of thunder breaking into crashing light as your cunt convulsed around him.

You struggle for air, biting at the open space beside his head as if to push each breath into your lungs by force.

Your lightheaded, warm skin simmered against his, and your vision faded into a blur of dulled color.

You fell limp in his crushing embrace, body still languidly moving with the push and grind of his hips as his cock pulsed and stuttered with the gush of his spendings spurting inside your tight channel.

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Almost none of you.

Steve’s is cleaner than a freshly waxed and plucked floor. Steve’s letter is perfect. He’s perfect. He’s the Golden Boy, designed in a bottle to be likable and confident and collected. Camera’s flash and his smile is whiter than the moon, and more blinding than the sun. He claps Tony on the back after a slightly mocking joke, clearly unfazed. He places his hand on Nat’s lower back in the most gentlemanly way possible, and everyone swoons like he’s some movie star.

He sits next to you on one of these panels you’re not allowed to skip—you tried to, and Clint dragged you to the helicopter like some misbehaving child—and ignores you all together. A tiny nod and smile for the cameras. Stiff shoulders that square away from you, like if he blocks you out, you’ll just vanish in the hazy lights.

He’d like it, if that happened. He’d probably throw a fucking party.

Because you don’t know why. You don’t know what you did. But Steve Rogers hates you, and no one even thought he was capable of that emotion.

It started the first time Nat dragged you in, spitting and weary like a feral cat. She’d given Steve and Tony the brief on your powers. Said that you had a good heart—although she hadn’t done an x-ray, so you have no idea how she was so sure—and asked to keep you.

Asked.

Natasha didn’t ask for anything. She said it like a question, and fixed Steve and Tony with the most terrifying glare in the world. Tony had shrugged, and Steve had tried to protest. Nat had crossed her arms and flicked her brows up in a silent challenge. Steve had swallowed, looked at you with a strange gleam in his eyes, and given up. He’d left the room with a grumble, not sparing you another glance. Tony would tell you later—after you annoyed it out of him—that he’d spent a month trying to talk Nat out of you. Like a toy he didn’t want her to be playing with.

You hadn’t said a single word. Natasha hadn’t told him anything about your past. And he still hadn’t wanted you there.

“Rogers,” you murmur, smiling at the flashing lights that—supposedly—have people behind them.

You’ve come to think of them more as vultures. They’d like to pick you apart and eat out whatever kind of black, charred thing you’re made of. You never give them the satisfaction.

Steve says your name, low and flat. His attention flits over, scanning you from the corner of his eye. You catch his gaze, and he looks away just as fast.

You roll your eyes and huff, slumping back in your seat. You drum your fingers on the smooth, deep blue cloth of the table. They gave you a water bottle. Maybe if you drink it fast enough, you can just go pee and skip this whole thing-

“Sit up.”

Steve speaks so low you almost don’t hear him. You frown at his profile—stupid clean jawline and strong features—and slump further in your seat. Just to test him. Just to make him twitch.

There aren’t a lot of things you find pride in. Being able to get under Steve’s skin is one of them.

He notices immediately, and shoots you a glare. You snort, and his eyes narrow.

“I told you to sit up-“

“I heard you.”

“And you didn’t listen?” Someone shouts his name. He turns to flash them that look at me, aren’t I perfect? Smile, and you try not to gag.

“You’re not my boss.” You hiss through your teeth, smiling at the people shouting your name.

Steve makes a low, rough sound in his throat. “I am your boss.”

“No. I work under Nat.”

“Who works for me-“

“Does she?”

Steve shoots you another look, and this time you giggle. He’s still smiling, through every single glare. It looks psychotic.

He doesn’t even try to reprimand you this time. He just sighs dramatically and looks back to the crowd. You sit up, but not because he told you to. You’re not another one of his dogs.

Because there’s one more rule about being an Avenger. About being an American.

No one hates Steve Rogers.

He’s an angel. A blessing. His pretty boy face and classy words and pure heart. He never falters, never gives up, never does anything selfish, never gets off his fucking high horse. He’s so handsome it hurts to look at, and he’s so innocent about it, like blushing virgin schoolgirl who can’t stand seeing a fucking ankle without getting red faced and sputtering. He’s all kind words to everyone, he carries twenties on him to give to homeless people, he donates most of his Avengers salary to charities, he handles every press question with tact and charm, and he looks at you like you’re sulfur coated gum, stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

No one tells you what to do when Steve Rogers hates you. He’s not supposed to hate anyone.

So you must be the fucking problem.

You try not to look at him, for most of the panel. It’s easy when he gets seated on the other end of the table, but whatever fucker was in charge of seating today must hate you. You can’t turn your head without seeing his lazy, kind smile, and you can’t turn out his deep laugh, and god, what if you just punched him in the face on live TV-

Someone says your name, and your head snaps over.

“Yeah?”

Steve tenses. You’re supposed to just nod, or say yes, not yeah. That’s not professional. Shame for him the media trainers gave up on you years ago. You don’t know why Steve still bothers. Everyone still loves you anyway.

And the person who said your name doesn’t deserve professionalism anyway. It’s a slimy man at the front of the question line, with slicked back hair and an expensive watch and teeth that look too big for his mouth. You know what kind of question this is going to be, before he even opens his mouth.

“Hi,” the man smirks at you, and you smile back. It’s the cold, bored smile that you wear like a shield. If the man feels the chill from it, he doesn’t even flinch.

“Hey.”

Steve’s jaw ticks. If he breaks a tooth, maybe you won’t have to deal with this question.

“Hey.” The man echoes back, his gaze dropping back to your tits. “I have to ask, what does it take to get you out of the Avengers compound and out on a date?”

You laugh, spinning your mic and leaning back in your chair. The audience laughs with you. They always do.

Steve doesn’t, and it stabs near your ribs for some useless reason. Sometimes you wonder if your powers just don’t work on him, which would make him even more annoying than he already is. 

“More than that,” you say, and the man stands a little taller.

“You wanna give me a step-by-step?” He winks. “I’m a good rule follower.”

“Hm.” You smirk. “I’m sure you are.”

A chorus of teasing jeers comes from the back of the crowd, where all the men always get shoved. They’re less insistent than the fangirls who want to see Steve and Thor’s muscles. The man at the front of the line looks back with a proud grin—he got you to talk, what a miracle—then returns his gaze to you.

“What about if I promise to be a gentleman?”

“Then I’d ask you to cross your fingers,” you say, smiling with so much honey you’re worried your face is going to get glued like this.

The oooooos are louder this time, and you laugh. The man at the front looks like he’s about to fall to his knees. He grabs at the mic stand like a lifeline, staring at you with wide, devout eyes, and you don’t even flinch when Steve rips your mic from your hands.

“She’ll be backstage after, buddy.” His tone is light, but firm. The man blinks at him, like he forgot he was there. “Remember, she’s got a whole panel to get through. Don’t want to distract her too early.”

He laughs. Everyone laughs with him, except for you.

You smile at him with enough venom to burn the super solider serum right out of his big, muscled body. Steve smiles back, with that strange gleam back in his eyes.

It’s only there for you. It’s been two years, and you never learned to read it. The questions move on, and your mic gets turned of while Bruce talks about his favorite kinds of tea. You lean to the side, hissing from the corner of your mouth.

“What the fuck is your problem.”

Steve doesn’t blink. He keeps his winning smile on his face, and you’re sure that to anyone looking on from the crowd, it seems like you’re exchanging friendly jokes.

“This isn’t a dating app.”

“I know that-“

“Didn’t seem like it.”

You scoff. Your smile is starting to hurt your face. “What was I supposed to do, tell him to piss off?”

Steve’s lips twitch down, ever so slightly. “You flirted back.”

“So? I was never going to go out with him, he looked like a fucking sewer rat.”

“That’s rude-“

“Oh, suck my dick.”

You look back to the crowd. Steve mutters your name, and you ignore him. He says it again, firmer this time, and you shoot him a shut the fuck up look.

His nostrils flare. His eyes are so blue, you think you could get lost in them if he wasn’t always trying to forcefully burn you out.

“You-“ He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, shakes his head, and look back out to the crowd. “You’re going to find yourself with a stalker one day. It happened to Nat.”

You almost snort. You’ve heard that story. Nat curb stomped him. “I’m sure I’d handle it.”

Steve’s lip curls. “You have no combat training,” he grunts, and you huff.

Not this again.

“If someone got the jump on you-“

“No one gets the jump on me.”

“Yet,” he gives you a pointed look, and you hold it, unimpressed and bored. “But one day-“

“One day what? I’m just going to lose all my powers? And need Captain America to protect me?” You laugh crudely, and Steve scowls.

 “I didn’t say that-“

“Then what were you going to say-“’

“That you need to be careful-“

“And why do you care-“

“I don’t-“

“Really?” You roll your eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You- You fucking-“

“Steve.” Sam leans over Steve’s shoulder, glaring between you. “People. Watching. Calm down.”

You and Steve both freeze, and glance out to the crowd. Sure enough, almost all the eyes are on you. Shining vultures. For one, at least, picking Steve apart with you.

You smile and wave. Steve sits so tall you think he might be trying to fly away.

“What were you talking about?” The next person asks, and Steve laughs.

Controlled. Always so fucking controlled.

“Nothing important-“

“It looked important.”

Steve shrugs. “We take everything we do here seriously. A conversation about dinner can look like a war meeting sometimes, with how much passion we have for- Everything.”

He waves at the air, and the crowd murmurs. You smirk, because Steve sees the light in that ripple. Only the rising relief. Not the dents it’s leaving in the water.

But you see them. You see them better than anyone. And you know why the people drop it. Tony’s glaring down the table, and Nat is rubbing her face, and you know they heard it too.

You love it when he fucks up. You’re beaming for the rest of the panel, because you know what the headline is going to be in the morning.

Passion, he said.

Idiot.

It happens so fast, and Steve’s the only one surprised by it.

“You two.” Tony points between you in the morning. “My office. Now.”

You smile, shoving your bagel in your mouth and following after him. Steve looks confused. You’re sure he’s never been called to an office before. You’re thrilled to have that first experience with him.

“Tony, what’s going on-“

“No.” Tony points at him with a scowl, and the door locks behind you. “Not a word from you, Cap. This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Steve almost recoils. “How is it my fault, I haven’t even done anything. It’s probably her fault-“

You snort, taking the bagel out of your mouth. “My fault? You don’t even know what we did yet!”

“Well, I know it’s your fault-“

“Because everything is my fault-“

“For stuff like this, yeah. It is.”

“Stuff like this- Like what, you getting in trouble-“

“I’m not in trouble-“

“Oh, you just got called to Daddy’s office because of your good behavior-“

“Can you both shut up?” Tony raises his voice, glaring between you with his nose pinched. “I swear, you’re going to give me a migraine that kills me. And you,” he shoots you a glower. “Never call me Daddy again.”

You smirk. “Why, does it turn you on too much?”

Steve looks at you like he wants to kill you. Tony just looks bored.

“Yeah, it does. Which is annoying.”

“Aw,” you beam at Steve. “He thinks I’m annoying.”

A vein is pushing out of Steve’s brow. If anyone is going to die right now, it’s going to be him, from bursting a vessel. You giggle, dropping in the seat in front of Tony’s desk. Steve just stands behind you, a soldier at attention against his greatest enemy. You tip your head backwards, looking at him under fluttering lashes.

“You should sit down, buddy.”

Something flickers over Steve’s face. “Don’t call me buddy.”

“Don’t stand there like a creep.”

His lip curls. You give him a challenging smile, and he lets out one of those heavy sighs that’s only reserved for you. He stomps over to the chair next to it, and drops down with a scowl at Tony.

“You want to tell us why we’re here, Tony?”

Tony frowns, and glances at you. “Does he not know?”

You shrug. “He’s a little stupid. You know that.”

Tony’s lips twitch despite himself. Steve scowls.

“I don’t know what you two are talking about, or- Planning-“

He cuts himself off, as Tony tosses the printed out article down on the desk. You hadn’t actually seen it yet, but you knew it was coming.  

From the look on Steve’s face, though, he really hadn’t realized at all.

“What.” It’s all he says. One clipped, dumbfounded word as he stares at the paper. You sort of want to laugh, but you bite it down. Tony’s looking at you like this is serious. Like he can’t make it go away with a wave of his hand.

Stever grabs the article. You lean over his shoulder, just to piss him off a little more. He doesn’t even bother to glare at you, his fingers digging so deep into the paper it tears. The headline gets crumpled, like he’s crushing it with just his gaze.

Secret Love In the Avengers.

It’s not very snappy. You think they could’ve tried harder, but at least the picture is good. You and Steve both look nice, and you’re staring at each other so intently you can’t even blame them for the minimum effort. With Sam looking bored on Steve’s other side, and you and Steve leaning so close together, there’s no mistaking in that photo who might be seconds from making out.

“Tony,” Steve mutters. “What’s this.”

Tony snorts. “What do you think this is, Cap? A news article about trades with China? No, because less people would be reading that than they’re reading this.”

“We’re hotter than trades with China,” you offer, and you think Tony would laugh if he wasn’t so pissed.

“Why is there a picture of us.” Steve mutters, and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Well, when two people look at each other like they want to fuck, everyone tends to notice.”

Steve’s jaw locks. You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So what, do you need us to do another release-“

“No.” Tony glares at you. “This is the third time something like this has happened with you two-“

“What?” You snort. “No, it isn’t-“

“Ah.” Tony raises a hand. “Don’t play stupid with me. I’m trying to be generous with third, and I’m not in the mood to hold your hands through feelings right now.”

“Feelings?” Steve spits, fumbling with the paper. “There are no- I don’t know what you think you’re talking about, Stark-“

“Steven.” Tony says flatly. “You. Shut up.”

Steve shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“Yes. I do. And you do too.”

You raise your hand, frowning between them. “Can I ask what the first and second time were, because I’d remember if this happened before-“

“No, you wouldn’t,” Tony snaps. “Because I have spent millions bribing people out of running these stories, and you never look online to see what people are saying.”

“What people are saying?” You look at Steve. “What are people saying?”

Steve coughs, ears turning red. “Nothing-“

“They think you’re fucking.” Tony says flatly, and your mouth falls open.

“They- What?!”

“You have chemistry, kid.” Tony shrugs. “Every second you’re next to each other, you’re eye fucking so much we all feel like we’re supposed to leave the room.”

You sputter, shaking your head. You can feel you flush, burning up your face. When you look at Steve, he won’t meet your eyes.

He never does.

“Did you know about this?” You hiss.

He sighs, running a hand over his face with a half-shrug. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?! What the fuck does that mean-“

“Means he knew.” Tony says flatly. “Everyone knew.”

“Everyone knew what?! That the whole country thinks I want to fuck Steve?!”

Tony snorts. “You do want to fuck Steve.”

Your face burns. Steve looks up with warning pinch in his brow. “Tony.”

“Don’t Tony me, pretty boy-“

“Just- Not now-“

“Yes, now.” Tony glares between you. “This has gotten out of hand. We get it. You’re both hot. You’d have hot sex. But if you don’t either fuck or cut bait and start acting like adults, you’re grounded.”

Steve scowls. “You can’t ground me, Stark, I’m your boss-“

“Well, I cut the checks.” Tony crosses his arms. “So I think I can do whatever I want.”

Steve and Tony keep glaring at each other. You stare off in the middle distance between them. Your hands don’t feel like they’re your hands. Your feet are planted on the carpet, but not on solid ground. Your head feels like it’s pressing into itself, yet also expanding to something bigger than you can hold onto.

You don’t want to fuck Steve. Sure, he’s all muscles and rugged yet soft features, but there are countless men like that.

There are very few men like that. Well, you could find one. You have one in front of you. But you don’t want to fuck him. He’s annoying. Impossibly annoying and bossy and always up your ass about something, and not in the fun way like you’d prefer-

No. You wouldn’t prefer. You don’t want to fuck Steve. You can have anyone else, you’d rather have anyone else. Steve’s just always there and always making you embarrassed and angry, and maybe you’re into that but it’s none of his business. It’s not like he’d be like that in bed, either way.

You think. Not that you’ve thought about it. He’s too perfect. Too boring. He’s not boring when he’s arguing with you. He just hates you that much. That you make him break. Or you let him show that side of himself. You don’t poke and prod at anyone like you poke and prod at Steve. He’s just fun to get a rise out of. He gets cute when he’s pissy. He sneers your name and it goes right between your legs, but that doesn’t mean you want to fuck him.

You don’t. You don’t. You don’t?  

He has big hands, but you don’t want them groping and squeezing all over your body. He’s got a strong nose, but you’ve never thought about it pushing against your clit, just like you’ve never thought about his huge biceps wrapping around your neck while he fingers you stupid. And you’d smile at him, dazed and long fucked out of protesting. And he’d feed those fingers to you while sitting you on his cock, and all that perfection would melt away into something raw. Something real, that’s open and refuses to be stitched close. Something that both of you want to drown in.

Something’s that’s just for you, and Steve, and no one else.

Oh, no.

You want to fuck him.

Tony says your name, and your gaze snaps back over. Your palms are sweating, your face burning, your skin suddenly itchy and your feet restless. You want to fuck Steve. You want to fuck Steve.

He looks at you weird, and you shift in your seat. He can’t know. Ever. This is going to get cleaned up, and Steve will never know that you might, kind of, really want him to just toss you over his shoulder and fuck you stupid. You glance at him from the corner of you eye, and his gaze sears into you. You have to look away.

There’s no way he can know. You’ve barely even known for a minute.  Tony only says he knows because he’s an ass. This will pass. It has to pass.

“Figure it out.” Tony tells you, before walking out of the office.

And you will. By never being in the same room as Steve again.

You shoot to your feet, and almost sprint out of the room. Steve calls your name, but you don’t look back. He’s faster, but he’s also respectful. He won’t manhandle you and force you to listen, like you want him to.

God, you really want him to. You’re going to kill Tony for making you realize that, then kill yourself, and no one will ever have to know that—for all your cool, bored smiles and teasing and flirting, for all your powers and siren-like smile—you just want to be fucked stupid by the most righteous, innocent sex-symbol in America.

But then Steve shouts your name again. He’s following you. Why is he following you.

“Fuck off, Steve!” You shout over your shoulder, and he scoffs.

“No, you heard Tony, we need to talk-“

“We really don’t-“

“Yes, we do- Will you slow down-“

You pick up the pace, just to piss him off. Steve groans, and you hear boots hitting the ground behind you. He’s giving chase, and you can barely outwalk him.

Steve grabs your arm before you can even break into a sprint. You thrash, but it’s useless. He’s too strong, and that’s so hot, and you’re going to throw yourself off a bridge about this.

“Let go-“

“No.” Steve drags you down the hall, into an empty conference room. “Not until we talk.”

“There’s nothing for us to talk about-“

“Will you just stop being such a fucking brat and listen?”

Steve raises his voice, stern and commanding. It’s deep, so deep it echoes through you, and your knees wobble. He sees it. His jaw ticks, his grip slackens, and you rip your hand away.

“Brat.” You mock. “What would America think, if they saw their Golden sun talking to a girl like that?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “You are not a girl.”

“Aw. I’m a woman-“

“You’re a problem.” He leans over you, voice dropping to a hiss.

And this is how he always looks at you, but magnified. With a sharper gleam in his eyes, his lips thin and white, like he’s trying to swallow every word. A vein in his brow ticks, and you smile.

“I’m a problem?”

Steve’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“Hurtful,” you whisper, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’ll live.”

For a long moment, you just stare at each other. He wants to talk, he can talk. You’re not entertaining this. Not just for him to unravel you then keep being a fucking dick.

“You…” He shakes his head, a tiny motion as his tongue flicks over his lips. “You are impossible.”

“You’re impossible-“

“Because you make me impossible,” he sneers, and you lean back slightly.

“I- You-“ You try to scoff. It’s a weak sound. He’s too close, and he smells like pine trees and something spicy, and it’s not fair. “I don’t even do anything-“

“Yes. You do.”

“What, is my skirt too short? Are my shoulders distracting you-“

“You’re distracting me.” Steve presses forward, until your faces are only inches apart. “You always distract me, you fuckin’-“ He closes his eyes, shoulders heaving.

“Steve…” You breathe, and he chuckles.

“Don’t say my name like that,” he rasps. “You don’t fuckin’ mean it.”

You blink, trying to think over the desire, burning in your body. Of course you meant it. You didn’t even want to say it, but he’s so close. It’s intoxicating. You’d think he was drugging you, if that was possible.

Steve’s pressed you against the conference table. His arms are caging you in, giving you no escape from the electricity, almost crackling in the air. You open your mouth, then close it, lost for what to say. You’re worried you’ll just whisper his name again. He drags his eyes open after what feels like a million years, his voice dropping down to something hot and dangerous.

“You never push anyone,” he says. “Like you push me, doll. It’s not… It drives me crazy.”

You swallow, your voice smaller than you want. “You- You push me-“

“Because I can’t help it.” He presses closer. Your noses are almost bumping. “You are beautiful, and insolent, and infuriating-“

“Steve-“

“And you’re so sweet to everyone.” He grabs your jaw, and your hand flies to his wrist. “Everyone loves you, so they think I’m crazy when I say you’re tryin’ to kill me.”

“Everyone loves me because of my powers.” You try to remind him, because if he does this, you won’t be able to stop him. “You- You know that-“

“I do. Trust me,” he murmurs your name, gaze flicking to your lips. “I know. Spent so long blaming them too. All those daydreams had to be because you’re Nat’s honeypot. Thought it was the wrong thing to do, that I was some kind of monster to thinking about you like that, when everyone else already does. But no,” he looks back to you. “It’s just you, doll. I plugged my nose, avoided your pheromones, let Bruce experiment on me to make me immune, did fuckin’ everything, and I still wanted you.”

You take a deep, ragged breath. You have to lick your lips, to stop the spit, and Steve tracks the motion like a predator.

No one wants you. Everyone loves you, but no one wants you. You’re pretty but untouchable. No one can hurt you. If you ask someone for something, they’ll always do it, whether they really want to or not.

But Steve…

He says he wants you. And you really want to believe him.

“How long.” You breathe, and he sighs, bowing his head.

“Since the second I saw you.”

“You…” You scan over his face, looking for any hint that it’s not really him. That he doesn’t really, fully mean it. “You want to fuck me?”

His ears turn red. “I mean- Not just that-“

“But you do,” you breathe, and he sighs.

Stares for a second longer, then nods.

“Okay.” You whisper. Steve looks to your lips, then back to you again.

“Okay?”

 You nod. Steve’s grip on your jaw tightens, and your breath hitches. He leans down slowly. So torturously slowly.

Your lips meet, soft and chapped and nervous. You lean up, and he presses down. Your noses bump, and his tongue flicks over your lower lip. Your nails dig into his bicep, and he grunts, and-

Steve snaps.

His other hand flies to your face, and he presses over you, hot and demanding. Your breath hitches, you mouth falls open, and he shoves his tongue down your throat with a groan. You grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him so hard you both stumble back. Your knees hit the back of the table, but Steve’s fast. He ducks down without breaking the kiss, and scoops you up into his arms.

You squeal, but the sound is quickly muffled by Steve’s tongue down your throat. Your laugh is breathless and giddy. He chuckles, pushing further forward, and you pull at the collar of his shirt. He jerks forward, angling his head to deepen the kiss.

“Needy.” He mutters against your lips, and you shove his shoulder with weak hands.

“Shut up, I could still stop this-“

“But you won’t.” He taunts. “You like it, don’t you. Like gettin’ on my nerves, making me lose control.”

Steve pulls away, grabs your knees, shoving them apart with rough, firm hands. You gasp, grabbing at his neck. “Steve-“

“You’re wet under there.” He growls, running a big hand up your inner thigh. “I can smell it. Smell how much you want me, every damn time you’d mouth off.”

Your swallow, pressing your brows tight together. You watch him rub your legs, breathing through your nose like some wanton whore. Steve’s thumb grazes the place where you’re leg meets your core, and your whole body shivers.

He smirks, looking at you under pretty lashes. You try to glare, but you’re panting. His gaze just makes the fire in your core burn brighter, and your tongue flicks over your lips.

“You never said anything,” you whisper, and Steve gives you an amused look.

“You would’ve killed me.”

And you can laugh breathlessly. Ten minutes ago, you would’ve. But now he’s all over you, and you can’t even bring yourself to mock him.

“No,” you brush your lips over his. “I wouldn’t have.”

Steve works his jaw, that raw, strange look flashing over his face. The look that’s yours. That’s only ever been for you.

He leans in, and this kiss is softer than before. Steve massages your hips, settling himself between your legs. You spread them wide to accommodate him, and feel it poking against your thigh. His cock, thick and hard, somehow bigger than you imagined, and you hadn’t  been thinking small.

“You feel that.” He pulls your upper lip between his teeth, smiling slightly. “’S what you always do to me. Every day, I’d be walkin’ around so hard I was worried you’d see it. But no.” His kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other. “You’re oblivious, aren’t you honey.”

You hum, tipping your head back. Steve groans, dragging his lips over a pulse point, letting his tongue flick against sensitive skin. One hand slips under your shirt, careful fingers tracing up the line of your spine.

“Steve…” You whisper. “Don’t tease.”

“Oh, but you like it too much when I do.” He rasps. “You love it, love being a sweet little toy for me.”

You whimper, and he reaches around, grabbing a handful of your ass.

“So bossy ‘till I’m touchin’ you,” he sucks on your neck, grinding his bugle into your core. You gasp as the rough friction, and Steve chuckles.

“You- You’re such an ass-“

“You like that too.” He grunts, breath hot in your ear. “You like bein’ the one person that gets me going, that makes me lose it. No one else, doll.” He pushes your ass forward, so your clit is pushed against the thick hardness of him.

A long moan escapes your lips, and you drop your face into his shoulder. Steve grunts, rutting forward, and it’s so fucking hot you can’t think past it. The drawl of his voice in your ear, the strength of him around you, it’s intoxicating. The clothing adding extra friction, his fingers digging into your skin. His hand slips into your pants, deft fingers dragging down your ass to tease right against the drip of your pussy.

“Just you,” he thrusts forward, squeezing your ass. “Only you. So fuckin’ pretty and sassy, drivin’ me insane-“

You whimper, and Steve makes a low sound, taking a deep breath against your hair. The table creaks, with the force of his every thrust.

“So rude of you, sweetheart, to make me try and keep it together when you’re running around, beggin’ to be fucked- God-“

Steve moans, jerking his hips back suddenly. You stare at each other, panting and flushed. He swallows, and there’s a stain blooming on his pants. Your mouth falls open, and normally you’d make fun of him, but fuck. There’s so much of it. You can see white, leaking out of the cuffs of his pants and onto the floor. He came just from that. Just from holding and kissing you.

And he’s still so hard.

You lick your lips, and look back up. Steve’s throat bobs. You smile, fumbling with your pants, and he blinks.

“You’re- Uh-“

“In me.” You point at his dick, about to burst the seam of his slacks, then your core. “You- Do that in me.”

Steve’s hands curl into fists. You’ve never seen his face so red. It’s almost adorable. “Uh- Are you sure-“

“Do you want to fuck me stupid or not?”

He leans back, startled. You hold his gaze, pull down your pants, hike your legs up on the table, and spread them wide.

You could swear you see it twitch, as he takes you in. Head thrown back, your fingers rubbing between the swollen, dripping lips of your cunt. You breathe out his name, dipping one finger into your heat and pumping slowly. Steve takes a rough step forward, grabbing your knees like handles.

“Stop,” he grunts, and you obey.

Steve runs his fingers down your bare thigh, slowly guiding your hand away from your pussy. You grab his shoulder, holding his gaze as he rubs his thumb around your clit. You let out a slow, relaxed breath, and Steve smirks.

“You like that, doll?”

“As much as you did,” you breathe out, and Steve chuckles.

“Ah. Too late for that.” He presses a mocking kiss to your open lips. “You showed me what you want. How bad you want it.”

Steve flicks your clit, and your back arches. He presses back down on the little button, and a long moan rips from your lips.

“I came in my fuckin’ pants,” he whispers in your ear. “And you’re still beggin’ me to fuck you.”

“Wasn’t- Wasn’t begging-“

“But you would,” he coos. “If I asked you to. You’d say please, Stevie and cry for me to stuff this pretty little pussy.” He pushes down on your clit, and you whimper. “Like the good little slut you are.”

God, the hold he has on you should be crime. You choke out his name pathetically, and Steve starts to rub you in thick, unrelenting circles. His free arm wraps around your lower back, holding you in place when his fingers dip down, and start to explore the folds of you pussy.

“So wet,” he mutters, pushing one finger deep into your cunt. You clench around him, and a squelching sound fills the room as he pumps slowly. “Wet and tight.” Steve looks up at you with a smirk. “You think you’re gonna be able to take my cock, doll? Christ, you’re barely taking my finger.”

He pushes in a second one, just to prove his point, and your mouth falls open. He’s right. The burn of his two fingers, it feels like he’s stretching you open with a fist. He slides them in deeper and deeper, his thumb working your clit, and your nails sink into his neck.

“St- Steve,” you gape between your bodies, watching him disappear inside of you. “Steve-“

“Hm?” He gets up to the knuckle, and looks up at you with a smirk.

You try to take a second to catch your breath, and he scissors his fingers, twisting his wrist so it hits a gummy spot inside of you. You cry out, and he silences you with a deep, messy kiss.

“Feel it,” he mutters against your lips, pulling his fingers almost all the way out. “No talkin’ for once, doll. All you gotta do is feel it.”

He slams his fingers back in. You whimper, but nod. Steve hums in approval, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You squeeze and gush around him, and he groans. You barely get a second to compose yourself before he starts to thrust his fingers, deep and hard, and you start to unravel.

Steve’s strong. This is him holding back, and he’s still so strong. You scramble to get a real, firm hold on something, because he’s pummeling your pussy into a drenched, slack oblivion. The pace is brutal, knuckles dragging right over your g-spot over and over, splitting you open in a way that makes you drool.

He makes his mouth busy, trailing kisses back down your throat, then over your shoulders. You moan, leaning your head against his, and he smiles against your skin. Steve draws back to meet your gaze, and through the daze of the pleasure he’s dragging out of you, you smile back.

Your body is rocking, from the brutality of how he’s touching you. Steve’s eyes flick down, but not to where his fingers are being swallowed by your pussy.

He’s looking at your tits.

He licks his lips, watching them bounce under his force. You think he might be hypnotized. Before you can say anything, he reaches up and rips your shirt clean off.

“Steve- Ooh-“

“Shhh.” He gives you a stern look, twisting his fingers in your cunt. “I’ve got you, doll. Just- Lemme-“

Steve looks back to your tits, and his eyes are almost black with desire. You’ve never seen anything hotter, than how he looks at you as he lowers himself down.

He mouths at the curve of your tits, sucking a tiny, dark bruise. You moan, starching at his bicep, but he just drags you closer. Forcing your back to arch, your tits to push into his face.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice dripping with something close to reverence. “My girl.”

And you blink. Because that wasn’t discussed, but your pussy clenches all the same. His girl.

You don’t get more time to think about it before Steve’s lips wrap around your nipple, and you lose control.

He mouths at you like a starved man. Kissing and licking and sucking, sending tingling, electric sensations straight from your tits to your pussy. He moans every time you squeeze down on his fingers, which just feels like a vibrator right against your sensitive nipples, and makes you lose it all the more.

You’re grinding up into him, thrashing a little like an animal and whimpering in his ear. Steve bites down softly, his thumb staring to make quick, relentless swipes at your clit.

“Oh- Oh fuck-“ You moan, tugging at his short, soft hair. “St- Steve- Too much- I’m gonna- Fuuuck-“

You don’t know why you thought he was going to slow down. Steve switches nipples, biting down before sucking hard, right as his blunt fingertips hit that spot inside of you. You cry out as you cum, your body writhing against his stronger one. He keeps you in place, his hand working you through the orgasm. Pulling every last spasm of your cunt, and a few more after. He kisses your nipples and over your breasts before he draws up.

When it’s done, your eyes are lidded. Steve stares at you, slowly pulling his hand out. He smears your juices over your pussy, thumbing at your clit for a few more, light seconds. You squeak, and he smiles.

“You look pretty when you cum,” he mutters, and you flush.

You’ve been told that before, but this feels different.

This feels real.

You can’t think of anything to say. Steve doesn’t push you to try. He leans forward, cupping your cheek and giving you a smaller, softer look before he kisses you. You melt into him, too dazed from what might be strongest orgasm of your life to protest.

