Potato's Thots

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

You look at yourself, a wadded length of toilet paper pressed to your cheek. You don't want him anywhere near you. Not after that. 

Before you felt repugnant, now you feel trapped. 

"It's not that bad," you force your voice steady. "I just need to keep pressure on it." 

"Doll," he leans on the door. "You know I wouldn't mean to do that. This damn plate in my hand keeps lifting--" 

"That's... you should get that fixed," you stammer. 

He's quiet. The door shifts again. 

"Your heart's racing," he says.  

You sigh, "Bucky," you frown, "just give me a minute, okay?" 

The last word peaks and you cringe. You're not doing a very good job of staying calm. You hear him sniff and the handle jiggles.  

"Baby, let me just have a look. I feel awful--" 

He doesn't stop. Before, he couldn't be bothered to answer a phone call, now he won't let you breathe. You push on the tissue until your flesh throbs and face the door. You flick the lock back.  

He opens it from the other side. "Hey, uh, let me have a look." 

You drop your hand and stare at the wall. He sets the melt on the counter and frames your face. You wince. His touch is lighter than before.  

"Shit, I'm sorry. I... your face. I never would mean to cut to such a pretty one," he flips the lid of the kit. "I was... I'm scared too, you know? I don't wanna lose you. That's all it is." 

You swallow and let him wipe the cut with alcohol. You can't speak. If you do, you might break. You know he can hear your fear but can be hear your anger? Your hurt. 

"I got the chicken out so it doesn't burn. I'll fix dinner when I'm done with you," he says as he presses sterile strips across the cut. "No stitches. Hopefully it won't scar." 

You lower your lashes and inhale, "thanks." 

"Of course. I'll always take care of you," he frames your chin. "I didn't do it on purpose." 

"Got it," you meet his eye. "Can I go change my shirt?" 

His gaze falls to the droplets on your shirt. His cheek ticks. "You don't have to ask me like I'm some tyrant." 

You stare at him. He shakes his head and steps out of your way. "God forbid you're stuck with me," he raises his hands. "I'll set the table. You don't gotta lift a finger." 

You pass him and measure your steps. You want to run but you know better. Right now, there's nowhere for you to go. 

You don’t even know if you want to go. Even if you could. It was a question. A conversation you thought would be kept private. You’re hurt by Bucky but even more so by Natasha. Worse, you feel stupid. How could you think anyone would ever take your side? 

Look at it from the outside. You’re married to a hero, an avenger, someone who can support you. You don’t have to work, you work because you didn’t want to be that kept wife. Your comics barely prevented that, did they? You’re not a housewife but still kept. 

You go upstairs and switch out your shirt. This one’s loose, a deep burgundy without any detail. Just a plain jersey tee. 

You linger in the bedroom. You’re nervous. Afraid. Your adrenaline is still surging. You feel his iron grip around your jaw. 

When you started dating, you loved how strong Bucky was. He could pick you up like nothing. And he did. He loved it. How you would gasp and giggle. You don’t have fun like you used to. 

You make yourself go downstairs. If he has to come find you, you don’t expect it will go any better than the last encounter. He has the table set, the salad waiting. 

“Croutons?” He asks as you sit. 

“No thanks,” you say. You’re cutting back the carbs. 

You pick up the fork and jab into the lettuce and tomatoes. He’s acting like it’s all fine. Like your face isn’t totally fucked up. It’s not that bad. He could do worse. And it was an accident. So he says. But he grabbed you on purpose. He did that all intentionally. 

“You know,” he pauses as he chews. He swallows thickly, “if you wanna work out, we could do it together. Like we used to.” 

You look up at him. You shove a mouthful of salad through your lips to stifle a scoff. There’s nothing you want to do with him at the moment. 

You nod and gulp down the vinaigrette laden lettuce. He didn’t toss it very well. 

“Sure, it could work,” you say. “I just wouldn’t want to be in your way.” 

“Oh, you think Sam doesn’t?” He snorts. “The guy’s always messing around.” 

“Right, yeah, I... haven’t heard from him in a while.” 

“He’s busy. Too busy for me. Plus, I think he likes Steve better,” Bucky shrugs. “Think I’m falling out of style.” 

He stares at you. You flinch. You lower your chin and take another bite. 

“We can start tomorrow,” he suggests. 

You nearly shrug. You stop yourself. Your indifference won’t help. You need to start trying. Not to keep this together, but to pretend you are. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” you agree. You clear your throat and wipe your mouth with the napkin he placed beside your bowl. “Maybe we can figure this out. Maybe... you know, the—what I spoke about with Nat, it’s girl talk. It’s not anything serious. I just... had doubts.” 

“Let’s move past it,” he says as he rests his metal fist beside his bowl. You stare at his knuckles before you make yourself look him in the face. 

“Sure,” you stir your salad. “I just...” you bite the inside of your lip. Stop while your ahead. “A whole month?” 

He huffs, “I get it. Alright? I should’ve answered. I know. I... I didn’t think you’d want to sit and listen to me rant about the idiots they got me training.” 

“But I would,” you say. “If you’d just picked up the phone.” 

His fist tightens, “noted.” 

You poke at the lettuce and exhale slowly. You’re already standing on the line, no use stepping past it. You touch your cheek without thinking and his eyes flash. You tear your hand away and put it against the side of the bowl instead. 

“Thanks for finishing this up for me,” you scoop up some more chicken, “um, and the flowers are pretty.” 

Small droplets of frozen rain and lost, shimmery snowflakes hit the windows as Bucky makes his way up the staircase towards his bedroom. The bedroom you two shared.

You really think you can leave Bucky. "That's almost cute", he thinks to himself, as he finishes to put the other leather glove on his vibranium arm.

His jaw is clenched, the low lights portraying him almost ghostly, demonlike, in the refections of the windows. That's how he had seen himself his whole life, since the forties, but having you---the nucleus of his life---see him such a monster that you try to leave him is something Bucky could never allow.

With a little help from Steve, the man that always had his back, Bucky was able to prevent the...loss of you.

And as his fingertips touch the doorknob, and his eyes fall on your restrained, frozen figure once the door is unlocked, the icy wind blowing softly the hair away from your petrified, purplish face, Bucky oddly feels no remorse. He actually feels his actions are entitled and extremely 'disappointed' at your previous stupid actions.

Blood runs to his already hardening cock when he hears your whimpers muffled by the blood-stained rag and your tears. Oh, those tears. The sweet acid rain falling from your bewitching eyes because of him is something that Bucky not only likes, but in fact adores.

"Hey, doll...", he sighs, rubbing his thick thumb over the much thicker bulge in his jeans, while his ocean eyes bore into your terrified ones.

When you try to crawl away, your feet get tangled in the white sheets and a mocking smirk screws on Bucky's features.

"Oh, doll...I thought we already went through this.", he says, his calm stressing you even more. His eyes rest on the drawer you know he keeps his knive and gun in.

Your pleading face is shoved down into a pillow. "You know, if I say I don't enjoy this---", Bucky starts as he takes his time with ripping down your underwear and moving his gloved, iron arm to grip your thigh, "---I would be telling a big fucking lie." You flinch when you feel a metalic pinch on your skin, followed by warmth pooling between your thighs, as Bucky's knife dances on your skin.

He doesn’t answer. You set the dessert on the round table next to his chair. You back up as Bodecker catches your eye. You bite back a frown. 

“I’ll get that rum,” you utter. 

You retreat and hurry off to the kitchen. You find two short liquor glasses and pour the rum. You return to them and place one glass by your father before giving the other to the sheriff. He examines the dark liquor. 

“Fine brand,” he drawls, “and a fine dessert. Hard to enjoy without a fine woman.” His blue eyes flick up to yours. The silver strands in his brown hair glimmer in the lamp light. “Where’s yours, then, baby?” 

“Mine, sir?” You fold your hands and step back. 

“You put all this work in, you should enjoy the fruits of your labour,” he tuts. “Ain’t that right, Jack?” 

You father grumbles as he leans toward the radio. It’s got an arched top, one of the ones back from before the war. Your grandfather’s. You don’t dare touch it. 

“Come on, then, you gotta have a bite,” he puts the drink down and lifts the plate off his lap, “here ya are, girl.” 

He cuts into the pastry with his fork and chisels away a creamy bite. Your purse your lips as he offers it to you. You gulp. 

“Sheriff, that’s for you. Really, dinner was more than enough--” 

“Go on,” he hovers the fork, the cream about to drop. “I’m sharin’, like a gentleman.” 

You nod and push your hands behind you. You ball them up tightly and bend forward. You're overly aware of his gaze as you close your lips around the tines and suck off the cream. You keep your mouth sealed as you pull back. 

You chew thoroughly before you swallow. He chuckles and balances the plate on his thigh. He curls a finger to beckon you down, “come here, baby girl, you got something...” 

You crinkle your brow but obey. Your father garbles senselessly as the commentators call an out. You wince as the sheriff drags his thumb across your lower lip. 

“Made a mess,” he purrs and pushes against the center of your lips. “Best clean it up.” 

He forces his way into your mouth and rubs your tongue, wiping the sweet cream on your tastebuds. He pets your chin before he pulls away. Your saliva glistens on his thumb. He puts it to his mouth and licks. 

“You’re just as sweet, baby girl,” he winks. 

You waver and look at the floor, “sheriff, there’s a real mess in the kitchen. I best clean it up.” 

“You always do what’s best, don’t ya?” He teases. “Go on, then. Be a good girl.” 

His words send chills over you. He's not saying anything wrong but his tone suggests otherwise. That look on his face too. You flit away, your breath constricting from the breath trapped inside. 

You exhale as you enter the kitchen. You focus on cleaning up. You wash the dishes meticulously, hoping to waste the time until the sheriff leaves. 

A sudden crash rings through from the front room. You wring the dishcloth and rush through the door. You’re daddy’s on the floor, his plate and glass around him. The radio continues to buzz. 

Bodecker stands over him, hands on his hips. 

“Told him to slow down,” he clucks. 

“Daddy?” You scamper forward. The sheriff looks at you and lays a hand on your shoulder. 

“Don’t you worry, baby girl. I’ll get him. He just needa sleep this off.” He squeezes and rubs with his thumb, reluctantly letting you go. “You lead the way, huh?” 

He bends and scoops up your daddy. You pout but can’t argue. You wouldn’t be able to move him on your own. You turn and guide the sheriff. You take him to the stairs and up to your father’s room. You open the door but stay outside. You’re not supposed to go in there. 

You watch from the door as he lays your daddy on the mattress. You rub your palms together nervously. He grips his lower back as he steps back. 

“Ah, sittin’ in that cruiser, no good on me,” he grits as he crosses the room. He shuts off the light as he gets to the door. 

“Is he alright?” You ask as he closes you out. 

“Should be,” he brushes his fingertips long your hip. “Don’t you worry. Seems you do too much of it.” 

“Oh... uh,” you step away from him. He looks past you and heads down the hall. 

