dreams for another day

Bucky pauses in the doorway, towel tightening in his hands. "I'm fine."

"Mm-hmm." You pat again. "Your face is doing that thing where it says 'I'm fine' but your soul is holding a clipboard and it's writing 'absolutely not.'"

He huffs a laugh that's almost a protest, almost a surrender. He comes over anyway, slow, like he's giving himself time to decide if he deserves it.

Before he can sit, a small, fuzzy body launches itself onto the mattress with the righteous fury of someone who pays rent with vibes alone.

Alpine lands between you like a fluffy little bouncer. Tail up. Eyes wide. A pristine white paw lifts as if to say, 'Excuse you, this is my man.'

Bucky's mouth twitches. "She thinks you're stealing me."

"I am stealing you," you tell Alpine gravely. "I'm a known criminal."

Alpine blinks, unamused, and headbutts Bucky's knee with possessive affection.

Bucky finally sits on the edge of the bed, shoulders still tight, water beading along his collarbone. His hair is longer than he used to keep it, soft where it curls at the ends. He looks like someone who has learned how to breathe again, but only on days you remind him.

You slide behind him, tugging him gently back until he leans against your chest.

He stiffens at first, habit. A reflex. Then he exhales like he's setting down a weapon he's been gripping too long.

"Okay," he murmurs, voice rough. "Okay. Just... don't startle me."

"I would never," you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I'm about to be so tender you might legally qualify as a pastry."

That earns you a quiet, real laugh. The kind that loosens something.

You rake your nails lightly through his damp hair.

Bucky goes still. Not in a tense or wary way. Just... gone.

His eyes flutter like a switch being turned off. His head tips back a fraction, seeking your hand with unconscious precision. The sound he makes isn't even a word. It's a soft, helpless little noise, like his body just decided to speak before his pride could stop it.

You pause. "Did you just..."

"No." His denial is immediate and deeply unconvincing. "I didn't do anything."

"You melted."

"I did not." He swallows, throat bobbing. "I... relaxed."

You scratch again, slow and careful, nails gliding over his scalp the way you know he likes. Not too hard. Just enough to make his eyes close and his whole posture loosen like a knot giving up.

Alpine watches with building outrage. Her ears angle forward as she creeps closer, one paw at a time, as if she's sneaking up on a crime scene.

Bucky's hands drop into his lap, heavy and open. His metal fingers click softly when they flex, the sound gentler than it used to be. He looks like someone who's finally realized he's safe and is suspicious of it.

"Long day?" you ask, voice kept low like you're not trying to pull him back into it.

He hums, the vibration traveling right through your chest. "Mission was... loud."

"Mm."

"Too many people shouting."

"Mmm."

He tilts his head, giving you access like a trust fall. "And I got... I don't know." A small pause. "That thing."

"That thing?"

"The one where you're done, but your brain keeps running like it's trying to outrun the silence."

You scratch just behind his ear.

Bucky audibly breathes out, the tension leaving him in a slow spill. His head drops forward, chin nearly to his chest. You can feel it, the way the fight drains out of him under your fingertips.

"Yeah," you say. "I know that thing."

Alpine chooses that exact moment to climb onto Bucky's thigh and wedge herself between his arm and yours like a fluffy doorstop.

Bucky's eyes open a sliver. "Alpine."

She stares back, innocent as snow. Tail swishing. A paw reaches up and touches his forearm with the delicate insistence of someone placing a claim.

You scratch Bucky's scalp again and Alpine's head whips toward you like, 'How dare you!'

"She's jealous," you whisper into Bucky's ear.

"She's protective," he corrects, but his voice is lazy now, warm. "She doesn't like sharing."

"I don't like sharing either," you say, and then you lean forward and kiss the damp edge of his hairline.

Bucky freezes for one heartbeat.

Then he makes that sound again, soft and ruined. Like his body is filing a complaint against his own composure.

Your nails trace slow circles.

His shoulders drop another inch. His eyelids sink closed. His mouth parts just slightly. He's still built like a weapon, all broad lines and quiet strength, but in your hands he becomes something else entirely.

Something loved. Something safe.

Alpine, seeing her opportunity, headbutts your wrist with fierce determination.

"Excuse me," you tell her. "I am tending to your emotionally exhausted supersoldier."

Alpine pushes harder.

Bucky's lips twitch. "She wants... equal spoiling."