“’m gonna fuck you ‘till you can’t walk.” Steve mutters. “But- Not here.”

You hum in agreement. “Clean up later?”

“Later.” Steve grunts in agreement. “If I don’t get inside of you, think I’m gonna die.”

You giggle. It’s so stupid, but you giggle. Steve huffs out a low laugh, and drags your forward. You’re being carried like a koala in his arms. He kisses your cheek before drawing up to his whole height, and glancing at the door.

“I, uh-“ He gives you a sheepish expression. “I’m gonna have to run.”

You nod—you’re naked, you expected as much—and he clears his throat.

“You gotta hold on.”

“I am holding on.” You pat his neck, and he sighs.

“Doll, I’m gonna be running really fast-“

“I’m holding on tight.”

“Hold on tighter.”

You roll your eyes, and wrap him in the best chokehold you can manage. The asshole doesn’t even pretend to grunt.

“Your boobs are in my face.” He mumbles, and you snort.

“You were eating them like, five seconds ago-“

“Yeah, but- That was just us. What if someone sees-“

“That you’re carrying me naked? Probably that we’re fucking.”

He twists his neck to glare up at you. You smile innocently back, and he sighs.

His breath is warm, over your breasts. It makes you squirm a little, and Steve’s grip on your body tightens.

“You are such a brat,” he mutters, almost in awe. “I stop fucking you for ten seconds, and you’re already talking back again.”

“Oops.” You beam. “You should fix that.”

Steve chuckles. His tongue flicks over his lips. “Yeah,” his voice is dark. A promise. “Trust me. I’m gonna.”

And he runs. He runs so fast you squeal, because you forgot how fast he can be when he’s really trying. You press your face back into his neck to block the wind, and when he stops, you still don’t look up.

The smell hits you first. It’s deep and rich and-

Steve.

You poke your head up, and you’re in Steve’s room.

It’s not what you expected, a military cell where he sleeps and plans way to torture you. It’s… Cozy. There are books on a shelf that slightly poorly put together, and the bed is made but the sheets look thick and soft. There’s a mirror on the dresser, facing the bed, and so much paper you almost don’t know where to look. Drawings of flowers, and rivers, and sunsets. One of a bird, and a few of the landscape of the compound, and so, so many of-

“Is that me?”

Steve grunts, tossing you down onto his bed and starting to strip. You move to your knees, ready to scramble off the bed and get a better look at the drawings, but he gives you a stern look.

“Stay.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, I wanna see- Steve-“

He grabs you like you weigh nothing, and throws you right back onto the bed before you’re even on two feet. Your thighs press together, thrilled with the blatant manhandling. Steve notices it, and laughs.

“You like that, huh?”

“Shut up-“

“No, you liked that-“

“Maybe I did.” You stick your tongue out, and he smirks.

“You love bein’ a ragdoll, don’t you. Needy girl, you’re gonna let me do whatever I want to you-“

“You have drawings of me!” You blurt, because you really don’t need him to make you more horny.

Steve shrugs. “I do. So?”

“So?” You fumble, pulling at the sheets. “You- You like me-“

“That’s a shock to you?” Steve gives you an amused look. “I just fingered you in borderline public.”

“Well- You- You-“ You’re sputtering again. Only Steve does this to you. It drives you fucking insane. “You could’ve just wanted to fuck me-“

“Nope.” He shrugs. “I’ve been in love with you for a while. You just get on my last line sometimes, doll.”

And all your protests slip out of your head.

I love you.

He- He said-

“What?” You squeak, and Steve sighs.

“I love you.”

He said it again. “Wh- Why?”

“Why?” He gives you a tired, almost annoyed look. “Why wouldn’t I love you?”

“Because I’m annoying.” You answer immediately. “And mean, and bossy, and- I’m annoying-“

“You said that one already.” Steve starts to walk towards you, and you lean into his gravity, even as your heart beats in your ears.

“How do you know you love me.” You whisper. “It- It could just be my powers-“

“It’s not.”

“But-“

Steve takes your face between his hands, his thumb dragging over your lower lip. You fall silent, and you know you’re staring up at him like he’s the sun, but you’ve never been so warm. You’re afraid to move. To lose it.

“Steve…” You breathe, and he hums. “You- You can’t mean that-“

“I do.” He presses his thumb forward, and your lips wrap around it on instinct. You suck, and his eyes flash with more approval.

It’s embarrassing, how pliable that makes you. How he’d just need to give you one bit of praise after so much mocking, and you might just cum right here. Sucking on Steve’s thumb, naked on his bed, sheets bunched between your thighs.

“I love you because you’re smart,” he says, and useless, embarrassing tears prick at your eyes. “And funny, and kind. You never abuse what you can do to people. You work hard, you drive me crazy, you’re always ready to do anything for anyone else.”

You try to shy away. You’d been wrong. You’re not cumming, you’re getting so hot it feels like a fever, because having him degrade you is less embarrassing than this. Steve’s grip on you face tightens. He’s not letting you get away that easy.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs. “And it’s got nothin’ to do with any powers. So I love you, doll. And you’re gonna feel it.”

There’s nothing you can say to that. Tears are pricking at your eyes, hopeless and confused and desperate. You need to see what that feels like. Steve’s love, painted all over you.

“You want that?” He mutters, and you nod. “Words-“

“Please,” you breathe out, the words muffled around his thumb. “Show me.”

Steve smiles. He pulls his thumb away with a pop, and taps your check gently.

“See?” He smirks. “Begging.”

Your eyes narrow, but Steve doesn’t let you spit out a response. He crashes down into a harsh, long kiss that makes your toes curl and thighs rub together. Steve gropes all over your body, pushing you down into the mattress before rolling over and forcing you to straddle his chest.

He’s naked. You don’t know how you missed it—probably the love confession—but the thick, hard curve of his cock slaps against your ass, and his bare chest flexes when you drag your nails over his pecs.

“You’re gonna ride my cock, doll,” he rubs your ass, smiling up at you. “Don’t need you to say anything back. Just show me,” he squeezes your ass. “How fuckin’ bad you need it.”

You look back at it, and your breath hitches. It’s huge. Bigger than any you’ve ever taken, bigger than any you’ve ever seen, even in porn.

“Did you take fucking drugs for that thing?” You breathe, and Steve snorts.

“Yes?”

You glare at him, and he raises his brows.

“You getting on, or not?” 

For a second, you think about being petulant. You cross your arms and pout, trying to test how far you can push him. But Steve just snorts, rolls his eyes, and picks you up. You don’t even get to wiggle before he’s forcing you down on his dick, and the air is knocked from your lungs.

Steve sits so deep in your, it might be pushing all the thoughts out of your brain. You gape down at him, making weak noises as your pussy pulses and stretches around him. His fingers dig into your hips, but it’s the only sign that he’s struggling to hold himself back.

“Much as I love you bein’ a brat,” he mutters, massaging your ass. “I’d rather see this.”

He reaches up slowly, tucking air behind your ear. You smile weakly, and he chuckles, settling fully into the pillows.

“Ride it, doll,” he orders, and god help you, you try.

You catch your breath after a long moment that feels like eternity, and start to roll your hips. Steve groans, eyelids fluttering, but doesn’t help you. His hands stay firm on your body, forcing you to use everything you have to grind down onto his dick.

He pushes against that gooey spot inside of you, and you falter with a long moan. You shift, forcing him right against it, and he lets out a sharp breath, but still doesn’t move.

“Feels good, doesn’t it,” he coos, cock throbbing inside of it. “Nice and big, fillin’ up your pussy so good.”

You moan, hips bucking. Steve grunts, thrusting up slightly, and you tip your head back. The friction is good. So good. For a second, back arched and thighs aching, you find a rhythm. It starts slow, rolling and pushing Steve’s cock right where you want it. You look down at him, sweaty and adoring beneath you. His hands wander, his breathing ragged and lips parted.

“That’s a good girl,” he mutters. “C’mon, baby, there you go.”

You keen, and move faster. Your knees are weak, but the need is stronger. You bounce on Steve dick, grabbing at his chest and gasping for air as he splits you open over and over again.

But it’s not enough. You don’t have extra stamina or strength, and he’s so big, and you’re so turned on your body is starting to forget how to move. Every wet, obscene sound makes you glance at where he’s disappearing inside of you, the way your slick is coating his cock when you pull up and his balls are heavy, pushed against your ass when you drop back down. You get hornier, and you want to just let go and allow your eyes to cross and toes to curl, but you can’t. You can’t find the pace.

You can’t cum. You can’t, and pathetic, fat tears stream down your cheeks because of it.

Steve reaches up, brushing them away with a tiny smirk. “Aw, babydoll. Don’t cry.”

You sob, shaking above him as your legs finally get to weak. You’re just squirming above him now, blinking under wet lashes at his teasing, lazy smile.

“Can’t get there all alone, can you,” he pushes you down, slamming his hips up, and you make a choked sound like his name. “Yeah, that’s right. Sweet girl, just a fuckin’ mess on my cock.”

“Ple- Please-“ You blubber, collapsing over Steve’s chest. “God, Steve- Please-“

“Aw. Begging so pretty.” He kisses your brow. “How could I ever tell you no?”

Steve grabs you off his cock, twisting you onto your stomach as he sits up. You’re shoved down into the mattress, your cheek pressed into the cushions by one of Steve’s hands on the back of your neck. The other stays on your hips, dragging your ass high up in the air to present to him.

“Such a mess.” Steve runs the head of his cock between the lips of you pussy, letting it press against your clit before he lines it up at your entrance. “You really needed this, didn’t you?”

He slides in slowly, and your eyes rolls back in your head. He’s impossibly deeper at this angle. You try to press your face into the mattress, to muffle your pathetic sounds, but Steve folds his body over yours, fisting a hand in your hair and yanking it back as he bottoms out.

“Look.” He bites your ear, dragging back before slamming forward, drilling his cock back into your abused, over sensitive pussy. “Look at us, babydoll. Fit so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your eyes dart up, and oh. Oh god.

It’s the most pornographic thing you’ve ever seen. Steve wrapped around you, his jaw tight and one hand resting on your hip. You can’t see where he’s fucking you, but you can see how his muscles flex with each thrust. You’re trapped under him, your gaze locked onto his black, fervorish one. There’s no blue left in his eyes, as he hits a pace like an animal. Only hunger and adoration.

“St- Steve-“

“That’s it,” he rasps. “That’s right, say my fuckin’ name- Scream it-“

“Steve!” You cry out, the tears streaming down your face as it becomes far too much. “Oh- Ooooh-“

 Steve lets go of your hair, wrapping his massive bicep around your neck. It keeps your head up, keeps your eyes on his. He kisses the side of your head, and you can feel arousal sliding down your thighs as he rolls his hips.

“So pretty,” he whispers. “Look at yourself. Look how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

Your eyes dart over, and an unbearable warmth prickles over your skin. You look more beautiful than you’ve ever felt in your life. Thoroughly wrecked, worshipped, fucked into a drooling mess with swollen lips and glazed eyes. Steve noses at you, smirking against your skin.

“Good, good girl.” His words are thick, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

You whimper an agreement, and Steve chuckles.

“You gonna cum for me? C’mon, show me how nice it feels, cum on my fucking cock-“ 

It’s like he has more control over your body than you do. The orgasm rips through you at his command, and you sob out his name as you fall apart in his arms. Steve grunts, pulling fully out for half a second to roll you on your back. You barely even feel the loss before he’s burying himself right to the hilt, and you can’t remember what being empty feels like.

There’s more than there looked to be. Steve pulls almost all the way out, to try and make more space, but it does next to nothing. Thick ropes of cum fill you up until you can almost taste it. There are wet, messy sounds as it starts to leak out, over your ass and thighs. You can see it in the mirror, dripping down onto the mattress. You’re stuffed up so well, you try to say Steve’s name, but it just comes out a pathetic moan.

He collapses over you with a grunt, and all the edge vanishes. He pulls fully out, cradling you in his arms and kissing over your neck.

“I made a mess.” He mutters, running light fingers over your inner thigh.

You giggle, kicking him away, and he smiles against your skin.

“You gonna talk to me?”

You shake your head, licking your lips. Your voice is gone, from screaming, and you can see him wince when he realizes it.

“I didn’t hurt you-“

You shake your head quickly, and his shoulders relax.

“Okay. Good. I- I’m gonna-“

He tries to get up. You grab him, and yank him back down. He grunts, giving you an incredulous look.

“Honey, it’s everywhere.”

You glare at him. He’s warm. He’s not getting away from you that easy. And you expect him to argue, like he always had before, but he just… gives in.

“Okay. Five minutes.”

He leans back over you, and you lay there. Cuddling.

Like a real couple.

You could be. Steve said he loves you, and he meant it, and that opens a door you’ve never thought about before. A door you never even let yourself think about.

A door you might want to see the other side of, more than you’ve ever let yourself admit.

But now-

You want it. You wanted this, and you want that, and you’re not going to spend another second pretending you don’t.

“About what I said,” Steve mutters, like he’s reading your mind. “Before we- Or- I guess during-“

 You roll over and grab his face. He blinks adorably, and you smile.

Steve murmurs your name, and you smile.

“I love you,” you croak out.

His jaw goes slack, and your smile widens. It’s the only thing you can think to say. The only thing you want to say.

And when Steve kisses you, it’s slow. Romantic and loving and deep. He really loves you. Everyone in the world, and the perfect man loves you. He holds you like you’re the only thing in his world. You feel like you’re the only thing in his world.

And he might really be the only thing in yours.

authors note: hi again! first time writing smut, excuse whatever mess i just wrote. i think i went feral? anyways, this got way ahead of me but it's fine. i am so shocked with how much love the first part got, especially with this being my first fic! thanks so much <3 i hope you enjoy part 2! y'all are not ready for the next part, she's gonna be another long one...please like, reblog, and comment x

part one part three part four

Monday morning came way too fast in your opinion. That’s usually how the story goes; you spend all week waiting for Friday, only to spend Saturday running errands you didn’t have time for during the work week, and then by the time Sunday hits you have the Sunday scaries and spend the whole day dreading work on Monday and repeating the cycle all over again. Even while you were unemployed the story was still the same - except at least you could sleep in and laze around the apartment in your pyjamas for a bit.

Now, you have a new job - a job that you feel seriously under qualified for. Sure, the interview—if you could call it that—went fine, but you had spent the whole weekend overthinking how you fit in with a team of super soldiers, ex-assassins, enhanced superheroes. Up until last week you had lived a fairly average sheltered life. Too sheltered, if you were being honest. You’d never had a boyfriend, only kissed a couple of guys at high school parties, and often felt like an outsider watching everyone’s lives move on around you while you felt stuck. 

College had felt like a waste of time - you struggled to make new friends and didn’t really care for what you were studying, you just felt like you had to go to college because that’s what everyone else was doing. Your high school friends stopped making time for you, preferring to spend time with whoever they were seeing that month, and you were sick of being the one always making the effort. You didn’t even end up graduating—no, the blip took that from you. One day you were walking to class with a coffee in your hand when you blinked and everything around you had changed. The whole world struggled once everyone came back so at least that made you feel a little less alone. You weren’t close with your family before the blip and they didn’t really care much after you were back—you felt like an afterthought in every aspect of your life.  

It was only a few months after you blipped back that you managed to find a job as a waitress at a diner. It was nothing glamorous, half of the customers were pigs who only communicated in grunts or filthy unwanted flirting, but it was where you met your best friend. It felt a bit like fate, like the months working at the sleazy diner were all worth it because you met your platonic soulmate there. You both had similar family situations so you became each others family—offering each other the unconditional love and support neither of you received growing up. 

While she teased you a bit, she never made you feel any less of a woman for your lack of experience. It was something you were insecure of occasionally—you felt like you were behind in life because you didn’t experience what everyone else did in their teen years. And it wasn’t due to a lack of wanting, god no. If anything you wanted it too much, but you could never get out of your head enough to put yourself out there. Now you were worried too much time had passed. Some days you felt like a fraud calling yourself an adult, like people only became an adult once they had sex—which is completely ridiculous to think that, but you can’t control what you think majority of the time. 

So yeah, getting ready for your first day working at the Watchtower had you feeling like a fraud. You didn’t feel like an adult at the best of times, and now you were working with people who would no doubt make you feel inferior—maybe not intentionally, but you would make yourself interpret it like that anyway. You didn’t want to change anything about yourself, it had taken a few years of therapy for you to feel comfortable in your own skin, but you felt that lingering sense of self doubt some days. You put on a little more makeup than you would on a normal day, ironed your black slacks and favourite coloured blouse, and spent an hour longer than you normally would on your curly hair routine. Anything to help you feel a bit more confident when in a room with superheroes.

“Aw, pretty girl! Dolling yourself up for your new boss, are ya?” Your best friend teased from her place leaning against your doorframe, watching as you looked in your full length mirror, your hands smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on your blouse.

You glared at her through the mirror, cheeks pinking slightly. “Don’t,” you warned her. She had already spent the last few days teasing you about your attractive new boss and you really didn’t need her making you flustered about it before 8am.

“What? I’m just saying you look pretty! It’ll just be an added bonus if your boss notices it too,” she drawled out the last part in a singsong voice, turning to walk to the kitchen where she had two cups of coffee ready for you both.

You grabbed your bag off your bed, following her out to join her in the kitchen. You had already triple checked you had everything you needed for your first day in your bag, but you couldn’t help going though it again, needing something to do with your nervous hands. 

She noticed your shaking hands as you sifted through your bag, reaching out to hold your wrists gently. “I’m sure anyone else would be just as nervous working for the New Avengers, Y/N. Hell, I don’t think I could do it! I would’ve run for the hills when the car stopped outside the tower.” She let out a gentle laugh, her eyes showing just how much she believed her own words. “But you stayed. You went into the tower knowing you were about to meet some very intimidating people. And then when there was no one there to interview you, you still didn’t leave. You took one look at the state of the place and did what you do best—clean up everyone else’s mess. You are so much more than you give yourself credit for, and I think that’s why they offered you the job.” She finished her speech by squeezing your hands before grabbing her coffee cup. 

You were left a bit stunned by your best friend, tears forming at your waterline at her assuring words. Before things got too emotional, you tried lightning the mood a little. “You sure it wasn’t because I bribed them with steak and brownies?” 

“Oh that definitely played some part, I mean when was the last time you think someone made them dinner and dessert?” 

You started chuckling before glancing at the clock on the oven. “Fuck! I need to leave now before I miss the bus,” you quickly ran to the front door and grabbed your jacket off the coat rack. “Don’t forget about our movie date tonight. Love you, bye!” You yelled over your shoulder as you made your way to your apartment building’s staircase. 

You spent the hour long bus ride with your head leaned against the window, your 70s playlist softly drifting through your headphones. You watched as the city was waking up outside your window; friends with coffee cups in their hands walking down the street, a family chasing down their dog as it ran off after a cat, a couple exchanging soft goodbyes on the steps leading up to a brownstone.

You made it to the Watchtower with ten minutes to spare. Ten minutes to steel your nerves and rid any inappropriate thoughts that had been lingering since you first met Bucky—easier said than done. 

————————

Once you left after your ‘interview’ Bucky cornered Ava before she could escape to her room, gently commanding her to show him her injury. It wasn’t too bad, but he still grabbed a first aid kit to clean and stitch her up—he couldn’t have his fellow teammate in pain or risk her getting an infection. He was grateful that you had made a comment about it on your way out or else he never would’ve noticed, he was ashamed to say he was distracted by everything else that happened that day. 

He spent the days after cleaning and tidying the Watchtower before you officially started. He would say he didn’t know why he did it—it was the reason he hired you, after all—but truthfully he was embarrassed by the state of the place, embarrassed about what you would think of him them. He was ashamed of himself for letting the place get in such bad shape. His cleaning spree raised a few eyebrows from his teammates, John being the only one brave enough to make a comment—“expecting company Barnes?”—which earnt him a dirty tactical boot thrown at his head. He still caught sight of the red crawling up Bucky’s neck before the brooding soldier left the room in a huff.

The New Avengers noticed the slight shift in Bucky since he met you. They had no definite evidence but they all knew. They saw him take more than his fair share of the brownies you baked into his room. They heard him listening to the soft jazz song you had been playing when they returned from their mission. Little things that might’ve seemed innocent to the untrained eye, but they were all former mercenaries who knew to notice these small changes. Barnes was deviating from his normal pattern and the timing was no coincidence. 

Despite Bucky’s housekeeping efforts the tower was still in need of your assistance come Monday morning. The fridge was empty again, someone was still leaving empty toilet rolls in the bathroom, and everyone’s stomachs were cramping from switching back to ramen after the feast you had prepared for them. Bob was nursing a nasty bruise on his head from tripping over Alexei’s discarded boots, Ava developed an eye twitch from Walker’s constant whining over the lack of snacks, and Yelena had pulled all the cords out of the TV in frustration when her favourite streaming apps refused to load. Everyone was counting down the minutes until you returned to clean up their mess.

Bucky was eagerly awaiting your arrival in the downstairs foyer when he saw a flash of your hair through the window. Your back was to him, unaware that you had grabbed his attention. Your head was bobbing slightly to the music playing through your headphones, your hips swaying unconsciously. Without meaning to, his eyes zeroed in on your moving hips. You were wearing a totally innocent outfit, your trousers barely clung to your figure but his eyes seemed to find the exact spots they did cling and he was mesmerised. 

He managed to get back control of his wandering eyes just before you took your headphones off and turned around, ready to start your first day as the New Avengers admin assistant. You looked up and made eye contact with him through the window, your lips parting slightly in shock seeing your boss waiting for you downstairs.

A sharp zing traveled through your body at Bucky’s attention on you. He was supposed to be upstairs, you still had a few minutes before 9am and you weren’t quite ready to face the stoic soldier just yet. He somehow looked even better than he did last time, maybe because he wasn’t weighed down by post-mission exhaustion. His eyes seemed brighter, his lips pinker and even more enticing, his hair begging you to run your fingers through the soft strands.

Snap out of it. The logical voice in your head cut through your clouded thoughts. Shit. How long had you been staring at your boss unmoving?

Trying to recover from your momentary brain lag, you gave Bucky a small shy smile as you made your way through the building’s front doors. 

“Hi, sorry if I kept you waiting. I was just enjoying the fresh air.” Real smooth recovery.

Bucky didn’t seem to mind, dismissing your apology with a small shake of his head. “You’re fine, it’s not nine yet. I wanted to make sure you found your way inside okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck slightly before gesturing towards the security desk halfway between the front doors and the elevator. “Come this way, we’ll get your security clearance sorted before we head upstairs.”

Following his lead, you exchanged pleasantries with the guards before going through a small security briefing. One of the guards then gave you a swipe card with your credentials on it before Bucky steered you towards the elevator. 

You quickly discovered that Bucky Barnes was not much of a talker, and you had to physically bite your tongue to stop the nervous word vomit you usually tried to fill awkward silences with. It didn’t surprise you at all that he didn’t talk unless necessary, but the silence just made the heartbeat in your throat grow louder until it rattled your jaw. There’s no way his enhanced hearing didn’t hear the frantic pounding overtaking your whole body. 

After what felt like an hour—it was just over a minute—the elevator stopped on the floor you recognised from your first visit. You followed Bucky as he lead you to a room adjacent to the kitchen where his teammates were lounging on couches, the TV in front of them displaying static.

Your brows furrowed slightly at the static as Yelena perked up from her spot at your arrival.

“Good, you’re here! First job for the day: fix the TV.” 

Bucky raised a hand to silence her. “Do you not know how to say ‘hello’? Let her settle in before you start listing your demands.” 

Yelena rolled her eyes at him but ultimately settled back into the couch cushions, muttering something you think was in Russian. 

Ignoring her sulking, Bucky introduced you properly to the team given that last time they didn’t even say hello before they started stuffing their faces. 

A frown took over your face as you clocked the nasty bruise on Bobs forehead. You raised your hand towards your own forehead, lightly touching the area where his bruise bloomed. “You okay?” You asked him gently, your concern evident.

Bob’s face showed his surprise at your concern for him, his cheeks flushing slightly at your attention. “Yeah—yeah, I’m good, just a bump. Result of someone leaving their boots lying around,” he muttered quietly, eyes darting towards Alexei on the sofa opposite him.

The older man sighed, clearly irritated for being called out. “Alright, I get it! Sorry, I’ll try be better next time,” he barely looked up from the phone in his hands, his apology coming out halfheartedly. He didn’t really care, you were here to clean up after him now.

Bucky sighed from his spot next to you, knowing that his teammates bickering was about to start and he didn’t want you to have to deal with that before you got settled in.

“Ok, that’s enough. I’m going to give her a tour, behave yourselves while we’re gone.” His comment was met with annoyed grumbles and a mocking salute from John who was watching Bucky with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Whatever you say Barnes, you’re the boss.” Ava punched John’s arm, shaking her head at his teasing.

Bucky led you away from the common room with a gentle hand on your elbow, your nerves lighting up at his touch despite the layer of fabric between you two. 

You followed him in a slight daze as he showed you the gym down the hall. He pointed out the equipment that frequently needed replacing, his cheeks slightly reddening as he was the main reason they went through so many punching bags. You started to make a mental list, not wanting to forget anything and let the team down.

He showed you the other floors in the building, briefly showing you the living quarters but letting you know you shouldn’t need to do anything on that level—everyone was very protective of their personal space, understandably so. You wouldn’t want the admin girl going through your room either.

You audibly gasped when he showed you the level saved for the rare occasion they threw parties. You briefly noted the bar to the left of the floor to ceiling windows, but it was the view outside the windows that stole your breath. You could see all of New York City from them and you genuinely giggled in awe, walking towards them as Bucky trailed a few steps behind you. 

“It’s pretty surreal, right? I find looking at the city from up this high puts things into perspective for me,” Bucky murmured as he stood next to you at the windows.

He was studying your face as subtly as he could from his spot next to you, his brain short-circuiting when your bright eyes met his. He felt his heart rate pick up at the sight of your starstruck smile—he can’t remember the last time he saw something so beautiful. 

He cleared his throat, slightly shaking his head to snap himself out of his daze. He looked over towards the bar, trying to come up with something to say to distract himself.

“Um—you might need to check the bar stock once a week, Ava and Yelena often help themselves to the top shelf after missions.”

He continued his tour, showing you the medical bay and labs letting you know they were generally unmanned unless he put in a request with Val. “You don’t need to worry about maintaining these rooms, Val’s team takes care of it themselves in the off-chance they’re needed here.”

He left the laundry room to last, a bit worried about the damage the team has done since he last went in there. He rubbed the back of his neck as you both stood in the doorway, looking at the mess of clean and dirty laundry—it looked like a tornado had been through the room.

“Look, I’m going to be blunt—we are a bunch of slobs when it comes to the laundry and the kitchen. You will need to remind us daily to clean up after ourselves, I don’t want you to have to pick up our dirty laundry yourself.” He chuckled nervously, worried about your reaction to the disaster you were currently analysing.

You giggled slightly at his clear nervousness, the sound making every nerve in his body stand to attention. He liked your laugh, it made him feel like there was some good in this awful world. 

“Bucky, don’t worry. I lived in communal housing all through college, and even now I share the laundry room with the rest of my building. I’m used to dumping strangers washing in a basket to free up a washer for myself.”

“Ok well, please don’t bother with our tactical gear—I’m sure Alexei’s should come with a biohazard warning.” His attempt at a joke rewarded him with what was quickly becoming his favourite sound. God, it was like your giggles wrapped around him in a warm hug. 

All throughout the tour you had tried to control your thoughts the best you could, trying to make mental notes and lists while he mentioned important things about the tower. Still, you couldn’t help when your eyes and thoughts drifted to him.

He stayed a couple paces ahead of you, giving you a front row seat to the show that was his back in a formfitting black t-shirt. Your eyes focused on the way the shirt tugged tight across his shoulders, the lines of his muscles showing through the fabric. You watched as the muscles shifted with every step, subconsciously biting your lip at the sight. God, that can’t all be from the serum, you thought, he must spend hours in the gym every day. You wondered just how far his endurance stretched—how far did he push past the burning in his muscles, did he keep going even after his shirt was drenched in sweat? Your thoughts wandered dangerously—an image of him leaning over you with sweat dripping down his face, his intense blue eyes staring into your soul flashed through your mind. How long could he go for?

You felt your body heat skyrocket at the thought, subtly pulling your blouse away from your skin to try cool down a little. You’d only been in this man’s presence for a few hours and you were already feeling like a horny teenage boy. You took a few deep breaths in, hoping his enhanced senses didn’t pick up on the mess that was you a few steps behind him. 

Your eyes were drawn towards his back again, like a compass always points to magnetic north. The lights above you reflected off his bare left arm, a sight you weren’t blessed with when you first visited the tower due to his long-sleeved tactical gear. The gold detailing stood out against the dark vibranium, the arm whirring slightly as he reached forward to press the button for the elevator. You couldn’t take your eyes off the arm, the sleek metal had you mesmerised. You briefly wondered how the mechanics of it worked—could he feel with it like his flesh arm, could he feel the difference between hot and cold, could he feel the softness of skin under the metal fingers? You wanted—no, needed—to know. Would he be able to feel the flutter of your heartbeat underneath his fingers if he wrapped his hand around your ne—

The clearing of his throat snapped you out of your sinful thoughts, his head tilted slightly as he analysed your quiet form in front of him. He gestured his head towards the elevators open doors, “you alright?”

Your mind scrambled to get ahold of itself, struggling to reboot after your not safe for work train of thought. You plastered on a tired smile, hoping your face didn’t show the need coursing through your body. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a lot to process, I guess,” you said to him, thanking the heavens above that your voice didn’t betray how unsteady you were feeling. 

What the fuck was wrong with you.

The elevator took you back to the level you were starting to know well, the rest of the team pottering between the kitchen and common room. Yelena jumped off the couch at the sight of you, “finally! Now can you fix the TV, pretty please?”

Bucky closed his eyes in irritation, his hands resting on his hips like a mother sick of her children’s shit. Before he had time to reprimand her again, you stepped towards the TV with a small chuckle. “Well, since you asked so nicely this time…” 

Bucky’s eyes followed you as you squatted down next to the TV cabinet, pulling out the mess of cords Yelena made. How had you only been here a matter of hours and already made the place feel like your own? He quickly diverted his eyes to the laptop on the coffee table when your pants stretched across your ass like a second skin. God, he hoped no one caught the way his body stiffened at the sight.

He didn’t understand this witchy spell you seemed to have him under. He had seen plenty of butts before—in much tighter pants than you were wearing. They never elicited this full body response from him, though. He had to get a grip of himself, he was technically your boss and these reactions to you were far past the line of appropriate workplace behaviour. 

Yelena was shaking with excitement as she watched you fix the TV. “It’s been four days since I last watched The Office, I was just getting to the good part!”

Your head shot up with a pleased smile on your lips, “you’re watching The Office? I love that show! What are you up to?”

Yelena had to restrain herself from squealing in delight at your common interest. “We should watch it together some time! I just started watching the casino episode before the TV fucked out on me.”

“Oooh, that’s a good one! I wish I could watch it again for the first time,” you said to the former Black Widow with a small smirk on your face. You grabbed the TV remote off the table as you troubleshooted what the problem was—you tried to hold in your laugh as you figured out she had been trying to connect to the wrong wifi. 

The rest of your first day continued with minor hiccups. Bucky gave you the laptop on the coffee table with the order to set it up however you wanted, and you quickly started making spreadsheets for all the mental lists you made throughout the tour. John’s sighs about the lack of snacks could be heard from the kitchen, so you made sure your second job after fixing the TV was doing a big grocery order.

While the job listing didn’t mention anything about being an in-house chef, you quickly figured out that the strong, fearless New Avengers knew less about cooking than you did. Yelena set off the fire alarm in the kitchen when her pot of mac and cheese caught on fire—how the hell she managed that, you had no idea. You gently, yet sternly, steered her away from the kitchen with an order to hit the gym before she set anything else on fire.

Bob sat at the kitchen island while you prepared lunch for the team. He didn’t say much, just quietly enjoyed your company while the rest of the team did whatever superheroes do when not out fighting bad guys. He found your presence calming—your soft smiles and gentle humming as you cooked quietened the chaos in his head a little. 

You caught Bucky hovering near the kitchen every ten minutes, appearing out of thin air to help you put away the groceries when they arrived, dipping a finger in the spaghetti bolognese for ‘quality control’, and checking in with you to make sure everything was running smoothly. It was sweet, but also unnerving. As soon as you managed to stop thinking about him and his arms, there he was, staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. 