He stops by your bedroom and spins back to you. You trip to keep from colliding with him. “This yours?” he taps on the door. 

“Um, yes, sheriff.” 

He spreads his hand on the wood, “really?” 

He grabs the handle and twists. You don’t have a chance to stop before he struts inside. You gasp and follow him. 

“Sheriff? What--” 

“I’m just lookin’,” he says as he heads for the bed. “It’s nice. Got a lady’s touch, ain’t it?” 

He admires the shelf clock. Your mom painted it. You teeter on your toes. 

“I guess, but...” 

“I’m gonna need the guest room,” he says. “Ain’t in no state to be drivin’. You got a heavy pour on ya, girl.” He turns and strides up to you. “That rum sure is strong.” 

“Oh, I'm sorry, sheriff--” 

“’Sides,” he stops before you, “should be sure your daddy makes it through the night. He’s a lush.” 

You look away guiltily, “I’ll make up that spare bed.” 

“You do that. I’ll clean up the mess he made.” 

He dips his chin and squeezes past you, so close you feel a tug in your skirt. You wait until you hear him on the stairs before you move. You go to the linen cabinet and take out some new sheets. 

You make up the bed, crawling over it to tug a corner tight. You don’t often have company. A whistle cuts through the air and you quickly back up off the bed, embarrassed at having your bum right up in the air. The sheriff leans in the doorway, grinning. 

“That’s a nice skirt. Fits ya real good,” he purrs. 

“Thank you, sheriff. All done,” you sniff and fix the collar of your blouse. 

“Now, you hear anything, be sure to come get me. It’s a big house, ain’t it?” 

“Yes, sheriff. I will.” You near the door but he doesn’t move. 

“If’n ya scared, you can always bunk with me,” he raises his brows and licks his lips. 

“I’m alright, sheriff. I hope you sleep well.” 

“You too,” he finally moves, just inside the door frame. “Sweet dreams.” 

“Yes, good night, sir,” you scurry out. 

“I know I’ll be havin’ nice dreams,” he slithers. 

🥧

You’re restless. Sleep doesn’t come easy as the winds whistle and the panes shake in the window frames. It’s more than that keeping you awake. 

The sheriff’s just on the other side of that wall. Sleeping, but still there. It was only ever you and your  daddy. Company feels strange. 

You toss and turn. You roll around enough to agitate your bladder. You sigh. You won’t sleep with the urgency pressing. You get up and tiptoe to the door. 

You go into the hall and creep down the bathroom. You close yourself in and flip on the light. The release is not much of a relief. You’re tense and uneasy. You wash your hands quickly and open the door. Your hand pauses before the light switch as a shadow greets you. 

You yipe at the sheriff as he stands in only his white briefs and undershirt. He yawns and scours you with he droopy eyes. His lifts his head and bats away the sleepiness. 

You hug yourself. Your nightgown feels thinner under his gaze. He presses his hand to his chest and hums. 

“Funny runnin’ into ya. Lookin’ mighty scrumptious, ain’t ya?” He drawls. 

You clasp your hands over the neckline of your nightie, “sheriff, I was just--” 

“What was you doin’?” He leans in, his hand on the door frame. “Was you thinkin’ of something fun?” 

“No, sir, just had to... go.” 

“Mm, mm, mm,” he looms over you, “you wasn’t thinkin’ of openin’ my door, was ya? Sneakin’ into the bed, keepin’ warm?” His eyes drift down to your chest and the fabric bristles against your hard nipples, “cold in here.” 

“No, sir, I wouldn’t--” 

“You wouldn’t? Is it ‘cause you such a good girl, hm? You tellin’ me a girl like you ain’t been with no boys?” 

“Sheriff?” You nearly shriek. 

“Well, look ya, baby girl,” he growls and lumbers closer, backing you into the bathroom. “You’re mighty fine. Might fine.” He grabs your hips and pens you in. “Any man’d be lucky to get you.” 

“Sheriff,” you whimper and push against his chest. “Please, I’m tired. I want to go back to bed.” 

“Why? You gonna go hide and touch yourself? Gonna think of me?” 

Is this a nightmare? It’s too distorted not to be. 

“I don’t do that, sir.” 

“You don’t?” 

“N-no, sir, and I don’t want to talk about that--” 

“You should,” he growls. “You should try it least once. Know what ya like.” 

“Please,” your voice quavers. “You’re scarin’ me.” 

“I’m scarin’ ya? How so, baby girl? You know I wouldn’t hurt ya.” He sucks his teeth. “I’d be real gentle.” 

You nearly choke. Silence curdles as you stare at him in horror. You know what he means. He’d be gentle while he—while you-- 

You push him and elbow by him. Horror keeps you moving. You won’t look back. You can’t. He chuckles. 

“Y’ain’t got now humour, you youngins,” he taunts.  

You get to your door as the trickle of his stream hits the toilet water. The door is open, shining into the hallway. He’s so blatant, so unafraid, you can’t help but wonder what you did to encourage him. 

🥧

You spend the rest of the night awake, watching the door. You don’t think Bodecker would let himself in but you also never expected him to corner you like he did. Each time you close your eyes, you see his. That shine in them; that darkness. 

No, he wouldn’t do anything. He was just messing with you. Your daddy always says he has a strange sense of humour. 

You can’t lay in bed all day. Even if you want to hide. After last night, you have to make sure your daddy is okay. 

You make yourself get up and get dressed. You don’t hear the sheriff. You sneak to the bathroom to go through your usual routine then emerge at last, ready but not. 

You go to your daddy’s door and knock. He doesn’t answer. You don’t expect he would. Especially after last night. 

Hinges creak and you lock up. You knock again. You should just go in. 

“Mmph, baby girl, you’re awake?” Bodecker says. 

You turn, pressing your back to the door. “Just checking on daddy.” 

“Such a good girl,” he is unkempt as he emerges. 

Again, he has only his briefs and his undershirt. Now that it’s brighter, you’re agape to notice the tightness in his lower half, the tension of fabric draw over his... part. You keeps your eyes up. A shake of hair juts up and his eyes are puffy with fatigue. 

“I’ll just have a look then go start breakfast,” you say. 

“Now, now, baby girl,” he charges toward you, “you go and start now. I’ll see to the old man.” He drags his knuckles up and down your arm. “I dreamt of you.” 

You blink, “you did?” 

“Sure did, but don’t compare to the real thing. Can’t,” he grins. “You got bacon? I like bacon.” 

“Yes, sheriff,” you gulp and back away. “Thanks uh... for checking him. But, er, he gets real mean in the mornings.” 

“All the better I should deal with him.” 

You sidle away, cautious. You turn at the stares and keep yourself from barreling down. You stop at the bottom to gather your wits. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s playing around. 

You go into the kitchen and get started. Eggs, bacon, bread. You light the stove and a hear a thumping. You pause and listen to the house. You hope your daddy isn’t causing too much trouble for the sheriff. 

That noise comes again. You only realise then it’s not upstairs, it’s the front door. You leave the pan on the burner and go into the entry way. You open the door sheepishly and peek out. It’s that man from the day before. The one that carried your bag. How’d he find you? 

He says your name and smiles. His brown eyes are warm and deep. You blink at him. 

“He-hello,” you murmur. “What, er... Arvin?” 

“You remember. Yeah, I was just passin’ by and I saw the cruiser out front.” 

“Huh? You mean—you need the police?” You ask. 

“No, no, I can take care of myself. I was just... concerned. Thought maybe you were in need of help.” 

“No, um, but... how... how did you know I'd be here?” 

“Yesterday, when I walked ya. I could go until I was sure you were back safe,” he explains. “That’s all. Long as you’re good, I'm good.” 

“Oh, uh...” 

“Who’s that then?” Bodecker asks as he comes down the stairs heavily. 

You wince and back up. You can’t close the door, that would be rude, but you don’t know that you should let the sheriff know that this man followed you home. 

“Sheriff?” Arvin calls through. “That you?” 

Bodecker sighs and comes down. You’re thankful he put his pants on at least. He grabs the door and rips it out of your grasp. You shuffle aside. 

“Russell, whatcha botherin’ her for?” 

“Not bothering, sir,” Arvin grins. “I was just confirming our planes. She’s comin’ with me to the soda shop this afternoon and I was making sure she don’t forget.” 

The sheriff growls. “Is that so?” 

“Sure it is,” Arvin sets his stance. “Gonna get her a cherry soda float. Right?” 

He looks at you. You don’t know what to say or do. If you say no, then you have to explain that you led him back here. Plus you’d have to reject Arvin and he’s been so nice. If you say yes then... then you have to go out with him and you don’t know him very well. 

“Yes,” you eke out. “Yes, I like cherry.” 

So why was it different with you?

“Sweetheart, where’s that file I asked for?” Nick called from his desk.

You counted to three in your head. It was bad enough that he made you stay late, now he was adding pet names on top of it? You were seriously considering filing an HR Complaint against him. “One moment, Mr. Fowler,” you replied, making sure all the needed papers were in the folder.

Nick didn’t look up when you walked in, too busy reading the piece of paper in front of him. “Set it right here,” he said, tapping a spot close to him.

“Yes, sir.”

That made your boss lift his gaze, his blue eyes glancing at you from head to toe. You almost faltered when you walked around the desk to set the file down, his stare too dark, too lustful. “Did I tell you how nice you look today?” he asked, brushing a hand along your backside. You tensed up when he did it again. “You look nice every day.”

“Mr. Fowler-”

“What happened to ‘sir’?” He leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “I like how that sounds.”

You took a breath. “You can’t keep… doing that,” you said, taking a step back.

His hand gripped your wrist, preventing you from moving back any further. “What exactly am I doing?”

“Touching me and using pet names with me. You’re my boss, and that crosses a boundary,” you explained. Holding a position of power didn’t give him the right to abuse it.

Nick didn’t release you as he stood up, and your heart only raced faster when he tugged you close. “You think I’m crossing boundaries now, sweetheart? I haven’t even bent you over my desk yet,” he smiled, like a wolf about to eat the lamb.

You tried not to let it show how nervous you were, but everyone else on the floor had gone home for the day. “You can’t just-”

Your mouth snapped shut when he gripped your chin and leaned in close. “I can’t do whatever I want because you’re mine,” his breath ghosted your trembling lips before he let you go, your legs shaking where you stood. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Nick sat back in his chair and opened his file like he hadn’t said or done anything. You didn’t understand. Why you? It didn’t matter. You had to quit. You could find another job. Maybe-

“You won’t quit, and you won’t talk to HR. So, why don’t you just relax and order us dinner?” he said, his voice crawling over your skin. “We’re going to be here all night.”

Places, places, get in your places. Throw on your dress and put on your doll faces.

“Dad, I’m going to change and go for a swim,” you announced.

Your dad along with the group of men that surrounded him turned their heads toward you. Most of the men averted their gazes after a moment, except for one: Bucky Barnes. Ever since he started working for your dad he took an unexpected interest in you. He was always asking about your personal life, and he seemed all too happy when your recent relationship ended. Your dad, of course, loved him because he was a hard worker and made him money.