"Fine," you sigh dramatically, like you're being forced into kindness. "Come here, you little diva."

With your free hand, you scratch behind Alpine's ear.

Alpine instantly transforms into a purring engine. Loud enough to register on government sensors.

Bucky's laugh is barely a sound. "Traitor."

"You're both traitors," you mutter, scratching Bucky with one hand and Alpine with the other, effectively running a two-person spa with a cat union rep supervising.

Bucky's head falls back against your shoulder. His voice, when it comes, is small.

"Can we... stay like this for a minute?"

Your throat tightens in that sweet way, like your heart is trying to climb into your mouth and wave.

"As long as you want," you whisper.

He swallows. His metal hand reaches up slowly, careful, and covers yours where it's buried in his hair. A quiet claim. A quiet gratitude. His fingers press just enough for you to feel it.

Alpine, offended by the intimacy, climbs onto his chest and plops down like a fluffy, judgmental scarf.

Bucky cracks one eye open. "Seriously?"

Alpine blinks at him.

You kiss Bucky's temple, then scratch his head again with slow, gentle certainty.

Bucky's entire body goes loose, like he's finally letting the day fall off him in pieces. His voice is almost inaudible when he says, "You know that does something to me."

You smile against his skin. "Good."

A pause.

Then, quieter still, as if he's afraid the room might overhear and take it away, "I love you."

The words land soft and heavy, like a blanket settling over your shoulders.

You keep your nails moving through his hair, steady as a heartbeat. "I love you too."

Alpine purrs louder, as if to remind you both she was here first.

Bucky's mouth curves against your arm. "She's gonna start charging us for this."

"Worth it," you whisper.

And in the hush that follows, with Bucky melting under your fingertips and Alpine claiming her share of comfort like a tiny queen, the world feels far away. Mission noise. Thunderbolts nonsense. All of it dulled at the edges.

Here, it's just warm skin, soft hair, quiet purrs, and the kind of love that doesn't demand anything.

It just stays.

You were happy with the way things were for a while, content even if being in love with him while you had no idea how he actually felt was nothing short of torture at times. Then agents started being pulled into missions. When the two teams were formed into one, Valentina landing government contracts and having the actual Captain America working with you all meant that at times you needed extra boots on the ground. 

Rochelle was beautiful, really. Tall, leggy with dark hair that fell down her back when she took it out of her braid. She was a well trained agent, respectful for the most part but was a literal pain in your ass. She went out of her way to “be nice” to John. 

You and him weren’t public, no one besides the team knew you even had anything going on. That didn’t stop your jaw from threatening to crack every time her hand lingered on his arm or she smiled too broad at him or wanted to train with him. She brought him coffee for god’s sake! The little comments also filtered to your ears about how sexy he was and the things she’d like him to do to her, that he regularly did to you.

The worst part? He didn’t see it. No matter how many times you pointed it out. He’d laugh it off, say it was nothing, drag you into a quick kiss and have you forget it.

Then another batch of agents came in. Among those agents were Connor Adams.  He was a former navy seal, highly decorated, had both arms sleeved in tattoos, the greenest eyes you’d ever seen and it was crystal clear from the moment you met he had eyes for you. 

You didn’t want Connor, didn’t want to give him mixed signals but maybe John having a taste of his own medicine wouldn’t be that bad? You never flirted but if Connor brought you a coffee? You’d thank him with a smile, if he wanted to train? You’d volunteer to work with him. You’d chat with him in the halls. Nothing Rochelle hadn’t done with John.

John walked into the gym, the new one where Valentina had brought a space a few blocks down from the tower and had it renovated to Bucky, Sam and Yelena’s specifications for training purposes to find you and Connor laughing while you sparred.

He felt his heart hit his feet. Ever since he joined the agents working with the New York team, you’d been hanging out with him, talking about his tattoo guy, training with him. He stood there watching, you bounced around Connor, brighter than you’d been in a moment and he realized it was his fault. Rochelle. He hadn’t shut it down, hadn’t listened to you.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there when he heard someone walk in behind him then her voice hit his ears, “John! Need a sparring partner?” he moved right before her hand could touch his arm, spinning to face her “No, I’d rather ask Bucky”

Her face fell, eyes darting towards you and Connor before she smiled again “What about lunch?” he sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. He really had been so damn oblivious. It wasn’t until he realized he may actually lose you that he got to open his eyes. He shook his head “Please, stop flirting with me. Stop asking to spar, stop wanting to get coffee. I am spoken for. Ok?”