You didn’t know how you were going to hide your blatant attraction towards the man in a building full of highly trained spies. Going by the smiles you caught exchanged between Ava and Yelena, you weren’t doing that great of a job hiding anything. Maybe you could brush it off as first day nerves, how else would they expect a normal civilian woman to react to a gorgeous super soldier? Honestly, you deserved an award for not drooling every time you saw him.

By the time 4pm rolled around you had been staring unblinking at your laptop screen for at least ten minutes. Bucky was in the gym down the hall training, and had been for the last half hour. You couldn’t hear anything, but you could feel how hard he was working out. The weights thudded against the gym floor as he continued his deadlift sets, the force of his reps shaking the whole goddamn floor. The couch you were sat on vibrated each time he dropped the weights, causing you to bite your hand before a whimper slipped out at the fucking strength he must possess. You needed to leave before he finished—you were genuinely terrified of your reaction to seeing him with sweat slicked skin and muscles bulging after his intense workout.

Like an angel answering your prayers, Alexei stomped into the room and flopped down next to you before burping out his hello. “Get out of here, solnyshko. You’ve done enough babysitting today.” He reached over and started to ruffle your curls, causing you to yell out “hey!” before you realised he wasn’t going to stop until you stood up.

“Okay, okay, I’m going! Geez, didn’t someone tell you to not mess with a girls’ curls?” You chuckled as you closed your laptop and gathered your things. “Can you let the others know I said goodbye?” You asked earnestly, not wanting the team to think you ran out the door as soon as you could. 

Stepping out of the gym after his rigorous workout, Bucky could sense immediately that you were gone. The faint smell of your perfume lingered, traveling from the common room through his lungs and burrowing in his chest. He felt the coldness from the towers walls seep through his skin and leave a deep ache in his bones, his body struggling with the loss of your warmth. Jesus Christ, it’s been one fucking day. 

His muscles protested every step he made down the hall, the serum in his blood taking it’s time to heal his body after the workout. He hadn’t meant to go so hard, but he used each rep as a punishment for his wandering thoughts—a punishment for every cell in his body yearning to be near you. Bucky prided himself on being a man of discipline, a man with indestructible self-control. After everything he had been through he clung to his self-control and freedom like a lifeline, and now he had no control over his body’s reaction to you. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. 

————————

You finally felt your shoulders relaxing as you opened your apartment door, the smell of your best friends famous lasagne making you sigh in content. The lasagne she made when either of you needed comforting. That had you dropping your bag on the floor, rushing into the kitchen to make sure she was okay—because why else would she be making it?

You stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, seeing her humming along to the Fleetwood Mac song playing through the speakers, a small smile on her face. The complete opposite to what you expected. 

“What’s going on? What’s with the lasagne?” You asked hesitantly, still not understanding what was happening. Was she in the midst of a breakdown?

Her smile grew at the sight of you, touched by the concern in your voice. “Oh, I’m fine! The lasagne is for you, I figured you might need it after being in the same building as Bucky Barnes for eight hours straight.” She replied chirpily, throwing in a wink at the sight of your pink cheeks. 

The relief that flooded your body turned to disbelief at her cheekiness. “For fucks sake, you had me worried. And I survived just fine, thank you very much…” You trailed off as she raised her eyebrows at you with a deadpan expression on her face, not believing you in the slightest. 

“Ohhh really? You know, I thought we told each other everything—you don’t have to lie to me. Unless your day really was just fine, and the sexually frustrated look you’ve got going on is just for show.” She waved the spatula in her hand in a circle towards your face, insinuating that your frustration was written all over your face.

Slapping the spatula out of your personal space you gave her an exaggerated eye-roll and crossed your arms over your chest. “I have absolutely no clue what you’re on about. I had a completely normal day at my new job, with completely normal thoughts about my super average looking boss.” 

She cackled at your obvious lies, “mhmm, I’m sure…” She started plating up the lasagne for the both of you, nodding towards the fridge hinting at you to grab the wine. “Come on, step into the doctor’s office—let’s go over your symptoms.”

It took two bites of her lasagne for you to drop the façade and spill about your day. 

“He’s just always there…lingering nearby, making sure everything is going fine. Which is fair enough, I’m this new girl—a potential threat—just hanging out in a building with these pretty extraordinary people, of course he’s gonna keep an eye on me! But it’s like my body is on high alert whenever he’s near—I forget what I’m meant to be doing and can only focus on that fucking vibranium arm.”

You went into great detail about the arm to your friend, explaining how striking the gold is and the sounds it makes when he shifts his stance even a little bit. The rant about his arm then led into a rant about his shoulder muscles, which then led to a rant about his distracting training session. By the time you were finished recounting your day in close proximity to Bucky, your cheeks were flushed and it had nothing to do with the half full glass of wine in front of you.

“I know I joked about this the other day but genuinely, I will put my noise cancelling headphones on if you need a bit of me time tonight.” Before you could scoff at your friends suggestion she continued, “you’re obviously already pent up and a couple orgasms would do you some good, maybe they’ll help you feel more relaxed for work tomorrow—you don’t need me to list the scientific benefits, we both know them already. Just…think about it.” She smiled softly at your darting eyes, knowing you feel a bit weird talking about sex and intimacy sometimes. She lowered her voice in an effort to make you feel less awkward, “it’s natural, you know that. It’s not a dirty secret you need to be ashamed of.” With that, she took a sip of her wine and got up to clear the table.

You sighed, knowing that she meant well and that it was your own sexual repression that made the conversation feel awkward.

“You’re right, of course you’re right. But can we not talk about it like it’s a scheduled event…” 

“Aw, really? I was about to pencil it in the calendar on the fridge—10pm every Monday, Y/N masturbates.” You huffed at her teasing smile, resting your head in your arms on the table. 

“Yeah, yeah, make fun of the repressed virgin. Remind me, why are we still friends?”

“‘Cause one of my kinks is making you all flustered when we talk about sex,” you watched in dread as a slow smirk took over her face. “And now we know one of your kinks is Bucky’s vibranium arm.” 

The only reply you could come up with was giving her the middle finger.

By the time you collapsed on your bed you were too exhausted to try anything, your arms weighed down by an invisible force—you couldn’t even lift your hand to touch yourself if you wanted to.

————————

The rest of the week progressed how you expected it to. The team took no time at all to welcome you with open arms—you suspected it had to do your home-cooked meals they inhaled like oxygen. What’s that old saying—the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?

John was the first to get on your nerves, always finding something to complain about and mockingly calling you ‘princess’ when you let your annoyance for him show. He reminded you of a little brother—finding any reason to wind you up and running out of the room to avoid the consequences. He purposely left a bigger mess than necessary for you to clean up, and you hated the way he checked you out when you wore something that showed the tiniest bit more skin.

“Trying to get my attention, princess?” You felt your skin crawl at his insinuation and the sleazy smirk on his face. Luckily Yelena had your back, dragging Walker out of the room by his ear with a stern “say something like that again, and I’ll castrate you myself.” The rest of the New Avengers were just glad Bucky was out for a meeting at that time—they didn’t want to know how the former Winter Soldier would’ve reacted.

It took four days for Alexei to pull you into a bone-crushing hug, his bellowing laugh making your bones shake as you tried to squirm away from him. It was your fault entirely, you should’ve tried harder to control your facial expressions when he walked into the common room covered in mud and smelling like he crawled through a sewer. 

“This is what a real man smells like, solnyshko!” He exclaimed as he rubbed his dirt-matted beard across your temple. Despite it being one of the most disgusting hugs you had experienced, you couldn’t stop the giggles that wracked through your body. He was a boisterous and slightly destructive man, but you knew he meant well. It made you ridiculously happy that the team felt comfortable enough to be affectionate towards you when they barely knew you. 

Bucky was standing in the doorway watching the exchange with a faint smile on his face, the edges of his eyes soft and crinkling slightly. Like a moth to a flame, your giggles lured him closer—causing him to fight for control of his body, his muscles straining with the effort to keep his feet planted in the doorway. He turned around as Alexei gently lowered you to the floor, not wanting to get caught staring. Too bad for him, Bob had been watching him from his spot in the corner. He couldn’t wait to debrief with the girls once they returned from their intel mission. 

It was just past 4pm on Friday when Ava and Yelena crowded you sitting at the kitchen island, both freshly showered after their mission and wearing matching cheeky grins. “Put the laptop away and come have a drink with us,” Yelena pleaded with puppy dog eyes. They didn’t give you time to respond, the women easily lifting you from your stool as you yelped in surprise. You couldn’t help but laugh at their excitement as they guided you to the elevator. 

Ava bolted to the bar once the elevator doors opened, grabbing the top shelf tequila while Yelena connected her phone to the sound system. You were a little stunned, following behind them slowly—the last thing you were expecting was them inviting you to their post-mission drinks. 

You watched as Ava put ingredients to make margaritas on the bars countertop, her brows furrowing as her hands hovered over the tequila bottle. Picking up on the fact she didn’t know how to make margaritas, you rounded the bar and gently bumped your hip against hers to move her out of the way. “Margaritas? Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” you said to her, grabbing the tequila bottle and pouring some into the cocktail shaker. Chucking at her confused expression, you offered an explanation. “I worked at a bar for a couple months during college, margaritas were the the most ordered cocktail.”

An upbeat pop song blasted through the speakers as Yelena fist pumped the air. “Hell yes, I’ve been looking forward to this for the past two days!”

The three of you sat on the bar stools as you took the first sip of your margarita, your eyes closing and a hum slipping from you as the tequila warmed your throat. You couldn’t believe how easy it felt sitting with the two spies, catching up on the past week like old friends. 

Yelena jumped behind the bar to top up all three of your glasses, sharing a brief glance with Ava before directing her attention towards you. “So,” she started in a casual tone. “You currently dating anyone?” 

Your eyes fell to your lap, your hands twisting together anxiously. It was a completely normal question to ask and you had been waiting for them to ask about your personal life, but that still didn’t stop your shoulders from tensing slightly—something they both noticed. 

“Uh, I—no, nope. I’m not seeing anyone,” you stammered slightly, the tips of your ears going warm at their undivided attention on you. You don’t know why you were feeling embarrassed, from what you knew they were single, too. Something about this line of questioning always made you worried, though. Like you would say the wrong thing and they would see just how inexperienced you were when it came to dating. 

“Huh, good to know. Got your eye on anyone?” Your head shot up at Ava’s question, your eyes catching the small smirk both her and Yelena were sporting. Before you could fumble your way through a response, all three of your phones lit up on the bar top. 

Yelena was the first to grab her phone, her smirk turning into a full Cheshire Cat smile as she read the message Bucky had sent to the Watchtower group chat. “Just Barnes checking in from the safe house.” She made eye contact with Ava again, the two of them sharing conspiratorial smiles. 

“You know…he’s never checked in before,” Ava mentioned as she casually leaned her elbows on the bar’s sleek surface. “I wonder what’s changed…” She trailed off, her head tilting slightly as she looked at you, her eyes lighting up at the red now covering the apple of your cheeks. 

You grabbed your now full glass gulping it down in one go, relishing in the burn as it slid down your throat. You didn’t know what to do with the information. You knew what she was insinuating, that you were the reason Bucky was checking in. You couldn’t help but feel worried when he had left the day before to go on a solo mission, but you thought you covered up your worry well. Obviously not. 

Your phone lit up again in front of you, stopping whatever word vomit you were going to respond to Ava with. You picked your phone up, reading the text from your best friend letting you know she was going to stay at her new boyfriend’s for the night. In typical fashion, she ended it with a cheeky “you have the place to yourself tonight—have fun! ;)”. 

You took that as your cue to leave, your head feeling a little fuzzy and your body warm from the two margaritas. After bidding the two women goodbye with a promise to join them again next time, you made your way out of the tower. You stopped outside the front doors, deeply inhaling the fresh air in an attempt to calm your buzzing nerves. 

————————

You were regretting the two margaritas by the time you made it home. Tequila always made you hot and bothered, you knew that. You should’ve grabbed a beer from the bar fridge instead. You didn’t even like beer, but it would’ve been better than dealing with the tequila-induced fire running through your veins. 

You hadn’t felt this worked up in a long time. The tension from the past week had reached it’s boiling point, your body begging you for release. The bus ride home was torturous—the tequila making your thoughts zero in on one thing, Bucky. How he quietly commanded whatever room he was in, how he managed to shut Walker up with one glare, how his eyes always seemed to gravitate towards you. You thought about the lock of hair that would fall in front of his eye, the small crease in his chin you could see through the stubble, his intense eyes that softened when he looked in your direction. 

Heat rushed through your body at the thought of his shoulders and arms, the way all his shirts fit him so deliciously. You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about his thick thighs, how comfortable they must be to sit on. Your heart rate spiked as you remembered his gym session on Monday afternoon—you could still feel the tremors running through your body every time he dropped the weights. You almost missed your stop to get off, too distracted by the thoughts of your boss to notice where you were. 

Those thoughts came rushing back as you stood under the hot stream of water in your shower, steam curling around you and fogging up the bathroom. The water pressure made every drop hit your skin like sharp shards of glass, the feeling making your body wind even tighter. Each drop caused currents to run through your body, adding to the growing throb at the apex of your thighs. You couldn’t deny your body what it so clearly needed.

Raising a tentative hand to your collarbone you followed the path of a drop of water with a single gentle fingertip. Your nipples hardened instantly, a small ball of heat flaring in your core at the barely there touch. You lightly circled your left nipple, your thumb joining your finger to give it a light pinch. Pleasure shot through your body instantly, a fire racing from your nipple to your core where you could feel wetness already gathering. Your head hit the shower tiles behind you at the feeling. Your other hand slid up your body from your hip cupping your right breast as you rolled the nipple between your fingers with more force. Your eyelids dropped at the combined sensation, a small sigh slipping through your parted lips.

As your eyes closed, an image flashed through your mind—an image of two hands much larger than yours moving your hands away, replacing them with one warm hand and one much colder. You whimpered at the thought, wanting to know how stark the difference between the hands would feel against your breasts. You pinched your nipples harder, your stomach and core trembling at the intensity of your need. Your dominant hand left your breast, trailing down your soft skin until it reached your mound—the heat radiating from your core making you gasp. Your hand continued it’s descent, your slick need coating your palm and fingers as you cupped your heat. You opened your eyes and looked down your body, the hand on your breast still rubbing your raw nipple as you moved the other hand away from your core—gasping in astonishment at the strings of slick clinging to your hand as you pulled it away. Holy shit. You had never been this turned on before.

You closed your eyes as your hand returned to your core, fingers parting your lips as you gently touched your throbbing clit—already enlarged and wet with your need. Your head rolled against the shower tiles at the small touch, feeling overwhelmed at your desperation. You gasped and shivered as you leaned your body against the shower wall, goosebumps rising on your skin at the contrast between the cold wall and the heat coursing through your body. You moaned as you put more pressure on your clit, fingers circling a little faster. Your desire squashed any worries about being loud, your mind solely focused on making yourself feel good after a week of pent up frustration.

The ball of heat in your core grew larger with every circle of your clit, coiling faster than you’ve ever experienced. Sinful images surged forward behind your eyes without your permission. A large muscular form in front of you, hands—one warm, one cold—clutching at your hips as he dropped to his knees, cerulean eyes turned midnight blue by his own intense need staring up at you. Soft pink lips tracing light kisses over your stomach, stubble scratching your skin just above where you needed him the most. A loud whine tore from your chest as you imagined those lips closing around your clit and sucking gently, hips grinding against your hand at the thought. You imagined his eyes closing as he tasted you, a deep guttural moan slipping from his chest and vibrating against you as he doubled his efforts. You imagined running a hand through his soft strands, tugging at his scalp when he sucked harder. You palmed your breast harder as your hips moved without thought, chasing the high that was building quickly at your lewd imagination. Your pussy clenched around nothing as you imagined him inserting a single cold vibranium finger in your tight opening, the digit curling and rubbing against the spot you couldn’t reach on your own. 

Shaky breaths left you as the pleasure coursing through your body climbed higher, the feeling bearing on overwhelming. A whine got stuck in your throat as your need dripped down your thighs, your eyes squeezing hard as you gasped out a desperate “please.” Your body was shaking from the exertion—your release was right there, stuck behind an invisible wall. Small tremors wracked your body as your fingers cramped from the speed they were going on your clit. Your other hand tugged and pulled at your aching nipple, causing a pained whimper to rattle out of you. 

The image of intense dark eyes staring into yours came back into your mind, Bucky groaning “come for me, sweetheart” against your core. Your back arched against the wall as your release flooded through you like tidal waves, your core pulsing hard as the coil snapped and ricocheted your nerves. You slipped down the wall as your trembling thighs gave out, a hand shooting out to the wall to support yourself. You gasped in deep breaths of air, your fast heartbeat making your whole body throb. 

Your high ebbed after a couple minutes, shame crashing through your system once you came down. You moved under the hot stream of water, washing away the evidence of your release and trying to burn away the guilt you felt thinking of Bucky in such an intimate way. You didn’t know how you were going to face him come work on Monday. 

————————

Your best friend came home Saturday afternoon looking completely blissed out and sighing like she was in heaven. She didn’t even need to tell you—she had a great time at her boyfriends. She spilled every little detail to you as you sat crossed legged on the couch, bowls of snacks and a bottle of wine shared between the two of you. You tried really hard to tamp down the jealous beast inside of you, a heavy feeling settling in your chest as you listened to her gush about how well her man treated her. It was something you had wanted for so long—ever since you picked up your first romance novel when you were 12. You felt that heavy feeling every time one of your friends talked about their sex lives. 

She wiggled her eyebrows at you when she asked how your night alone was. Stuck between not wanting to lie and not wanting to go into too much detail, you told her you worked out some of the frustration you had been feeling. You would’ve thought you told her you lost your virginity by her reaction—standing on the couch jumping up and down as she clapped her hands. After she calmed down she said you seemed brighter, like some of the tension had been lifted off your shoulders. You didn’t mention the guilt that was clawing at your chest, the feeling that you had betrayed Bucky’s trust by thinking about him while you touched yourself. The shame that squeezed your heart knowing that you were going to do it again. 

Your hands were shaking as stepped out of the elevator on Monday morning. You knew he was back from his mission—you had seen the message he sent the night before letting the team know he was on his way back. The message that came through right after you made yourself orgasm thinking about him, this time using your vibrator—a whimper of his name slipping out, the pleasure so intense you almost cried. 

Bucky was in the gym when his hearing picked up on the elevator chiming, signalling your arrival. His body screamed at him to move as your perfume made it’s way down the hall to him, wanting nothing more than to be near you after being away on his mission. Yelena was sitting on the floor stretching on the opposite side of the gym to Bucky when she caught his body stiffening mid-rep, something freezing him in place. A second later she heard a loud “Solnyshko!” from Alexei before your squeal followed. She smirked as she realised what had Bucky’s shoulders stiffening, what had his ears perking up like a puppy. 

“You know you’re allowed to go say hi, right?” She goaded the soldier, rising to her feet and exiting the gym not caring for his reply. He briefly heard her mutter something about emotionally constipated super soldiers before he took a few deep breaths and followed after her. 

You were in the kitchen assessing the damage the team had done over the weekend when Yelena slung an arm over your shoulders and poked your cheek with a finger. “I’m still a little hurt you left our drinks so quickly on Friday—I wanted to see how many drinks it would take for you to spill your deepest, darkest secrets to us.” You rolled your eyes at her teasing, trying not to show how the thought of that scared you. She would get along well with your best friend, you were sure of it. 

“Another time,” you muttered as you stepped into the pantry, trying to distract yourself with doing the stocktake. You felt every hair on your body stand to attention as Bucky walked into the kitchen, his presence an undeniable force. You couldn’t help turning around, your eyes meeting his striking blue ones briefly before they darted away. Your cheeks heated as the image of him on his knees flashed through your mind. God, please not right now, you thought. 

Bucky offered you a small nod in greeting before John walked in with a cheeky smile, his eyes slowly traveling up and down your body. Yelena shot him a warning glare which he chose to ignore, sauntering over to you and blocking you in the pantry. 

“You miss me, princess?” Bucky clenched his fists tightly at John invading your personal space, the urge to snap the man’s neck thrumming through his body. 

You hummed noncommittally, not wanting to show how uncomfortable John was making you feel. “Not at all,” you replied. 

Bucky watched as John leaned closer towards you, your tense shoulders giving away how uneasy you were feeling. “Walker, that’s enough.” He spoke in a low final tone. 

The blonde super soldier held his hands up as he finally walked away from you, “no need to get territorial, Barnes.” John winked at you once before leaving the kitchen.

Bucky’s eyes scanned your face to make sure you were okay before he turned around and left the room, returning to the gym to let out some of his frustration. 

Ava was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, a slight smirk on her face as she watched everything unfold. “Why don’t they just whip their dicks out and measure them already.” You laughed in surprise, the sound drifting down the hall, blessing Bucky’s ears and making him smile despite Ava’s crude comment. 

The rest of the week passed by similar to the week before. A couple of small day missions kept most of the team busy, and when they weren’t out they often found themselves gravitating towards you. They were getting even more comfortable with you—hugging you when you left for the day, the girls twirling your curls around their finger when they walked past you in the kitchen, Bob resting his head on your shoulder as you sat next to him on the couch. The only thing you didn’t appreciate was John tugging on your curls, and luckily you weren’t scared to slap his hand away with a glare. You didn’t want him touching you. 

Bucky was the only one who didn’t touch you. No, he made sure to keep you at arm’s length—preferring to watch you from across the room, despite his twitching fingers aching to reach for you. He had convinced himself he was fine observing you from a distance, it was safer that way. He didn’t want to know what you felt like under his fingers—he was terrified his touch-starved body would get one hit and refuse to let you go. He felt his blood boil every time John touched you, the anger rising in him and something protective making his chest clench. He felt proud when you slapped Walker’s hand away, but the anger sat deep in his bones at the fact you had to deal with John’s unwanted touches. 

Bucky noticed a shift in your scent, an earthy sweetness that haunted his thoughts as he tried to sleep. It curled around him and clung to his clothes long after you were gone and it was fucking doing his head in. He was tempted to ask if you had changed something in your routine, if you were using a different body wash. He had to go splash his face with cold water when he thought about what body wash you used, his mind spiralling dangerously about you in the shower. He wanted to tear his hair out over how much he thought about you.

He was both relieved and disappointed when you hurried out of the tower on Friday afternoon. Relieved he would have a couple days to get his shit together, to work on his self-control. Disappointed he wouldn’t see you for a couple days, wouldn’t hear you giggling as his team joked around, wouldn’t catch you humming and swaying as you cooked—thinking you were by yourself. He often found himself watching you from the shadows. 

————————

You were humming along to the Queen song playing through your headphones when you got home on Saturday afternoon. You had been out for lunch with old work friends and your feet were aching from trying to break in new Doc Martens. You climbed the stairs up to your apartment, opening the staircase door and walking down the hall to your door. You grabbed your bag to look for your keys when something caught your eye. The front door was slightly ajar, the sunlight from inside your apartment creating a sharp line against the floor of the dark hallway. You took your headphones off and shifted your head closer to the gap, straining to hear any noises coming from inside.

Your best friend wasn’t home, she wasn’t even close. She had left the night before for a romantic getaway with her boyfriend—a quick look at your phone showed her location near Niagara Falls upstate. You were certain you closed and locked the door when you left—this was New York City, you could never be too safe. 

You felt your heartbeat in your throat as a ball of anxiety sat heavy in your chest. Someone else had been here and you were terrified they were still inside. With a shaky hand you gently pushed the door open more. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as a small gasp left you, your eyes tearing up at in the scene in front of you. Your living room had been fucking ripped apart. The insides of the couch cushions spilled out onto the floor, your TV and coffee table smashed, the coat-stand broken in half and your coats all over the floor. Books that once sat neatly on the wall shelves were torn apart, pages scattered everywhere. The pictures of you and your best friend were ripped in half, the frames they were once in shattered on the floor. A quiet sob wracked your body, your hand catching the wall as your knees went week.

Someone had destroyed your home, torn it to shreds while you were out. 

Your mind raced as fear flooded through you. What if they were still here?

You slowly stepped away as quietly as you could, not turning around until your back hit the staircase door. You sprinted down the stairs, not stopping until you were outside the building and at the busy park across the street. A busy enough area that you wouldn’t be attacked, right? You sat on a bench next to a young family, your hands shaking as you tried to grab your phone in your bag. The fear in your chest kept growing as you fumbled to grab the phone, your shaking and sweaty hands making it slip out of your grasp. 

Once you finally grabbed it you unlocked the phone and pulled up the contact number you had yet to use. You took a couple deep breaths in as you dialled the number, your foot tapping on the ground as you hugged your arm around your chest. Bringing the phone to your ear, he answered on the third ring. 

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Bucky asked in confusion, not sure why you would be calling him on a Saturday afternoon. 

You breathed a sigh of relief at hearing his voice, your throat closing up as tears welled behind your eyes.

“Bucky, I-I need you, please.” Your voice cracked at the end, your cheeks growing wet as tears slipped free. “My apartment—someone broke in, and th—the place has been destroyed,” your breath started to come quicker, on the verge of hyperventilating as you spoke to Bucky. “I don’t know what to do,” you quietly whispered.

“Doll, shit, okay try to breathe—where are you? Are you hurt?” His deep voice came through your phone, a slight panic in his tone.

“No—I’m fine. I’m at the park across the street,” you replied shakily.

You had agreed to be meticulously professional tonight. No lingering glances, no accidental brushes of hands, and absolutely no acknowledging the hours you spend together outside of office hours, where the subject was decidedly not the decline of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The risk of your professional and academic entanglement being exposed feels perilously high here, surrounded by the watchful eyes of your colleagues.

A smooth laugh drifts over the cluster of people. His laughter. You feel your cheeks flush, a reaction you immediately suppress by forcing a smile at Dr. Rogers’ latest mention of something work-related (something you definitely were not paying attention to until now). Focus, you silently chided yourself. Modern History. TA. Professional.

But your resolve wavers as he turns his head, his eyes scanning the room before locking on yours for a fraction of a second. It is a micro-expression, a subtle downturn of the corner of his mouth that only you would recognize as a loaded message. The kind that said I see you. Don’t look away.

Your breath hitches. You quickly focus your gaze on the glittering Christmas tree by the piano, pretending the brief moment of undeniable connection hadn’t just happened. You hope no one else noticed the silent exchange that has just obliterated the professional distance you were supposed to be maintaining. The sheer audacity of that look. A silent violation of your mutual agreement to maintain the façade, and it sends a fresh wave of heat to your face.

“...and so the key is really in distinguishing between a pamphlet and a periodical based on the print run and the intended audience,” Dr. Rogers concludes, seemingly oblivious to the seismic event that just occurred between you and the man across the room. He adjusts his glasses, waiting for your response.

You force your brain back to 19th-century publications. “… Yes, of course. An important distinction, if one doesn’t intend to make the bibliography a living nightmare.” You manage, painfully aware that that’s hardly a noteworthy conclusion, although it truly is the most elaborate thought you can conjure up at this moment.

As if on cue, a familiar voice cuts in, smooth as aged whiskey, cutting through the music around the room and also your conversation. “Bibliographical nightmares. Sounds like an absolutely riveting discussion for a Christmas party, Stevie.”

Professor Barnes is suddenly beside you, though you hadn’t even seen him move. His presence always reads like a disruption of the room’s energy, a black hole that sucks all the attention towards him. He stands a little too close, smelling faintly of that expensive cologne you always compliment.

Dr. Rogers turns, his expression mildly affronted. “James! We were discussing the core challenges of historical scholarship. Someone has to keep the academic standards high, even at a festive gathering.”

James allows a disarming smile, the kind that usually makes you stammer through the most normal conversations. “I think we can all agree that the most pressing challenge tonight is deciding whether to go for the turkey canapés or the roast beef skewers.”

Dr. Rogers hesitates for only a moment, clearly wrestling with the urge to argue the importance of citations over canapés, but the lure of the buffet and Barnes’ sheer force of personality win out. He simply nods and moves toward the food table, vanishing into the crowd.

The moment he’s gone, the air between you changes. It crackles with an intensity that seems far too loud for a quiet conversation. Professor Barnes turns his full attention to you, and the downturned corner of his mouth from across the room is now a distinct smirk.

"I'm absolutely sure that there are at least two or three civilizations—documented, I might add, right there on shelf C, row four—that would consider it a terrible crime for someone who looks as stunning as you do tonight to be stuck here talking about citation formats.”

The compliment, delivered with that low rumble in his voice, hits you like a shot of that expensive champagne sitting on a table a few feet away.

You swallow, the sparkling cider suddenly feeling too sharp on your tongue. His eyes are dark, refusing to let you look away, and he’s leaning in just enough that only you can hear him over the festive chatter.

“Professor Barnes,” you manage, your voice barely a breathy whisper. You glance quickly over his shoulder, paranoid that Dean Hill or, worse, Dr. Rogers, might be watching. “We agreed. Tonight. Professional distance.”

The smirk doesn’t leave his face; it only deepens, mischief clear in his eyes. He takes a step closer, closing the last gap between you. His proximity is suffocating, in the best possible way.

“Did we?” he muses, his voice still low. He lifts a hand, and for a terrifying second, you think he might reach out, maybe touch your cheek or push a strand of hair behind your ear—a move that would expose your non-academic entanglement to the entire faculty.

Instead, his hand drops, hovering near your waist, a silent anchor that feels heavier than a physical touch.

“Because if we did, I think that the sight of you in that dress has rendered my short-term memory entirely unreliable. A temporary cognitive lapse, maybe. A consequence of too many late nights researching post-war economic shifts—or perhaps,” he pauses, letting the implication hang in the air, “it’s just the consequence of you looking like this party was put together to celebrate you.”

Your cheeks burn hotter, and you feel the telltale rush of adrenaline. He’s making this impossible.

“James,” you hiss, using his first name in an attempt to sound stern, even though it just comes out as a plea. “You are currently standing too close to your TA at a professional function. And you are being absolutely scandalous.”

He pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you again, his expression unrepentant. “Scandalous? I thought I was rescuing you from boredom at a Christmas party. That’s chivalry, not scandal.” He tips his head, his gaze sweeping over the room and returning, smugly satisfied, to yours.

“You are infuriating,” you manage, trying to sound annoyed, but the emotion is drowned out by the giddy panic in your chest.

He laughs softly, a quiet, rich sound that only you can truly appreciate. “Only when you look this irresistible.”

Before you can formulate a suitable reply, the upbeat, generic Christmas music playing over the ballroom speakers shifts, turning into a smooth, distinctly retro melody.

The opening notes of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” drift from the speakers, the classic song instantly transforming the mood in the room.

Professor Barnes’ eyes lighten with recognition. The soft smirk on his face melts away, replaced by a look of more focused intent. He extends his hand toward you, mirroring the invitational gesture he might use to help you up a step—or lead you onto a dance floor—palm open, waiting.

“Would you look at that,” he says, his voice now gentle. “The universe is giving us a new academic mandate: show the faculty who the best dancers in this department are.”

You look at his hand, then quickly back at his face, mind racing. Dancing with him here, in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by every person who holds sway over your academic future, feels like a statement you’re not quite ready to make. Whatever professional façade you’re attempting to keep tonight is flimsy as ever now.

“James, I can’t,” you whisper, shaking your head just slightly. “It’s... too public.”

He takes a small step closer, not retracting his hand but keeping it hovering between you, insistent. Have you ever known James to give up that easily on any matter?

“It’s just a dance,” he counters, whispering your name so quietly the lyrics of the song almost cover it. “Or is it that you think if you get too close, you won’t be able to distinguish between your TA duties and what we really are?”

Your sense of caution wavers at the sight of him in that tailored suit, hand outstretched, inviting you into the risk. You hesitate for only another half-second, the logic center of your brain screaming danger, but the rest of you overriding the warning.

Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself one last glance across the room to confirm that Dean Hill is safely engaged in a conversation by the fireplace and Dr. Rogers is still engrossed by the turkey canapés before you finally raise your hand, fingers brushing against the warmth of his palm before settling firmly into his grasp. Immediately, your cheeks warm.

A look of satisfaction takes over James’ face as he holds your hand like it’s the proof of his victory. His hand closes around yours, his grip firm.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, too quiet for anyone but you to hear.