“Where’s your brother?” your dad asked, making you look away from Bucky.

“Couldn’t tell you,” you answered. If you had to guess, he was off in his room getting high.

“Okay. Just enjoy your swim, princess.” You did your best not to roll your eyes at the nickname. “But make sure you’re set for dinner. Your mother’s cooking your favorite.”

You did roll your eyes this time, and Bucky continued to stare. Your mom never lifted a finger in the kitchen. She’d order out and make it look like she did it herself.

Everyone thinks that we're perfect. Please don't let them look through the curtains.

“Of course, dad,” you said, leaving without another word and feeling a pair of cold blue eyes follow your every move.

The chatter from the main room filled the hall as you went to your room to change, the sound muffled once you shut the door. You blocked it out as best as you could as you selected one of your bathing suits and changed. You hoped your mom wouldn’t drink too much and embarrass herself at dinner. You also hoped your dad was smart enough not to bring a side piece around until after she passed out. It could be a little entertaining though if your brother ran his mouth.

Picture, picture, smile for the picture. Pose with your brother, won’t you be a good sister?

“Well, look at you.”

Your heart leapt to your throat when you turned around to see Bucky standing by your bed. He held your cover up in his hand. How the hell did he get in your room so quietly? Why was he there?

“What the hell are you doing?” you demanded.

“Sorry. I was trying to find the bathroom,” he said. A terrible lie, like he didn't even try. “Such a large place, you know. Easy to go through the wrong door.”

“Do you normally pick up garments that don’t belong to you when you’re 'lost'?” you asked, trying to take it from him.

He pulled his hand out of reach. “Not normally, but I couldn’t resist,” he said, not hiding the lust in his eyes as they landed on your chest and slowly drifted down. “You know, you have a pretty fucked up family.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” you scoffed.

Everyone thinks that we're perfect. Please don't let them look through the curtains.

“Allow me,” he offered as his gaze flickered back to your face.

“No, thanks,” you said, attempting to grab the cover up again as he narrowed his eyes.

"Turn around,” he ordered, his voice deeper and gruffer than before. “I won't tell you twice.”

Tell, not ask.

You hoped your trembling wasn't noticeable when you turned and faced the mirror, having to look at his reflection as he slowly walked up behind you. He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that, and large. He could overpower you easily.

“This is such a beautiful color on you. Must drive all the boys crazy when you wear it. Also must be why your daddy keeps you locked up as much as he can,” he said more to himself than to you as he ran a gloved finger down your side. “But I’m not a boy, am I?”

“He doesn’t keep me locked up,” you whispered, unsure of why you were arguing. Maybe it would distract you from his touch.

He brought his mouth to your ear, his eyes locked with yours in the mirror. “You think because you live on your own that you’re free? That you aren’t watched at all times?” He asked, chuckling when you shivered again. “You may be your daddy's princess, but you'll be mine soon enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I make your dad a lot of money. He owes me.” He straightened up and slipped the fabric over your shaking frame. “As much as I hate to cover up such a beautiful piece of art, I may lose control if I don't,” he said, as if he had the right to do so. “Keep your door unlocked for me tonight.”

“I won't-”

He had a hand around your throat, but didn't squeeze. “You will,” he said, kissing your temple. “And we'll see if you can keep quiet.”

The fundraiser season was upon you — an event your college went a little crazy for every year and as a new member of the cheer squad, it was a main part of your duty to join in with the festivities. 

A proposition of a kissing booth, shyly put forward by yourself had become a hit amongst the rest of the cheerleaders that they instantly approved of — most of them, at least. It was all in good spirit to raise money for charity. 

And so wanting to gather hype around the event — one you had tirelessly worked day and night to put together — you and your best friend, Sharon, volunteered to hand out fliers together. The two of you wandered aimlessly around the courtyard in your team uniform to spread the word. 

“I think this is going to be really good, sweet,” Sharon excitedly spoke over her shoulder as she stapled a flier onto the notice board. “I checked our hashtag on the school's twitter page this morning and we’re already trending.”

Your eyes widened and you spun your head towards her in shock. “Really?” Whipping out your phone from your skirt pocket, you quickly brought up the app and checked the post — already the most anticipated fundraiser of the night. “That was fast!” 

“Mhm,” she mumbled, nodding her head. Slyly, she looked over at you from the corner of her eye. “I bet you’re excited about all those hot and sweaty football players who are gonna be lining up for a kiss.” 

Your head snapped up from your phone with your mouth parted, struggling to scold her. “Sharon!” you squealed. 

“What?” The smirk on her face was all too teasing for your liking. “You know most of them are gonna be desperate for a small piece of you, sweets.” 

Your cheeks grew warm, an embarrassed heat growing up your neck as you stumbled over your words. “N-No I don’t think so—“

“C’mon babe.” Sharon stopped what she was doing and cocked her hip towards you with a raised eyebrow. “You really don’t see the boys practically drooling over you?” 

Honestly, you didn’t see it. Spending most of your time practicing your routines or studying in the library, there was no time to worry about boys and you didn’t have much experience within the relationship department anyway, which made you blind to any advances. 

“Even if they did, they’re not my type.” You shrugged, not giving in to the disbelieving expression on Sharon’s face. “I’m serious! I’m just not into that.” 

“Okay, sure—whatever you say.” Your friend playfully taunted you with a smile until her gaze locked onto something behind you. A small frown appeared on her lips and a not-so-subtle sneer lined her cheeks. “Just so long as it isn’t them, for fucks sake—the last thing you need is an asshole like that.”

Spinning around, you squinted your eyes, looking for whoever Sharon was talking about. A group of students, dressed collectively in hoodies, leather jackets and combat boots were gathered around the bike sheds with a cloud of smoke billowing over their heads. 

“What’s wrong with them?” you asked inquisitively, genuinely stumped for her dismay. 

“Trust me, sweets. You don’t want to get wrapped up with those people. They’ll fucking eat you up and spit you back out,” Sharon replied. 

Leaning on your tiptoes, you spotted a familiar face in the crowd. “Well, what about Wanda? She’s with them and she’s not an asshole.” 

Your friend seemed to struggle to come up with an answer to your question. “That’s different. She’s part of our squad and she’s actually nice.” 

That didn’t appease you, though. “Couldn’t that mean the others are nice, too?”

Sharon was protective, fierce to those she loved and held dear. She had befriended you the day you bumped into each other on the field for practice; when your eyes were holding back tears after Daisy, the second in command cheerleader, made a remark with her friends about how on earth you had managed to be accepted onto the team. 

Since then, the two of you have been glued at the hip — like sisters you dared to think. Her advice was gospel to you and so you took her word seriously. “Sweetie, they’re no good. Just trust me.” 

“Okay,” you sighed as you turned back around. A solemness took over as you remembered that you had been benched to the sidelines for your very own event. “I don’t actually think I’ll be working the booth anyway. Daisy said she only needs me on clean up duty.” 

Sharon’s body suddenly tensed with aggravation.

“Excuse me?” Her eyes were burning with fury as she turned to look at you. “Daisy said what now?”

“T-That I have to clean up?” you offered once again unsure.

Your friend scoffed. “She can’t do that—she has no fucking right to do that. You came up with the idea!” 

The intensity of her anger, even when not directed at you, was overwhelming and your eyes darted down while you mumbled disheartenedly, “I know but what can I do? What she says goes.” 

The fire in Sharon’s eyes was unlike anything else as she went on a tirade of rage — her own dislike for Daisy getting the better of her. 

You zoned out of the conversation, not wanting to dwell on the upset Daisy’s disapproval of you caused. Instead, you counted the rest of your fliers, satisfied to at least have made progress for the day. 

Just as you were about to jump back into the heated conversation, laughter behind you caught your attention. While Sharon was busy brewing in her hatred, you glanced over your shoulder to once again look at the group you had become so intrigued by. 

The colourful paper in your hand, rustling together with the slight breeze drew you to look at them. You only had a few fliers left and you knew Daisy would have something to say if you came back with them. 

A lightbulb dinged in your mind. Your head snapped up; your whole face lit up with the prospect to gain a wider audience for your event. 

Sharon’s voice became clear then. “I can’t believe she even has the audacity when she’s not even the head cheerleader. Such a stuck up bi—“ 

“We still have fliers left!” you interrupted your friend mid sentence, feigning shock as though you had only just noticed. She stopped talking and frowned while you began to walk backwards. “M-Maybe I should just head over there to hand them out. We do need all the people we can get after all.”

Looking behind you, the direction of your steps, her eyes widened once she saw where you were going. “Sweets—,” she warned, as though she was talking to an animal ready to run. “Come back here, please.” 

But there was no use; you had already spun around and started skipping on over. “Hey—Wait! Get back here you little shit!” 

The pleats of your skirt bounced along with you while you giggled, your shoes scuffing along the pavement until you stopped in front of the large group. With the little confidence you had, you cleared your throat before squeaking your greeting over the loudness. “Hi!” 

Instantly, conversation amongst everyone died down, every single person turning their head to you. A pin drop could be heard over the busy courtyard. 

The amount of beady eyes, all wondering who had interrupted them, caused an overwhelming anxiety to fester in your stomach. Regret soon sank in as what small bout of bravery you once had soon whittled away once you gained their attention. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you were sure everyone heard your gulp before you forced yourself to speak.  “I—I um, just wanted to—to hand these out.” Your hands shook as you held the vibrant fliers up — the red and pinks contrasting to the sea of black and greys staring you down like prey. “For our fundraiser cel-celebration.”

The awkwardness dragged on in the silence and your skin crawled with nerves. This was a terrible idea. Sharon was right, you should have never come over and instead listened to her. But you were soon pulled from your inner turmoil. 

A brooklyn drawl, raspy yet smooth cut through the deafening stillness at the same time a tall figure stood up in the crowd, whistling low as he feasted on you. “Well ain’t you the prettiest lil’ thing, hoppin’ on over in your short skirt.” 

It was difficult, even in the daylight, to make out the face of this stranger; long shaggy brown hair, hidden behind a hood. Even partly elusive, you had never seen anyone like him before, but you couldn’t deny the tingles that shot up your arms and made the fine hairs stand on edge. 

His thick-soled boots, covered in buckles that jingled with each step, thudded menacingly along the concrete while he made his way over to you. And as the sun hit his face just right, that’s when you saw his eyes, bright blue and sparkling; giving attention to his silver nose ring.  

You were held to your spot, breathless and squirming. Though you tampered yourself as he drew closer and finally came before you, one step away from touching your toes. “So, what’s this you got planned, sweet thing?”

A gruff blonde with cropped hair and a sleeveless denim jacket snorted behind him, a thick scruffy beard decorating his face. “Go easy on her, punk.” 

The stranger that had you a little starstruck brought himself even closer — within an inch of you — crossing his arms behind his back and squinting curiously to look directly into your eyes, a gleam in his own.