“Oh..I didn’t know” she smiled apologetically and he nodded “Now you do” and spun on his heel to walk out of the gym, not realizing you’d heard every word he’d said. 

You couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about John’s words. You stood to walk to his quarters and knocked. He slowly opened and you both stood there staring at each other for a moment before you spoke, “Are you really spoken for or is it just jealousy?”

He froze, eyes dropping before he raised his gaze to you again, “If I’m honest? Both” you nodded slowly, “That way you’re feeling John? I’ve been feeling that way for weeks longer” 

He dropped his gaze again, shame written over his face, “I’m sorry sweetheart. I didn’t realize” you took a step forward, causing him to step back into his quarters so you followed, “Show me you’re really sorry and it’ll be alright. It just too way too long for you to notice it even if I told you time and again”

“I was never paying attention to her because I was too busy looking at you. I never had time to see what she was doing until you were spending time with him, that opened my eyes” he tried to reach for you but you stepped back, shaking your head. “John, I told you! You never believed me. It doesn’t matter that you were looking at me if you weren’t listening”

He nodded, closing his door and leaning against it. “I’m so sorry baby. Whatever I need to do to prove that I will. I was such an idiot. Seeing you with him? That ripped me in half, to know I did that to you? I’d deserve if you didn’t want me anymore” you shook your head “I want all of you”

“Then can I hold you?” he asked softly. You didn’t answer, just stepped into his arms, letting him fully wrap you in his embrace. “I’ll fix this, I promise. I’ll never not listen again I swear. I was just too blind” he pressed a kiss to your temple then murmured low “I love you so damn much”

You froze, he’d never said that. He’d never given any inclination he wanted more. He froze too until you nuzzled further into him “I love you too John, that’s why it hurt” “I get it love, we can work on it. Everyone will know we’re together if it’s ok with you” “You want that?” you asked softly and he nodded, “More than anything” 

You pulled back to look up at him and smiled, “Then take me to bed and prove you love me” he grinned broadly “Yes ma’am”

The next morning you were sitting on the countertop, John’s hands spread wide on your sides when everyone started trickling into the kitchen. Yelena froze, nodded sleepily, “I knew it. That’s why Wilson moved those two to D.C.” then she continued to the fridge, looking back at John “Will you make smoothies?” 

He grinned at you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before telling her “Yeah, I’ll make smoothies” you pulled him into another quick kiss before he stepped away and whispered “I love you” he groaned low, pressing yet another kiss to your lips “I love you too”

Yelena cursed under her breath “Smooching later, smoothies now” you and John both burst out laughing “Yes ma’am”

John Walker Fanfic

You had started taking phone calls in other rooms. You had started smiling at your phone and tilting the screen away when he walked by. You had started leaving at odd times with vague answers that sounded too carefully casual.

“Just errands.”

“Nothing important.”

“You’ll see.”

He hated that one most of all.

You’ll see. Two words that should have sounded playful.

Instead, they landed somewhere ugly in the back of his mind, where all the old wounds lived with their shoes on.

John tried not to ask.

He told himself he was being paranoid. That not everything was a battlefield. That you deserved privacy. That loving someone didn’t mean gripping them so tightly they forgot how to breathe.

But the third time you stepped into the hallway to answer a call, lowering your voice as soon as you shut the door, John sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall until the silence became too loud.

When you came back in, phone tucked behind your back like you were hiding contraband, he looked up.

“You’re being secretive.”

You stopped. Your eyes widened for half a second before you smoothed your expression.

“I'm not.”

John raised his eyebrows.

You blinked at him, all false innocence and terrible acting. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not being secretive.”

“You just took a phone call in the hallway.”

“I take phone calls.”

“You whispered.”

“I have a naturally delicate voice.”

John stared.

You stared back.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then you walked over to him, gently pushing between his knees so you could stand close enough for his hands to find your hips by instinct. They did.

“You’re doing that thing,” you said.

“What thing?”

“That intense investigation face.”

“I don’t have an investigation face.”

“You absolutely do.”

His mouth twitched despite himself.

You smiled, small and pleased, and touched his jaw.