James doesn’t walk towards the center of the floor; instead, he subtly guides you a few feet away, towards a less-trafficked space near one of the tall, curtained windows. It’s a small concession to your paranoia, but the moment his other hand settles gently on the small of your back, all sense of place vanishes.

He pulls you closer, a little too close for mere colleagues, and your hand instinctively rests lightly on his shoulder, feeling the solid structure of his muscles beneath the fine fabric of his jacket. You begin to move with him, a slow sway that is definitely too intimate. Teeth gently digging into your bottom lip, you tilt your head back to look at James. “One song, Professor,” you tell him, the words tasting like a boundary you’re not entirely focused on upholding.

His blue eyes lock with yours. “We just started. And it is cold outside. We’re perfectly warm right here. Don’t you agree?”

“I agree that this is professionally perilous,” you answer instead. There’s an attempt to add a tone of concern to your voice, but it comes out sounding more like a confession. Your gaze flicks past his shoulder again, eyes darting around the room, spotting everyone who could watch his interaction and turn it into a problem.

James turns you as he dances, forcing you to look away from wherever you were staring at before. “Don’t do that. I’m right here. Can’t you just dance with me tonight, darling?” He uses the endearment with such an easy familiarity that it makes your stomach flip.

He shifts his weight, pulling you into an even tighter embrace, and you have to suppress a gasp. The air is suddenly squeezed out of your lungs, replaced by the scent of his cologne.

“You know what this looks like,” you whisper, your eyes wide as you search his face.

“It looks like I finally got you to stop talking about dusty books for five minutes,” he corrects, his eyes softening around the edges, a look that always melts your resolve faster than any argument. He dips his head lower, his breath warm against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he whispers conspiratorially. “I couldn’t pass the opportunity to dance with you like this. Even if it means risking everything.” He brushes his thumb lightly back and forth on the curve of your spine, the repeated motion mesmerizing.

“That suit has been making me want to kiss you all night,” you blurt out, the truth escaping before your mental censor can stop it. You clamp your lips shut, regretting the heat of the admission instantly.

A flash of pleasure crosses his face, the look of a man who has just heard precisely what he wanted to hear. He stops moving, pausing your dance entirely, and your heart stutters.

“The way you look tonight, you don’t even need to try hard to convince me, darlin’,” he murmurs, his focus absolute, challenging. The festive sounds of the ballroom fade entirely, leaving only the sound of your own ragged breath.

You know that if you don't break this gaze, this moment, you'll cross a line you can't come back from. You try to lean back, to put a sliver of space between you, but his arm tightens, holding you hostage.

“Professor Barnes,” you begin again, firmer this time, recalling the sight of the Dean by the fireplace. “We are not having this conversation here. The moment this song ends, we are returning to our assigned professional duties and maintaining the agreed-upon distance.” You hope your tone conveys the desperate seriousness of your internal panic.

He smiles slowly, a devastating curve of his lips that tells you he knows you're already lost. “An agreement I have already violated, it seems.” He starts moving again, a slow, intimate sway that pulls you deeper into his orbit. The song winds down, its final notes echoing the unsettled tension between you. “Maybe you can meet me after the party to further discuss our duties. Preferably without our clothes on.”

You choke on your own breath, but James is already easing his grip as the music fades. He takes your hand and raises it to his lips, pressing a fleeting, tender kiss to your knuckles. Just toeing the line between appropriate and too personal, but chivalrous enough that it makes you forget everything else.

“Until later,” he says, his voice a promise. He lets go of your hand before turning back and melting into the crowd, leaving you breathless by the tall window, already dreaming of tonight’s meeting.

authors note: hi again! first time writing smut, excuse whatever mess i just wrote. i think i went feral? anyways, this got way ahead of me but it's fine. i am so shocked with how much love the first part got, especially with this being my first fic! thanks so much <3 i hope you enjoy part 2! y'all are not ready for the next part, she's gonna be another long one...please like, reblog, and comment x

part one part three part four

Monday morning came way too fast in your opinion. That’s usually how the story goes; you spend all week waiting for Friday, only to spend Saturday running errands you didn’t have time for during the work week, and then by the time Sunday hits you have the Sunday scaries and spend the whole day dreading work on Monday and repeating the cycle all over again. Even while you were unemployed the story was still the same - except at least you could sleep in and laze around the apartment in your pyjamas for a bit.

Now, you have a new job - a job that you feel seriously under qualified for. Sure, the interview—if you could call it that—went fine, but you had spent the whole weekend overthinking how you fit in with a team of super soldiers, ex-assassins, enhanced superheroes. Up until last week you had lived a fairly average sheltered life. Too sheltered, if you were being honest. You’d never had a boyfriend, only kissed a couple of guys at high school parties, and often felt like an outsider watching everyone’s lives move on around you while you felt stuck. 

College had felt like a waste of time - you struggled to make new friends and didn’t really care for what you were studying, you just felt like you had to go to college because that’s what everyone else was doing. Your high school friends stopped making time for you, preferring to spend time with whoever they were seeing that month, and you were sick of being the one always making the effort. You didn’t even end up graduating—no, the blip took that from you. One day you were walking to class with a coffee in your hand when you blinked and everything around you had changed. The whole world struggled once everyone came back so at least that made you feel a little less alone. You weren’t close with your family before the blip and they didn’t really care much after you were back—you felt like an afterthought in every aspect of your life.  

It was only a few months after you blipped back that you managed to find a job as a waitress at a diner. It was nothing glamorous, half of the customers were pigs who only communicated in grunts or filthy unwanted flirting, but it was where you met your best friend. It felt a bit like fate, like the months working at the sleazy diner were all worth it because you met your platonic soulmate there. You both had similar family situations so you became each others family—offering each other the unconditional love and support neither of you received growing up. 

While she teased you a bit, she never made you feel any less of a woman for your lack of experience. It was something you were insecure of occasionally—you felt like you were behind in life because you didn’t experience what everyone else did in their teen years. And it wasn’t due to a lack of wanting, god no. If anything you wanted it too much, but you could never get out of your head enough to put yourself out there. Now you were worried too much time had passed. Some days you felt like a fraud calling yourself an adult, like people only became an adult once they had sex—which is completely ridiculous to think that, but you can’t control what you think majority of the time. 

So yeah, getting ready for your first day working at the Watchtower had you feeling like a fraud. You didn’t feel like an adult at the best of times, and now you were working with people who would no doubt make you feel inferior—maybe not intentionally, but you would make yourself interpret it like that anyway. You didn’t want to change anything about yourself, it had taken a few years of therapy for you to feel comfortable in your own skin, but you felt that lingering sense of self doubt some days. You put on a little more makeup than you would on a normal day, ironed your black slacks and favourite coloured blouse, and spent an hour longer than you normally would on your curly hair routine. Anything to help you feel a bit more confident when in a room with superheroes.

“Aw, pretty girl! Dolling yourself up for your new boss, are ya?” Your best friend teased from her place leaning against your doorframe, watching as you looked in your full length mirror, your hands smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on your blouse.

You glared at her through the mirror, cheeks pinking slightly. “Don’t,” you warned her. She had already spent the last few days teasing you about your attractive new boss and you really didn’t need her making you flustered about it before 8am.

“What? I’m just saying you look pretty! It’ll just be an added bonus if your boss notices it too,” she drawled out the last part in a singsong voice, turning to walk to the kitchen where she had two cups of coffee ready for you both.

You grabbed your bag off your bed, following her out to join her in the kitchen. You had already triple checked you had everything you needed for your first day in your bag, but you couldn’t help going though it again, needing something to do with your nervous hands. 

She noticed your shaking hands as you sifted through your bag, reaching out to hold your wrists gently. “I’m sure anyone else would be just as nervous working for the New Avengers, Y/N. Hell, I don’t think I could do it! I would’ve run for the hills when the car stopped outside the tower.” She let out a gentle laugh, her eyes showing just how much she believed her own words. “But you stayed. You went into the tower knowing you were about to meet some very intimidating people. And then when there was no one there to interview you, you still didn’t leave. You took one look at the state of the place and did what you do best—clean up everyone else’s mess. You are so much more than you give yourself credit for, and I think that’s why they offered you the job.” She finished her speech by squeezing your hands before grabbing her coffee cup. 

You were left a bit stunned by your best friend, tears forming at your waterline at her assuring words. Before things got too emotional, you tried lightning the mood a little. “You sure it wasn’t because I bribed them with steak and brownies?” 

“Oh that definitely played some part, I mean when was the last time you think someone made them dinner and dessert?” 

You started chuckling before glancing at the clock on the oven. “Fuck! I need to leave now before I miss the bus,” you quickly ran to the front door and grabbed your jacket off the coat rack. “Don’t forget about our movie date tonight. Love you, bye!” You yelled over your shoulder as you made your way to your apartment building’s staircase. 

You spent the hour long bus ride with your head leaned against the window, your 70s playlist softly drifting through your headphones. You watched as the city was waking up outside your window; friends with coffee cups in their hands walking down the street, a family chasing down their dog as it ran off after a cat, a couple exchanging soft goodbyes on the steps leading up to a brownstone.

You made it to the Watchtower with ten minutes to spare. Ten minutes to steel your nerves and rid any inappropriate thoughts that had been lingering since you first met Bucky—easier said than done. 

————————

Once you left after your ‘interview’ Bucky cornered Ava before she could escape to her room, gently commanding her to show him her injury. It wasn’t too bad, but he still grabbed a first aid kit to clean and stitch her up—he couldn’t have his fellow teammate in pain or risk her getting an infection. He was grateful that you had made a comment about it on your way out or else he never would’ve noticed, he was ashamed to say he was distracted by everything else that happened that day. 

He spent the days after cleaning and tidying the Watchtower before you officially started. He would say he didn’t know why he did it—it was the reason he hired you, after all—but truthfully he was embarrassed by the state of the place, embarrassed about what you would think of him them. He was ashamed of himself for letting the place get in such bad shape. His cleaning spree raised a few eyebrows from his teammates, John being the only one brave enough to make a comment—“expecting company Barnes?”—which earnt him a dirty tactical boot thrown at his head. He still caught sight of the red crawling up Bucky’s neck before the brooding soldier left the room in a huff.

The New Avengers noticed the slight shift in Bucky since he met you. They had no definite evidence but they all knew. They saw him take more than his fair share of the brownies you baked into his room. They heard him listening to the soft jazz song you had been playing when they returned from their mission. Little things that might’ve seemed innocent to the untrained eye, but they were all former mercenaries who knew to notice these small changes. Barnes was deviating from his normal pattern and the timing was no coincidence. 

Despite Bucky’s housekeeping efforts the tower was still in need of your assistance come Monday morning. The fridge was empty again, someone was still leaving empty toilet rolls in the bathroom, and everyone’s stomachs were cramping from switching back to ramen after the feast you had prepared for them. Bob was nursing a nasty bruise on his head from tripping over Alexei’s discarded boots, Ava developed an eye twitch from Walker’s constant whining over the lack of snacks, and Yelena had pulled all the cords out of the TV in frustration when her favourite streaming apps refused to load. Everyone was counting down the minutes until you returned to clean up their mess.

Bucky was eagerly awaiting your arrival in the downstairs foyer when he saw a flash of your hair through the window. Your back was to him, unaware that you had grabbed his attention. Your head was bobbing slightly to the music playing through your headphones, your hips swaying unconsciously. Without meaning to, his eyes zeroed in on your moving hips. You were wearing a totally innocent outfit, your trousers barely clung to your figure but his eyes seemed to find the exact spots they did cling and he was mesmerised. 

He managed to get back control of his wandering eyes just before you took your headphones off and turned around, ready to start your first day as the New Avengers admin assistant. You looked up and made eye contact with him through the window, your lips parting slightly in shock seeing your boss waiting for you downstairs.

A sharp zing traveled through your body at Bucky’s attention on you. He was supposed to be upstairs, you still had a few minutes before 9am and you weren’t quite ready to face the stoic soldier just yet. He somehow looked even better than he did last time, maybe because he wasn’t weighed down by post-mission exhaustion. His eyes seemed brighter, his lips pinker and even more enticing, his hair begging you to run your fingers through the soft strands.

Snap out of it. The logical voice in your head cut through your clouded thoughts. Shit. How long had you been staring at your boss unmoving?

Trying to recover from your momentary brain lag, you gave Bucky a small shy smile as you made your way through the building’s front doors. 

“Hi, sorry if I kept you waiting. I was just enjoying the fresh air.” Real smooth recovery.

Bucky didn’t seem to mind, dismissing your apology with a small shake of his head. “You’re fine, it’s not nine yet. I wanted to make sure you found your way inside okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck slightly before gesturing towards the security desk halfway between the front doors and the elevator. “Come this way, we’ll get your security clearance sorted before we head upstairs.”

Following his lead, you exchanged pleasantries with the guards before going through a small security briefing. One of the guards then gave you a swipe card with your credentials on it before Bucky steered you towards the elevator. 

You quickly discovered that Bucky Barnes was not much of a talker, and you had to physically bite your tongue to stop the nervous word vomit you usually tried to fill awkward silences with. It didn’t surprise you at all that he didn’t talk unless necessary, but the silence just made the heartbeat in your throat grow louder until it rattled your jaw. There’s no way his enhanced hearing didn’t hear the frantic pounding overtaking your whole body. 

After what felt like an hour—it was just over a minute—the elevator stopped on the floor you recognised from your first visit. You followed Bucky as he lead you to a room adjacent to the kitchen where his teammates were lounging on couches, the TV in front of them displaying static.

Your brows furrowed slightly at the static as Yelena perked up from her spot at your arrival.

“Good, you’re here! First job for the day: fix the TV.” 

Bucky raised a hand to silence her. “Do you not know how to say ‘hello’? Let her settle in before you start listing your demands.” 

Yelena rolled her eyes at him but ultimately settled back into the couch cushions, muttering something you think was in Russian. 

Ignoring her sulking, Bucky introduced you properly to the team given that last time they didn’t even say hello before they started stuffing their faces. 

A frown took over your face as you clocked the nasty bruise on Bobs forehead. You raised your hand towards your own forehead, lightly touching the area where his bruise bloomed. “You okay?” You asked him gently, your concern evident.

Bob’s face showed his surprise at your concern for him, his cheeks flushing slightly at your attention. “Yeah—yeah, I’m good, just a bump. Result of someone leaving their boots lying around,” he muttered quietly, eyes darting towards Alexei on the sofa opposite him.

The older man sighed, clearly irritated for being called out. “Alright, I get it! Sorry, I’ll try be better next time,” he barely looked up from the phone in his hands, his apology coming out halfheartedly. He didn’t really care, you were here to clean up after him now.

Bucky sighed from his spot next to you, knowing that his teammates bickering was about to start and he didn’t want you to have to deal with that before you got settled in.

“Ok, that’s enough. I’m going to give her a tour, behave yourselves while we’re gone.” His comment was met with annoyed grumbles and a mocking salute from John who was watching Bucky with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Whatever you say Barnes, you’re the boss.” Ava punched John’s arm, shaking her head at his teasing.

Bucky led you away from the common room with a gentle hand on your elbow, your nerves lighting up at his touch despite the layer of fabric between you two. 

You followed him in a slight daze as he showed you the gym down the hall. He pointed out the equipment that frequently needed replacing, his cheeks slightly reddening as he was the main reason they went through so many punching bags. You started to make a mental list, not wanting to forget anything and let the team down.

He showed you the other floors in the building, briefly showing you the living quarters but letting you know you shouldn’t need to do anything on that level—everyone was very protective of their personal space, understandably so. You wouldn’t want the admin girl going through your room either.

You audibly gasped when he showed you the level saved for the rare occasion they threw parties. You briefly noted the bar to the left of the floor to ceiling windows, but it was the view outside the windows that stole your breath. You could see all of New York City from them and you genuinely giggled in awe, walking towards them as Bucky trailed a few steps behind you. 

“It’s pretty surreal, right? I find looking at the city from up this high puts things into perspective for me,” Bucky murmured as he stood next to you at the windows.

He was studying your face as subtly as he could from his spot next to you, his brain short-circuiting when your bright eyes met his. He felt his heart rate pick up at the sight of your starstruck smile—he can’t remember the last time he saw something so beautiful. 

He cleared his throat, slightly shaking his head to snap himself out of his daze. He looked over towards the bar, trying to come up with something to say to distract himself.

“Um—you might need to check the bar stock once a week, Ava and Yelena often help themselves to the top shelf after missions.”

He continued his tour, showing you the medical bay and labs letting you know they were generally unmanned unless he put in a request with Val. “You don’t need to worry about maintaining these rooms, Val’s team takes care of it themselves in the off-chance they’re needed here.”

He left the laundry room to last, a bit worried about the damage the team has done since he last went in there. He rubbed the back of his neck as you both stood in the doorway, looking at the mess of clean and dirty laundry—it looked like a tornado had been through the room.

“Look, I’m going to be blunt—we are a bunch of slobs when it comes to the laundry and the kitchen. You will need to remind us daily to clean up after ourselves, I don’t want you to have to pick up our dirty laundry yourself.” He chuckled nervously, worried about your reaction to the disaster you were currently analysing.

You giggled slightly at his clear nervousness, the sound making every nerve in his body stand to attention. He liked your laugh, it made him feel like there was some good in this awful world. 

“Bucky, don’t worry. I lived in communal housing all through college, and even now I share the laundry room with the rest of my building. I’m used to dumping strangers washing in a basket to free up a washer for myself.”

“Ok well, please don’t bother with our tactical gear—I’m sure Alexei’s should come with a biohazard warning.” His attempt at a joke rewarded him with what was quickly becoming his favourite sound. God, it was like your giggles wrapped around him in a warm hug. 

All throughout the tour you had tried to control your thoughts the best you could, trying to make mental notes and lists while he mentioned important things about the tower. Still, you couldn’t help when your eyes and thoughts drifted to him.

He stayed a couple paces ahead of you, giving you a front row seat to the show that was his back in a formfitting black t-shirt. Your eyes focused on the way the shirt tugged tight across his shoulders, the lines of his muscles showing through the fabric. You watched as the muscles shifted with every step, subconsciously biting your lip at the sight. God, that can’t all be from the serum, you thought, he must spend hours in the gym every day. You wondered just how far his endurance stretched—how far did he push past the burning in his muscles, did he keep going even after his shirt was drenched in sweat? Your thoughts wandered dangerously—an image of him leaning over you with sweat dripping down his face, his intense blue eyes staring into your soul flashed through your mind. How long could he go for?

You felt your body heat skyrocket at the thought, subtly pulling your blouse away from your skin to try cool down a little. You’d only been in this man’s presence for a few hours and you were already feeling like a horny teenage boy. You took a few deep breaths in, hoping his enhanced senses didn’t pick up on the mess that was you a few steps behind him. 

Your eyes were drawn towards his back again, like a compass always points to magnetic north. The lights above you reflected off his bare left arm, a sight you weren’t blessed with when you first visited the tower due to his long-sleeved tactical gear. The gold detailing stood out against the dark vibranium, the arm whirring slightly as he reached forward to press the button for the elevator. You couldn’t take your eyes off the arm, the sleek metal had you mesmerised. You briefly wondered how the mechanics of it worked—could he feel with it like his flesh arm, could he feel the difference between hot and cold, could he feel the softness of skin under the metal fingers? You wanted—no, needed—to know. Would he be able to feel the flutter of your heartbeat underneath his fingers if he wrapped his hand around your ne—

The clearing of his throat snapped you out of your sinful thoughts, his head tilted slightly as he analysed your quiet form in front of him. He gestured his head towards the elevators open doors, “you alright?”

Your mind scrambled to get ahold of itself, struggling to reboot after your not safe for work train of thought. You plastered on a tired smile, hoping your face didn’t show the need coursing through your body. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a lot to process, I guess,” you said to him, thanking the heavens above that your voice didn’t betray how unsteady you were feeling. 

What the fuck was wrong with you.

The elevator took you back to the level you were starting to know well, the rest of the team pottering between the kitchen and common room. Yelena jumped off the couch at the sight of you, “finally! Now can you fix the TV, pretty please?”

Bucky closed his eyes in irritation, his hands resting on his hips like a mother sick of her children’s shit. Before he had time to reprimand her again, you stepped towards the TV with a small chuckle. “Well, since you asked so nicely this time…” 

Bucky’s eyes followed you as you squatted down next to the TV cabinet, pulling out the mess of cords Yelena made. How had you only been here a matter of hours and already made the place feel like your own? He quickly diverted his eyes to the laptop on the coffee table when your pants stretched across your ass like a second skin. God, he hoped no one caught the way his body stiffened at the sight.

He didn’t understand this witchy spell you seemed to have him under. He had seen plenty of butts before—in much tighter pants than you were wearing. They never elicited this full body response from him, though. He had to get a grip of himself, he was technically your boss and these reactions to you were far past the line of appropriate workplace behaviour. 

Yelena was shaking with excitement as she watched you fix the TV. “It’s been four days since I last watched The Office, I was just getting to the good part!”

Your head shot up with a pleased smile on your lips, “you’re watching The Office? I love that show! What are you up to?”

Yelena had to restrain herself from squealing in delight at your common interest. “We should watch it together some time! I just started watching the casino episode before the TV fucked out on me.”

“Oooh, that’s a good one! I wish I could watch it again for the first time,” you said to the former Black Widow with a small smirk on your face. You grabbed the TV remote off the table as you troubleshooted what the problem was—you tried to hold in your laugh as you figured out she had been trying to connect to the wrong wifi. 

The rest of your first day continued with minor hiccups. Bucky gave you the laptop on the coffee table with the order to set it up however you wanted, and you quickly started making spreadsheets for all the mental lists you made throughout the tour. John’s sighs about the lack of snacks could be heard from the kitchen, so you made sure your second job after fixing the TV was doing a big grocery order.

While the job listing didn’t mention anything about being an in-house chef, you quickly figured out that the strong, fearless New Avengers knew less about cooking than you did. Yelena set off the fire alarm in the kitchen when her pot of mac and cheese caught on fire—how the hell she managed that, you had no idea. You gently, yet sternly, steered her away from the kitchen with an order to hit the gym before she set anything else on fire.

Bob sat at the kitchen island while you prepared lunch for the team. He didn’t say much, just quietly enjoyed your company while the rest of the team did whatever superheroes do when not out fighting bad guys. He found your presence calming—your soft smiles and gentle humming as you cooked quietened the chaos in his head a little. 

You caught Bucky hovering near the kitchen every ten minutes, appearing out of thin air to help you put away the groceries when they arrived, dipping a finger in the spaghetti bolognese for ‘quality control’, and checking in with you to make sure everything was running smoothly. It was sweet, but also unnerving. As soon as you managed to stop thinking about him and his arms, there he was, staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. 

You didn’t know how you were going to hide your blatant attraction towards the man in a building full of highly trained spies. Going by the smiles you caught exchanged between Ava and Yelena, you weren’t doing that great of a job hiding anything. Maybe you could brush it off as first day nerves, how else would they expect a normal civilian woman to react to a gorgeous super soldier? Honestly, you deserved an award for not drooling every time you saw him.

By the time 4pm rolled around you had been staring unblinking at your laptop screen for at least ten minutes. Bucky was in the gym down the hall training, and had been for the last half hour. You couldn’t hear anything, but you could feel how hard he was working out. The weights thudded against the gym floor as he continued his deadlift sets, the force of his reps shaking the whole goddamn floor. The couch you were sat on vibrated each time he dropped the weights, causing you to bite your hand before a whimper slipped out at the fucking strength he must possess. You needed to leave before he finished—you were genuinely terrified of your reaction to seeing him with sweat slicked skin and muscles bulging after his intense workout.

Like an angel answering your prayers, Alexei stomped into the room and flopped down next to you before burping out his hello. “Get out of here, solnyshko. You’ve done enough babysitting today.” He reached over and started to ruffle your curls, causing you to yell out “hey!” before you realised he wasn’t going to stop until you stood up.

“Okay, okay, I’m going! Geez, didn’t someone tell you to not mess with a girls’ curls?” You chuckled as you closed your laptop and gathered your things. “Can you let the others know I said goodbye?” You asked earnestly, not wanting the team to think you ran out the door as soon as you could. 

Stepping out of the gym after his rigorous workout, Bucky could sense immediately that you were gone. The faint smell of your perfume lingered, traveling from the common room through his lungs and burrowing in his chest. He felt the coldness from the towers walls seep through his skin and leave a deep ache in his bones, his body struggling with the loss of your warmth. Jesus Christ, it’s been one fucking day. 

His muscles protested every step he made down the hall, the serum in his blood taking it’s time to heal his body after the workout. He hadn’t meant to go so hard, but he used each rep as a punishment for his wandering thoughts—a punishment for every cell in his body yearning to be near you. Bucky prided himself on being a man of discipline, a man with indestructible self-control. After everything he had been through he clung to his self-control and freedom like a lifeline, and now he had no control over his body’s reaction to you. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. 

————————

You finally felt your shoulders relaxing as you opened your apartment door, the smell of your best friends famous lasagne making you sigh in content. The lasagne she made when either of you needed comforting. That had you dropping your bag on the floor, rushing into the kitchen to make sure she was okay—because why else would she be making it?

You stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, seeing her humming along to the Fleetwood Mac song playing through the speakers, a small smile on her face. The complete opposite to what you expected. 

“What’s going on? What’s with the lasagne?” You asked hesitantly, still not understanding what was happening. Was she in the midst of a breakdown?

Her smile grew at the sight of you, touched by the concern in your voice. “Oh, I’m fine! The lasagne is for you, I figured you might need it after being in the same building as Bucky Barnes for eight hours straight.” She replied chirpily, throwing in a wink at the sight of your pink cheeks. 

The relief that flooded your body turned to disbelief at her cheekiness. “For fucks sake, you had me worried. And I survived just fine, thank you very much…” You trailed off as she raised her eyebrows at you with a deadpan expression on her face, not believing you in the slightest. 

“Ohhh really? You know, I thought we told each other everything—you don’t have to lie to me. Unless your day really was just fine, and the sexually frustrated look you’ve got going on is just for show.” She waved the spatula in her hand in a circle towards your face, insinuating that your frustration was written all over your face.

Slapping the spatula out of your personal space you gave her an exaggerated eye-roll and crossed your arms over your chest. “I have absolutely no clue what you’re on about. I had a completely normal day at my new job, with completely normal thoughts about my super average looking boss.” 

She cackled at your obvious lies, “mhmm, I’m sure…” She started plating up the lasagne for the both of you, nodding towards the fridge hinting at you to grab the wine. “Come on, step into the doctor’s office—let’s go over your symptoms.”

It took two bites of her lasagne for you to drop the façade and spill about your day. 

“He’s just always there…lingering nearby, making sure everything is going fine. Which is fair enough, I’m this new girl—a potential threat—just hanging out in a building with these pretty extraordinary people, of course he’s gonna keep an eye on me! But it’s like my body is on high alert whenever he’s near—I forget what I’m meant to be doing and can only focus on that fucking vibranium arm.”

You went into great detail about the arm to your friend, explaining how striking the gold is and the sounds it makes when he shifts his stance even a little bit. The rant about his arm then led into a rant about his shoulder muscles, which then led to a rant about his distracting training session. By the time you were finished recounting your day in close proximity to Bucky, your cheeks were flushed and it had nothing to do with the half full glass of wine in front of you.

“I know I joked about this the other day but genuinely, I will put my noise cancelling headphones on if you need a bit of me time tonight.” Before you could scoff at your friends suggestion she continued, “you’re obviously already pent up and a couple orgasms would do you some good, maybe they’ll help you feel more relaxed for work tomorrow—you don’t need me to list the scientific benefits, we both know them already. Just…think about it.” She smiled softly at your darting eyes, knowing you feel a bit weird talking about sex and intimacy sometimes. She lowered her voice in an effort to make you feel less awkward, “it’s natural, you know that. It’s not a dirty secret you need to be ashamed of.” With that, she took a sip of her wine and got up to clear the table.

You sighed, knowing that she meant well and that it was your own sexual repression that made the conversation feel awkward.

“You’re right, of course you’re right. But can we not talk about it like it’s a scheduled event…” 

“Aw, really? I was about to pencil it in the calendar on the fridge—10pm every Monday, Y/N masturbates.” You huffed at her teasing smile, resting your head in your arms on the table. 

“Yeah, yeah, make fun of the repressed virgin. Remind me, why are we still friends?”

“‘Cause one of my kinks is making you all flustered when we talk about sex,” you watched in dread as a slow smirk took over her face. “And now we know one of your kinks is Bucky’s vibranium arm.” 

The only reply you could come up with was giving her the middle finger.

By the time you collapsed on your bed you were too exhausted to try anything, your arms weighed down by an invisible force—you couldn’t even lift your hand to touch yourself if you wanted to.

————————

The rest of the week progressed how you expected it to. The team took no time at all to welcome you with open arms—you suspected it had to do your home-cooked meals they inhaled like oxygen. What’s that old saying—the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?

John was the first to get on your nerves, always finding something to complain about and mockingly calling you ‘princess’ when you let your annoyance for him show. He reminded you of a little brother—finding any reason to wind you up and running out of the room to avoid the consequences. He purposely left a bigger mess than necessary for you to clean up, and you hated the way he checked you out when you wore something that showed the tiniest bit more skin.

“Trying to get my attention, princess?” You felt your skin crawl at his insinuation and the sleazy smirk on his face. Luckily Yelena had your back, dragging Walker out of the room by his ear with a stern “say something like that again, and I’ll castrate you myself.” The rest of the New Avengers were just glad Bucky was out for a meeting at that time—they didn’t want to know how the former Winter Soldier would’ve reacted.

It took four days for Alexei to pull you into a bone-crushing hug, his bellowing laugh making your bones shake as you tried to squirm away from him. It was your fault entirely, you should’ve tried harder to control your facial expressions when he walked into the common room covered in mud and smelling like he crawled through a sewer. 

“This is what a real man smells like, solnyshko!” He exclaimed as he rubbed his dirt-matted beard across your temple. Despite it being one of the most disgusting hugs you had experienced, you couldn’t stop the giggles that wracked through your body. He was a boisterous and slightly destructive man, but you knew he meant well. It made you ridiculously happy that the team felt comfortable enough to be affectionate towards you when they barely knew you. 

Bucky was standing in the doorway watching the exchange with a faint smile on his face, the edges of his eyes soft and crinkling slightly. Like a moth to a flame, your giggles lured him closer—causing him to fight for control of his body, his muscles straining with the effort to keep his feet planted in the doorway. He turned around as Alexei gently lowered you to the floor, not wanting to get caught staring. Too bad for him, Bob had been watching him from his spot in the corner. He couldn’t wait to debrief with the girls once they returned from their intel mission. 

It was just past 4pm on Friday when Ava and Yelena crowded you sitting at the kitchen island, both freshly showered after their mission and wearing matching cheeky grins. “Put the laptop away and come have a drink with us,” Yelena pleaded with puppy dog eyes. They didn’t give you time to respond, the women easily lifting you from your stool as you yelped in surprise. You couldn’t help but laugh at their excitement as they guided you to the elevator. 

Ava bolted to the bar once the elevator doors opened, grabbing the top shelf tequila while Yelena connected her phone to the sound system. You were a little stunned, following behind them slowly—the last thing you were expecting was them inviting you to their post-mission drinks. 

You watched as Ava put ingredients to make margaritas on the bars countertop, her brows furrowing as her hands hovered over the tequila bottle. Picking up on the fact she didn’t know how to make margaritas, you rounded the bar and gently bumped your hip against hers to move her out of the way. “Margaritas? Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” you said to her, grabbing the tequila bottle and pouring some into the cocktail shaker. Chucking at her confused expression, you offered an explanation. “I worked at a bar for a couple months during college, margaritas were the the most ordered cocktail.”

An upbeat pop song blasted through the speakers as Yelena fist pumped the air. “Hell yes, I’ve been looking forward to this for the past two days!”

The three of you sat on the bar stools as you took the first sip of your margarita, your eyes closing and a hum slipping from you as the tequila warmed your throat. You couldn’t believe how easy it felt sitting with the two spies, catching up on the past week like old friends. 

Yelena jumped behind the bar to top up all three of your glasses, sharing a brief glance with Ava before directing her attention towards you. “So,” she started in a casual tone. “You currently dating anyone?” 

Your eyes fell to your lap, your hands twisting together anxiously. It was a completely normal question to ask and you had been waiting for them to ask about your personal life, but that still didn’t stop your shoulders from tensing slightly—something they both noticed. 