You were intoxicated by the smell of leather and smoke, a combination that should have made you feel sick and yet rendered you dizzy with heat. The spell he bound you with held you in a deep trance. “A kissing booth,” you whispered timidly. 

“Oh?” He grinned wide, a huff of fresh mint from the gum he was chewing combined with his aroma. “A kissing booth, you say?”

“It’s for charity.” You licked your lips with hesitation. “You—um—you pay for a ticket and in return a girl of your choosing from the team can k-kiss you—“ A sudden thought that you had no idea who you were talking to stopped you from continuing and you shook your head apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.” 

The man in front of you smirked, sinister and perverse. His eyes darted between your own while you trembled, close to breaking a sweat. “You can call me Bucky, sweetheart,” he replied, smoothly. 

Murmurs and quiet chatter from the rest of Bucky’s friends picked up while he took you in, his eyes clinging to the bare skin of your thighs, barely covered by your cheer skirt. 

You began to introduce yourself, too. “My name is—“ 

“Oh, I know who you are.” The corner of his lips curled up while he dragged his eyes lazily up your body. “I’ve seen how you move. The twirls and spins and shit, lookin’ all cute.”  

“Y-You have?” you asked in shock, surprised to find he was already familiar with you. 

“Mm, I’ve heard all about you.” He nodded, before cocking his head behind him. To your surprise, you looked and found your squad mate, Wanda, who threw you a sly wink. Your attention was brought back to Bucky, gliding his pierced tongue across his pearly white teeth. “A cute bunny showing off her tricks is kinda hard to miss.” 

His presence was all too intimidating, but one of the sweetest addictions you knew would give you an all time high. You couldn’t keep still, switching your weight between you feet as subtly as you could possibly manage. Opening your mouth, you readied yourself to respond until Bucky’s eyes flicked to your side. 

An all too out of breath Sharon, weary eyed and scary looking stormed towards you. Uncaring for your new friend, she stood in front of him, blocking his view while her hands grasped your upper arms to check you over. “Sweetie! Are you okay?” 

The strenuous effort to tear your eyes away from Bucky was almost impossible. “Mhm,” you mumbled noncommittally, finally able to bring your gaze to Sharon. “I’m okay.”

Leaning to the side, Bucky caught your eyes once again as he asked. “Will you be workin’, sweetheart?”

Confusion fogged up your mind, disorientated as your eyes played tennis between him and your best friend. “I’m sorry?”

“The kissing booth.” He reiterated, standing straight to pluck the cigarette tucked behind his ear. Those damned eyes never left you while he placed it between his lips and grabbed a light from his back jean pocket. “Will you be workin’ it?” 

“Oh!” You shook your head, trying to get out of your daze as he lit his cigarette. “I—um—I don’t know. I don’t think so. Technically?” Nerves made you ramble on. “I’m sort of working—but I won’t be near the booth and—”

Stepping forward, Bucky gently pushed Sharon out the way. “Hey!” she huffed, glaring at him. But he ignored her in favour of closing the distance between the two of you.  

He placed his thumb over your lips, effectively silencing you as he took a drag of his smoke and blew it out to the side of you with a smirk. “You’ll be there, Bunny.” Your eyes fluttered when he chucked your chin and winked. “Make sure of it and you won’t regret it.”

Struggling to come down from floating in the clouds, you almost whined as he teased his finger along your neck when he stepped back — his chilled rings lit your nerves on fire. You stared hopelessly after him as he started to walk backwards away from you to his friends.  

“I’ll bring some of these fuckers too!” he shouted over the growing distance between you, gracing you with one last grin. “Good for business and all.” 

You sighed, a love-sickening one that caused your friend to roll her eyes. Sharon clicked her fingers in your face, snapping you out of your haze. “Sweets!” 

You shook your head and your hooded eyes darted over to her. “Huh?” 

Sharon grabbed your shoulders, a firm scolding ready on her lips. “Listen to me,” she implored. “You need to stay away from him. He’s bad news.” 

You swallowed, unable to help the flicker of your eyes back to Bucky, watching as he threw his head back while he laughed, his full head of long hair framing his face beautifully. 

Sharonl cleared her throat pointedly and you snapped back to her, a guilty expression to your features. “Okay?” she reiterated. 

You begrudgingly nodded, and she sighed, seemingly appeased for now. Looping her arms through yours, she pulled you away and began to speak about your fundraiser once more. 

When once, incessant talk and arrangement of the kissing booth would have spilled from your lips, you held quiet; basking in whatever the hell had just happened. 

It was impossible to stop yourself from looking over your shoulder once more. To catch a final peek of Bucky, and your heart jumped as you caught his steel eyes already focused on you. Glancing back to Sharon, she was in her own world, already deep into discussion about decorations. 

Discreetly, you turned around, happy to find Bucky’s gaze still reciprocated and so you waved, small enough to not catch your friend’s attention. You held back a squeal, fighting to stave off the bubble in your throat that was desperate to escape when he brought his inked hand up to his mouth and blew you a kiss. 

It was a couple of days later while you were grabbing your books for your next class when you next saw Bucky. Earlier than expected but not at all in the way you imagined. 

You were at your locker, reaching to the back for that one annoying book that always seemed to hide from you. Your back was turned to the busy corridors, other students passing by as your fingertips ghosted along the textbook you needed when the feel of someone’s hand groping your ass caused you to jump in fright. 

Spinning around in shock, you came face to face with an all too pleased Tony Stark — the school’s rich playboy. “Hey, sweet cheeks.” 

The sleazy grin he donned made you feel queasy, but to avoid confrontation, you instead laughed nervously, hiding your discomfort. “Um, h-hi, Tony.”

He leaned his arm over your head against the lockers, trapping you in with no way to escape. “How haven’t I noticed you before, hm? Nothing better than some fresh meat on the cheerleading team.” 

Beginning to squirm, you shifted away as best as you could with hardly any distance between you — the unease you felt clear from your expression. “Excuse me—I’m sorry—you’re just—a little too close—“ 

“Let me take you out tonight,” he interrupted, careless to your lack of comfortability. “I’ll show you a real good time.” 

Alarm bells started to ring in your head. The fact that he had touched you without permission in such a crowded place and continued to ignore your requests unsettled you deeply. 

You looked around frantically, trying to silently scream for help. But no one batted an eyelid to your situation.

“Tony,” you quietly said, not wanting to cause a scene. “I’m not interested and I’ve really got to go—“

“Don’t be a prude, babe.” A lump tightened in your throat as Tony pawed at your waist, his clammy fingers digging into you harshly. “It’s not a good look on you.” 

Fear clouded your ability to shout out. Sharon wasn’t there to be your knight in shining armor like usual and you clawed down your cries as best as you could. To your dismay, tears began to gather over your waterline. “Please. Just—just move back and we can talk—“ 

“It’s okay,” he whispered against your neck. “Just say yes and I’ll take care of you.” 

Closing your eyes tight, you willed for him to leave you alone, your fingernails digging into your palms so hard they created indents into your skin. His breath against your neck made you desperately want to crawl out of your skin, his unwanted touch and proximity more of a burden than a compliment. 

You were rendered useless, weak. His heavy weight pinned you down to the lockers and left you unmoving. Overwhelmed, your breathing started to become erratic, panicked and just as you thought you couldn’t take it any longer, Tony’s presence disappeared and the air rushed back to your lungs. 

A loud commotion sounded on the other side of the hallway, but the blur of it all was disabling. It took you a while to gather the courage to squint your eyes open and once your vision became clear, you gasped at the sight of Bucky slamming Tony against the other side of the lockers, holding him up by his shirt with an unparalleled fury in his darkened eyes. 

“B-Barnes!” Tony squeaked in shock. “Heyy there, take it easy big guy—“ 

Bucky jolted him brutally another time. “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ to her?” he growled, venom in his voice and a tone that held no room for humour. 

Tony laughed, apprehensively. “C’mon man, we were just having some fun.”

Disgust was clearly visible on Bucky’s face as he reeled back, only serving to make him angrier. “Fun?” he scoffed. “You think it’s fun bein’ a fuckin’ creep? She told you no.” 

Soon enough, a mob of students had gathered around the commotion, filming with their phones and whispering amongst themselves in anticipation for a fight. 

You watched as Tony’s cheeks flared red, the embarrassment of being so easily overpowered by Bucky in front of the whole school paralysing him when his eyes suddenly shot to you, a vein bulging from his forehead. 

You cowered back as much as possible, covering your body with your arms while he spat, “Are you fucking kidding me? She—she wants it! Look at her! The bitch is practically begging for it in that skirt.” 

There was a stilted pause, a deathly quiet over the hallway before a chilling laugh echoed from Bucky. “You’re gonna fuckin’ regret that.” 

A flock of shouts and cheers bounced off the lockers as Bucky threw Tony to the ground. Without remorse, he grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt before he tried to desperately crawl away and pummeled him to the floor with a single punch, the silver rings on his fingers cutting the skin of Tony’s cheek and smothering blood over his face. 

You winced as you heard Tony’s pleas for mercy as Bucky continued to lay into him. The sight should have worried you — Sharon’s previous warnings clear as day in your head — but your thighs rubbed together instead, an ache between them leaving you equal parts aroused and concerned.

The one sided fight seemed to be over within seconds. Bucky stopped, letting Tony flop to the floor, gifted with an instantaneous black eye and most likely broken nose. 

Stepping over his body, Bucky squatted down, a grave warning grunted as his chest rose and fell with adrenaline. “If you ever talk about Bunny like that again, or even look at her.” He paused, laughing sadistically. “Who am I fuckin’ kiddin’? If you dare breathe the same air as her again, I won’t be so fuckin’ kind next time.” The humour died from his tone within seconds. “Are we clear?” 

When he didn’t hear a response from Tony, he forcefully kicked his boot into the side of his ribs. “I said, are we clear?”

“Y-Yes! Yes—please—we’re clear!” Tony coughed out a quick reply, the pain in his voice evident. 

Satisfied, Bucky swept his long hair back from his face and stood up. He caught his breath for a moment, hands on his hips as the students watched on, just as mesmerised as you. 

But he paid them no attention as he suddenly brought his gaze over to your direction. He had no trouble finding you as he towered over the crowd and they immediately parted the way for him while he strode towards you. 

You held your breath when he reached you and immediately cradled your face with his hands — his delicacy while he handled you compared to Tony stunned you. He wiped the remaining tears away with his thumbs as he looked at you with concern. “Angel, are you okay?”

It took you a while to respond, still reeling from the previous events. “I—I think so,” you stuttered, though not from fear of Tony anymore. 

Bucky’s hands gently fell down to your waist, the cutout of your uniform allowing him to touch your bare skin. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure he—“

As he lightly squeezed your hips, you inhaled sharply, a shoot of pain radiating through your body. 

Bucky instantly stopped in his tracks and quickly lifted his hands, only to find bruises in the shape of fingertips staining your skin. A dark cloud fell over his cerulean eyes. “That fucker,” he growled, turning to shoot daggers at Tony’s form still crouched on the floor. “I’m gonna kill him.” 