“John,” you said softly, and there was enough tenderness in his name to make something in him loosen against his will. “Nothing is going on.”

He searched your face. "You promise?”

Your smile softened further. “I promise.”

He wanted to believe you. God, he wanted to believe you so badly it was embarrassing.

He nodded once, because what else was he supposed to do? Demand evidence? Pat you down for secrets? Become the exact kind of man he was terrified of being?

So he nodded. "Okay.”

You leaned down and kissed him, slow and sweet.

“Okay,” you whispered against his mouth.

And for a while, he let himself believe that was enough.

The thing about fear was that it did not always roar. Sometimes it sat quietly beside you on the couch. Sometimes it watched you laugh from across the kitchen.

Sometimes it woke up in the middle of the night and counted all the reasons someone might decide you were no longer worth the trouble.

John knew trouble. He had worn it like a second uniform.

He had made mistakes that didn’t fade just because people stopped talking about them. He had failed people who mattered. Failed Olivia in ways he didn’t always have language for. Failed his son by being absent, by being complicated, by being a man who loved him fiercely but still had to ask himself whether love was enough when wrapped in so much damage.

And then there was you.

You, who looked at him like he was more than the worst thing he had ever done. You, who had somehow found him under all the armor and bruised pride and shame.

You, who stayed.

Except lately, you were whispering in hallways. Lately, you were smiling at secrets. Lately, John had started preparing himself for the day you would realize what everyone else eventually figured out.

That he was too much. Too heavy. Too sharp around the edges. Too haunted to be anyone’s peace.

He told himself he would let you go when it happened. That he wouldn’t beg. That he wouldn’t make it harder. That if you wanted out, he would stand there, take the hit, and nod like it didn’t gut him.

He had almost convinced himself.

Then came the night he heard you.

The shower had been running for maybe two minutes before John realized he had left his towel on the bedroom chair.

He cursed under his breath, shut off the water, and stepped out, dripping across the bathroom tile. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants, pulled them on quickly, and opened the door just enough to head down the hall.

That was when he heard your voice. Low and hushed.

“John is not going to find out.”

His body went still. A coldness moved through him, fast and merciless.

You were in the living room, pacing near the window, phone pressed to your ear. You thought he was still in the shower. "I convinced him nothing’s going on,” you said, quieter now.

John’s hand tightened around the doorframe. For one stupid second, he didn’t understand the words.

Then he understood them too well. His chest went hollow.

He stepped back into the bathroom without making a sound and closed the door carefully behind him.

He braced both hands against the sink and stared at himself in the mirror.

There it was. That familiar, poisoned little voice.

Of course she’s leaving. Of course she found someone easier. Someone cleaner.

Someone who didn’t wake up tense from nightmares. Someone who didn’t flinch at kindness because he still didn’t trust it. Someone who knew how to be loved without turning it into a test.

John swallowed hard. His reflection looked back at him, pale and damp and stupidly hopeful in a way he suddenly hated.

He had known better. That was the worst part. He had known better than to think he got to keep this.

You came to bed later like nothing had happened. You smiled at him. You kissed his shoulder. You asked if he was okay when he didn’t pull you against him as quickly as usual.

And John, coward that he was, said, “Yeah. Just tired.”

Because if he asked, and you answered, then it would become real. And he wasn’t ready, not yet.

The days that followed were torture dressed in ordinary clothes.

You were affectionate. Cheerful, even. Too cheerful.

John watched you move around the apartment, watched you hum while making coffee, watched you steal bites from his plate, watched you fold one of his shirts and keep it on your side of the bed like you belonged there.

Every little thing became evidence and punishment.

When you kissed him, he wondered if it was goodbye practice. When you laughed, he wondered if you laughed like that for someone else.

When you looked at him, soft and warm, he wondered how much longer he had before that warmth vanished completely.

Father’s Day crept closer. John didn’t say much about it.

He never really knew what to do with that day. It sat strangely in his chest, tangled with pride and guilt and love so enormous it terrified him.

He loved his son. Loved him in a way that made every other part of him feel clumsy.

But love did not erase absence. It did not rewrite hard conversations or missed moments or the quiet ache of not being there every morning.

So when Father’s Day arrived, John woke before you and stared at the ceiling.

You were curled into his side, breathing softly, your hand resting over his heart.

Even now, even when he was sure you were going to leave, your body still reached for him in sleep.