“Uh, I—no, nope. I’m not seeing anyone,” you stammered slightly, the tips of your ears going warm at their undivided attention on you. You don’t know why you were feeling embarrassed, from what you knew they were single, too. Something about this line of questioning always made you worried, though. Like you would say the wrong thing and they would see just how inexperienced you were when it came to dating. 

“Huh, good to know. Got your eye on anyone?” Your head shot up at Ava’s question, your eyes catching the small smirk both her and Yelena were sporting. Before you could fumble your way through a response, all three of your phones lit up on the bar top. 

Yelena was the first to grab her phone, her smirk turning into a full Cheshire Cat smile as she read the message Bucky had sent to the Watchtower group chat. “Just Barnes checking in from the safe house.” She made eye contact with Ava again, the two of them sharing conspiratorial smiles. 

“You know…he’s never checked in before,” Ava mentioned as she casually leaned her elbows on the bar’s sleek surface. “I wonder what’s changed…” She trailed off, her head tilting slightly as she looked at you, her eyes lighting up at the red now covering the apple of your cheeks. 

You grabbed your now full glass gulping it down in one go, relishing in the burn as it slid down your throat. You didn’t know what to do with the information. You knew what she was insinuating, that you were the reason Bucky was checking in. You couldn’t help but feel worried when he had left the day before to go on a solo mission, but you thought you covered up your worry well. Obviously not. 

Your phone lit up again in front of you, stopping whatever word vomit you were going to respond to Ava with. You picked your phone up, reading the text from your best friend letting you know she was going to stay at her new boyfriend’s for the night. In typical fashion, she ended it with a cheeky “you have the place to yourself tonight—have fun! ;)”. 

You took that as your cue to leave, your head feeling a little fuzzy and your body warm from the two margaritas. After bidding the two women goodbye with a promise to join them again next time, you made your way out of the tower. You stopped outside the front doors, deeply inhaling the fresh air in an attempt to calm your buzzing nerves. 

————————

You were regretting the two margaritas by the time you made it home. Tequila always made you hot and bothered, you knew that. You should’ve grabbed a beer from the bar fridge instead. You didn’t even like beer, but it would’ve been better than dealing with the tequila-induced fire running through your veins. 

You hadn’t felt this worked up in a long time. The tension from the past week had reached it’s boiling point, your body begging you for release. The bus ride home was torturous—the tequila making your thoughts zero in on one thing, Bucky. How he quietly commanded whatever room he was in, how he managed to shut Walker up with one glare, how his eyes always seemed to gravitate towards you. You thought about the lock of hair that would fall in front of his eye, the small crease in his chin you could see through the stubble, his intense eyes that softened when he looked in your direction. 

Heat rushed through your body at the thought of his shoulders and arms, the way all his shirts fit him so deliciously. You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about his thick thighs, how comfortable they must be to sit on. Your heart rate spiked as you remembered his gym session on Monday afternoon—you could still feel the tremors running through your body every time he dropped the weights. You almost missed your stop to get off, too distracted by the thoughts of your boss to notice where you were. 

Those thoughts came rushing back as you stood under the hot stream of water in your shower, steam curling around you and fogging up the bathroom. The water pressure made every drop hit your skin like sharp shards of glass, the feeling making your body wind even tighter. Each drop caused currents to run through your body, adding to the growing throb at the apex of your thighs. You couldn’t deny your body what it so clearly needed.

Raising a tentative hand to your collarbone you followed the path of a drop of water with a single gentle fingertip. Your nipples hardened instantly, a small ball of heat flaring in your core at the barely there touch. You lightly circled your left nipple, your thumb joining your finger to give it a light pinch. Pleasure shot through your body instantly, a fire racing from your nipple to your core where you could feel wetness already gathering. Your head hit the shower tiles behind you at the feeling. Your other hand slid up your body from your hip cupping your right breast as you rolled the nipple between your fingers with more force. Your eyelids dropped at the combined sensation, a small sigh slipping through your parted lips.

As your eyes closed, an image flashed through your mind—an image of two hands much larger than yours moving your hands away, replacing them with one warm hand and one much colder. You whimpered at the thought, wanting to know how stark the difference between the hands would feel against your breasts. You pinched your nipples harder, your stomach and core trembling at the intensity of your need. Your dominant hand left your breast, trailing down your soft skin until it reached your mound—the heat radiating from your core making you gasp. Your hand continued it’s descent, your slick need coating your palm and fingers as you cupped your heat. You opened your eyes and looked down your body, the hand on your breast still rubbing your raw nipple as you moved the other hand away from your core—gasping in astonishment at the strings of slick clinging to your hand as you pulled it away. Holy shit. You had never been this turned on before.

You closed your eyes as your hand returned to your core, fingers parting your lips as you gently touched your throbbing clit—already enlarged and wet with your need. Your head rolled against the shower tiles at the small touch, feeling overwhelmed at your desperation. You gasped and shivered as you leaned your body against the shower wall, goosebumps rising on your skin at the contrast between the cold wall and the heat coursing through your body. You moaned as you put more pressure on your clit, fingers circling a little faster. Your desire squashed any worries about being loud, your mind solely focused on making yourself feel good after a week of pent up frustration.

The ball of heat in your core grew larger with every circle of your clit, coiling faster than you’ve ever experienced. Sinful images surged forward behind your eyes without your permission. A large muscular form in front of you, hands—one warm, one cold—clutching at your hips as he dropped to his knees, cerulean eyes turned midnight blue by his own intense need staring up at you. Soft pink lips tracing light kisses over your stomach, stubble scratching your skin just above where you needed him the most. A loud whine tore from your chest as you imagined those lips closing around your clit and sucking gently, hips grinding against your hand at the thought. You imagined his eyes closing as he tasted you, a deep guttural moan slipping from his chest and vibrating against you as he doubled his efforts. You imagined running a hand through his soft strands, tugging at his scalp when he sucked harder. You palmed your breast harder as your hips moved without thought, chasing the high that was building quickly at your lewd imagination. Your pussy clenched around nothing as you imagined him inserting a single cold vibranium finger in your tight opening, the digit curling and rubbing against the spot you couldn’t reach on your own. 

Shaky breaths left you as the pleasure coursing through your body climbed higher, the feeling bearing on overwhelming. A whine got stuck in your throat as your need dripped down your thighs, your eyes squeezing hard as you gasped out a desperate “please.” Your body was shaking from the exertion—your release was right there, stuck behind an invisible wall. Small tremors wracked your body as your fingers cramped from the speed they were going on your clit. Your other hand tugged and pulled at your aching nipple, causing a pained whimper to rattle out of you. 

The image of intense dark eyes staring into yours came back into your mind, Bucky groaning “come for me, sweetheart” against your core. Your back arched against the wall as your release flooded through you like tidal waves, your core pulsing hard as the coil snapped and ricocheted your nerves. You slipped down the wall as your trembling thighs gave out, a hand shooting out to the wall to support yourself. You gasped in deep breaths of air, your fast heartbeat making your whole body throb. 

Your high ebbed after a couple minutes, shame crashing through your system once you came down. You moved under the hot stream of water, washing away the evidence of your release and trying to burn away the guilt you felt thinking of Bucky in such an intimate way. You didn’t know how you were going to face him come work on Monday. 

————————

Your best friend came home Saturday afternoon looking completely blissed out and sighing like she was in heaven. She didn’t even need to tell you—she had a great time at her boyfriends. She spilled every little detail to you as you sat crossed legged on the couch, bowls of snacks and a bottle of wine shared between the two of you. You tried really hard to tamp down the jealous beast inside of you, a heavy feeling settling in your chest as you listened to her gush about how well her man treated her. It was something you had wanted for so long—ever since you picked up your first romance novel when you were 12. You felt that heavy feeling every time one of your friends talked about their sex lives. 

She wiggled her eyebrows at you when she asked how your night alone was. Stuck between not wanting to lie and not wanting to go into too much detail, you told her you worked out some of the frustration you had been feeling. You would’ve thought you told her you lost your virginity by her reaction—standing on the couch jumping up and down as she clapped her hands. After she calmed down she said you seemed brighter, like some of the tension had been lifted off your shoulders. You didn’t mention the guilt that was clawing at your chest, the feeling that you had betrayed Bucky’s trust by thinking about him while you touched yourself. The shame that squeezed your heart knowing that you were going to do it again. 

Your hands were shaking as stepped out of the elevator on Monday morning. You knew he was back from his mission—you had seen the message he sent the night before letting the team know he was on his way back. The message that came through right after you made yourself orgasm thinking about him, this time using your vibrator—a whimper of his name slipping out, the pleasure so intense you almost cried. 

Bucky was in the gym when his hearing picked up on the elevator chiming, signalling your arrival. His body screamed at him to move as your perfume made it’s way down the hall to him, wanting nothing more than to be near you after being away on his mission. Yelena was sitting on the floor stretching on the opposite side of the gym to Bucky when she caught his body stiffening mid-rep, something freezing him in place. A second later she heard a loud “Solnyshko!” from Alexei before your squeal followed. She smirked as she realised what had Bucky’s shoulders stiffening, what had his ears perking up like a puppy. 

“You know you’re allowed to go say hi, right?” She goaded the soldier, rising to her feet and exiting the gym not caring for his reply. He briefly heard her mutter something about emotionally constipated super soldiers before he took a few deep breaths and followed after her. 

You were in the kitchen assessing the damage the team had done over the weekend when Yelena slung an arm over your shoulders and poked your cheek with a finger. “I’m still a little hurt you left our drinks so quickly on Friday—I wanted to see how many drinks it would take for you to spill your deepest, darkest secrets to us.” You rolled your eyes at her teasing, trying not to show how the thought of that scared you. She would get along well with your best friend, you were sure of it. 

“Another time,” you muttered as you stepped into the pantry, trying to distract yourself with doing the stocktake. You felt every hair on your body stand to attention as Bucky walked into the kitchen, his presence an undeniable force. You couldn’t help turning around, your eyes meeting his striking blue ones briefly before they darted away. Your cheeks heated as the image of him on his knees flashed through your mind. God, please not right now, you thought. 

Bucky offered you a small nod in greeting before John walked in with a cheeky smile, his eyes slowly traveling up and down your body. Yelena shot him a warning glare which he chose to ignore, sauntering over to you and blocking you in the pantry. 

“You miss me, princess?” Bucky clenched his fists tightly at John invading your personal space, the urge to snap the man’s neck thrumming through his body. 

You hummed noncommittally, not wanting to show how uncomfortable John was making you feel. “Not at all,” you replied. 

Bucky watched as John leaned closer towards you, your tense shoulders giving away how uneasy you were feeling. “Walker, that’s enough.” He spoke in a low final tone. 

The blonde super soldier held his hands up as he finally walked away from you, “no need to get territorial, Barnes.” John winked at you once before leaving the kitchen.

Bucky’s eyes scanned your face to make sure you were okay before he turned around and left the room, returning to the gym to let out some of his frustration. 

Ava was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, a slight smirk on her face as she watched everything unfold. “Why don’t they just whip their dicks out and measure them already.” You laughed in surprise, the sound drifting down the hall, blessing Bucky’s ears and making him smile despite Ava’s crude comment. 

The rest of the week passed by similar to the week before. A couple of small day missions kept most of the team busy, and when they weren’t out they often found themselves gravitating towards you. They were getting even more comfortable with you—hugging you when you left for the day, the girls twirling your curls around their finger when they walked past you in the kitchen, Bob resting his head on your shoulder as you sat next to him on the couch. The only thing you didn’t appreciate was John tugging on your curls, and luckily you weren’t scared to slap his hand away with a glare. You didn’t want him touching you. 

Bucky was the only one who didn’t touch you. No, he made sure to keep you at arm’s length—preferring to watch you from across the room, despite his twitching fingers aching to reach for you. He had convinced himself he was fine observing you from a distance, it was safer that way. He didn’t want to know what you felt like under his fingers—he was terrified his touch-starved body would get one hit and refuse to let you go. He felt his blood boil every time John touched you, the anger rising in him and something protective making his chest clench. He felt proud when you slapped Walker’s hand away, but the anger sat deep in his bones at the fact you had to deal with John’s unwanted touches. 

Bucky noticed a shift in your scent, an earthy sweetness that haunted his thoughts as he tried to sleep. It curled around him and clung to his clothes long after you were gone and it was fucking doing his head in. He was tempted to ask if you had changed something in your routine, if you were using a different body wash. He had to go splash his face with cold water when he thought about what body wash you used, his mind spiralling dangerously about you in the shower. He wanted to tear his hair out over how much he thought about you.

He was both relieved and disappointed when you hurried out of the tower on Friday afternoon. Relieved he would have a couple days to get his shit together, to work on his self-control. Disappointed he wouldn’t see you for a couple days, wouldn’t hear you giggling as his team joked around, wouldn’t catch you humming and swaying as you cooked—thinking you were by yourself. He often found himself watching you from the shadows. 

————————

You were humming along to the Queen song playing through your headphones when you got home on Saturday afternoon. You had been out for lunch with old work friends and your feet were aching from trying to break in new Doc Martens. You climbed the stairs up to your apartment, opening the staircase door and walking down the hall to your door. You grabbed your bag to look for your keys when something caught your eye. The front door was slightly ajar, the sunlight from inside your apartment creating a sharp line against the floor of the dark hallway. You took your headphones off and shifted your head closer to the gap, straining to hear any noises coming from inside.

Your best friend wasn’t home, she wasn’t even close. She had left the night before for a romantic getaway with her boyfriend—a quick look at your phone showed her location near Niagara Falls upstate. You were certain you closed and locked the door when you left—this was New York City, you could never be too safe. 

You felt your heartbeat in your throat as a ball of anxiety sat heavy in your chest. Someone else had been here and you were terrified they were still inside. With a shaky hand you gently pushed the door open more. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as a small gasp left you, your eyes tearing up at in the scene in front of you. Your living room had been fucking ripped apart. The insides of the couch cushions spilled out onto the floor, your TV and coffee table smashed, the coat-stand broken in half and your coats all over the floor. Books that once sat neatly on the wall shelves were torn apart, pages scattered everywhere. The pictures of you and your best friend were ripped in half, the frames they were once in shattered on the floor. A quiet sob wracked your body, your hand catching the wall as your knees went week.

Someone had destroyed your home, torn it to shreds while you were out. 

Your mind raced as fear flooded through you. What if they were still here?

You slowly stepped away as quietly as you could, not turning around until your back hit the staircase door. You sprinted down the stairs, not stopping until you were outside the building and at the busy park across the street. A busy enough area that you wouldn’t be attacked, right? You sat on a bench next to a young family, your hands shaking as you tried to grab your phone in your bag. The fear in your chest kept growing as you fumbled to grab the phone, your shaking and sweaty hands making it slip out of your grasp. 

Once you finally grabbed it you unlocked the phone and pulled up the contact number you had yet to use. You took a couple deep breaths in as you dialled the number, your foot tapping on the ground as you hugged your arm around your chest. Bringing the phone to your ear, he answered on the third ring. 

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Bucky asked in confusion, not sure why you would be calling him on a Saturday afternoon. 

You breathed a sigh of relief at hearing his voice, your throat closing up as tears welled behind your eyes.

“Bucky, I-I need you, please.” Your voice cracked at the end, your cheeks growing wet as tears slipped free. “My apartment—someone broke in, and th—the place has been destroyed,” your breath started to come quicker, on the verge of hyperventilating as you spoke to Bucky. “I don’t know what to do,” you quietly whispered.

“Doll, shit, okay try to breathe—where are you? Are you hurt?” His deep voice came through your phone, a slight panic in his tone.

“No—I’m fine. I’m at the park across the street,” you replied shakily.

foolishly wrong, autoheart

Kid.

That word fucking haunted you. 

Mornin’ kid. 

Work givin’ you trouble kid? 

Won’t be home ‘til late kid. Buncha debriefs. 

He always called you kid. You hated it. You were barely younger than him — well, biologically. You doubted you’d look as good as him at 106. Every time his perfect lips would say that word, it seeped in your bones in the worst way possible. It’s not like you ever told him, but you’d come to despise that word. More than your boss. More than non-tippers. 

More than the stain you were angrily rubbing out of a table. The words he left you with this morning looped in your mind as you took out your anger on the poor table. 

Remember ‘bout tonight kid. 

As if you could forget. His entire workplace — which consisted of five deeply deranged heroes — was having dinner at your small Brooklyn apartment. And you stupidly volunteered to cook, to make a good impression. Absolutely not so maybe he’d look at you differently for once. You thought it was brilliant , especially when he thanked you with that half smile that made your brain buzz with adrenaline and your heart rate spike. 

Then you realized you had an opening shift that day at the buffet you worked at, and several papers due the day after. But you weren’t going to tell him that. He’d just insist on ordering takeout and you couldn’t have that. You’d researched for hours recipes from the 40s so that maybe he’d thank you without that damn nickname. 

How you — college student, waitress, up to neck in debt — ended up with Bucky fucking Barnes as a roommate, you’d never know.

It started with a text – hey is this unit still available? – when you’d posted your extra room online in the hopes of finding a roommate. You could barely believe that this ex-Congressman, current New Avenger, was texting you about a shitty Brooklyn apartment. 

Turns out he just needed a place that wasn’t the Tower to live in. And your unit just happened to be the same address his old place (from 1942 you’d learned quickly) used to be. So who were you to refuse him? If you were lucky, maybe he’d even pay off your student loans. 

Then he moved in. And you were faced with a tall broad-shouldered man whose arms should be (and probably were) illegal in most countries. And you knew you were fucked. So deeply fucked. You’d seen him on TV a few times but nothing could prepare you for having him tower over you. He was so damn handsome and never fucking smiled, which made him look like an ever brooding puppy with his big blue eyes. He’d just grunted a hi and made you coffee – in your own kitchen. Before even moving his boxes in. And just like that, you had a massive crush on your roommate who moonlighted as a superhero. 

One year later, that crush had dangerously grown into an all consuming love for this stupidly kind and grumpy man who constantly referred to you as a kid. You’d gone as far as a girl could go – listened almost exclusively to 40’s music, cooked his favourite dishes constantly (under the pretence that you liked them too – even the most bland ones from his childhood), you even did his damn laundry. You wore his hoodies and boxers around the house, for god’s sake. 

It’s not that he wasn’t thankful. It would be easier to forget him if he wasn’t. But he always complimented your cooking with those stupid blue eyes looking into yours. He always hummed along the old tunes echoing from your phone. He didn’t hug you often, but when he did, he’d hold you close, nose buried in your neck. And it was somehow so platonic it hurt. 

He never looked at you like you wanted him to. His eyes never lingered on you when you dressed up. You paraded around in his damn boxers and he didn’t even bat an eye. You could wear the tightest, most revealing dresses and he wouldn’t even flicker his eyes down to your cleavage. Not even your legs. 

Just.

You look good, kid. 

Anyone less delusional would have given up by now. You should’ve given up the day you’d walked into the kitchen in a bra because you didn’t think he was awake and the man didn’t so much as look at you twice. Just grunted a good morning and kept drinking his black coffee. You’d almost unhooked it, just for science. 

God, it made you want to scream. You still held onto hope – fragile and stupid hope – but you were starting to believe that your love was a lost cause. That you were a lost cause. 

You slammed the napkins on the table in frustration. The clattering of cutlery soon followed. Two hours. Two hours until your shift ended and you had to cook like a madwoman for a man who wouldn’t care if you walked in fully naked. 

“You alright?” One of your coworkers asked as you slammed three glasses down at your station, still half full with flat Pepsi. The brown liquid sloshed at the shock and a few eyes turned towards you. 

“Mhm. Just school,” You lied smoothly. They didn’t need to know just how little you cared about college since James Barnes came into your life. Maybe it was severely unhealthy but he consumed everything about you. You took a damn advanced World War II seminar last semester just to be able to talk to him about it. You had no previous interest and/or experience in that field. You’d barely passed the class, but it hadn’t mattered even when your GPA took a hit. The sparkle in Bucky’s eyes when you’d approached the subject quietly and respectfully had made it all worth it, especially when you’d lay on your living room floor listening to his low voice recounting his toughest times during the war. 

You blinked out of your thoughts when your coworker bumped your shoulder but Bucky’s blue eyes stayed in your mind. The rest of your shift was hell. Well, internally at least. Outside of your mind, the customers were kind, the tips were good and your boss had let you off early. Even as you went home, the sun was shining and your bus was early. But your brain was a storm of thoughts, from how the hell you were supposed to throw together a full dinner in three hours to what dress you should wear. You could go with the short red silk one, just to see if he’d drop the kid in front of his “coworkers’’. Or maybe your small black number. Could never go wrong with an LBD. 

By the time you were home, you’d gone through your entire closet mentally, wondering if you still had the rust coloured dress that you’d bought because it looked identical to a dress you’d seen in an old 1940’s magazine he was thumbing through. Jesus Christ, if you even stopped to think about it you’d realize you were turning yourself into a housewife for him. And he didn’t even so much as look at you like anything else but a friend. 

Hands on hips, you were staring at the mess that was your floor. Clothes were strewn across the floor, heels and sneakers sitting proudly on your bed. The silk dress was hanging from your desk chair – you’d decided against it. Too sexy for a dinner party with your roommate’s coworkers. 

Would it be too obvious to wear the orange shirtwaist dress? 

Before you could doll yourself up into a 1940’s daydream, you threw the dress away, deep back into your closet. Too obvious. Too desperate.

So you settled for a black silk blouse and jeans. Casual. Slightly sexy. You unbuttoned another button on the blouse for good measure. 

Your phone buzzed and your heart leaped. Maybe it was him, texting you about tonight. Checking up on you. Asking if you wanted something from the store. Wondering if you’d go on a date with him. God, a girl could dream. 

You grabbed your phone from the pile of bras on your bed and your heart drooped. Not Bucky. Your best friend. 

pamm | 3:27pm heyy you free tnt? me, tommy n carter were planning on going out if you wanna join You | 3:27pm noo sorryy, cooking for buck n his friends tnt pamm | 3:28pm booo, you always do that. you wearing that housewife dress too??  pamm | 3:28pm no but seriously, you need to stop putting so much effort into that guy 😭 You | 3:28pm oh stfu, like you're any better w tommy  pamm | 3:29pm hon tommy and i are together, you’re literally just busting your ass over a guy that treats you like a child

You rolled your eyes, though her words settled in your stomach. She was right, as much as you wanted to deny it. 

pamm | 3:29pm if you’d rather do that than go out w us, thats up to you but yk pamm | 3:30pm  he could at least have the decency to stare at your tits once in a while

You snorted, taking a look in the mirror. You’d worn your best bra, the one that made your chest look illegal. Maybe you’d get a glance. Even just a flicker down. God you were so thirsty for the slightest bit of attention from him.

You snapped a picture for Pam, posing so your boobs were front and centre, and sent it.

You | 3:30pm hopefully tonights the night then You | 3:31pm even put some of that shiny product you gave me on the girls  pamm | 3:31pm  UM SEXY?? If that man doesn’t make a move, I will 💋

You giggled, until your eyes flickered to the time. 3:31. Three thirty one. T-minus 2 hours and a half until the damn Avengers rocked up. And you still had an entire chicken pasta dish and a coconut cream pie you’d found online to make. 37 Best 1940’s Recipes, the website said, so you’d gotten all the ingredients and prayed he liked it. But just in case he didn’t, you’d prepped his favourite pie – a plum pie – that was sitting in the back of the fridge behind your inexhaustible stock of energy drinks. Bucky hated those, swore by good old fashioned black coffee and wouldn’t touch the cans with a ten foot pole, so your secret was safe. 

You | 3:32pm pam, babe, i have like barely three hours to get this shit done i gtg im so sorry have fun tnt <3

You almost ran to the kitchen, barefooted, your phone tucked in your back pocket haphazardly. Without a glance at your apron, you scoured the fridge for the ingredients you’d bought a few days before. Coconut shavings – check, eggs – check, whipped cream – check, vanilla that costs more than you could afford– check. But leftover pie dough from the plum pie? Nowhere to be found. You frantically pushed aside a tower of chicken legs, looking for your missing crust. Panic started to settle. You had zero time to buy a new one, much less make one from scratch. 

You couldn’t make a coconut cream pie without the pie part, now you could you? Fuck, you could shoot Bucky a text but you wanted it to be a surprise. But it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if you had nothing to serve. So you reluctantly fished your phone out of your pocket again, clicking on his contact. 

You | 3:46pm hey could you stop by the store for a premade pie dough  You | 3:46pm the one i had for tnt disappeared 

Disappeared was a ridiculous word but you’d sworn you’d prepared extra last night just to have enough. You’d left it sitting proudly in the fridge, not hidden –there were only so many things you could hide from a supersoldier with enhanced senses. As you paced the kitchen, gathering the seasoning for your chicken, your phone buzzed again. You almost dropped the garlic salt, diving for your phone. 

Bucky | 3:49pm Shit, I used it to make some meat pies this morning for our lunches. Thought it was just leftovers. B.

Exasperation should be settling in your gut but instead, amusement filled you at the perfect punctuation. He swore up and down he knew how to function in this century but still signed his texts. 

You decided to ignore the way ‘our lunches’ hit something in your chest you’d spend too long mulling over later that night. 

Bucky | 3:49pm I’ll get you some. The nice kind right? The one in the organic section? I’m sorry kid. B.

Your stomach fluttered then dropped. There it was again. That word. He could’ve said the most thoughtful, kind, most Bucky thing in the world, and then added that word. The one that tasted bitter in your tongue and seemed to flow from his like honey. There were times at the beginning of you living together where you almost thought he felt the same about you, like when he taught you how he used to dance in bars and clubs back before the war. It started friendly enough, going through various dances, like your poor attempt at the Charleston (You looked like a flailing chicken. A cute one, he’d said). You tripped over his feet during a foxtrot and he looked too graceful on his feet to be an ex-assassin. 

By the end of the night, the music had slowed, Vera Lynn’s voice filling the air. He’d quit trying to teach you but still danced with you, just slowly rocking side to side. His vibranium fingers were splayed across your lower back, his other hand in yours. You felt the callouses, the warmth of his fingers. His thumb was brushing your spine, holding you close to him. 

He’d looked down at you with his blue eyes and that’s when you knew. That your stupid crush wasn’t just something you could brush off anymore. You’d fallen in love with Bucky Barnes, and for a foolish moment, you’d thought he might’ve felt it too. 

And then, as the music flickered out and Vera Lynn returned to her box of memories, he pulled away from you, dropping your hand. 

You did good, kid.  

It was the first time that word broke your heart, but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

Which led you here, in the middle of your kitchen, about to lose it over a three-lettered word and a missing pie crust. 

You | 3:51pm yeah, thank you! dinner might be just slightly late, but ill have cocktails done n those scallop things u like at 6 :) 

You remembered the first time you almost gave him an aneurysm trying to explain what the hell ,,:)’’ was. He was so damn confused when you’d sent it, and now he even sent you ,,<3’’ sometimes. He clearly thought nothing of it but every time you’d see that stupid less than sign and 3, something in your chest unraveled. 

Bucky | 3:52pm What would I do without you? B.

Sometimes you swore he knew how you felt and just fucked with you. Because those six words shook you so hard you almost dropped your phone. You felt tears prick your eyes, not out of sadness but out of frustration. Was he serious? If he didn’t know, he was the most oblivious man in the world and if he did, he was cruel. God you’d take an honest rejection over whatever the fuck he was playing at. 

You let out a thick breath, blinking back your tears angrily. You just slammed your phone face down on the counter, wiped your eyes and started mixing the seasonings with trembling hands. You prayed no tears would slip loose, your cheap drugstore “waterproof” mascara had failed you before and you had no time for a wardrobe mishap. But your vision blurred with unshed tears, and your bottom lip quivered so you took a deep breath, reached for your phone, closed the message app too quickly, and turned on your favourite playlist. Not the 1940s one. You’d crumple to your knees if you heard one more smooth jazz melody from your phone.

So with Jody Gadsden’s voice ringing out in your small kitchen, you tried your best to get through prepping the chicken. You usually liked making dinner. It made you happy, took your mind off work. But today, hands deep in chicken thighs and garlic salt? Your teeth were clenched, still blinking back tears that resurfaced every time you thought about Bucky (which was every two minutes). You threw the chicken in the oven, and glanced at its digital clock. 

4:24pm

You sighed, washing your hands. An hour and a half left. An hour and thirty-six minutes before you came face to face with his coworkers, like a girlfriend would. In your apartment full of memories the two of you made, his sweaters thrown over your side of the couch, your picture in his wallet. Except you slept in separate bedrooms and never once had you felt the press of his lips against yours. You weren’t sure you ever would. 

But you kept going. You grabbed the coconut, the cream, the sugar, the eggs and followed the website’s recipe carefully. There was no way you were going to mess this up. Even for a man that destabilized every crevice of your carefully crafted being. You were almost on autopilot for the next hour, Autoheart fading to Finger Eleven, followed by Eric Carmen accompanying you as you baked and cooked. 

At 5:30 on the dot, the doorknob turned and you wiped your trembling hands on your apron as Bucky stepped through. He had a bag slung over his shoulders, his stupidly attractive face turning to you to greet you with a sheepish smile. You tried, oh how you tried to stop the rush you felt in your veins at his presence. You tried to smile back. It probably came out as a twitch of your lips before your eyes darted back to the counter where the bacon-wrapped scallops sat, ready for the spicy honey you’d made. 

“Hey,” He said, closing the door behind him, shrugging off his jacket. He wore that red henley, the one you’d fantasized pulling off his body so often it hurt. “How was your shift?” He asked, carefully, like he was approaching a wounded animal. Maybe somewhere in your fantasies this is where you’d break down and admit how much you loved him, and he’d kiss you against the kitchen counter that had seen too many of your near-romantic moments. But this was real life, where the best you could do was croak a yes and where he simply handed you the pie crust. 

“Thanks,” Your fingers brushed against his tanned ones and you pulled them away fast, still avoiding his gaze. 

He stood next to the kitchen island, hovering like he wanted to say more, like if he left, something would not be quite right. Your shaky fingers grabbed the wooden honey dipper and drizzled the scallops, trying your best to act normal. As normal as you could with a highly perceptive supersoldier scanning your every move.  It was quiet as you turned to put the scallops in the oven. You were still facing away from him when he spoke. 

“I’m sorry about the pie,” Five words and your entire composure almost shattered. Here he was, in all his six-foot-something stature, one of the most powerful men in the world, apologizing to you for something as trivial as a pie crust. You turned around, and caught his eyes for the first time since he’d arrived. His blue eyes were riddled with guilt, his hair tousled. His usually confident, no-bullshit persona was gone, just a man drumming his fingers against the faux-marble counter next to his college student roommate. Fuck. 

“Don’t worry about it seriously.” You forced a laugh, unwrapping the expensive organic pie crust he’d bought just for you. “How much do I owe you?” 

His jaw clenched and you could tell he’d wanted to say more, maybe fight you on the nature of your quick shutdown of his apology. Instead, he just shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. Fairly sure I can cover a pie crust.” He said, one of his fingers twitching against the counter. 

“Bucky, please, I can pay for my ow-”

“Says the college student with a shitty job,” 

That shut down the argument and with a laugh, your heart eased a bit. You shoved him away gently, trying to avoid the warmth of his bicep underneath your hand. 

“Alright, get out. I don’t have forever to finish this pie,” You unrolled the dough, setting it in the pan as Bucky chuckled, walking away. 

You were too deep in your thoughts, too wrapped up in getting this pie perfect to notice him lingering in the doorway. Too distracted to notice the way his eyes dragged down your body as you worked. Too distracted to see the clench of jaw as he lingered on your chest, your little frown, your lips. He left the moment your tongue darted out to lick your bottom lip. He never stayed long enough for you to notice the way his pupils dilated anytime you were in his space. 

When 6h30 hit, you were ready. A bit disheveled, a bit anxiety-ridden, but with a fully prepared coconut pie, scallops out on the counter, and chicken thighs warm and seasoned wrapped in foil. You had regained some sort of dignity after your mid-prep breakdown, and not a single lash was out of place as you took out the bottle of champagne Bucky had bought for tonight. 

Bucky stepped out of the hallway leading to your bedrooms and you tried not to drop the very expensive bottle. It wasn’t a fucking secret that Bucky Barnes looked illegal in formal wear, but it still caught you off guard every time. You were used to him in sweaters, Henleys and leather jackets when he was around you, so the moment he combed his hair back and wore something slightly more classy, it awakened something in you that had died about three exes ago. 