Before Bucky could lunge back at him, you grabbed at his arms, a desperate need to keep him close. “No!” you cried, waiting until he whipped his head back round to you as you pleaded, “Please stay with me.”

His gaze flicked back to your bruise, confliction locking up his muscles. “Bunny, he fuckin’ marked you. No way am I lettin’ him get away with that shit—“

You grabbed his hand and began dragging him along, away from everyone still lingering and staring at the two of you. “Please, Bucky?” 

The fury dissolved from his features, your sweet request too difficult to ignore. “Okay,” he sighed, following you blindly as you led him into an empty storage closet. 

Locking the door behind you, you turned the light switch on. There was limited proximity between you in the tight space, but Bucky seemed to have no qualms being so close to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, diverting your eyes away from him and fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. 

You didn’t see the confusion on Bucky’s face, how perplexed he was for your apology. “Bunny,” he called for you, waiting until you looked at him. “What in the fuck have you got to be sorry for?” 

Your breaths started to come in heavy, lips trembling as you tried to hold your tears back. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—to cause a fight,” you sniffled. “I shouldn’t have been wearing my uniform and—“ 

“Hey,” Bucky cut you off, stern and resolute. His fingers sweeped your hair out of your face gently. “You did absolutely nothin’ wrong, you hear me?”

Your eyes darted down, however he was quick to catch your chin with his forefinger and thumb. “Look at me.”

With glassy eyes, you did just that, reluctant but submissive to his order. 

Bucky wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, his thumb running back and forth soothingly, “Don’t you ever apologise for that shit.” His blue eyes bore into your soul. “I beat the shit out of that fucker because he deserved it. No one talks to you like that and gets away with it. You understand, baby?” 

Timidly, you nodded your head. “Mhm.”

“I mean it.” He reiterated, determined to make you see sense. 

You weren’t convinced, Bucky could tell. Delicately, he smoothed his free hand over your waist. “Besides,” he shrugged his shoulders, a teasing smile crawling onto his face. “My Bunny looks fuckin’ hot in her uniform.” 

Heat began to creep up your neck and a nervous giggle escaped from your lips. The anxious knot that had built in your stomach slowly began to unravel in Bucky’s presence. 

“There she is.” He stroked your bottom lip with his thumb. “C’mon, sweetheart you’ve gotta know how fuckin’ good you look in that outfit, waving your pom poms and puttin’ on a show.”

“You’ve watched me?” Your breathing picked up. 

“Course I fuckin’ have. Knew you were somethin’ special when Wanda mentioned you.” 

You relaxed into his hold, melting from his touch. However, from the corner of your eye, a flicker of dark red running down from his hand down to his wrist caught your attention. 

You gasped, grabbing his hand and turning it to get a better look at the damage to his knuckles. “Bucky! You’re bleeding!” 

He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised to see he was in fact bleeding. Laughing it off, he tried to ease your worries. “Ah sweetheart—it’s nothin’. Don’t even worry about it—“

“Like hell I won’t!” The unexpected fire in your voice stunned Bucky as his eyebrows rose in shock. Thinking on your toes, you spun around towards the shelves. “Let me find something.” 

While you were busy rummaging through storage boxes, you missed the heated glint in his eyes and the subtle squeeze of his own dick through his denim pants. 

You searched until you found an unopened pack of bandages along with some ointment cream. Softly, you took his hand over to the old sink in the corner and began washing the dried up blood staining his skin. 

Bucky watched intently while you gently cleaned him up, your tongue stuck out between your lips as you wrapped the bandage around his knuckles in concentration. 

“There. Good as new.” You smiled happily with your work and without thinking, you carefully lifted his damaged hand up to your lips to kiss over the bandage. 

The realisation of how bold your action was finally caught up to you. With caution, your eyes flitted up expecting the worst. However, your mouth slightly dropped open as you noticed the wicked glint in his eyes while he stared you down like a wolf. “You’re just precious, ain’t you, angel?” 

You didn’t have the chance to respond as Bucky spun you around and cornered you against the wall. You should have felt as vulnerable as you did with Tony, but you only whimpered with curious delight as tingles shot down your spine. 

Your noses bumped together when Bucky moved in even closer, lips so close to touching. “This okay, Bunny?” 

Fighting off a shudder, you quickly nodded without hesitation. “Yes.”

He chuckled breathily. “I haven’t stopped fuckin’ thinking about you.” 

Common sense seemed so far from reality as you closed your eyes and rested your head back against the wall. His scent dizzied you, his whole presence threw you for a loop. How the hell had he gotten into your system in such a short span of time? 

“You know I’d kill anyone who tried to touch you like that don’t you, baby?” Your fingers tangled into the lapels of Bucky’s leather jacket while his soft lips teased yours. “No one else can have you. You were mine since I laid eyes on you.” 

“Oh—Bucky.” Just as wrecked as you, he began to lean in and you closed your eyes in anticipation for his kiss. All he had to do was push forward, connect the remaining distance and claim you. 

But to your luck, the school bell for the beginning of class rang loud through the hallway. Sense came back to you then. Opening your eyes, you quickly untangled yourself out of Bucky’s hold. 

You half-expected him to be annoyed, but instead he had the biggest grin on his face, almost predatory. 

Skittishly you started to walk backwards towards the exit of the storage closet. “I—um,” you began. “I need to go—go to my class.” 

Bucky smirked even wider while he combed his ringed fingers through his messy hair and then slid his hands into his pockets. “Mhm,” he mumbled devilishly. 

“I’ll s-see you around?” You offered, lamely while you fumbled with the handle of the door. Your nerves built even higher when he started to stalk towards you and the simple task of opening the door seemed impossible. 

“You sure will, Bunny.” Bucky gained closer, a couple of steps away from you when you finally managed to swing the door open with urgency.

Hurriedly, you excited the closet, breathing heavily. But you shrieked as you collided into another person. Turning around to apologise, your words died on your tongue when you found the person you had bumped into was none other than Sharon. 

“Sweets?” she asked, instantly concerned at your flustered state. “What’s wrong? Did something happen—“ 

Then, her eyes glanced behind you, a scowl appearing on her face while a disheveled Bucky exited the same closet you just stumbled out of. 

You gulped as her fierce gaze shot to you. “I can explain.” 

“We’re having a serious talk.” Once again, Sharon dragged you away from Bucky and you fought to keep up to pace with her. 

You felt like a child being pulled away from their favourite toy. Bucky was trouble, that much you knew. But of course, you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder — a common occurrence it seemed — and you also couldn’t help the grin that crept onto your face as you watched him wiggle his fingers at you in goodbye with a wink. 

His long legs carry him quickly to the elevator and when he presses the button for the third floor he takes a deep breath, his pulse climbing it’s way up his throat.

The door to your room is propped open with the dead bolt, but he knocks anyway.

“Come in Buck!”

Pushing it open just enough to peek his head in, he calls out, “I could be anyone, and you just invite me in without checking!”

“You just texted me you were coming up,” you sing from the bathroom, quickly continuing before he can say more, “and most of the people on his floor are friends or relatives here for the wedding.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you take your safety as seriously as I do,” he shouts back.

Your voice gets louder as you walk into the bedroom. “With you around I never have to worr…”

You stop for a breath when you see him, but your next words are lost to the blank void of his brain as he takes in your dress and how you look in it. To put it simply- stunning.

“Bucky?”

He startles, having no idea how long he’d been silent.

“Yeah doll…that’s…I’m here.”

When he finally drags his eyes to your face, you’re fighting a smile. “I asked if you could help me?”

“Oh, right. Sure. With what exactly?”

He cringes but steps closer.

“My dress?”

You turn around to show him the fabric at the back that hangs open, a tiny zipper dangling down at your lower back.

Trying to suppress a groan, but not being entirely successful he swallows hard. “That zipper looks very tiny.”

“It is,” you agree. “I realize I should have asked someone with smaller hands to help me out, but everyone is running around with their own nonsense so here we are.”

He approaches with a casual, “sure, of course doll.”

But then he does something without fully realizing it until the shiver runs along your back: he drags a knuckle down the curve of your spine.

You turn and look at him over your shoulder.

He just blinks and looks down to grab the zipper, mumbling about how small it is.

It’s quiet as he carefully pulls the zipper up and when he reaches the top he lets it fall and gently runs a finger along the top of the dress as he moves around to look at you.

“All set,” he whispers.

You smile and clear your throat before giving him an appreciative once over.

“You look hot.”

“Thanks doll. You…” and he struggles when his voice comes out a bit strangled, “you look breathtaking.”

You reach up and touch his bow tie, pulling at the neatly tied ends as you tell him, “I was hoping you’d arrive a flustered mess over how to tie this so I could do it for you.”

With a grin, he reaches up and tugs the end, untying it in a smooth pull.

“Figure you should do something in return after I battled that zipper,” he teases.

Still smiling, you take a hold of the tie, tugging it to align the ends evenly around his neck. “I didn’t get the impression it was such a hardship.”

His answering smirk is so telling you have to stifle a laugh.

“Are you feeling ready for this? I know these big events aren’t your favorite.”

“I’ll manage just fine doll, thanks. Besides, I’ve got the most beautiful date in the whole place.”

With your focus still on his bow tie he takes the opportunity to openly stare. When you smile at his sweet words he’s mesmerized by the way your soft lips part and his eyes stay glued to your mouth.

You look up to meet his gaze and he quickly lifts his eyes, a light pink sweeping across his cheeks.

You blink away and he looks down at your hands, noting the very little progress you’ve made.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Well…yes. I’m sure I can…”

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“You might be right!,” you quip, “but I’m no quitter.”

He’d be happy to stand there all night.

You finally step back, surveying your work, and frown. “I’m going to be honest, not sure I made it look as good as you did.”

He looks down and undoes the mess and you glower as he handily fixies it.

“Wow, no need to gloat you butthead.”

He lets out a full-bodied laugh, eyes crinkled, and nose scrunched, and you enjoy the sight before he explains, “I’ve done it a million times. I’m always the one in the tux when we go undercover.”

“That’s because you’re the one that looks the best.”

“Thanks doll,” he answers quietly.

“There are so many people here,” you whisper as you lead him through the crowd in the hall.

He let’s out a low whistle, nodding in agreement and aking in the décor.

You greet people as you walk, introducing Bucky to those that don’t already know him. Their eyes follow you, curiosity piqued in their expression as they wonder who he is to you.

You wonder the same. Your favorite person in the world. Your best friend…and so much more?

You take his elbow and guide him forward toward the outside set up where the ceremony will take place. On the way you find your grandmother and introduce him.

Since he can’t take his eyes off you he notices the subtle shift in your demeanor, the softening of your face and the adoration in your eyes.

He expects a gentle handshake but instead gets pulled in for a hug.

“Oh darling, isn’t he a sight,” you grandma says, patting Bucky’s cheek. “And you,” she says, turning her eyes your way. “Gorgeous.”