Cruel little miracle.

By late morning, you were practically vibrating.

John noticed.

You kept checking the time. Kept texting. Kept glancing toward the elevator whenever it made a sound.

The two of you were at the tower that afternoon, mostly because you had insisted there was “something you needed to pick up.” Another vague answer. Another little secret tucked behind your teeth.

The common room was bright with afternoon light, all tall windows and expensive furniture and the faint sound of someone moving around in the kitchen down the hall.

John stood near the couch, arms crossed, trying not to look like a man waiting for a sentence to be handed down.

You were gone again. Another errand. Another mystery.

He looked toward the elevator when it chimed. His heart sank before the doors even opened.

'This is it,' he thought.

This was where you would tell him.

Maybe you had picked a public place because you thought he would handle it better if there were witnesses. Maybe you were trying to be kind. Maybe the kindness would make it worse.

The elevator doors slid open and there you were.

John froze.

You stepped out carefully, your face glowing with a smile you were obviously failing to contain.

In one arm, you carried his son. Small and bright-eyed, dressed in tiny sneakers and little jeans, looking around the room with the solemn curiosity of a baby inspecting the world like he might have some notes.

In your other hand was a small blue gift bag, tissue paper puffing out of the top.

John’s brain stalled completely. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

His son saw him before John remembered how to breathe.

You shifted the baby on your hip and smiled, eyes shining.

“Can you say hi to Daddy?”

John’s son looked at him. His little mouth opened.

Then, with the kind of perfect timing that should've been impossible, he let out the softest, happiest babble.

“Dada.”

The world stopped.

John’s face crumpled before he could stop it.

He pressed a hand over his mouth, but the sound still escaped him, broken and raw and barely contained.

You walked toward him, your own eyes filling. "Hi," you whispered.

John looked at you, then at his son, then back at you.

“What...” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, but it didn’t help. “What is this?”

You laughed softly, though tears had started slipping down your cheeks.

“Happy Father’s Day.”

His son reached for him.

That did it.

John took him carefully, like he was made of sunlight and glass and every fragile thing he had ever been afraid to break. The second his son was in his arms, John folded around him.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Hey, hey, I missed you.”

His son grabbed at his shirt, babbling nonsense into his chest, tiny fingers curling into the fabric like he had always belonged there.

John closed his eyes. One tear slipped free. Then another. He didn’t wipe them away.

He just held his son tighter and kissed the top of his head.

“You planned this?” he asked, looking at you.

You nodded. "For a couple weeks.”

His breath shook. "That’s what the phone calls were?”

You gave him a guilty little smile. “I was coordinating with Olivia.”

John blinked. "With Olivia?”

“She wanted to make sure it was okay. We wanted to surprise you.” You lifted the blue bag a little. “And it took some planning.”

John stared at you. A dozen emotions crossed his face so quickly you could barely track them.

Relief first. Then confusion. Then something like shame.

You saw it land.

The way his shoulders tightened. The way his gaze flicked away.

Your smile faded just a little. "John.”

He swallowed. "I thought..." He stopped.

You stepped closer. "What did you think?”

He shook his head once, jaw working. "Nothing.”

“Don’t do that.”

His eyes met yours.

You knew him too well. That was the dangerous part. The beautiful part.

John looked down at his son and ran a hand gently over the back of his little head.

“I heard you,” he admitted quietly. “The other night. On the phone.”

Your face changed. "Oh..." Understanding settled there, soft and stricken. “You heard me say you weren’t going to find out.”

He gave a humorless little laugh, though it sounded more like hurt than amusement. "Yeah.”

“John.”

“It’s okay.”

“It is absolutely not okay.”

His mouth pressed into a tight line.

You stepped into him, close enough that his son’s little shoe bumped your stomach.

“I wasn’t cheating on you.”

“I know that now.”

“No,” you said, voice gentler. “I need you to hear me. I wasn’t. I would never.”

His eyes were wet again. He looked away, but you touched his cheek and brought him back to you.

“I thought you were leaving,” he said. The words came out small. Too honest. Too bruised. "I thought you figured it out.”

Your brows drew together. “Figured what out?”

“That I’m not..." He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “That I’m not worth all this.”

The room went painfully quiet.

Even his son seemed to settle, resting against John’s chest with one hand still fisted in his shirt.