He was fiddling with the sleeves of his black button-up, mumbling under his breath as you stood there, apron long forgotten in your hands. Four buttons were undone, revealing the curve of his muscled chest, his dog tags glinting in the soft light of the kitchen. You couldn’t help the swoop of your stomach when he adjusted his watch and looked back up to you with a crooked smile.

“How do I look?” 

“Good!” You answered, a little bit breathy, trying your best not to knock over the bottle as you pushed it towards the seven glasses you’d set on the island. The scallops looked perfect, sitting prettily on the nicest plate you could spare, decorated with springs of thyme. The entire apartment smelled like heaven, and yet your stomach was in knots, stuck between vomiting your nerves up or stuffing down everything as fast as you could. 

Bucky walked over to you, his smile wrinkling the corner of his eyes. He looked like the first ray of sunshine after rain, beautiful, holding your aching heart between his calloused hands. You held your breath as he pushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingertips grazing your cheeks. You stood there, looking up at him, and he stared back, an unreadable look in his eyes.

You thought you’d felt his fingers twitch against your face, and for a second, you really thought he’d kiss you. And then the doorbell rang. And he dropped his hand, looking away from you. 

“It smells amazing, thank you so much for this, kid.” 

He had to be joking. 

Before you could even register, a swarm of people walked through the door, Bucky holding it open for them. You watched him smile, hug a few of them, shaking hands with the others, and shoving a blonde man with his metal arm. You stood there, frozen, unsure what to do. This was not your element. Talking down to some right-winged asshole at work, talking in front of a class about the literary repercussions of Dante’s Inferno on Italian literature, that you could do. Hosting six world famous superheroes in your safe space – who also happened to work very closely with the man you could not get out of your head? Yeah, you weren’t sure you could do this. 

But before you could melt in a puddle of anxiety and sulk back to your room, Bucky walked over to you, and leaned against the kitchen counter. He introduced you to each of them, and you prayed your hands weren’t too clammy as you shook the blond man, John Walker’s hand. A woman with long brown hair smiled at you, Ava. The towering large Russian man swopped you up in a bearhug, and you squeaked, your nerves loosening just a bit as Bucky laughed. 

The final two shook your hand, a nervous looking man with a twitchy smile, and a blonde woman who looked to be just a few years your senior. Bob and Yelena. 

“It’s nice to meet you finally,” Yelena spoke, her accented voice speaking over her (apparently) father’s booming voice as he talked to your roommate. “Bucky talks about you a lot.”

It was said so matter-of-factly that you almost didn’t fully catch the full intent of her words. She raised an eyebrow at you, her eyes darting to Bucky. Bob stifled his smile, and you felt your face flush as you stuttered a response. 

“Ah, well, nice to know he appreciates me,” You laughed awkwardly, “Y’know how it is, I try to be a good roommate.” You kicked yourself in the shins in your mind at your nervous tone. 

Yelena simply hummed and you felt an arm wrap itself around your shoulders. It was warm and strong but you knew in a second it wasn’t Bucky. It was a different kind of strength, something that didn’t ignite your stomach with want, but with a spark of unknown and anxiety. 

“Barnes didn’t tell us he had such a pretty girlfriend!” 

You wished you could sink in the ground as Walker’s words echoed in the small kitchen. Alexei, Bucky and Ava paused their conversation as laughs slipped from the rest of the team. Bucky joined their laughter a second too late, sounding a little bit too forced.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” He said, and you could see his hands rip another tear in your carefully guarded heart. 

“Yeah, just a roommate,” You added, avoiding his eyes. Walker’s arm remained around your shoulder and he shrugged an apology, claiming a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be living with a hunk like him if you wanted to get laid. You face flushed for the millionth time tonight and Yelena shoved his arm away.

“You sure you don’t want to be his girlfriend, Walker?” She said, crossing her arms over her white button up. John lifted his hands in surrender, chuckling. “Asshole.” Yelena muttered her breath, and it was your turn to laugh. Maybe you could find some semblance of stability from the ex-Russian assassin. Yep, that was your life now. You’d done this to yourself. 

“Alright, go on and eat, I don’t want this food to waste, scallops are expensive,” You announced, pushing the plate towards Alexei, who’d been eyeing them since he walked in. You ignored Bucky’s frown, and popped open the bottle of champagne, pouring a glass for everyone. 

Bucky’s coworkers all crowded around the island, tasting the scallops you’d spent years perfecting. Between praises and sips of sparkling wine, Bucky slipped behind you, whispering your name with a tug on your arm. You excused yourself, heart beating out of your chest, before slipping from the group, joining Bucky in the doorway to the living room. 

“How much did you spend on tonight?” He asked, his voice low and the space between his eyebrows wrinkling. You almost laughed at his concerned look, as if he didn’t realize just how much life cost for a college student.

“Don’t worry about it,” You muttered back, adjusting the sleeve of your shirt he'd ruffled when he dragged you over. He let out an exasperated breath and pulled out his phone, his large fingers awkwardly typing away. “What are you-” You were interrupted by the buzz of your own phone and you pulled it out, knowing exactly what it was.

Venmo: Bucky Barnes sent you $300 (USD)

Before you could protest, or even express your surprise at his use of Venmo, he squeezed your arm hard. It took everything in your being to not pull away from him, and even more to not bridge the gap between your bodies. 

“I don’t wanna hear it. You spent the entire afternoon cookin’ f’me and my friends.” Then he leaned down, looking you straight in the eyes. “I’d be losing my mind without you,” And he walked back to the party, leaving you in the doorway, staring at the molding like it owed you money. You blinked once, twice, and then it hit you. 

He hadn’t called you kid. Not a single time since they’d arrived. And that small burst of hope spreading to your fingertips made you move back to the group with a large smile on your face. 

The coconut pie and the plum pie was long devoured by the time you’d eclipsed yourself to the kitchen to start cleaning up, replaying the moment you’d brought out both in your mind. Bucky looked stunned for a moment before his usual reserved face split into a large boyish grin. You’d almost collapsed right then and there, your hands shakily cutting a piece for each of you. 

You were wrapping up some chicken and rice for the New Avengers to take back to tower (their request – they’d loved your cooking) when the door to the kitchen was pushed open. You jumped a bit as Yelena walked in, adjusting the cuffs of her shirt. 

“Oh hi,” She said, stalking over to you like a predator observing its prey. You tried not to squirm under her stare. She leaned against the counter next to you, observing your face as you kept packing food in the containers, hands albeit a little shakier. 

“Hey,” You replied. You’d quickly realized halfway through dinner that while Yelena was calm and offered you respite from Walker’s antics, she was just as observant. And she had not let a single detail escape her this entire evening. 

“You love him.” A simple statement, but it made you freeze. 

“W-What?” You stumbled through the phrase, turning your eyes to meet hers. They weren’t accusing, just intrigued. 

“You love him.” She repeated. “Bucky.” She added. 

You laughed nervously, wiping your hands on the cloth you’d thrown over your shoulder. If you couldn’t admit it to even your closest friends (except Pam, she was the exception) , why would you tell this near-stranger anything? “He’s a good friend, but it’s nothing more,” You lied through your teeth, and she cocked her head slightly. It was more menacing than curious now. 

“I am trained to kill a man with a hairpin, and to extract any information from anyone. I don’t think it is ‘nothing more’” 

Okay, no lying yourself out of this one it seemed. You turned to put the rest of the leftovers in the fridge. And to avoid eye contact as you admitted for the first time outside of your mind and Pam that you loved Bucky Barnes. 

“I, uh, yeah,” You said, slowly shutting the fridge door. “I have feelings for him.”

It was quiet for a second before you heard Yelena hum again. You faced her again, smoothing down the front of your jeans. She had a small smile on her face and before you could even try to backtrack, she spoke. 

“Good. He needs someone like you.” 

You scoffed. 

“I don’t think he knows I’m an adult, Yelena.” You were truly losing your mind. Not even Pam knew the extent of your delusions with him. 

She raised a sharp eyebrow, pushing herself up from the counter. 

“Just keep taking care of him. You’re good to him.” She left the room right after, not even sparing you a second look. Your heart was beating out of your chest, sweat beading on your forehead. You took a deep breath to steel yourself before you followed her to the living room where the rest of the guests were getting ready to leave.

“Ah there is best cook!” Alexei exclaimed, throwing both his large arms around you, “You cook again for us, yes? Barnes will bring us food or we return for more!”

You giggled, returning the hug. 

“Absolutely, you just let me know what you’d like!”

Ava gave you a nod, a small smile dancing across her lips. She thanked you, and elbowed Walker who was busy staring at your collection of vinyls. 

“Oh yeah, thanks.” He shrugged, before turning to observe the 1940s vinyls. You prayed he wouldn’t comment on them. 

Oh yeah, I’m just so desperately in love with James Barnes that I listen to them because it’s sometimes the only piece of him I can have. 

Bob followed suit, giving you a small side-hug, saying he’d never had such good pie. Yelena then embraced you in a tight hug, which took everyone in the room by surprise. You were frozen for a second before hugging her back. 

“I don’t think you know Barnes as well you think, малышка.” She whispered, before pulling away from the hug with a stern look. You averted your eyes, but the words echoed in your mind for long after they all left. Bucky told you he was going to take a shower before helping you clean. 

It was 10h45 and you were hands deep in hot water and dish soap when the floor creaked, announcing someone had entered the kitchen. You looked up and locked eyes with your roommate, just wearing a simple white shirt and shorts. His hair was damp and he was still halfway through towel-drying it, his feet bare as he joined you at the sink. 

“I know I said it a lot, but thanks. Seriously.” He said, throwing the towel over his shoulder. “I really couldn’t have survived tonight without you.” Your mouth went dry and you tried your best to not let just how much his comment affected you. You just nodded, not trusting your words. 

You stayed in silence for a while before he took a step forward, grabbed a dish towel, and started drying the plates. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but there was a tension that your usual quiet evenings did not have. Like something was looming over the both of you – namely, your massive fuck-off feelings. You just needed to not look at him. That would do the trick at least until tomorrow where you’d continue your game of treating everything like normal roommate things. 

Minutes passed and you cleared your throat, still avoiding his eyes.  “How was your day?” You asked, scrubbing down a dessert plate. 

“It was good, ran late to a meeting, then ran late here.” He chuckled a bit as you handed him the plate and your fingers brushed again. You tried not to flinch. “You?”

“Mh, not horrible. Got everything done kind of on time,” You laughed under your breath, mostly out of nerves. “Marjorie let me off work early and zero assholes today,” 

He stilled, before putting down the plate. 

“What do you mean ‘work’?” He asked, his voice low. It was your turn to pause, because fuck you had told yourself you would not mentioned you’d worked today. 

“I, uh, I just worked opening today, I ended early, I didn’t want to tell you! It’s not a big deal, I wanted to help you and I feel great honestly I’m-”

He interrupted you by saying your name in that low voice of his, and you looked up to him, still holding a glass under the bubbles.

“You… fuck, you’re amazing,” He almost whispered, his head slightly tilted. That look in his eyes, the one he got sometimes when it was just the two of you and the silence of late nights, almost made you believe, again, that there was something else. A spark. Something he’d finally acknowledge. You couldn’t breathe, your entire body warm and shivers running down your spine. He licked his lips, his finger twitching against his thigh. Shit, was this really happening?

And then he blinked, the look turning into something near stone. He abruptly turned back to the sink, grabbing the glass right out of your hands. You were still stunned, still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. And then he spoke, and your entire composure crumbled. 

“Just, thanks kid.”

You snapped. 

“Why the fuck do you call me that?” You said, your voice trembling. 

“What?”

Your throat felt tight as you wiped your hands off, now not afraid to stare at him. He’d been yo-yoing with your feelings all day, and you had enough. 

“Fucking ‘kid’!” You couldn’t control your volume on that last word and he took a step back. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and before he could say anything you interrupted him. “I mean, it’s not like I’m a damn teenager.” 

You’d gotten closer to him, almost standing toe to toe with him. His eyebrows knit, crossing his large arms over his chest. 

“You are a college student in her fucking twenties, of course you’re a kid to me,” He said, carefully choosing each one of his words. And if you’d had a clearer mind, you’d have seen the obvious lie slip past his lips as he bit back what he truly wanted to say. 

You couldn’t help but gape at him and tears threatened to spill as you swallowed hard. 

“I hate that word,” Your voice was wobbly and you knew, oh you knew you were going to tell him tonight. You couldn’t do this anymore. This was torture for yourself, and you couldn’t spare yourself the imminent rejection. You needed to be free of this fucking torment that was loving Bucky Barnes. 

Before he could open his mouth to ask why, or add anything else, you took a deep breath and tears started rolling down your cheeks. 

“I’m in love with you, Bucky. And it’s fucking horrible, it kills me, because I try so hard to make you see me a different way. I try so damn hard everyday, and I get you calling me ‘kid’. It’s torture to wake up every day and see you in our kitchen, drinking coffee from my cup, making you dinner because I love you, and get treated like your little sister.” You were hiccuping through words now, dishes long forgotten. “And you wanna know the worst part? Sometimes I’m not even sure how you feel. And it would be so, so much easier if you could just put a stop to it. If you don’t feel the same, then stop dancing with me around our apartment. Stop looking at me with those damn eyes of yours and then call me kid. ‘Cause it fucking kills me and I don’t know what the hell to do anymore!”

The last words were a yell and you stood facing him, your chest heaving. He hadn’t moved a muscle and was just staring down at you, left hand tightly gripping the side of the counter. He wasn’t saying anything, just breathing just as heavily as you and you couldn’t handle it. You swallowed hard, smoothed your hair back, and pushed past him. He didn’t even try to follow you, just let you run to your bedroom, before you locked the door and collapsed on your bed. 

Arms tightly wrapped against your pillow, you cried, and cried, unable to stop the sobs wracking your body. You weren’t even sure why you were crying anymore. The weight of your feelings, his damn explanation for your “nickname”, your exhaustion – all weighed down on you as you sobbed into your pillow, mascara running down your face, staining the cotton. 

You stayed there, curled up on your blanket, crying until your eyes were dry but your body still shook with sobs. And you almost thought you’d fall asleep like that, but then a soft knock came from your door. 

You ignored it at first, still squeezing your poor pillow, but he knocked again. You heard your name, muffled against the door. So you got up. Not bothering to fix the mess your hair had become, not even caring that your perfectly selected outfit for tonight was all crooked and wrinkled. You reached the door, your fingers shaking as you hovered above the knob. 

With a deep breath, you twisted it, opening the door with a creak. Bucky was on the other side, his eyes rimmed with red and his hands flexing. It was quiet as you both took in each other’s appearances, till he finally spoke. 

“I, uh, I’ve just been sittin’ there,” He nodded to the wall next to your door. “Trynna figure out what the hell I was doin’. What I was gonna say.”

You stayed silent, your arms wrapped around yourself, avoiding his gaze. 

“Can I come in? Just to talk? Please?” He added. You clenched your jaw, but logic got the better of you. You needed to face this, even if you would’ve rather anything else tonight. So you nodded, turning back to sit on your bed, clutching the pillow. 

He gulped, stepping into your space, and sat at the edge of your bed, and took a deep breath. And he said your name again, in the tone that always made you feel like you were floating. 

“I’m a moron. A massive fuckin’ idiot.” He said, his voice rough. He reached out for your fingers, still gripping the cotton like a vice. You let him tug you forward a bit, his large hand resting over yours. 

“It was self-preservation, the whole kid thing,” He confessed, his thumb tracing circles over your skin. “Just the easiest way I could protect both of us. And I see now, it was the stupidest thing I could've done.”

“Protect?” You croaked, still trying to wrap your tired mind over his words. He let a pitiful laugh out and licked his lips before speaking again. 

“Myself from falling even deeper in love than I already was. Evidently, it did not work out.” 

You froze. You couldn’t have heard him right. 

“Y-You what?” You stuttered out, head snapping up meeting his fond blue eyes. 

“I love you,” He repeated, inching closer to you. “I always fucking have, from the moment you opened that door and accepted me as all I am. I fell in love with you so quickly it terrified me, and I didn’t want you roped up in, well all of this,” He gestured at himself “, so I just… pushed you away. And I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you.”

It took your mind a long time to comprehend just what he’d confessed to you, holding his expectant gaze for a long moment, mouth agape. Emotion flooded you, love, anger, confusion. 

This entire time?

You lifted a trembling hand, and his eyes softened, still rubbing circles on your other hand. He looked so bare and gentle that you almost felt guilty but with one strong push you shoved him off your plush bed, tears of fading anger and bubbling laughter filling your eyes. Bucky was clearly not expecting it because the supersoldier known for his strength slid right off, landing at the foot of your bed. You tried not to giggle as he looked at you shocked. You bit back your laugh, put on your most serious face and spoke. 

“You are an idiot,” You said, shifting to have your face at the same level as his. “I’ve been torturing myself for months and this entire time, you felt the same. And never once did you consider that in protecting yourself, you just hurt me more.” 

He lowered his head, brown hair falling over his eyes but before he could say anything, you slid your palm over his cheek, turning him towards you. Your eyes locked, and you found yourself drowning in his blue eyes once more. 

“Don’t ever do it again.” You whispered, before you finally closed the gap, kissing him with the passion of months of built-up desire. It took him a split second to respond, his hand flying to your face, greedily sliding his lips against yours like you were the only source of water in the desert of his emotions. He groaned when you deepened the kiss, your lips opening to let him in. He shifted to kneel in front of you and your bed. It was perfect, Bucky drinking you in, you responding with the same vigour, hands wandering to his hair, his perfect brown strands.  

You broke for air after what seemed like hours, but only to pull him up to the bed, and he obliged, standing to his full height. You shifted back, tugging him down to you, reattaching your lips as soon as possible. His weight was like a blanket to you as your legs wrapped around his strong thighs, tongue delving deep in his mouth. 

Fuck, this was real. 

Months of wishing he’d see you as more than just a roommate and here he was, arms bracketed on either side of your face as kissed you with more intent than half of your exes. Your arms snaked around his neck tugging him closer but the moment your hips started involuntarily bucking against his, he pulled away with a groan. 

His lips were kiss-swollen, pupils blown out wide, dark hair tousled by your hands and if he were to fuck you right here and now, you wouldn’t have complained. 

“I don’t, I don’t think we should go further,” He said, panting, though the insistent pressure you felt on your inner thigh told you his body had other plans. Yet, pulsing core aside, you knew he was right. You’d just upgraded your relationship from strictly roommates to… whatever you’d become. Maybe taking your time wasn’t the worst idea. 

“Okay,” You said, a content smile dancing across your lips. You leaned up to kiss him one final time before he rolled off of you, laying next to you. You both stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom, his pinkie wrapping itself around yours. It was silent for a long time, only your breaths synched together. 

“Bucky?” You asked, breaking the carefully crafted quiet. 

“Mh?” 

“If you loved me this entire time, did you notice when I would… dress up? Or down?” You hoped he knew what you hinted at. The dresses, the boxers, the bras. He let out a breathy laugh and moved to face you, elbow propped up. 

“Fuck, I did. I almost had an aneurysm when you were just in that damn red bra. Almost lost my damn mind.” He answered, pupils dilating as if the memory of you just in your bra reignited the fire that had dimmed during the silence. 

“I almost unhooked it,” You whispered, as if telling him your deepest darkest secret. He groaned, falling back on the pillows dramatically, hair fanning out around him. You rolled on top of him, laying flat against his muscled body. He was hard everywhere you weren’t and it fit so perfectly against you. You kissed him chastely on the lips. 

“And the dancing? Was that…” Your voice trailed off as you looked down at him, unable to stop the rush of warm emotion through your veins as he looked up at you with the most adoring eyes you’d ever seen in a man. 

“The moment I knew I was so, so fucked.” He replied, hands sliding on your hips, thumbs stroking your hipbones. “You looked up at me with those damn eyes of yours and I had to tell myself not to kiss you right then and there. Though I’m startin’ to think I should’ve.”

“Mhm, you should’ve. You had me convinced you thought I was a child.” You gave him the nastiest look, though your lips were still stretched in the smile that wouldn't leave your face. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, his grip on your hips tightening, before kissing you briefly, but deeply. You rolled off him, but stayed close, burying yourself into his side as his strong arm came to rest around you. 

“You looked amazing tonight, by the way.” Bucky’s fingers were tracing circles in your back, his lips pressed against the crown of your head. Pam was going to be so smug.

“You did too,” you echoed, hand resting on his abs, absentmindedly sliding up his shirt. It was nice. Quiet. And you stayed like this for hours, talking about everything and nothing, about the months you spent pining, about the months he spent pining. And eventually, you drifted off, cheek pressed to his strong chest. He stayed awake a little longer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, before closing his eyes peacefully. 

It was perfect. It was everything he’d ever wished for, hoped for, and he was so at peace. After years of running, of pain, he’d found his salvation. And it was you, with your kind smiles, your food, your love, that had mended him. And he was perfectly at peace.

Until with a gasp, you woke up and stared at him panicked.

You loved this job, actually. The other lifeguards ranged in age, but the ones you were on shift with the most, Sam and Joaquin, were your favourites. It was never a dull moment with those two, and you’d seen both of them in action. You’d thought you were fast, but you had nothing on either of them. Sam seemed to fly through the sand when he had places to be, Joaquin hot on his heels. It was very clear that they were some of the most perfect people for the job.

It wasn’t like you were always stuck on the chair, up high where only the seagulls could reach. You’d stay on your perch for a couple of hours at the most before coming down, walking a circuit on the beach, and then disappearing into the shack a little ways down. It was a rule, actually, to get into the shade every two hours. What good was a lifeguard with heatstroke? Bruce was normally in there, sitting at the shabby desk with his glasses slipping down his nose. He was always poring over the schedule and checking to see if he needed to order more life jackets, rafts, or anything else that was necessary to function as a busy, popular beach. And you’d sit in one of the rickety chairs, grab one of the paper fans on the side table, and try to remember what ‘room temperature’ felt like.

This job was a dream for you, aside from one glaring issue. It wasn’t something you could easily fix—you couldn’t just ban someone from the beach if they weren’t doing anything wrong except for to get on your last nerve.

Bucky Barnes came to the beach.

Every. Single. Day.

Bucky Barnes, your former high school sweetheart, who broke up with you at your graduation, when the plan had been to stay together. You went to sister schools, after all. It would have actually been quite easy to stay together. But he’d wanted to sow his wild oats, as it were. Starting with head cheerleader Natasha.

It shouldn’t have been a problem. You’d seen him a handful of times—you shared friends, after all—but you hadn’t had to speak to him, or look at him for longer than a minute. You didn’t want to see his stupid perfect face, to remember what it felt like when he kissed you. You would stubbornly say there was no love lost there, only a wound that had been hard to heal. You had cried all night, your first evening in your dorm. The original plan had been for him to help you move in, and for you to help him, and then to tour both of your campuses to see what buildings you would be in, where the best spots to wait for each other would be.

It would have been fine if he was just on the beach because he liked it there. Unfortunately you knew, with a sinking feeling in your gut, that that wasn’t the reason. He was simply there for your attention. The first time you’d been alerted to his presence, you’d been walking the beach, heading to the chair, or Overwatch, as you and the others liked to call it. You’d seen him from the corner of your eye, and started walking more briskly, hoping to get past without him noticing, but he fell into step with you easily.

You’d tried to put all your force into pushing him away from your side, but he just laughed, immovable, keeping your pace. “Will you just talk to me?” he finally said, though he sounded amused at your ire.

“No, fuck you. I’m working.” you said crossly, not bothering to censor your words. You weren’t about to scream and shout at him, but you were very much unimpressed by his lack of contriteness.

“Yeah, I know. I’m here because I know how good you look in a bikini.”

You cut a glare his way, annoyed beyond belief that he was looking you up and down. You were actually wearing a pretty conservative suit, the top a black band around your chest, not unlike a sports bra, the bottoms high waisted and full coverage. You’d worn skimpier for sure.

You ignored his navy blue shorts, his lack of shirt. He was already halfway to a decent tan, sunglasses perched on his head rather than over his eyes. You could see the twinkling, mischievous blue of them even when you weren’t looking directly at him. “What do you want?” you hissed, almost at your destination.

“I think we should talk.” he said simply, reiterating what he’d first claimed. But you knew that it wasn’t as easy a request as he made it sound. Because how could you talk to him while ignoring your shared history?

“I don’t think so.” If he was about to ask you to be friends with him again, something you hadn’t been since you were fifteen years old, when that that word had changed, the prefix of ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ added to the front of it, then he was in for a surprise.

“Come on,” he said, drawing out the words, arms spread wide. “You’re already doing it right now!”

“Fuck off, Bucky, I’m working.” At last, you reached Overwatch. You scaled it with ease, grimacing to yourself all the while, because you just knew he was checking out your ass.

“I’m gonna be here all summer, sweetheart.” he called up to you, cupping his hands around his mouth. You gave him a withering stare. He’d projected his voice loudly enough that a few heads turned in your direction. “Can’t avoid me that easily.”

Then he’d smiled at you, smug, like he thought he’d be able to corner you easily. Well, he was about to find out how wrong he could be.

You hadn’t expected him to actually come to the beach every day. The first two weeks, sure, you guessed. Bucky was one of the most determined people you’d ever met. But you thought that eventually, even someone as tenacious as him would get tired of it.

But no, he rolled up sometime after you, without fail, even going so far as to park in the spot next to yours when it was available.

He’d lay out on a towel, or join whoever was playing a spirited game of volleyball, or try his hand at surfing. You’d begrudgingly watched him, alert as ever, to make sure he didn’t get a lungful of saltwater and drown. You were not looking forward to the prospect of giving him mouth-to-mouth. You thought it would be much more entertaining if one of your male colleagues got that pleasure.

If you weren’t up at Overwatch, he was chasing you down, pestering you to take five minutes to talk, though you still didn’t know what exactly he wanted. You’d already complained to Sam about it at length. Nonplussed, he’d told you, “Just see what he wants, and if he’s being an asshole, I'll throw him in the sea,” to which Bruce had looked up from the desk disapprovingly, and said quietly, “I don’t want to hear about any threats to someone’s life.”

You didn’t want to talk to Bucky, though. You knew that if you did, he could easily swindle you into something in under five minutes. He was very good at that—he’d always excelled at turning your brain into mush with a few carefully persuasive words and a gleaming white smile.

You didn’t think that you had ever affected him nearly so much. If you had, he probably wouldn’t have broken up with you. Regardless, you continued to ignore him to the best of your abilities. Until…

Bruce liked to have meetings every two weeks to make sure everyone was still up to code, and to mention anything important like upcoming events that might make the beach busier, or harsh weather warnings. It was standard procedure, and everyone would trudge into the office, whether they were on shift or not, to listen in.

When you got there, canvas bag hoisted on your shoulder, you stopped short. Joaquin walked into you, not noticing you'd stopped, and let out a soft “oof!” You’d only come to a halt because standing in the middle of the office amidst a handful of the other lifeguards, was Bucky.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” you muttered.

Bucky noticed you right at that time, and his pensive, distant expression melted into a charming grin. “Guess we’re coworkers for the rest of the summer. Isn’t that great?”

“You know that I can’t change the schedule to favour any of you over the other.” Bruce sat at his desk, watching you pace back and forth. There was sand caked into the worn floorboards. “You’ll be on shift with him at one time or another.”

Your hands were fists behind your back, your head down, looking at your flip flops. “But isn’t there some way we can look at it more strategically?”

“Look, I know that you have some kind of history with this guy—”

“Does he even have his certification?” you interrupted, unable to stay neutral any longer.

At this, Bruce frowned. He was very thorough of course, so it had been a silly question to ask. But you were grasping at anything, anything that could bar him from being around you 24/7. “Of course he does. And even if he didn’t, we’re doing the CPR drills on Saturday morning, remember? He would have got it then, if not.”

You stayed silent, trying to refrain from screaming.

Bruce said your name, quiet as always, and you looked over at him. “Did this guy… did he hurt you?”

You could see the concern on his face, and you sighed, defeated. “No, not physically. Just… emotionally.”

You both sat with that for a moment. “I’m sorry about that. But there’s nothing I can do. You know that I don’t tend to double you guys up unless I have to, but I can’t guarantee that you’ll never have to work with him. I know you’re professional, so I’m not worried about you,” he paused, pushing his glasses back up, “but if he goofs around or something, I’ll get rid of him. okay?”

You didn’t allow your shoulders to slump like they so wanted to. “Okay.”

It looked like your nightmare was about to begin.

Something you hadn’t anticipated, something far worse than what you’d imagined, was that Sam and Joaquin got along with Bucky like a house on fire. It had you spitting mad. Those were your friends, your work buddies, not his. At least Joaquin had the sense to look guilty when you caught the three of them laughing it up at the end of a shift.

You stomped to your car, shaking sand from yourself, as you cut past them. You didn’t hear footsteps jogging behind you until you were on the asphalt, just a few feet from the safety you were banking on.

“Hey, wait!” you scrunched your face up at the sound of Bucky’s voice and started to fumble blindly in your bag, looking for your car keys.

He caught up with you right as you fished them out. “Hey, I just wanna talk.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” you said icily.

“Well, can you just hear me out?”

“No.” You unlocked your car, throwing your bag in the backseat. Once you’d slammed the door closed, you turned to face him. He was blocking the driver’s side. “Move.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

You crossed your arms. “Move right now, or I swear, I’ll—”

“I want to get back together.”

“Are you fucking joking?” You were incensed. The fact that he had the balls to say that to you…

His expression was serious, pleading. “Look, I know I made a mistake—”

“A mistake?” you screeched. “You broke up with me right before I took grad photos with my mother!”

You’d made her banish them to a cupboard behind all the other photo albums, unable to bear the sight of your red rimmed eyes and streaky makeup.

He winced. “I know. Shitty timing on my part, I’m sorry. But I regret it. I regret all of it. I miss you. I’ve been missing you.”

“What, Natasha not giving enough in the sack?” you said sarcastically, a vicious bite.

You thought he went a shade paler as you continued on. “Yeah, I know about that. We hadn’t even been broken up 24 hours before you slept with her.” You sounded hysterical, and for good reason. You’d never had the chance to scream and shout at him before. Now seemed to be as good a time as any. You didn’t care if you drew a crowd. Hell, the entire beach should know what a piece of work he was. “I gave you almost three years of my life, Bucky, and you stepped all over it like it was dirt. Why the hell would I take you back?”

“Well, you never dated anyone after me, did you?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

You flushed, your skin hot, and it had nothing to do with the sun beating down on you. “What’s your point? I was pretty busy studying.”

“Now, you and I both know that’s not why.” he said, leaning down and getting close to your face. You could smell his breath, peppermint. You knew he kept Lifesavers in his glove compartment—it seemed that hadn’t changed.

“You haven’t dated anyone because you still love me. And I still love you. And I’m not going to stop fighting for you.”

If he’d said it to you any other time, maybe it would have cracked your exterior, exposed your gooey center. Maybe. But right now, it was only proving to you that he didn’t even get it. That just because he said he still loved you, didn’t mean you’d drop everything. Because if he’d loved you even at all, he never would have broken up with you.

“The only thing you miss is having a girl sneak into your room at night and warm your bed.” you said, disgusted.

At this, he had the audacity to look wounded. “No, I—”

“Move out of my way, or I will scream.”

The wild look in your eyes told him you were serious, and he stepped to the side. You got in the car, shoving your key so hard into the ignition you thought you might have damaged it, and then tugged your seatbelt with enough force that it got stuck. You put the car in reverse and heard tap tap tap against your window. He was still there.

You rolled it down, just a crack. “Back up or I’m gonna run you over, I swear to God, Bucky.”

“I’ll show you how sorry I am. I swear. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.”

“Go fuck yourself, Bucky.” And then you were speeding out of the lot, feeling your eyes burn with unshed tears.

That evening, as you laid in your bed, the window wide open to let in the outside air, you closed your eyes and thought of drowning Bucky in the ocean. You were sure you could lure him out there late at night, with the promise of being understanding. You could play the game, lead him out into the water under the guise of being playful. He was stronger than you, but you thought your rage might be enough to hold him under water for long enough.

You felt a small stab of peace at the idea.

Of course, you couldn’t do it—it would be just your luck that you’d land in jail because of him—but thinking about it was nice.

Instead, you would do the next best thing.

You’d make him regret ever looking in another girl’s direction. If he wanted to play, you could play. He didn’t realize what the game really was. You just had to wait for the right moment.