“Thanks grandma,” you beam.

A woman whizzes by, catching your eye and pointing to her watch.

“Looks like it’s time,” you announce.

Bucky holds out one arm for your grandma and the other for you.

“And a gentleman too,” your grandma gushes as she loops her arm through his. “Definitely a keeper.”

“You can keep grandma company,” you say as you approach the chairs.

“Of course, doll,” he says and leans in to kiss your cheek before helping your grandma into her seat.

“I’ll see you after the ceremony.” You gather your dress and turn to head back inside to meet the wedding party. “Miss me,” you call over your shoulder with a playful smile.

He stares as you walk away, quietly admitting, “I already do.”

Slight nerves take over when you hear the music start but the moment you walk out into the crowd your eyes zero in on Bucky. And what do you know? He’s looking right back at you…and he doesn’t take his eyes off you the whole ceremony.

After the ceremony it takes forever to work your way through the crowd to him, and in between catching up with friends and family or directing someone somewhere, you catch glimpses of him smiling and laughing with your grandma and happily keeping her company.

When you finally do reach him, your grandma has been safely escorted to her seat and now a woman hangs off his arm- Jessica. You know her, an old family friend, and you like her well enough, but you step up behind them right as she asks Bucky if she can steal him for the first dance, and your stomach drops.

You jerk to a stop. He hasn’t seen you. He should accept. You’ll hate it, but you’re not in any position to protest.

But then Bucky says only a gentle, “sorry, no can do. Tonight, I’ve only got one dance partner.”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and you step closer, swallowing down the emotion.

“Hey you two!”

Bucky turns, extracting his arm from Jessica and setting a warm palm at your lower back.

“And here she is. My favorite dancing partner.”

Jessica leans around from his other side and says hello.

“Thanks for coming,” you tell her.

“Oh my god, of course. I wouldn’t miss it. And I was just meeting your friend, James, here.”

She emphasizes the word friend and at her usage of his real name you have to hold back a giggle.

“Isn’t he wonderful,” you hum, sliding your hand up his bicep. “He’s been keeping my grandmother company this whole time.”

She swoons and smiles at Bucky before turning back to you.

“He is. I just wasn’t expecting you to have a date. You’re usually always flying solo at these family events.”

You feel the smile slipping from your face and an uncomfortable laugh escapes.

The simple answer never comes to you, and you feel caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Actually, that’s only because I was away for work,” Bucky steps in smoothly. “I hate to miss any chance to be her date, but my schedule can be pretty demanding sometimes.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” Jessica says. “Work is important of course.”

“Yeah,” he answers, “but not as important as her. So, from now I won’t be missing another event.”

Jessica’s face does a thing. It’s a barely restrained, ‘oh okay, I see.’

Bucky’s smile remains but it doesn’t look entirely natural anymore but when he looks at you, every emotion on his face is genuine.

“Ready to find our seats doll face,” he asks you.

“Sure,” you reply.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Jennifer. Enjoy the party.”

With a firm hand, he leads you away. You allow yourself to be guided up the grassy path and indoors to where a band plays. Bucky grabs you two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and hands you one.

“That was swoony,” you tell him then take a sip.

“All I did was grab it from a tray doll. Time to raise your bar a bit.”

Laughing, you smack his beefy shoulder with your free hand. “Not that! The way you gently let Jennifer have it back there.”

He takes a sip, eyes on you. “She deserved worse, but I didn’t want to start trouble.”

With your brow raised you match his mischievous grin then you take his glass and set it down on one of the small tables, leading him to the dance floor.

He looks confused at first but when your hands slide up his chest and around his neck he circles his arms around your waist.

He relaxes against you, hands warm and strong on your lower back and you rest your cheek to his shoulder.

“You’re always so comfy.”

“Thank you.”

“And you always look out for me.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Of course, doll.”

“You’re my favorite person in the Universe.”

He doesn’t respond at first, not for five or ten or thirty seconds. You keep waiting for the feeling of rejection in his silence but instead it feels like an agreement and finally his words confirm it.

“Mine too, doll.”

Your quiet slow dance is the last moment alone you have for the next few hours because what follows is a whirlwind of a reception.

And the whole time he can’t take his eyes off you.

“Think I’m ready to get out of here,” you say as you slump against his side.

He carefully holds you up as he stands and reaches to take your hand.

“Come on doll face. I’ll take you home.”

When you reach your apartment door your feet are aching, and your legs are tired. You retrieve your key from the hidden pocket in your small purse and slide it into the doorknob.

“I’m going to need you to unzip me,” you say, gesturing casually to your dress.

His silence makes you slowly turn around to face him and when you meet his eyes they’re heavy with heat and desire.

“Bucky?”

“Turn back around,” he says gruffly.

You do as your told and feel his exhaled puff of air against your bare shoulder before he takes your wrists in this hands and places your palms flat against the door. His metal fingers slide down one arm then trace the curve of your shoulder, while his other toys with the small zipper.

He starts to pull it down, so slowly, you feel every brush of his skin against yours and it sends a tremble across your body. For every new inch of your skin that he exposes his breath quickens. You can feel the heat of him so close and your fingers press into the hard wood of the door.

Once the fabric hangs loosely at the sides he stops and slips his hands inside to your waist and turns you back to face him.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs. “I…”

You drag your fingers along his temple and down his jaw. Your finger falls to his bottom lip, tracing it’s outline.

You can see it in his eyes, the understanding that everything between you is easy and you don’t have to try. It’s too good.

Your gaze drops to his lips again and your mouth goes soft. “Kiss me Bucky.”

The words are just barely out of your mouth and he’s already leaning in, lips on yours, warm and urgent, his hands rising to cup your face. Your instincts send tight, possessive fists to the lapels of his jacket and you melt completely into the domination and tenderness in his touch.

With a quiet groan he tilts his head, deepening the contact into a decadent slide, sending a hungry hand down your body once again and grabbing your ass to press all your softness against the hard planes of his body.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, drags slowly away, and you chase the contact, but he stops you, pressing his thumb over your lips.

He stares for what feels like forever, then kisses you again, lingering before he murmurs, “you’re so beautiful,” into the sensitive skin below your ear, and then repeats it quietly into your neck.

“Are you going to stay the night?” you ask breathless.

“If you’ll have m…”

“Yes. Yes Bucky.”

His touch, his embrace is animalistic. It’s desperate. It’s urgent. You wriggle beneath him, trapped between him and the bed. 

He slips his lips away from yours, smearing a kiss along your cheek. You squeak as his other hand twines down to yours and frees it from between your bodies. He brings it to his lips and kisses your knuckles, pecking them with low hums.  

He marvels at your fingers, unfurling them forcefully as his eyes glimmer, and he guides your palm against his cheeks. He nestles into your touch like an affectionate pet, biting his lip as his gaze flicks up to your stunned stare. He brings your hand along his jaw and down his neck. 

You shiver at the sight of your bodies flush together. You beneath him. His naked form trapping you against the bed. He drags your touch to his chest and pushes your fingertips into his pec. You gasp as you watch the stolen affection. 

He kisses you again, pulling your hand around his side. You hook your arm around him as he nibbles along your lower lip. He growls and pushes his tongue into your mouth. You struggle to breath as he suffocates you. 

He rolls his hips, rocking slightly between your legs as frictions rubs against your pelvis. You squeak as you feel his length through your jeans. You curl your fingers into the meat of his back and whine into his mouth. 

He draws away as you puff breathlessly, turning your face away as he drags his nose along your throat. His body writhes as his shoulders round and his back curves. He seems to spasm as he slides his hand beneath your back, grinding against you with a snarl. 

“I need you, doll,” he rasps as his nose tickles your neck. “I’m sorry, I need it so bad.” 

You can only whimper as your lip trembles. You couldn’t stop him if you tried. The way he carried you up here, how he’s put himself on you like this, and so easily bowled you over. Even if you had the courage, you don’t have the strength. 

He pets your cheek and lifts himself over you. His blue eyes shine down and you flutter your lashes. Fear surges through your body. 

“Please,” he breathes and rolls you over with him. 

He brings you to straddle him as he flips onto his back. You steady yourself on his chest, your hands tiny across his bulging muscle. You stare down at him, mindless as you wait for what comes next. 

“Touch me, please,” he covers your hands with his and guides them up and down his chest, pushing them to his stomach as you lean back. He tenses and lets go, his hands clutching at the blankets. 

You keep your hands moving, trying to hide the tremble in you. His fingers dance up to your legs and along your thighs. He feels you as you feel him. You stare at your hands, watching as if they aren’t your own. 

He grips your hips and pulls you down against him. He groans and tilts his hips under you. He bares his teeth and shakes. His chest fills and he rocks you over him. 

You murmur and latch onto his wrists. You look down between your legs as he moves your body and his together. His tip peeks out with each thrust as he rubs himself against your jeans. A tingle stirs in your stomach and speckles down through your pelvis.  

You squeeze his arms and whine. What is he doing? He pushes his head into the mattress and his eyes roll back under his lids. He grunts and groans as the mattress moves with him. 

He snarls and spasms under you, stilling you as he shakes, thumbs jabbing into your hips. His cum spurts up his stomach as he rolls through his climax and hisses through his teeth. His head falls to the side and he shudders, his motion easing. 

You sit atop him in the stagnant loft air. You look around at the bed and slowly release your hold on his wrists. His hands trail down to your thighs and he exhales with a groan. 

He doesn’t move. His chest rises and falls and he brings his arm up over his face, hiding behind it as he pants. You lift yourself cautiously. His other hand slips down to the bed. 

You watch him as you climb off of him. The bed jostles with your movement as his short breaths rise like growls. You sit on your knees next to him and your hand crawls over your belt. You look around the room; a boxing bag hanging from rack, a bookshelf, the bed, a closet... it’s all quite normal. 

You free the cloth tucked into your belt and turn to him. You wipe up the mess on his stomach and he winces. He drops his arm and opens his eyes. He watches as you clean up his cum silently. 

“Doll,” he reaches for you. 

You recoil and jump off the bed. You blink at him and your teeth chatter in fear. You look at the cloth in your hand. 

“I’ll keep cleaning,” you utter dumbly.

You turn and scurry away. He huffs after you but says nothing. You step down through the hatch and get a foothold on the stairs. You descend so quickly you nearly fall off the last step. You hurry to the kitchen and shove the cloth into the trash can. 

The door opens as you unload the dishwasher. He emerges with a cloud of steam from the shower, along with the smell of his soap. His hair is damp and messy, his beard shining with moisture as his eyelids slit. 

"Doll," he stops on the other side of the counter as you keep your attention on the dishes. You are aware that he was only a towel around his waist, that realisation making the plate clack loudly as you put it away. "Can ya close the curtains for me?" 

"Sure," you agree and leave the dishwasher open.  

He lumbers to the couch and sits. You glimpse him as you tug on the cords to draw the curtains. You quickly hide around the corner as you return to the kitchen. 