You looked at John like your heart had cracked open. “Oh, John.”

He shook his head. “I know. I know, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“I just...” He breathed out, unsteady. “I already failed them once. Olivia. Him. I’m trying, but I know trying doesn’t fix everything. And you started hiding things, and I thought, yeah. Okay. There it is. Makes sense.”

“No,” you whispered. “No, it doesn’t.”

You set the gift bag down on the couch and placed both hands on his face.

He looked wrecked.

Big, stubborn, impossible man, standing there with his son in his arms and tears in his eyes, still somehow convinced he was waiting to be abandoned.

“You are worth this,” you said. “You are worth the planning and the phone calls and the sneaking around and me almost exploding every time I had to lie to your face.”

That got a wet laugh out of him.

You smiled through your tears.

“You are worth being loved on purpose. Do you hear me?”

John’s face twisted. “Yeah,” he rasped.

“No. Not soldier-answer yeah. Real yeah.”

His eyes searched yours. Then he nodded. "Real yeah.”

You leaned up and kissed him gently.

His son made a loud, indignant noise between you, offended by being squished in the middle of romance.

You pulled back laughing. "Sorry,” you told the baby. “Your daddy is very distracting.”

John let out a shaky laugh, pressing another kiss to his son’s head.

Then you picked up the blue bag again. “I have one more thing.”

John sniffed, trying to pull himself together. “There’s more?”

“There’s more.”

“You brought my son here. I’m pretty sure you won Father’s Day.”

“Open the bag, Walker.”

He gave you a look, emotional and suspicious.

You grinned.

“Actually,” you said, touching his son’s tiny shoulder. “First look at his outfit.”

John glanced down.

At first, he didn’t understand. His son’s little jacket had shifted open, revealing the shirt underneath.

White letters on soft blue fabric.

Big Brother.

John stared at it. His brows pulled together. His lips parted. He looked at you. "What?”

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it had climbed into your throat with a tiny flag.

You held out the bag. "Open it.”

John shifted his son higher against his chest, keeping one arm securely around him while reaching into the blue gift bag with the other.

His fingers brushed tissue paper. He pulled it aside. Then he went still.

Inside the bag, nestled carefully at the bottom, was a positive pregnancy test.

For a second, he didn’t react. The realization hit him so hard he forgot the shape of words.

His eyes lifted to yours. Wide. Terrified. Hopeful. Full of so much love you almost couldn’t bear it. "You’re…” His voice broke completely.

You nodded. "I’m pregnant.”

John’s mouth trembled. “With...”

“With your baby,” you whispered.

He let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped inside him for years. "Oh my God.”

You laughed and cried at the same time, which was not graceful, but nothing about this moment needed to be.

John looked down at his son. Then at the test. Then at you.

Then back at his son’s shirt, like he needed the tiny letters to confirm the universe had not made some clerical error.

“Big brother,” he whispered.

His son babbled proudly, as if he had personally arranged the announcement and deserved credit.

John laughed then, broken and bright.

You stepped closer, sliding your hand over his arm. "Happy Father’s Day,” you said softly.

John looked at you like you had handed him the whole sky and trusted him not to drop it.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I should say something.”

“You’re crying very eloquently.”

He huffed a laugh, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. Then he leaned down and kissed you.

It was soft at first. Careful. Then deeper, trembling with everything he couldn’t fit into words. Gratitude. Relief. Awe. Fear. Love.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

You smiled. “I’m okay.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And the baby?”

“So far, everything looks good.”

His eyes squeezed shut for half a second. "Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”

You stroked his cheek. “You’re going to be a dad again.”

His laugh came out wet. “Yeah.”

“And this little guy is going to be a big brother.”

John looked down at his son, who was now chewing on the collar of his own big brother shirt with absolutely no respect for dramatic timing.

“You hear that?” John whispered to him. “You’re getting promoted.”

His son babbled.

John nodded solemnly. "Exactly. Big responsibility. We’ll talk benefits later.”

You laughed, and the sound seemed to loosen the last knot in his chest.

John looked back at you, eyes still red. “I love you,” he said. Simple and certain. A little shattered.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I love you too.”

His son reached for you then, tiny hand patting clumsily against your face.

You gasped. “Excuse me, sir. Are you trying to steal my moment?”

John smiled. A real smile this time. Soft and disbelieving and warm enough to fill the whole room.