You had the next day off, and thank God for that. There was no way you could face Bucky so soon after what he’d said to you—you hadn’t calmed down enough yet. But you did spend the day with a couple of girlfriends at the mall. You hoped he was disappointed to pull into the lot and not see your car. After all, he might have gotten the job just to bother you, but it still meant that he had to actually work when he was there, whether or not you were scheduled.

On Saturday morning, you arrived a little after sunrise. You weren’t working that day, either, but the drill was necessary, so there you were in light, loose clothes over your bathing suit, your hair a tousled mess, prepared to spend the next couple of hours in the sand. You weren’t the first one there, but you’d beat Bucky at least, so you had a few minutes of calm before he showed up.

The drills were meant to work as refreshers and to also help team building. After all, in a real crisis, you’d all have to be synchronized with each other well enough to administer help as quickly and efficiently as possible.

As well as standard CPR on the beach, you were being tested on pulling people from the water. It was harder for someone like you, not built like Bucky or Sam, but you still always aced that part of the drill. There were also some drills based on call and response times among yourselves, and when and how a two person job should be administered. It would be a piece of cake, you thought to yourself. You were never worried about tests like these.

Your sunny mood threatened to sour when you saw Bucky, long and lean, loping across the beach to where the rest of you were gathered. Bruce and one of the older lifeguards were off to the side, speaking quietly. The drills would start in the next five minutes, but you wished it would be in the next five seconds.

Taking a deep breath, you willed yourself to be calm when Bucky entered your orbit. You knew that he’d make a beeline for you. He stood by your side, hands on his hips, as he admired the ocean. “Missed you yesterday,” he commented.

“Okay.” You were plain in your response. There was nothing to say, really, and you figured that for now, one word answers were the best you could do.

“I remember you telling me about these types of drills when you still worked at the pool. Is it gonna be similar to that?”

You pursed your lips, eyes to the sea line. You didn’t want to think about last summer, or the one before that. “In the act of saving lives? Yes.” you said drily.

“I got my certification last week,” he admitted.

you bit the inside of your cheek. So he had definitely planned this, not just taken the job up on the fly. It had been his goal all along to force you into his proximity. “Okay.” you repeated, back to the safety of a single worded answer.

“I never told you before, but I think it’s really cool that you care about this sort of stuff.”

If he thought a compliment was going to get him anywhere, he was sorely mistaken. You were saved from saying “okay,” for the third time by Bruce striding forward and clasping his hands in front of him. It had been noiseless, but it may as well have been a clap, because everyone straightened and turned in his direction. “Alright, everyone. We’re going to get started now. You know how to do this, so we’re skipping the demonstration. Just show us that you remember the right protocols, okay?”

And with that, the drills were underway.

It had started out fine. You were quick, and you knew exactly where all the extra equipment was. You knew what you should have on your person, what should be secured at Overwatch, and where any emergency backups were. You knew the best way to get them without leaving your victim. Communication was key in this sort of situation. The walkie-talkies were waterproof, but you tended to know exactly what you were dealing with before you were too far out in the water, able to call and anticipate what you’d need, or if you would require assistance, before reaching your target.

For most drills, you used dummies, though some were with your fellow lifeguards acting as helpless swimmers. So far, you’d been able to keep well away from Bucky.

That was, until it came time for the last one. It was a two person drill, and Sam, despite his newfound friendship with Bucky, was still your number one for group situations when the choice was possible. You high fived each other as you got ready on the presumed start line, right by Overwatch. The idea was that in this particular drill, two people would be needed to bring the person back to land and administer CPR or anything more serious.

The only hitch in this was that you were supposed to be saving Bucky, who had eagerly volunteered to float in the ocean and wait for his rescue. It irked you, but you pushed it to the side, ready to show that you were worth your salt. Bruce stood off to the side with a stopwatch. “Alright, ready…?”

At your determined nod, he clicked the button of the watch. “Go!”

You took off in a dead sprint. You were in only your swimwear by now, your clothes discarded in a pile along with everyone else’s. The water was still cool at this time of morning, though you’d been in and out enough that it didn't slow you down. Sam matched your pace pretty evenly, his legs longer, but you had a killer breaststroke, and got to Bucky first. He grinned at you, flicking water from his eyes. “My hero.”

“Shut up and don’t make things difficult. If you screw this for me, I’ll kill you.”

Sam got to you both right as you finished the threat, and Bucky allowed himself to be pulled to land. Once you got him down on the sand, far enough away from the lapping waves, there was a brief, hesitant pause. You were already on your knees beside him. It had been automatic. The thing was, one of you was supposed to administer CPR while the other went for the first aid kit. You and Sam hadn’t discussed who would be doing what. Inwardly, you cursed. You thought maybe somewhere in your subconscious, you were anticipating mouth-to-mouth. What you wouldn’t have given to let Sam do it instead, to leave Bucky spluttering as you held in a laugh.

But you didn’t have time to switch now, because in a real situation, that wouldn’t be an option. Sam took off towards Overwatch, and Bucky blinked up at you innocently. “Save my life, angel. What are you waiting for?”

“Shut up!” you whispered harshly. “Drowning victims usually don’t talk!” Then you started with chest compressions. You were using a bit more force than you really needed, especially since Bucky could breathe, but you didn’t care if he wheezed a little. He deserved it.

Even still, his eyes seemed to sparkle when you stopped after the count. “Do not enjoy this,” you warned, before pinching his nose and covering his mouth with yours.

You weren’t supposed to actually breathe for him, but mimicking the motions was supposed to do the trick. Why, oh why did you not get to use a dummy for this? It was because all your other compatriots were currently performing the same drill, and there were no more left, but it felt like some cruel twist of fate to you, like the universe was having a laugh at your expense.

To your utter relief, he let you do the first set without issue. Then you went back to the chest compressions, where mercifully, he stayed quiet. It was when you did the second set of mouth-to-mouth that things went south. You felt the barest twitch of his fingers against your knee. Then he was snaking his hand up your thigh and to the dip of your waist. You sucked in a breath, moving to pull away, but not before you felt his tongue breach your lips and touch the inside of your mouth.

You stared at him, stunned by his boldness. How in the world had no one noticed the obvious violation of the drill? Instead, he only smiled at you lazily, head pillowed by sand. “You taste just like I remember.”

“Oh, I’m gonna kill you,” you glowered at him, putting your hands on his chest and pressing down with all your weight. He only looked pleased.

“Hey, don’t break our dummy. He’s not one that we can replace.” Sam’s voice snapped you out of it, the first aid kit dangling from his hand.

You sat back on the sand heavily. “Work away, Wilson. I did my part.”

“And you did it so well,'“ Bucky cooed, ignoring the daggers in your eyes.

You excused yourself as soon as you could, under the plea of a bathroom break. It was a short jog down to the cabanas where the stalls were. The lighting was dingy, the four by four room made up of blue tiles. You stared at yourself in the mirror. The drills were almost done, and it was still early in the day. After this, you could go home and put Bucky out of your head, at least until tomorrow.

You still couldn't believe that he’d kind-of-sort-of kissed you. It shouldn’t have been a shock—he’d made his motivations to win you back somehow very clear—but still, you didn’t think he’d put your job at risk in order to do it. Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic… the most Bruce would have done would be to give you a deeply disappointed stare. But even still, that wasn’t something you wanted to be on the receiving end of.

When you walked back out, the sky had started to cloud over, just a little. You thought you could smell rain on the horizon. It didn’t matter to you. You’d already been in and out of the water a dozen times. You hoped the sky would open up and pour all over Bucky after you left.

The rest of the drills were a breeze. You stayed far away from him, choosing to stick with Ava instead, though you could feel Bucky’s eyes on you. At the end of the circuit, Bruce, pleased with everyone’s efficiency, began handing out coupons. They were a dollar off for the ice cream stand, redeemable any time during the summer. You usually gave yours to Cassie, the stand owner’s daughter, but you decided to keep it this time. You deserved the treat for dealing with Bucky all morning.

You stuffed it in the pocket of your shorts before throwing your clothes on and stealing away to your car while Bucky was distracted by pats on the back from Sam and Joaquin, glad to be away from him, though you had a feeling the memory of his mouth would plague you for the rest of the day.

You settled, reluctantly, into the routine of seeing Bucky often. If you weren’t filled with bubbling annoyance, you would have felt almost like you had in high school, being in his proximity all the time. From the way he kept finding excuses to be close to you, it really did remind you of high school. Back then, when you’d been surrounded by teachers and other students, he’d had to be subtle with his affections. You remembered your hands being linked together behind your backs, or his shoe touching yours, arm to arm. Him scooting his chair closer, or pulling yours across the tile until your knee knocked into his. Back then, you’d mooned over each other like any other lovesick couple. You’d frequently been told to ‘get a room’ even when all you’d been doing was sitting on the bleachers under his arm, leaned against him, or resting back against his chest under one of the trees outside.

It was different now, of course. He’d get close to you, kicking up sand and disturbing the pecking gulls, and you’d simply move away. You had the excuse of surveying the beach, at least. Being around others didn’t really deter him either—any time you were in the middle of a laugh with Sam and Joaquin, he’d join right in, and you’d abruptly stop your giggling and become stone faced for the remainder of the interaction.

You thought you’d at least get some peace and quiet when you ventured to the ice cream stand on your break. You liked Scott—he and his daughter ran the stand all by themselves, sometimes with a volunteer on really hot, busy days. He was always very silly normally, even more so to the little kids, and there was usually a line about a mile long to get a rocket pop or ice cream sandwich. You were lucky to be the last of a rush of customers, and stuck around as you started in on your vanilla cone. You were half leaned into the window, making conversation with Cassie and enjoying the cold that you could feel blasting from the deep freeze. The stand was really more of a little hut, decorated in a Hawaiian theme. Scott always wore the most goofily patterned shirts he could find.

Your fun was short lived when you felt the heat of a warm body at your side. You felt yourself stiffen, knowing exactly who would be that bold. You barely had to turn your head to see Bucky, looking innocently at Cassie. “Is this where I redeem my coupon?” He held the paper between two fingers, and it waved lazily in the breeze.

She grinned at him and took the coupon, and it was only a matter of seconds before Bucky was mirroring you, ice cream cone in hand. “I should have known this was where you’d be hiding.”

You straightened and pulled away from the stand, offering a half-hearted wave to the Langs. “And now I need to find a new spot.”

As you spoke, you felt the slow drip of vanilla curling over your fingers. It had started an instant melt the second you’d moved away from the window. Without thinking, you licked the offending melt away, grimacing at the stickiness you knew it would leave behind, and glanced back at Bucky.

The look on his face was comical. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, completely ignoring his own melting ice cream. His eyes had been locked in on your hand, and more specifically the trip your tongue had taken. You snorted. “Oh, grow up.”

He tried and failed to school his expression. “That was hot.”

You wrinkled your nose and resumed eating, trying for bites instead of licks—you were almost down to the cone now, and you didn’t really feel like eating vanilla soup, but his eyes tracked your every move. “You’re so gross.”

“Do you remember that night… at that John kid’s party?” Bucky asked, eyes still on your mouth.

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously—”

“When we stole wine from his dad’s cellar and hid in the pool house, and you started hiccupping so much that you couldn’t breathe, but you kept laughing and laughing and laughing?”

You did remember, though it was fuzzy. You’d drank way too much that night. It had been about two months before graduation, and the nerves had been getting the better of you for weeks. But Bucky had convinced you to go, to try and get your mind off of it. “I remember. But I remember what happened after more than I remember that part,” you admitted.

He gave you a half-smile. “Yeah, me too.” The ‘after’ had been very rushed, very giggly sex, and your ‘B’ necklace had kept smacking you in the chin every time you’d moved. And then Bucky and you had snuck out, slinking behind patio furniture, hands tightly clasped, when another drunk couple had stumbled in there. And he’d taken you to a fast food drive thru, and you’d sat on the hood of his car eating ice cream and looking up at the stars.

You didn’t want to get sentimental. It was a road you’d already travelled far too many times, and you didn’t want to drive the familiar path to your dead relationship again. You didn’t want to eat your ice cream anymore, either. You threw the cone in the trash, felt the stickiness between your fingers, and looked at your hands in distaste. Your break was over soon, anyway. Bucky was still staring at you, with eyes as blue and warm as the Southern sea.

“Well, this was fun and all, but I’m gonna go wash my hands before I get back to Overwatch.” You moved to sidestep around him, but he moved with you, cutting you off.

“I miss hearing you laugh.” His voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the shriek of a gull.

You bit your tongue before saying, “Well, that’s a privilege only my friends get to hear. And you’re not my friend, Bucky.”

You left him there, with ice cream dribbling down his wrist, and a bitter taste in your mouth.

You were subject to moments like this all throughout the week. There were days where you almost reached salvation in the form of not being scheduled with him, but every time you thought you were free from Bucky’s pleading stare, he’d show himself. You really thought he’d have better things to do with his summer, but if you were at the beach, then so was he, without fail.

One of the hottest days of the year had approached. Bruce had scheduled many of your for that weekend, encouraging frequent breaks and eagle eyes on the beach goers to ensure that heatstroke was at a minimum. You’d worked days like this before, the sun no joke. The ocean shimmered like a disco ball. It was almost painful to look at, especially from your vantage point on Overwatch. Your stint up high was almost over, with only a few minutes before someone switched with you. Your little handheld fan was losing the battle with the heat, only serving to blow more hot air your way.

You caught sight of a group of girls around your age, a striped blanket held between them as they squealed at the burn of the sand on their feet. They set up not far from you, before pulling off their beach coverups. Obviously, they were intent on getting their tan on. If that hadn’t been clear already, their bathing suits were little more than floss and scraps of fabric. It left nothing to the imagination, that was for sure. You idly watched them lay out, before scaling Overwatch when one of the other lifeguards came to take over.

You were totally unsurprised to see Joaquin and Sam a little further down the beach, not hiding their ogling in the slightest. Joaquin’s eyes were so huge that they looked like dinner plates. You rolled your eyes. Typical men. You approached and lightly shoved Joaquin’s arm. “How about you look at the rest of the beach too, and not just the hot girls, hmm?”

“But—

“Oh, come on. Lighten up. It’s not every day we get to see girls that hot just laid out like that.” Sam complained, gesturing at them.

You gave him a look. “Actually, it is every day. This is the fucking beach, Sam. Hot girls are kind of a dime a dozen.”

You dragged them both along with you, hands firm on their elbows. “You’re just jealous that no one’s making eyes at you.” Joaquin muttered petulantly.

It wasn’t worth commenting on, so you just sighed and shook your head, but then Sam said, “Well, that’s not true… Bucky’s been checking her out all day.”

Your head whipped to the side to stare at Sam. Today had been a day that you’d mercifully not seen much of your ex. You’d covered up today. The UV was high, and you’d worn your rash guard, not wanting to risk a sunburn. Compared to the group of girls, you might as well have been furniture. Sure, maybe Bucky was doing his standard eye-fucking, but there was no way he’d be checking you out over those girls. You weren’t blind—even you knew they all looked like they belonged on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

You arrived at the cabana and immediately sat down on the floor in front of the dinky little air conditioner, letting it blow in your face. Sam fished in the cooler for some bottles of water and tossed one to you, which you caught with a grateful look before chugging half of it. Joaquin rounded Bruce's desk to look at the schedule, before letting out a whistle. “Well, good luck, because you’re walking the shoreline with Bucky in like, ten minutes.” He said to you.

You grimaced. “I know.”

You’d looked at what the day would bring for you when you’d first arrived. Walking the perimeter wouldn’t be so bad. And if Bucky really got on your nerves, you’d just push him into the surf and keep walking.

“Are you ready to forgive him yet?” Sam asked, slouching in one of the chairs.

You glared at him over your shoulder. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe so we don’t have to hear him pining over you or whatever. Dude’s got a heart boner for you so strong that it makes me nauseous.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“It’s true,” Joaquin admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “He won’t shut up about you. I know things that I should never know.”

That gave you pause. “Like what…?” You were afraid of the answer.

“Like for your one month anniversary—lame, by the way—you made him a giant skillet cookie and stuck a sparkler in it. Why do I know that? I didn’t want to know that.”

“Or,” Sam added, “that your yellow sundress with the lemons on it is what shows off your legs the best. Why do I care? It’s gross. You’re like a sister to me. I don’t wanna know that.”

“Oh my God.” You groaned, covering your face with a hand.

“Yeah, think of how we feel.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so buddy-buddy with him, ever think of that?” you snapped, looking between them.

“When he’s not waxing poetic about how your eyes look like the stars, he’s a cool guy. But my God, he’s so down bad for you.” Joaquin laughed at your disgusted stare. “So either forgive him, or put him out of his misery. Seriously.”

But it wasn’t up to your friends to decide whether you should forgive and forget. They weren’t the ones that had had to nurse a broken heart between shifts at your part time job and 8am lectures. You sniffed disdainfully. “Sounds like it’s gonna be a long summer for you two, then.”

You spent the remainder of your inside time sitting back against the wall, finishing your water and reapplying sunscreen to your face and your legs, listening to Sam and Joaquin talk about something or other, before you stood with a sigh. “Off to serve my sentence,” you said, stretching your arms.

“Good luck out there.” Joaquin said with a mock salute.

When you pushed open the cabana’s door, you almost screamed in surprise, your hand flying to your chest to calm your racing heart. Bucky had been standing right outside. “Jesus Christ, Bucky. Were you lurking out here like a feral raccoon the whole time?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “No, only the last two minutes. I saw you guys come inside but I didn’t want to crash the party.” His eyes flicked over your form, before he said, “Are you ready to go?”

“I guess.” You blew hair out of your face, then started walking, not waiting for him to catch up.

You basked in miraculous quiet for all of three minutes, the walk around the shoreline barely started, before you noticed that you were the only one with your head on a swivel, watching the water and the beach. Bucky had been staring at you almost the entire time.

“Ugh, god, Sam was right.”

Bucky met your eyes. “Huh?”

“He said you kept checking me out. How about you check out the beach instead? You know, seeing as it’s your job.”

“I can’t help it,” he held his hands up, giving you puppy eyes. You were pretty sure he was pouting a little, too. “I only have eyes for you.”

You scoffed, turning to look at the sea, the group of kids splashing around nearby. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true!”

“Pretty sure you’d be singing a different tune if Natasha was here.” You sounded bitter, and you knew it. You hated it. You didn’t want to keep bringing it up, to keep bringing her up, but the whole thing was like a splinter in your palm, one that had gotten so deep under your skin that you couldn’t remove it.

There was a moment of silence between you both. You felt the sand under your feet. You were closer to the water than he was, the waves lapping at your ankles as you walked. Your footprints were washed away after every step.

“What do you want me to do,” Bucky finally said, a heavy breath escaping him, “do you want me to beg?”

And to your embarrassment, he got on his knees right there, stopping you in your tracks in front of a large family, who all turned to stare. You looked left and right, mortified as any other surrounding beach goers started turning your way as well, keen interest in their eyes.

“Oh my God, get up.” You flicked your hands, beckoning him to stand, your voice strangled.

“I’ll beg, I’m not above it. I’ll do whatever it takes. I have no shame. I know how I feel about you.” He said steadily, looking up at you like you were the sun.

Oh, no… you had a terrible feeling that he was about to begin a whole speech. “Bucky—”

“I was a total idiot. I’m gonna be kicking myself for it for the rest of my life. I was stupid and scared and everything was changing, and you were my only constant. And instead of clinging to you like I should have, I did the dumbest thing I could possibly do, and I hurt you. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I know forgiveness isn’t easy, but I’m asking you to consider it.”

You weren’t really listening, too focused on the heat under your skin, heat that had nothing to do with the warm weather and everything to do with being in the spotlight of a bunch of strangers.

“If you don’t get up right now, there’s no chance in hell.” You whispered harshly.

To your surprise, he stood immediately, latching on to hope. “So there’s a chance?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Bucky grabbed onto both of your hands, and you fought a shudder. It had been a long time since he’d touched you, and even something as innocent as this sent you into a tailspin. When you looked at his face, your eyes slow to move from where he’d been kneeling, you saw a horrible amount of earnestness there. You pulled your hands away from his, rattled. He didn’t usually let you see his true feelings, not when you were together. It had been pretty rare.

“Can we just… can we just finish the perimeter, please?” you asked. People finally started looking away, disappointed that there hadn’t been more of a spectacle.

“Okay. Whatever you want.” But Bucky stayed standing in front of you for a moment longer, before stepping to the side and falling in line next to you.

The rest of the walk was quiet, but his words kept echoing in your head anyway.

It didn’t take you long to notice, after that, that Bucky had started to switch shifts to see you. Even if he didn’t necessarily get to work with you directly, you had noticed names being scribbled out and switched with his. He was always working when you were, now. He was everywhere. Even for things as unnecessary as helping you down from Overwatch. You’d climbed that chair dozens of times without any need for assistance, but all of a sudden, there he was with an extended hand to help you down. You always ignored it, but he did it anyway.

Frankly, it was unnerving. You had to believe that was it, because if you thought about it further... you were worried a small piece of you would find it sweet.

You could no longer ignore him quite so easily. Not when he was being so nice. You could only be so much of a bitch, and it was getting harder and harder to do when he’d bring you water or a snack, or offer to take over so that you could have a couple of minutes inside. He was certainly doing the most to win you over. And you were just a little bit worried that you’d fold like a house of cards if he pushed some more.

Unfortunately, being around him so constantly also made you aware of things you didn’t really want to be aware of. Like the consistent sunburn between his shoulder blades. Bucky refused to wear a shirt, not on any of the days that he’d worked. He technically wasn’t required to, but you thought it was silly to risk a burn just to show of his Adonis-like figure. It was hard to look at him without remembering what it had been like to trace your fingers over his abs. But eventually, the perpetual red mark between his shoulders and up his neck had you taking pity on him.

The next time you were working together, you saw him wince when Sam clapped him on the back in greeting, before trading off. You’d just arrived yourself, your bag on your shoulder. Suddenly, it felt heavy with the weight of sunscreen. “Bucky, doesn’t that hurt?” You touched your own shoulder for emphasis.

He bit his lip, frowning. “Yeah, but I can’t reach there.”

You hesitated before biting the bullet. “Do you want me to—”

“Yes.” He answered before you could even finish the question, his eyes locked onto you.

You regretted asking. You fumbled with the lid of the sunscreen before squeezing some out onto your hand. Standing behind him like this made you think of all the times he’d given you a piggyback ride, walking you from his car to your house. You’d pepper the side of his face with kisses and he’d dig his fingers more firmly into your thighs, keeping you strapped to him like a backpack. You willed the memories from your head at the first gentle touch of your fingers to his skin. You could feel the heat of the burn and winced, imagining the pain. It only took turning into a lobster one time for you to always slather yourself in sunscreen and light layers of clothes, and you thought he’d do well to remember it too, but you said nothing as you rubbed the lotion in. Bucky let out a soft hiss of discomfort but stayed still otherwise. Even though it was overcast today, it was still worth the protection.

Once you were done, you gingerly patted his shoulder. “Okay, you’re good.”

You went to put the bottle back in your bag when he turned to face you. “Can I… return the favour?”

Your instinct was to say no, absolutely not, he was never getting his hands on you again. But the way he’d asked was so distinctly unlike him, it made you reconsider. There was no bravado, no cockiness. Just that same earnest look from the day he’d gotten on his knees, and a soft undertone of shyness that you’d never heard from him before. Usually, you got one of the other female lifeguards to help you with any spots you missed. But as you observed him now, his lack of flirtatiousness made you believe that he’d be on his best behaviour, for once. No lingering touches of heady stares. “Okay.” The answer left you on an exhale.

You had a racerback one-piece on today, meaning it was really only your shoulders on display. You’d done your arms and legs already. You turned away from him after handing him the bottle.

The first touch of his fingers on your skin had you fighting a shiver. This had been a bad idea. It was impossible for Bucky to touch you without your brain catapulting you to the past. All he was doing was rubbing sunscreen into your skin, and yet it was making you think of when you’d been hunched over textbooks for hours, making flashcards, and he’d sat behind you and massaged your shoulders, pressing kisses between your shoulders and to the side of your neck. You were glad that you weren’t looking at him right now—you were sure that your thoughts would be written all over your face. It was making you feel skittish, too self-aware of where your mind was spiraling. He carefully swept your hair to one side, his hand stroking against the back of your neck. You didn’t like how comfortable you felt, how easy it was to sink into the feeling of his hands on you.

When he was satisfied with his application, he let his hands linger on your shoulders before murmuring, voice close to your ear, “All done.” A flurry of butterflies exploded in your stomach. You didn’t want to turn around. You knew exactly how close he’d be.

“Thanks.”

And you both stood there for a moment longer, him behind you, hands still on your shoulders, and you staring down at your sand-filled sandals, suspended in a single stretch of time where he hadn’t hurt you and you hadn’t refused his apology, before someone called your name in greeting, and then it cracked like glass, and you were hastily shoving the sunscreen in your bag and striding across the beach like you were on fire.

Each time you found yourself alone with Bucky after that, it all felt compromising. He didn’t even have to necessarily be close to you, but you felt some sort of intangible spark between you that kept trying its hardest to flicker to life, despite your attempts to smother it. Keeping your distance wasn’t working, and almost all of Bucky’s earlier bravado seemed to have melted away in favour of more genuine connection. He’d stopped flirting with you like he had at first, stopped trying to take advantage of how he could fluster you. It made it worse when he’d stand right beside you, not touching, but only an inch or so away. The heat on your skin had nothing to do with the weather.

You started to wonder, as you observed him, if your time apart had been… good for him.

Not with the way he’d ended things, no, but he hadn’t had anyone in his corner, you believed, except for his best friend, Steve. You had always been the third person in that friendship, even before you’d started dating. And you had long since known that Steve had been the most studious of the three of you. It made you consider the long nights Bucky would have spent alone, without your company or Steve’s to keep him grounded. Something that Bucky had never done much of was stand alone. And whether you liked it or not, your break up would have forced him to do things by himself.

You found yourself thinking about it every time you saw him when he wasn’t aware of you. When he’d been getting off shift, but he’d stopped to help an elderly couple fold up their beach chairs and take them to the car. When he’d helped a lost kid find their mother, holding their hand and then wiping away their tears when they’d cried, accepting the mother’s profuse thankfulness with nothing more than a smile. The Bucky you’d known before wouldn’t have bothered with going out of his way to help people. He’d been totally absorbed in your bubble, your world with the population of two. Maybe he’d grown up more than you’d originally thought.

It was hard for you to reconcile the fact. The boy you’d loved, who’d been all of your firsts, who’d broken your heart, had changed. You wondered, if you were still together, if he’d have still become who he was now. If you’d love him more than you thought possible. But you’d changed, too. You weren’t so trusting, you weren’t so open to new things, like you’d been with him. When you’d been together, you’d felt utterly fearless. Bucky had always been good at entertaining your every whim. But you’d become a little more guarded in his absence. Your rose-tinted glasses weren’t so pink anymore.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to consider taking any steps towards anything more than a working relationship. You didn’t think you could be friends. It would never be just that, not to you. You’d always be thinking of before, when you’d been more. And he’d already made it clear that he wanted you back. You entertained the idea of telling him you wouldn’t take him back, that you could only be friends in the same capacity that you were friends with Sam or Joaquin. You didn’t know if he’d be able to respect your wishes or not or if he’d cross the line. All you really knew was that it would be too easy for you to fall under his spell if you gave in. That was the real reason for your continued distance. Falling back into Bucky would be as easy as wrapping yourself in an old, well-loved blanket, and snuggling so deeply that you’d fall asleep and never wake up again. And you couldn’t do that to yourself. Not now.

The bonfire happened every year, apparently. It was after hours at the beach, no swimming allowed, just the promise of a fire and food and music. It was always at the beginning of August. Almost everyone from the lifeguard team was going. You felt somewhat nervous at the prospect, like there was some sort of anticipation under your skin, but you couldn’t figure out why. After all, you’d spent most of your summer days with these people. You knew what to expect—Sam had filled you in, having attended these things with a cousin a couple of years in a row—but still, you couldn’t shake the feeling. It was just supposed to be a fun, lighthearted evening.

You’d heard through the grapevine that Bucky wouldn’t be attending. You felt a strange sense of disappointment, though you tried to convince yourself that it was actually relief. But when the night of the bonfire came, and your tires slid smoothly across the sand that had blown over the lot, you noticed that his car wasn’t there. You wiped your palms on your shorts, even though they were dry, a nervous tic that you had, and made eye contact with yourself in the rear view mirror. You were just going to have a nice evening, probably attached to Sam and Joaquin the whole night, indulging on hot dogs and popsicles and drinks, and then you’d go home. It sounded like a perfect summer memory to capture and keep like a firefly in a jar.

When you moseyed on over to the beach, you were greeted warmly by your fellow lifeguards. It was just after eight, the sun low in the sky, setting the entire beach ablaze. The last stragglers that had been out enjoying the day were departing, rolling up towels and gathering toy shovels and buckets into bags. You could just barely make out Bruce standing by Overwatch, having taken over so that the rest of you could start your night. You were handed a lemonade and hustled over to the metal fire pit. Some chairs were scattered about, as well as a wooden bench that had seen better days. One of these years, it would probably serve as kindling. The breeze was subtle, carrying the scent of the burning logs across the open air.

Everything was very relaxed, with no expectations but to have a good time. The stars slowly woke up over the course of the next hour, brightening up the darkening sky in soft blinks. Marshmallows were being roasted over the open flame, but you were content to sit on the bench listening to the idle chatter. The evening carried on lazily, most all of the lifeguards present, each of them weaving between each other. A Bluetooth speaker had been set up on a towel, music pumping steadily, a couple people swaying to the melody. The songs were all popular ones, whatever was trending for the summer. The chorus of one was broken up by the distant slam of a car door. You looked around the beach, but you didn’t think anyone had left yet. It was too soon, you thought.

And then you saw him, on the other side of the flames. First a long shadow, then more concrete, more real. Bucky, in a t-shirt and shorts, swinging the his keychain around his finger as he strolled up to the rest of you. He had a sweatshirt hanging over one arm. He was late, but he was here. You tried to tamp down the feeling spreading through your chest at the sight of him. He didn’t see you right away, sidling over to Sam and accepting a drink. They were hovering around the grill. You saw Bucky laugh, but you were too far away to hear him over the music, the roar of the flames, and the swish of the waves. He clapped Sam on the shoulder before turning to survey the rest of the beach, raising his red solo cup in greeting to whoever waved or shouted in his direction.

Then, predictably, his eyes came to rest on you. He stayed staring at you as he took a sip of his drink, and you broke the contact to stare into the fire. You weren’t surprised when he sat down beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him resting his cup against his knee. “I thought you weren’t coming,” you said, the words leaving the side of your mouth.

“I was always coming. I just had to drop off Becca at a sleepover first. And you know how long she takes to get ready. She ran back and forth from the car to the house like ten times before she was ready.”

With a pang, you silently agreed that yes, you did know how Becca got. She always forgot something. Dates with bucky had been interrupted dozens of times because she’d called him, begging him to bring her something she’d left behind. And he’d always say yes, and then look at you apologetically, and you’d only smile and kiss the tip of his nose before standing and offering a hand. Becca had sort of been like your little sister, too. You had been the one she’d always come to about boy troubles. You missed her.

“How is she?” you asked. It was easier to talk about someone other than yourselves.

“Oh, you know, same as always. Still taking her dance classes way too seriously.”

You hummed, remembering the recitals you’d attended with Bucky’s family. “She’s got the talent for it. Is she still thinking of going to Julliard?”

“‘Course. It’s on her wall. She made this, uh…” he trailed off, searching for the word, “vision board thing. I don’t know. A bunch of pictures all stuck together?”

You nodded. “Right. It’s supposed to manifest your hopes and dreams, remind you of your goals, that sort of thing.”

He snapped his fingers, pointing at you in confirmation. “Yeah, that. God, can’t believe she’s gonna be applying for universities this year.”

“I remember when she still had frizzy hair and braces,” you said, your voice wistful. If you closed your eyes, you could see her clearly. The summer she’d gotten blonde highlights and cried because she thought they were too chunky, you’d helped her dye her hair back to brown. You used to give her your old clothes, ones you’d outgrown or no longer thought suited you. She would raid your closet and call it thrifting.

“And now she’s got her learner’s permit and a part-time job.” Bucky sounded equally pensive.

It was easy to talk about Becca and the passage of time. Bucky filled you in on what she’d been up to. It was nice to hear. No matter what had happened between you and Nucky, you’d always have a soft spot for his family. “…And then her and my mom called me in tears. I was almost late for my mid-term.” he laughed, looking at you.