He groans as you try not to clink the porcelain too loudly. You feel bad for him. You can tell just by looking at him how much he hurts. You've always had a bleeding heart. 

You roll the rack back into the dishwasher and close the door. You grab your phone and chew your lip. He would probably prefer to be left alone. Still, you can't see how trying to help is bad. 

You approach him as the results load on your phone. You hover behind him as you scroll. His breath startles you as he heaves. 

"Need something?" He asks without looking back. 

"Erm," you wince and shuffle around the couch. You hold out your phone. He narrows his eyes at the screen and scowls. "For your head?" 

He watches the video and shrugs. The gesture catches your attention for a split second. His right arm is just as thick as the metal one, muscle taut and bulging. His chest looks softer under a mat of dark hair and his stomach overhangs the towel just a little. 

"Too much work," he grumbles and his eyebrows twitch with the effort it takes to speak. He touches his forehead and growls.  

You lower the phone, "sorry." 

"...unless," he drops his hand and looks at you, agony sewn into his expression. "You could..." he looks at your hands. "Doll?" 

You glance down at your hands, clutching your phone tighter. You watch the video of the 'scalp massage', fingers kneading into thick strands. You bring the screen closer.  

"I can try," you say at last. 

Your gaze meets his again and he nods. He bends forward and hangs his head. He grips the cushions as his hair falls over his face.  

You rewind the video and set the phone beside him so you can see it. You rub your palms together anxiously. You raise them and hesitate above his head. 

"Will you let me know if it hurts?" You ask. 

He laughs then groans. "Sure, doll." 

You touch his hair lightly then weave through his locks until you meet his scalp. You press your fingertips in and swirl them like the video. He grumbles again and you stop.  

"Keep going," he rasps. 

He leans into your touch. You firmly knead his head as you stare at his wet hair. A few strands of silver thread through the dark tangle. Another droning noise rises from him. 

His breath deepens enough for you to hear it. You move your hands around his head as he leans into you, more and more. You hope he feels better even as your anxiety peaks with his snarls. 

Is this okay? You probably shouldn't have done this. Even if he is in pain. You could be fired for unprofessional behaviour.  

As you curl your fingertips against his scalp, he moans. You yelp as suddenly he reaches to clamp down on your wrists. He stills you but doesn't shove you away. 

"I'm sorry," you squeak as he lifts his head. 

He keeps hold of you as he looks at you. His face is tense, jaw squared, eyes foggy, a vein coursing in his forehead. His grips tightens dangerously as you whimper. He looks... feral. 

"I'm sorry," you apologise again. 

He growls. Like an animal. He stands as his thumbs run up and down the insides of your wrists. You gape at him in horror. You're in trouble. 

You say sorry again and again and again as he walks you backwards. He turns you around the couch and continues around to the foot of the spiral staircase. You wriggle and whine as you as good as dangle from his grasp.  

He jars you suddenly, pulling you against him. He lets you go as you crash against his stomach. You shakily press your palms to him but can't get away. 

You look up at him, "Bucky," you quaver, "I'm sorry if I hurt you." 

"No," he breathes and grabs you by the waist, "I'm sorry if I hurt you." 

Before you can process his words, he hauls you up and over his shoulder. He turns to the stairs and hooks his arm around you to keep you steady. His other hand slides up the railing as climbs the steps. 

You squeak and lightly brush his back, "Bucky?" 

He doesn't stop. The ascent makes you even dizzier as you hang over his shoulder. You don't understand what's happening. What is he doing? 

He angles you through the hatch and up into the loft. That's against the rules too. You're not supposed to be up there. 

"Please, I'm sorry..." 

He carries you across the room and bends to put you down. He sits you on the foot of the bed and you quiver as he stands straight. His hands go to the front of the towel, slack around his hips. You peer up at him. 

"What did I do?" You eke out. 

He puffs through his nose and pulls the towel free. He bends and cradles your head. His nose touches yours and he snarls. He urges you back until you're flat and you tremble at his mercy. 

The list guides you. Even as you could recite it by rote. You can never be too careful. You turn the corner into the living room, the TV glaring blue across the space.  

You round the couch to grab the remote. Strange, the coffee table is pushed back. Your toe brushes something on the floor and you stop short. 

You look down at the body on the floor. 

Concern ripples up your spine and swells in your throat. Is Bucky okay? His shoulders curl forward as he hugs a pillow, legs bent under the thin throw blanket usually folded over the back of the couch. It's only his low snores that assure you he didn't collapse there. 

You sway above him. Even as he lays on the floor, you feel tiny. Should you wake him? You glance up at the television and decide better of it. You've been a part of a similar tableau. Sleepless nights are often a battle, especially alone. 

You shut off the TV and retreat. You'll wait to do the front room. You look up the spiral staircase. The metals too noisy. What can you do that won't disturb him? 

You turn off your earbud and put it away. You'll have to be careful of everything you do. The silence is dense. You don't often let it pervade your life. You always have something going; music, a show, an audio book... anything to keep you from drifting. 

You start small, wiping down the cupboards with a dust cloth. There isn't much to catch but one day can make the difference. 

There's still no step stool. You make sure he isn't around when you lift yourself up on the counter and work on your knees. You should ask but you also hate to be demanding. 

Despite the odd circumstance, it's calm. You stay alert as you work through the lost, out of order, but you do what you can. 

Will he wake up soon? You hear a groan followed by a murmur. You can't understand it. You turn the faucet on, keeping the stream slow, and wash up the few dishes left near the sink. The smell of the citrus dish soap wafts in the air. As do his snores. 

The snorting rhythm reassures you. They don't stop even as you chance your ascent upstairs. You use the small hand broom on the steps. You find that's easier. Slowly you make your way down until a metallic chink startles you. 

You turn on the steps as Bucky squints sleepily at you. He wears a pair of briefs, his shoulders draped in the throw blankets, as his thick hair hangs in puffy tangles. He rubs his chest, scratching there as you avoid looking below his groggy face. 

You push yourself against the narrow railing as he grips the bottom. You do your best to make room for him to pass. 

"Time?" He asks. 

You wince and fumble to free your phone from the holder on your belt. "Eleven." 

He sniffs and nods. 

"I know it's not on the list, but... coffee, please." 

He backs up and rubs his temple. You can tell by how he moves that he has a headache. You didn't expect a super soldier to fet those.  

"Yes, sir," you leave the hand broom on the step so you can remember where you left off and stand. 

You come down cautiously. You don't like how narrow and steep the climb is. Bucky goes to the couch and drops down heavily. You glance over as he grips his skull. 

You keep your phone out and google the instructions for his coffee machine. You don't have one yourself.  You find the bag of grinds and load it up. You add water to the tank then hit 'brew'. Simple enough. 

You wait for the machine to finish and pour a mug. You turn to face the front room. Bucky’s head rests against the cushion as he remains unmoving. You tiptoe over and peer around. The coffee table’s too far to put the cup down. You stare at him as his eyes are firmly shut. 

“Smells good,” he sits up and reaches for the mug. You hand it over. “You can help yourself.” 

You fold your hands and offer a tight smile, “no thanks. Very kind though.” 

He groans and nods, bringing the cup up to inhale the scent. He blows over it before he drinks. You wince. “Oh.” 

His blue eyes flick over to you, “what?” 

“Oh, I didn’t... didn’t ask if you put anything in it.” 

He shrugs, “black is fine.” He takes another deep swig and clears his throat. “You wouldn’t believe the dirt water they put in field rations.” 

You dip your chin and shrug, “uh, oh no.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbles as he cradles the mug in his large hands and leans forward, elbows on his thighs. “Just... talking.” 

You nod and put your hands behind you. He glances at you again. You can’t read his expression. Is he annoyed? 

“Goddamn,” he exhales deeply and raises the cup to press against his forehead. 

You watch him, teetering between fleeing back to the stairs and waiting for him to tell you to do so. “Do you need some advil?” 

His cheek dimples and he scoffs as he lowers the mug, “doesn’t work for me.” 

Your brows pop up curiously, “oh.” 

“Another cup should do the trick,” he drains the coffee and holds out the cup. “Appreciate it, doll.” 

“Yes, sir,” you take it as a dregs trickles down onto your fingers. 

“Don’t gotta call me sir. This isn’t a platoon,” he rubs his cheek. “Not the sergeant here. Just...” his voice trails off and he shakes his head. He stands and rolls his shoulders. “You can leave the cup on the counter for me.” 

He steps towards you and you flinch. He moves around you and you turn to watch him. His feet slap the floor heavily. He must be in rough shape as you usually don’t hear him stalking around the place. He disappears into the bathroom, the door clicking shut. 

You look around for the step stool. There was a collapsible one there, nestled by the pantry. It’s not there that day. You guess Bucky wouldn’t have much use for it. He can probably reach everything just fine. You don’t want to be nosy by going on a full-blown search. You’ll just have to do your best. 

You stand on your toes and reach up blindly. Great. You’ll not get close to even the second highest shelf. Instead of cupboard doors, the plates are stacked openly on the shelves that line the brick. You like the look. Simple but tidy. 

You are going to have to find the stool if you want to do it right-- 

“Oop!” You exclaim as pressure clamps around your hips and suddenly, your feet are off the floor. You wriggle and grab onto the shelf to keep from flailing. 

You crane to see over your shoulder, looking back at Bucky as he holds you aloft. There’s no effort in the act. You’re nothing but a feather in his hands. You feel powerless in his grasp. You don’t dare to tell him to put your down or ask why he snuck up on you. 

“You can reach?” He asks. 

You nod and turn away from his stern expression. Despite the helpful act, he remains stoic and unreadable. You hate the sensation of having nothing between your feet and the height makes you slightly woozy. You’ll just have to be quick. 

You wipe along the top of the shelves as he sidles you along the length. An awkward tension crawls up your body from beneath his hold on you. His fingertips dip into your flesh as he keeps you steady. 

You do the next shelf, moving the plates to wipe beneath them before placing them back. It’s a delicate balance. Once you get to the third, you find your voice. You pause your music as you eke, “I can reach the rest, sir.” 

“You sure?” He checks with you. 

You nod. He puts you down gently, crowding you against the counter for a moment before he moves away. He turns and opens the metal fridge. You focus on your task, peeking briefly over as he pivots back to the other end of the counter. 

His hair is pulled back behind his head but several strands hang loose around his face. He has a black tank on, his thick arms exposed, flesh and metal, and a pair of shiny track pants on the bottom. He doesn’t acknowledge you as he loads the blender. He clears away the scraps and rinses off the spoon and knife he dirtied in his task. 

He hits the button and the blender whirs loudly. He angles to lean on the arm of the counter and reaches into his pants pockets. He takes out a long strip of fabric and stars to wind it around his wrist and hand. You’ve seen those. The things that boxers wear. 

He does only his real hand. The blender stops and he turns to fill a shaker with the smoothie. He goes for the sink and you clear your throat. 

“I can get that,” you offer. 