You smiled at the tale. It was a classic case of dramatic teenage girl versus worried mother. You tried to ignore the fact that Becca probably would have called you, if you’d been around. Bucky seemed to think of it too. He swallowed, and you watched the line of his throat. “You know, she was uh… she was really mad at me, when we broke up. She didn’t talk to me for two weeks.” You could barely hear him over the crackle of the fire, but the words seeped into your skin, regardless. “She would have picked you over me, if she could have.”

You looked away from him, crossing your arms. You didn’t quite know what to say. “Mom, too, actually.” Bucky added after a moment. “She slapped me upside the head.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling at the idea. Wilhelmina was one of the gentlest women you knew, who only had to threaten to count to three to get her children to fall in line. The idea of her making Bucky see stars with a smack to the skull was admittedly funny. The words left you before you could consider them. “You know, that was almost the worst part for me. Not only did you break up with me, but I lost my second family because of it.”

He said your name then, and you heard the remorse laced in it, but you cut him off before he could say another word. “I wasn’t gonna be the ex-girlfriend that kept making your life hell by keeping up with your family. You might have deserved it, but any future girlfriends didn’t. But I missed them so much.” Bucky’s family had always been much more hands on than yours. They’d never been upset by your presence, they’d just wanted to know if you were staying for dinner so that they could get an extra plate out.

A cool breeze came in from the shoreline, and it made you shiver as your hair caught on it, blowing across your face. The weight of fabric pressed against your legs a moment later. “Here, take it.”

It was Bucky’s sweatshirt. I was a bad idea to accept it, especially when you were quickly approaching melancholy and introspectiveness, but another gust of wind hand you hastily pulling it over your head. The maroon fabric nearly drowned you, the sleeves hanging past your fingers. It smelled of him. His cologne had always had a little bit of a lavender smell to it. You resisted the urge to pull the hem over your nose, to breathe him in more. You could almost believe it was like old times. You’d constantly stolen his clothes. You liked them more than your own, the way they felt so lived in. The way he always felt close. You’d taken no less than three of his shirts with you when you’d gone to France the year before, away from him for spring break. It had made the time difference bearable.

You pushed your hair back behind your ears even though you knew another billow of wind would send it flying loose around your face again. You wished that someone else would come by, pull you into a more mundane conversation, save you from reliving the past. But it was just you and Bucky on that bench. Everyone else seemed oceans away. When you looked at him again, you regretted it. His eyes were dark in the night, but every time the bonfire flickered, you saw that telltale blue. His mouth was pursed in a line, his forehead creased. He turned to the side, resting his elbow along the back of the bench so that he could look at you with the full force of his gaze. “You know my mom would still love to see you, even if we’re not together, right?”

“I know,” you said softly. “But it’s too hard for me. I can’t… I can’t go into that house anymore. I can’t look at your picture on the wall. Because then I’ll remember that I was there when she took it, and all the others.” You sighed, your eyes fluttering closed for a second. “It’s all just a reminder of before. And I can’t keep looking back on it.”

His fingers touched his mouth as he considered, then nodded. “I understand.” For once, you thought that he actually did.

You both sat in the silence of what had broken you apart, before he nudged your knee with his. “Tell me about school. Straight A’s?” The subject was an abrupt, obvious change, but you grabbed it with both hands.

“Of course. like I'd ever get any less.”

He laughed. “Wish I could say the same. got a D- on a first year seminar.”

At your look of dismay, he held up his hands. “You made all my study guides for me. I tried to recreate them the way you do, but it just didn’t really work.”

“Did you colour code everything?”

“I tried. But orange and red kept getting mixed up.”

You shook your head. “Novice move.”

The smile on his face faded then, his eyes going serious. His hand paused in the air between you, before he followed through, brushing your hair back again from where it had, predictably, come loose. “I want to kiss you right now.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The tentative, easy spell of camaraderie broke, and you shied away, ignoring the sparks on your skin from where he’d touched you. You could see regret swimming in his eyes. You stood suddenly, placing your half-finished lemonade on the bench. “I should go. I wasn’t gonna stay long, anyway.”

You took a stumbling step backward when he tried to reach for you, his lips forming your name. There were no two ways about it, you were shaken. You’d thought for a brief, shining moment, that maybe you could just enjoy the evening as something close to friends. That you could just pretend, for one night. But your feelings had risen in you like an unsteady tide, threatening to spill from your mouth. You felt like you had salt water in your lungs, the way they burned. You patted at your pockets frantically, almost at your car. It was too much, it was too soon. You didn’t know what you wanted. For a second, all you’d wanted was him. You sat in your car for a full moment, both hands on the wheel, staring blankly ahead, before finally shifting into drive and backing out of your spot.

You just hoped you’d get to your room before you started to cry.

The country road ahead was dark, with only your headlights to guide the way. It was a ten minute stretch before you’d reach suburbia again. You drove with no music, only the sound of your breathing and the car rumbling over the road. Your fingers were tight on the wheel.

You supposed you should have expected him to say something like that. It was Bucky, after all. No matter how genuine he seemed, his goal had always been to get back in your pants. Maybe that was cheapening what your relationship had been, but when you had the foundation of your love crumbling because he’d wanted to chase down some tail that wasn’t you, what else were you supposed to think? You were sure it would take nothing at all to re frame every action he’d taken over the course of the summer and twist it into something that hurt.

A flash of lights caught in your rear view mirror. The road had been empty, but there was a car behind you now. If they wanted to overtake, they could. But the lights flashed again, and you could just barely make out the shape of it. it was Bucky’s car. He was following you. “Shit,” you murmured to the air freshener hanging from the mirror.

You couldn’t let him follow you all the way back to the house. Your mom was home, and she’d ask questions. Hell, she’d probably invite him in. He flashed them again, keeping pace. You slapped the indicator with your hand, letting out a resigned sigh, and pulled onto the shoulder. He copied you, pulling in neatly behind you. You parked but stayed in the car, one hand on the wheel, the other clutching at your seatbelt where it rested over your chest. You stared straight ahead, blinking away any glassiness from your eyes.

From the edge of your periphery, you saw him lean down by your window, observing you for the space of three breaths, before he knocked gently on the glass. Your hand left the wheel to push the door open, but you stayed in the car. “I'm sorry,” were the first words out of his mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean—I'm sorry.”

You chewed your lip, eyes flicking to him and away. “And to be clear, I don’t mean that I regret the fact that I want to kiss you. I still do. I always do. But I'm sorry for saying it and making you upset. It’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

His hand gripped the top of the car’s door. You wouldn’t even have to extend your arm the entire way to touch him. Belatedly, you realized you were still wearing his sweatshirt. “Do you want this back?” you asked absently, waving the long sleeve at him.

“What? Oh, no. You can keep it. Colour suits you more, anyway.”

“Bucky,” you said on a sigh, turning your head to look at him finally, “I'm not gonna keep it. It’s not mine, and neither are you.”

“You’re wrong. I'll always be yours. Even if you don’t want me.”

The admission left you in stunned silence. He’d already said to you in so many words that he was intent on getting back together. But to hear it like that… to hear him say it with honest eyes and no expectation… Your next breath was shaky. You refused to cry.

“What can I do? I’ll do anything. Anything to make it up to you. To start making it up to you.'“

You didn’t even know how to respond. Your mind had drawn a total, perfect blank, like someone had taken an eraser to the whiteboard that was your brain, any ideas completely gone.

“Do you know why I really failed that class?” A cricket chirped between the words of the question. “Yeah, it was partly because I suck at studying without you. But it was also because I missed you, so damn much. God, I was still so gone for you—I kept a photo of you on my nightstand.”

At this, your eyes went wide, a look he caught. He gave you a grim smile. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s you on that tire swing. You know, the one at my uncle’s lake house? And the sun was in your eyes, but you looked like you were glowing. Same one I keep in my wallet.” He pulled said wallet out of his back pocket and unfolded it, sliding a creased photo from its depths. He flipped it in his fingers to face you.

It had been warm that fall. So warm, unseasonably so, that his family had hosted Thanksgiving at the lake house that year, and you’d come along. The next day had been a complete and utter downpour. You remembered because he’d forgotten to roll up the windows on his car, and the drive back had been extremely soggy. Bucky tucked it back in his wallet. “You were the last thing I saw at night, first thing I saw in the morning. I wasted hours I should have spent studying just thinking of you, trying to remember your voice. Old videos aren’t the same. I was gonna come to your house over winter break, you know. I was gonna beg you to take me back then, but then I heard from Stevie you weren’t comin’ home.”

Yes, you and your parents had flown across the country to spend Christmas with your grandparents, instead. And you’d been relieved. You hadn’t wanted to come back to town, worried you’d bump into Bucky with some new girl on his arm. “I knew that for the last three summers, you’d worked at the pool, so I was planning to just show up there. But then I heard you were being a hero at the beach instead. And the first day I saw you, it took everything I had not to just run across the sand and hold you until you forgave me, until you told me everything was okay.”

His voice broke a little on the last word. “Stop.” you whispered.

He didn’t. “I miss you so much, baby. I miss you when you’re standing right in front of me. I miss when you used to tell me everything you ate in a day. I miss when you’d tell me what dumb thing your dad said. I miss all of it. I was such an idiot. I got cold feet and I didn’t think it through. I didn’t need other girls, or time apart. I just needed you. I'm so sorry.”

You felt his sadness like you were swimming in a sea of it. You felt his regret, his anger at himself. And even though he’d hurt you more than you’d thought he ever could… he wasn’t entirely right. Time apart, whether you liked it or not, had forced you both to grow without the other, instead of tangling your roots together and staying intertwined.

The click of your seatbelt coming undone went unnoticed.

His hands hovered in the air between you again, like they had on the beach. He settled his palms on the sides of your face gingerly, like he was afraid you’d duck away. This time, you didn’t. Looking into his eyes hurt, it burned. But you wanted to ignite, you thought. You wanted to smoke and smolder and disintegrate. “Please,” he whispered, “please give me another chance.”

Each word had brought his face closer to yours. Your head was tilted up to his. He was outlined by the silvery moon, you both were. You didn’t know which one of your closed the gap, only that your hands came to rest over his. You both tasted like lemonade, but underneath it was his distinct flavour, the one that awakened your senses like an ember sparking on dry leaves. Suddenly the forest of your memories was aflame. It was a kiss both delicate and searching as well as frantic and pleading, like Bucky was pouring every single regret and wish into the same shared breath. His forehead knocked against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip. The sound he made, one you thought you’d never hear again was what made you come to your senses. You pulled back, breaking the connection of your mouths, but his hands stayed on your face. His eyes stayed closed for a long moment and you were free to admire the way his lashes embraced his cheeks.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me again?”

“You don’t. but I'll spend every day proving to you that I'm worth your trust.” His eyes were still closed, like if he didn’t open them, he wouldn’t have to see what you’d decided flying across your face.

He looked at you again when your silence became the clear answer. His fingers stroked across your temples. “I have to think about it.” you said honestly.

In truth, you were unsure. You weren’t ready to trust him yet, even though your nervous system was screaming at your to dive off the board and into the deep end without a life vest. You saw his chest deflate on a long exhale, his breath fanning across your lips. “Okay. Okay, take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere. You know that.” He seemed reluctant to let go of you. “You know that, right?”

You nodded as much as you could with his hands on your face. “I know.”

That was what made him drop his hands. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it back, and you thought you saw a flicker of pain in his eyes, before he shook his head. He knew you weren’t about to reciprocate. “I'm sorry I ruined your night.”

Your laugh was born of nervousness more than humour. “You didn’t ruin it. I really wasn’t planning to stay long. You should go back, though.”

He shook his head again. “I think I got what I came for.”

“And what’s that?”

“A foot in the door.”

He stood up straight then, hand on the door. “Drive home safe, okay? I'll see you tomorrow?” The question was full of unrestrained, naked hope.

“Yeah. I start at 12.”

He moved to close your door, but ducked down at the last moment, leaving a lingering kiss on your forehead. “See you at 12.”

Then he closed your door, and you were alone in the car, the scent of him overwhelming, the taste of him even more so. It took a long time for you to buckle your seatbelt again and start driving.

It took Bucky even longer, staring at the empty space your car had been in, before he got on the road, too.

You didn’t really know what to do with yourself in the morning. You’d been on total autopilot the night before, after you’d gotten home. You didn’t remember crawling into bed, even, but you had woken up still wearing Bucky’s sweater. The faint trace of his scent was still on it. You’d let him kiss you last night, you remembered, but you couldn’t summon the strength to be horrified. You had never, never seen him so emotional before. You couldn’t believe, after that admission, that he was just trying to bed you. He had to be serious. There was no way he wasn’t.

But that didn’t mean you were ready to pick up where you left off. You needed time to wrap your head around it. You supposed you had a month before you were back on campus. You had to decide whether you wanted him haunting the hallways of your dorm or not. You didn’t want to hold onto hope only to be crushed by ‘cold feet’ again.

You didn’t remember getting ready for your shift. You only noticed as you were doing a final check of your bag that you’d gotten dressed and brushed your hair, and your teeth as well judging by the minty taste on your tongue. Somehow, you’d blown through the morning in a total fugue state.

You blacked out on the drive, too, only realizing where you were with sudden clarity as you pulled into your usual spot. Bucky’s car was already there. He’d started before you—your shift only overlapped with his for about an hour. You were nervous to see him. What if last night had actually been a cruel dream?

You drummed your fingers on the strap of your bag where it rested over your shoulder, striding over the sand and heading to the cabana. Bruce glanced up at you from over his glasses and murmured a greeting before turning back to whatever paperwork had graced his desk, and you sat heavily on one of the rickety chairs. You fumbled with your water bottle just for something to do. Even though you were wearing a loose t-shirt over your bathing suit, you felt like the fabric was pressing against you like a second skin. You couldn’t even blame it on the humidity.

You basked in the silence for all of five minutes before slinging your bag on one of the hooks by the door and heading back outside, throwing your hair into a ponytail. It was overcast today, and you had a feeling you’d get rained on at some point, but you found yourself welcoming the possibility. Maybe you needed to get in touch with nature a little more, despite the fact that you’d been spending your days surrounded by it. You were scheduled to walk the perimeter and then cover Overwatch for a while. The beach was fairly empty today. You understood—if you’d had the choice, you would have spent the day inside. Everything was awash in shades of gray, the waves looking choppy and rough.

Bucky was almost right in front of you before you noticed him, too lost in thought, too busy trying not to think of him, because if you did, you’d remember the feeling of his hands on your face and the way he’d kissed you and the sound he’d made, along with a million other tiny things he’d done last night. But then he was there in the light of day, hardly a foot from you. You stopped, narrowly avoiding kicking up sand. “Hi,” you already sounded breathless. You hated it.

“Hey,” he said with a nod. His expression was guarded, like he was afraid you’d come to your senses and decided not to take a chance on him.

You both observed each other. “Was it busy this morning?” you asked. It was a lame, easy out.

He shook his head. “The standard early morning swimmers, but otherwise, no. I’ve actually been bored out of my mind. It gave me too much time to think.” It was a leading statement, but you decided not to pull at that thread.

“It’ll probably be more of the same for you. It’s supposed to rain around three.” he added, glancing skyward.

You mirrored him, taking in the gathering storm clouds. “It’s been a pretty dry summer.”

You knew things were awkward when you were discussing the most basic of topics. You could almost picture an elephant there on the beach, a sign on its neck saying ‘address me!’

You pointed at the shoreline. “Well, I should probably get to it. Are you taking a break?”

“Yeah.” But you both stayed standing there for another few seconds, before you ducked your head and started to move.

Right as you were about to pass him, Bucky snaked a hand around your front, settling it on your hip, and kissed the side of your head. It was a small gesture, a simple one. He let go of you and walked away right after he did it, not keeping you there, but it was enough to send your heart ricocheting around your chest like it was taking a turn in a pinball machine.

For your sake, you hoped it would suddenly get very busy on the beach, just so you would have something else to focus on.

The month continued on in a slow crawl, and all of your interactions with Bucky felt like a tentative, shy dance. Sometimes he’d leave you alone, with nothing more than a cursory hello, a searching look, and a small smile, which you’d return. Other times, he’d hover in your orbit like a little lovesick fly. When you’d gone to check the schedule at one point, he’d stood right behind you as you leaned over the desk, not saying a word. You could feel his body heat radiating in waves. You wouldn’t have had to take even a full step back to lean back against him. You imagined if you did, he would have put his arms around you.

You’d started quietly pulling him to the side with no fanfare, turning him around by the shoulders, and slathering him in sunscreen without saying anything about it, though you’d only let him return the favour once, because he’d trailed his finger down your spine and your shiver had been so obvious, you couldn’t look him in the eye after.

The well of longing that you’d boarded up with nails and plywood had flooded, and it felt like it was pushing against the barrier of your skin with insistent, needy hands, begging to be let loose and consume. You were aware of the grains of sand running down on the hourglass. Your personal benchmark of the end of August was approaching, and you felt it looming over you like a vast shadow.

You were running out of reasons to deny Bucky. He’d continued to show up every day, continued to do his job as if he’d wanted to be a lifeguard all along. He was still coming to the beach on most of the days that you worked, though he’d started to give you a little more space. You’d unblocked his number from your phone, and there were now disjointed strings of texts between you. Short things like confirming each other’s schedules, even though you both new the other’s as well as you knew your own. Messages from him wishing you sweet dreams. But the ones that had you holding your phone to your chest with heated cheeks came in the middle of the night, when Bucky would send you things like, “I can’t sleep so I’m looking at your picture,” and “I think I was dreaming of you. I couldn’t see your face, but it was you. It couldn’t be anyone else.” Sometimes he’d tell you what Becca was up to, and pass on messages from you to her as well.

You had started to entertain what the fall might look like. If you took Bucky back, would it be exactly how you’d envisioned it the year before? Would you stop by each other’s campuses, have lunch and study dates together? Would you sneak him back to your dorm, tugging him along by the strings of his hoodie? Would you be one of those couples lazily making out in the quad? Or would you keep this strange tightrope of distance between you? You could picture it just as easily, telling him you still weren’t ready. Him nodding, swallowing whatever he wanted to say, but asking if he could still visit you. You had a feeling that would be worse. You’d be so distracted by the possibility, wondering if he’d make some sort of grand gesture or if he’d keep down this new path, respecting the distance and the time and your hesitation.

With two weeks to go before you needed to get packed up and head three hours away to your school, a couple of new lifeguards were being trained. The off-season was approaching, but the beach was still bound to be busy on weekends all through September and some of October. The heat loved to linger before the cold snap came closer to Halloween. Your hours had started to scale back, or else you’d be in the company of a newbie. Training Kate was somewhat of a challenge. She was good—quick, sharp, determined—but she was also akin to a dog seeing a new toy with the way her attention would shoot elsewhere. Oftentimes, you’d have to repeat yourself or try to get her to refocus. It left little time for Bucky and you, and whatever was going on there.

It was why you were so caught off-guard by Kate asking you one day, “So is that Bucky guy your boyfriend, or what?”

You dropped the bundle of life preservers that had been looped over your arm. “What?”

She pointed at the cabana. Bucky was outside of it, leaned against the wall. He was talking to Sam, but his eyes were on you. He didn’t look away when you made eye contact, and you felt your heart flutter at his open stare. “There’s something going on there, right?” she probed, crouching to pick up some of the preservers.

You joined her, knees in the sand. “We um, we used to date, yes.” You were doing a piss-poor job of picking the red and white rings up. Your fingers suddenly felt slippery.

“Used to date? How long ago?”

“A year ago, give or take.” you said mildly, hoping she’d drop it.

But Kate latched onto it like it was a bone. “A year? Then why is he looking at you like that? Oh! Are you the one that got away?” she sang the last part with enthusiasm, eyes twinkling as she looked at you.

You bit your lip and dusted sand from one of the preservers, a useless thing to do. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”

“Are you getting back together? No one looks at a person like that.”

“I know.”

“No, no, I mean… no one looks at a person like that.” she said, grabbing your arm. “My grandparents have been together sixty years, and I don’t think I’ve ever even seen them look so love struck. He’s looking at you like you’re keeping his heart held hostage in a box or something.” To make matters worse, she pointed at him very obviously, then at you. It couldn’t be clearer what you were talking about if she’d started twirling a baton and carrying a neon sign.

When you meekly looked up at him, he hadn’t taken his eyes off you. And damn it, Kate was completely right. You felt stripped bare under his gaze. “Well, it’s sort of complicated,” you muttered.

“What’s so complicated? He looks like he’d get down on one knee right now. It’s actually sort of gross.” She mimed throwing up. Then she looked at you. “And besides, you look equally struck by cupid.”

“What? No I don’t!” You touched your face as if you could confirm or deny her accusation.

She grinned at you, successfully collecting all the preservers and tying them together with a section of rope—the thing you’d been trying to do when you’d dropped them. “If you say so.”

As the rest of the day went on, you couldn’t help thinking about Kate’s question. What’s so complicated? Yes, you’d been hurt beyond belief when Bucky had broken up with you. Yes, it had also sucked extra hard to know that he’d boned Natasha that same night at one of the grad parties. You’d stuck your fingers to the edges of that seeping wound many times over, feeling it bleed over your hands, feeling the pulse of your veins, the hurt pumping through them. But with some level of surprise, when you put your palms over the wound now, you were met with a scar instead. It was puckered, marred, not pretty and clean. But it had healed over, nonetheless. You were sure you’d always feel the phantom ache of the slice, but you found it wasn’t something you were at risk of bleeding out over.

Did that mean you forgave him? You imagined that if you told the whole sordid tale to a council, there’d be varying levels of both outrage and passiveness. You’d seen how girls got ridiculed for going back to men that had done them wrong. But this was the only wrong thing Bucky had done to you, if you thought about it. Any argument you’d ever had, even at your immature ages, had been smoothed over. You had never been the high school couple that broke up every other week. You’d been solid. And it shouldn’t matter what other people thought of your actions, should it? If things went poorly again, you only had yourself to blame for making the choice. You didn’t want outside influence to muddy the waters of your thoughts.

And, you had to admit that as soon as Bucky realized that trying to be suave and charming in order to win you back wouldn’t work, he’d put a stop to it. Since then, he’d been nothing but sincere. He’d prostrated himself before you. He’d tried to meet you where you were at. Maybe it was something worth considering. If you were honest with yourself, you’d never fallen out of love with him, even when you’d had your heart broken, even when you hadn’t seen him for months. As soon as you had, all those feelings came rushing back in a tsunami.

You’d just stepped inside your house, shaking sand from yourself and throwing your keys on the table. At that moment, like he’d known you’d been thinking of him, Bucky sent you a text.

There was no expectation of anything, just an offer of help. and he was right—you were a serial overpacker. It was one of your more endearing qualities, apparently, or so he’d told you once. You considered the offer, considered him. And miraculously, you came to a decision.

You had a week to go, and four shifts left. You only had two days between your last one and your return date to school. You’d asked for it to be that way—you hadn’t wanted to haunt the house with your overthinking.

You had what was considered a closing shift, though it wasn’t a very long one. Four to nine, and the promise of a gorgeous sunset. You knew that Bucky was closing alongside you. After eight o’clock, you’d be on your own with him.

You managed to keep your distance for most of it—the beach was busy that evening, and you’d had to rescue some kids that had gotten a little too far from shore and started to panic. It had all been fine, nothing except for a few tears, some shaken pride, and some furious parents, but you’d kept a sharp eye on the water regardless. You were here to do a job, after all, not moon over your ex, no matter how great he looked with no shirt and dark red shorts that brought out his tan. You’d had the luxury of other lifeguards at the beginning of the shift, but as time went on, they dropped off one by one.

Ava was the last to leave, a couple minutes after eight. You had an hour to kill. You were staying up on Overwatch and keeping an eye on the dwindling beach goers while Bucky started clean up duty, making sure all the essential gear was in its right place, checking the batteries on the walkie talkies, and making sure none of the off-limits areas had been breached. You tried your best not to watch him, but it was hard when the beach was slowly emptying.

Right at nine, the soft clearing of Bucky’s throat alerted you to his presence. He stood next to Overwatch’s stilts, a hand extended up like he was a knight waiting to assist his princess down from her horse. You accepted his hand when you were low enough, your jump down the last remaining foot of the chair noiseless. “Did you lock up yet?”

“Not yet. I wasn’t sure if you needed anything else from there.” He’d already grabbed your bag and was holding it over one shoulder.

You nodded, waiting for him to pass you your bag, but he seemed utterly content to just follow along, continuing to hold it. “I just want to double check the schedule. I think my next shift is my last one with Joaquin.”

He fell into step with you easily, trudging through the sand in the twilight. The sun was gone but the sky was still a few shades lighter than black. You could see the outline of him from the edge of your sight. At least he’d put on a shirt now. It made him just a fraction easier to deal with. He followed you into the cabana and stayed hovering beside you while you ran a finger down the schedule tacked to one of the walls. The different times of day were highlighted in varying colours. You nodded to yourself. “Yeah, last one with Torres.”

“Mine was Tuesday,” Bucky said.

In the back of your head, you’d known he was going back to school, too, but it still jolted you to be reminded that you’d be drifting apart again if you didn’t do something about it.

You flicked the lights off and ushered him from the cabana, locking it and tucking the key in the mailbox, which latched when you closed it. Bruce would be able to unlock it with the master key in the morning. The walk to the parking lot was quiet. Only yours and Bucky’s cars remained, tucked side by side together. You both stopped at the edge of the lot, and he turned to you. You could see the moths thumping their tiny bodies against the street light above him. He was limned in warm gold as he handed your bag back to you. This wouldn’t be the last time you saw him, and you knew it, but you felt rooted to the spot like your brain was trying to trace his exact shape and height and leave it as an imprint behind your eyelids.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you,” you finally said.

He’d been doing the same as you, twirling his car keys in his hand but otherwise making no move to go. He nodded. “Good night.”

You turned to go, but you only got halfway to your car before stopping. You felt like you’d stepped into a thin pocket of time where only the two of you existed. There was no sound except the crash of the waves and the moth bodies against the street light’s glass. You turned, your flip flops skidding on the asphalt. He was still standing where you’d left him, still watching you. He didn’t say a word as you walked back over, right into his proximity.

It was time to be brave and take a chance, you supposed. You let your bag slip off your shoulder and down to the crook of your arm before letting it fall in a pile by your feet. There was the barest hint of a question in Bucky’s eyes, and they flared wide when you put your hands on his shoulders, before you slid your arms around his neck. This was the closest you’d been to him in over a year, barring the mouth-to-mouth incident. This was real. You rolled up onto your toes. Your vision was overtaken by his eyes, so dark in colour but so bright in a sudden gleam of hope.

“I’m not saying we can pick up where we left off,” you started, your voice hushed, “not like we were before. I’m not even saying I want to dive in headfirst. But I’m… I’m willing to try, if you can take it slow with me.”

There it was, your heart on a platter. You didn’t know if Bucky would readily accept it or if he’d have a counteroffer. He was slow to put his hands on you, like he was afraid that if he did, you’d pop like a bubble and disappear. You thought you felt one single tremor as his fingers landed on your waist, before the full weight of his palms branded you. “I’ll take whatever you give me. Even if it’s just phone calls and texts. I can’t do another year without you in my life.” You shivered under his touch, his words, his gaze.

“Can I just ask for one thing? It’s the only time I will, I swear.”

You tilted your head to the side just a little. “What is it?”

“Please, for the love of God, can I kiss you?”

You felt like you were going to be swallowed whole by those dark blue eyes. “Yes—”

The word wasn’t even fully out before your mouth was claimed by his. Your noses bumped together. The kiss was chaste, demure, even. The first one, at least. But each time his lips parted from yours, he came back, like he wasn’t satisfied with just one taste. Like he was parched and you were a full cup of water and he couldn’t resist chugging you. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten what kissing Bucky—really kissing Bucky—was like, but all your memories seemed to pale in comparison when you got to experience the real thing in full sound and colour again. There was the telltale taste of peppermint in the brush of his tongue. The slow exploration of your mouth felt like he was kissing you for the first time ever, not like he was revisiting an old haunt. It made you feel weightless.

When you really did part, your breaths fanned over each other’s faces, your heads bent together, your foreheads touching with each exhale. “Please don’t let that be the last one before we go back to college,” he muttered. The tiniest hint of the Bucky you’d known and loved before was threaded through the words, the smallest, softest whine of disgruntlement.

You couldn’t hold back your laugh. “Maybe not, we’ll see.”

As silly as it sounded, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You practically floated all the way home, a dreamy smile on your face—you’d seen it when you’d gone to brush your teeth. Your phone had been lighting up almost nonstop after you’d gotten into bed. It was all texts from Bucky, ranging between sweet messages he’d apparently been dying to say all summer and had kept in his notes app, and plans for the future. Those ones were more tentative, more shy. He sent you a couple of links to restaurants between your two schools, mentioned some of the events happening on his campus. He didn’t expressly invite you, but… the implication was there, and it was clear. Now that he had the chance, he wasn’t going to make light of it.

And it continued on, all through the week. He did end up helping you pack your things, throwing your last suitcase and storage box into the trunk of his car and promising to bring them to you sometime in the first week. In between packing and plans, you’d allowed him to steal some sweet, shy kisses. You couldn’t help it. Your resolve had officially crumbled. And you didn’t think you wanted it any other way.

Your days at work were dwindling down. You were right on the finish line. Unfortunately for you, when you got there for your next shift, Sam took one look at you and groaned before fishing out his wallet and slapping twenty bucks to Joaquin’s chest. “God damn it, Torres, you won.”

You’d frowned and cocked your head, confused. Sam had gestured up and down at you. “You forgave Bucky.”

“How do you know?”

“I can just tell. If you could see you right now, you’d know. It’s really obvious.”

You looked down at your clothes, your bag, your lotioned legs. You didn’t seem any different, you thought. You felt different, but that wasn’t visible to the naked eye… was it?

But it became impossible to ignore when Bucky came sauntering across the sand. He wasn’t working, but he held two ice cream floats in his hands, and handed one to you before slinging an arm around your waist. “What’s going on?”

You had been smiling goofily at him as soon as he’d come into your eyeline. And that was when you knew that your happiness was as clear and obvious as a stain on a white shirt. You gave Sam a look. “You placed a bet?”

He snorted. “Of course I did.”

Your last day on shift was bittersweet. Bruce had thanked you for your time, and asked if you’d consider coming back the next year, which had been an easy yes. You’d had one last ice cream at the Langs’ stand, chatted with Cassie and Scott, and joked about how the former would probably look totally different in a year’s time.

Bucky swung by in your last hour. He’d already been reprimanded the previous time when he’d corralled you into the showers. You’d admittedly been playing hard to get that day, revelling in the wild look in his eyes, but you’d ultimately been mortified when he’d pinned you to the shower’s wall, a handful of your ass in his grasp, and heard a small, disapproving, “Ah-hem…” from Bruce. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t invited you back next year.

You were still fully intending on taking it slow. You didn’t want to burn too bright, too quick. You thought being on different campuses would help with that. You were doing your very last walk of the perimeter, Bucky in tow, his hand sweaty in yours, but you kept a firm grasp on him anyway. The sun was beating down on your head mercilessly.

You came to a complete, sudden halt, hand loosening from Bucky’s, when you saw a flash of copper ahead of you. Attached to the copper was the body of a model in a black and white striped bikini, doing what could only be described as a Baywatch-eqsue run into the water.

It was Natasha.

You went cold all over, despite the heat. You hadn’t seen her since your graduation. She still looked great, as always. You were fairly sure she could wear a garbage bag and still turn every head on the beach. But then you were pulled back to reality by Bucky tugging on your hand. “Why’d you stop, love?”

You looked between him and Natasha, 50 feet away. “Natasha’s here,” you said limply, gesturing to the waves.

He frowned, a look of genuine surprise on his face. “Huh, you know, I didn’t even notice.”

It seemed crazy—even you had been ogling her. The crazier thing was, you believed him. He really had been looking at you the whole time. As you resumed your walk, his eyes flicked over to her once, as you passed. But then they slid forward, to the next swimmer, and the next, and the next… Just a cursory glance. There was nothing there, no heat, no fire. And then when he looked at you again, he smiled. “Do you want to grab dinner when you’re done? Nothing crazy, just, I don’t know, burgers? At that one place?” Then he lifted your joined hands and kissed the back of yours.

“Okay,” you nodded. “Sounds good.”

And, you thought to yourself, it really did.

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