He glances over and shrugs. He grabs his shaker and doffs it at you with a nod. He passes you and heads for the stairs. You peek after him then move to rinse out the blender. That wasn’t terrible. You hope.  

You’ve done your best not be in his way since that first day. You’re still paranoid by his cryptic stares and long silences. You never minded quiet but this is the sort that gnaws at you. Aside from that, the job is manageable. 

You shiver as your hip brushes against a draw. You’re reminded of the weight of his hand there. Both his hands, around you, so easily holding you up. And what did you do but let him. 

The first heavy thump makes you wince. You spin and look up to the open hatch. He must have a bag up there or something. That makes sense since he wrapped his hand. He looked ready for a workout. It must be good stress relief to just punch something you can’t hurt. 

You tap play on your music. Heart starts to play. Your taste is a bit out dated but there’s no one to judge you. At the same time, you don’t have anyone to share it with. Sadly, most of the artists you love, you can’t even see in concert anymore. If you could ever afford that. 

The steady pounding of the punching bag continues from above. After a while, it’s almost comforting. You finish the kitchen and move on to the front room. As you fluff the couch pillows, the beating stops. There’s a hiss and Bucky snarls as he comes down the stairs swiftly. 

“Shit,” he hops past the last few steps and marches into the kitchen. You watch him in confusion as he raises his metal arm. He holds it up as he looks down and touches his side. He curses again as he swipes paper towel from the roll mounted to the wall. 

“Some help, doll?” He tosses over his shoulder. 

He’s talking to you. Right? You drop the pillow and take your earbud completely out. Something’s wrong. 

As you come around the arm of the counter, he turns to you, revealing the wet stain on his tank top. He holds out the paper towel with his other hand. “Pressure.” 

He gestures to his ribs. You take the paper towel with a tremble and push it against his middle. He puffs behind his teeth and reaches to his extended metal arm. You see the panel sticking out. It must’ve cut him. 

“Damn thing.” He growls. 

You blink and look at your hand. His blood seeps through and stains your fingers. You can smell the iron. You gape at the crimson smear as your heart pumps wildly. He pushes the panel flat and lowers his arm. He puts his hand over yours, spreading his thick fingers to completely cover yours. 

“You don’t like blood, do you?” He says. “I can hear your heart.” 

You slip your hand from beneath his as he takes the paper towel. He crumples up the sopping square and tuts. You turn and rush over to your kit. You fish out the pouch you keep tucked behind the sponges. You unzip it and return to him as you pluck out the roll of gauze. 

He considers the offer before he accepts it. Your eyes meet as his fingers brush yours. You quiver as his gaze bores through you. 

“You should wash your hands,” he takes the pouch too. “I got this.” 

Unlocked, you roll the door back to reveal the condo on the other side. Wow. It’s quite the place. Spacious. High ceilings, polished dark floors, tall counters. Well, everything is ‘big’ compared to you. The world is gargantuan in a way that makes you feel like a spec of dust. 

You set down your kit and roll in your vacuum. It’s a haul and a half and you felt a bit silly dragging it all up the front steps of the building. You always feel a bit ridiculous. Like you don’t belong. Even in a city so big that you’re invisible. 

You tap your earbud twice to turn the music up. You always keep one in to ward off the overstimulation of the New York chaos. It helps you through the hours of cleaning. 

You check the notes in the app. It’s a long list. The work isn’t new, just the place. They chose to give some of your old clients to newer cleaners and you took on the more particular ones. Zuli said it’s because you know how to get in and out without any hint that you were ever there. 

You start your cautious work. The client has included some very direct instructions. What you can and can’t touch. Alright, easy enough. You’re good with that. Details help. 

You get to the spiral staircase that leads up to loft bedroom. The instructions say to dust the railings and sweep the steps. It doesn’t really look like they need it but it can’t hurt. You’re paid to do the job. 

You start with the railings. Going top to bottom as you drag a microfibre cloth down the twisting ascent. You go back to the highest step with the broom, the task made awkward as the broom handle pokes through ceiling that would be the floor of the room above. It’s an interesting set up. 

As you bring the bristles across the metal step, a shadow shifts over you. The windows are tall enough to let the sky in. You ignore it until a voice startles you from above. “Got an extra cloth?” 

Your foot slips as a hand grabs the other end of the broom. You cling to the stick as another hand reaches to catch your arm. You squeak and look up at the man as he bends through the hatch door and keeps you from falling further. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you whittle out of your tight throat. 

“Careful,” he steadies you on the step until you get your balance. He lets go and steps back, standing above you as he looks down through the open hatch. “So, a cloth?” 

You tap your earbud to pause the music. You nod and give a wide blink. You turn and scurry down the spiral steps, dizzy by the bottom. You search your kit and take both the roll of paper towels and a microfibre cloth. You go back to him and offer both. 

You bat your lashes as you peer up at him. You know him. Well, you recognise him. The hair, the beard, the bright blue eyes. It's Bucky Barnes. What really gives him away are the metal fingers twiddling by his jeans. He bends to take the paper towel. 

“Thanks,” he rasps and walks away without another word. 

You don’t move for a moment. Then you set back to your work. You’re not there to ogle the famed super soldier. You have your list of tasks. You remember the underlined point on the list. Do not enter the loft.  

You make a slow descent down with the broom and gather the small cluster of dust in the pan. You dump it and begin on the lower floor. You get about halfway around the front room of the open-concept condo before the silence smacks you across the face. 

You hit play on your earbud. That’s better. You finish up with the sweep and start with the mop. You’re sure to use the gentle, unscented, all natural cleaner as specified in the app. You suppose a place this nice requires extra care. 

You bob as you clean, the rhythm of the music soothing your nerves. You can’t help by keep replaying your near disaster in your head. Imagine if you’d fallen down those stairs. That would have been painful and just as torturously humiliating. 

As you finish up, packing up your kit and tie up the trash bag to take out, you sense something behind you. You turn as you wait for the elevator to rise up and blanch at Bucky as he stands at the foot of the metal stairs. How hadn’t you heard him? 

He looks at you then around the apartment. You squirm, too tongue tied to speak. Better off that you don’t. Was that on the list? You can’t remember. 

“Looks good,” he says. 

His eyes meet yours and you flinch. His irises are a blue so bold and deep that they threaten to swallow you up like the sea. And the way he stands. His posture. He’s intimidating without trying. Or maybe you are a bit of a wuss. 

You press on your earbud, once more silencing the music. You wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t. He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge.  

You hesitate and face the elevator again. Tension roils at your back as you hear the glass tingle followed by the hiss of a cap popping free. You push your shoulders up and lift your kit, hanging on tightly to the hose of the vacuum. 

He must deal with enough leers, he surely doesn’t need that from a cleaner. The elevator doors open and you step inside. You roll the vacuum into the corner and go to close the gate.  

Bucky appears at the threshold as he pulls it across himself. The whole time, his gaze doesn’t leave you. He hits the keypad on his side and the lock clicks before the outer doors roll across and block him from sight. You stay there, frozen, even as the elevator jolts into motion. 

You shouldn’t even be here, you should look away, you really should but it’s not your fault that he has the prettiest cock on full display with perfect, heavy balls in between plush thighs. You're not sure how someone so sweet and pure can look this sinful, nearly tearing the hoodie you're clutching onto the longer you wait by the door.

Idk why my mind went here but imagine he's soft but gets hard when he smells you. You're close enough in his room that your shampoo and something so distinctly you fills his senses. It's not his fault his senses are heightened. I mean imagine you see it happen. A cute little groan as all the blood rushes down between his legs, his cock now standing at full attention, stiff and begging. Leaking.

You're frozen on the spot, begging for your feet to move, just drop the hoodie and run, anything but no. He's still asleep, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his pulse starts to work a little faster, his hand coming down to soothe the ache, his book slipping off his chest.

You should definitely leave now, it's too intimate, you can't be here when he-

"mph" His sleepy movements are barely coordinated as he gives his cock a squeeze, his cheeks getting pinker by the second. He rolls over with his face now buried into the pillow, pressing his hips against the mattress for some relief.

I can't deal.

Innocent Bucky having a wet dream over you.

Innocent Bucky making a mess because of you.

Innocent Bucky acting normal around you the next morning, placing a steaming mug of tea in front of you while you stutter a thank you and he says you're welcome doll, like he always does.

Innocent Bucky still too shy to tell you that he jerks his cock off to you more times than you can count. That he adores you too much, he'd never be so crass to make a move on his roommate. He's still working up the courage to ask you on a date. Till then he's gonna fuck his fist and hump his bed and think of all the ways he wishes you were naked with him, your legs around his waist while he pounds you, filling you up while you scream his name-

-

Fuck boy Bucky shows himself off without a care in the world. You start to wonder if the man owns anything else aside from a few slutty pairs of boxer brief's. He's always manspreading and it's hard to act like it's an inconvenience when he's built like that. That being said, it's not like you've seen all of him. He leaves little to the imagination but it's not like he walked around naked.

You'd never openly admit you were a little curious.

You find out he's put your mug on the highest shelf again and you swear he does it on purpose just to mess with you. You grumble, ready to tell him off, walking right into his bedroom, his full legal name right at the tip of your tongue-

"Fuck-"

His chest rises and falls along with his soft snores, one arm propped under his head while the other is half one his chest. His thighs were spread apart without a care in the world and not a single piece of clothing covered his body, bed sheets also tossed aside.

Apparently the serum made him run hot.

Every single bit of him is on display, the only thing he's wearing are his pretty silver dog tags. You freeze, blinking, your tongue now tied, you were so annoyed with him and now-

"Y'like what you see angel?" His raspy voice makes you yelp as he keeps his eyes closed but the smirk that makes its way to his lips lets you know he's more than awake now. You have no idea when he woke up or realized you were there but you can't get your feet to move, voice caught in your throat.

He doesn't even bother trying to cover up, unbothered at the state you're seeing him in.

Imagine this cocky fuck going as far as giving his cock a lazy tug and he can definitely smell how wet you are. He knows you're getting wetter.

"Need something baby, cause I gotta take care of this or I won't fall asleep" He cocks an eyebrow, nodding down to his hard cock before looking back at you. He's not going to tell you yet that he'd been pining after you with the most desperate crush. That he keeps those mugs up high on purpose so you have to call him to get it for you.

"I-I

"Don't get all shy on me now princess, better lock the door on your way out unless you're gonna stand there and watch?" He gives himself another lazy tug, this one followed by a groan.

Fuckboy Bucky who loves the way you look like a deer caught in headlights.

Fuckboy Bucky who strokes his cock while you watch.

Fuckboy Bucky who lets out a deep, raspy, "Fuck baby, just c'mere" when he hears a desperate whimper slip past your lips.

Fuckboy Bucky who gets you naked with him, not wasting a second to get inside your pussy.

Fuckboy Bucky who runs his mouth too much and mumbles an unconscious "Fuck, i love you" when he starts to cum.

and cum.

and fucking cum.

Fuckboy Bucky who confesses his feelings.

Anyway.

Naked Bucky in bed.