You tucked yourself against his side, one arm around his waist, your other hand resting briefly over your stomach.

John noticed. His hand came to cover yours, large and careful.

For a moment, the three of you stood there in the tower common room, sunlight spilling across the floor, the blue tissue paper crinkled on the couch, the whole future quietly rearranging itself around a baby shirt and a plastic test.

John had spent days preparing himself to lose you.

Instead, you had walked through the elevator doors carrying his son, carrying a secret, carrying proof that his life was not ending.

It was growing.

He looked down at the little boy in his arms. Then at you. Then at your stomach beneath both your hands.

His eyes filled again.

You smiled gently. “Still with me?”

John nodded, unable to speak for a second. Then he bent and kissed your forehead. "Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m with you.”

His son chose that exact moment to smack his tiny palm against John’s cheek.

John blinked.

You burst out laughing.

The baby squealed.

John looked at him, mock serious despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. “That how it’s gonna be?”

His son babbled.

John nodded slowly. "Yeah. Fair enough.”

You leaned into him, laughing softly as John pressed another kiss to his son’s curls.

And for once, John Walker let himself believe it.

Not that he was fixed. Not that the past had vanished. Not that fear would never find him again.

But that he was loved. That he was wanted.

That he was allowed to stand here, holding his son, holding your hand, with another tiny heartbeat beginning somewhere beneath your own.

Allowed to have this. Allowed to keep it. Allowed, maybe, to be happy.

On Father’s Day, no less.

Swiftly, you roll on your back over to him on the rubber floor. Wrapping your own legs around one of his, attempting to disarm him by bringing him down to the floor with you. 

From your position, your legs extend up his thigh and your ankles lock around his knee. His piercing blue eyes make contact with yours, a brief flicker of alarm crossing his features then replaced with another smug smirk. 

You can’t help but stare at him for a millisecond. Admiring his tousled blonde locks, his pretty blues staring into yours, the rough beard to match his terribly arrogant personality. 

In a blink of an eye, you tighten your ankles to buckle his stance. 

John loses footing, his broad body falling next to you onto the foam mat with a loud grunt. The sound makes your stomach erupt with little butterflies. It’s just something about knowing that you were the one to take down this arrogant, yet handsome, man. 

You take a moment to rest on the cool surface of the mat, laughing breathlessly as you try and catch your breath. John pushes himself up slightly to roll over on his back, staring at the side of your face as he starts to laugh along with you. 

“Nice job.” Someone else’s deep voice cuts through your laughter. Your eyes flutter open to see Bucky Barnes himself standing over you with a proud smile on his face. His metal arm outstretches, fingers motioning for you to grab his hand. 

You can’t help but oblige as you reach up, sliding your hand against the contrasting temperature of the metal. 

He pulls you up with ease, his other hand coming up to steady you when you stumble. “It’s really nice to see someone with no super soldier serum actually take him down.” 

Your hand drops from Bucky’s with a playful scoff, putting your hands on your hips as you stare up at him. You go to answer, but you can feel John stand up to move behind you, his tall height looming. 

“Yeah, yeah. I let her win.” His arm goes to rest on top of your head, elbow digging into your scalp. You go to bat him off, but he doesn’t budge. 

Bucky’s eyes flicker to John, a smug grin still playing on his face. “Just admit it, John! You got your ass beat by an ex-hydra assassin.” Bucky laughs as he takes a step back to grab some weights to start his own workout. 

John can’t help but grow a little heated, not because you beat him—which he will never admit to. But the way that Bucky keeps looking back at you, his dark eyes raking over your body in those tight training clothes of yours. 

Jesus. You’re not even John’s girlfriend, you're just his teammate, but he has some primal instinct that takes over when he is around you. You’re your own person, yeah, whatever. But he likes you… too much. Way too much. 

His arm drops from your head, straightening his spine as he glances down at you then back to Barnes. “You need some help with those? Maybe a spotter?” John makes a dig as Bucky is working out as if the Winter Soldier is weak.  

Bucky chuckles, a little too quietly. “Nah, man. I’m good. I’ll ask her if I need one.” He motions towards you with his head, eyes on you again and that damn smirk on his stupid face. 

You can’t help but glance between the two men, obviously peacocking in front of you. “Okay, I’m done with both of you. I’m going to shower.” You throw your hands up in exasperation as you storm out, both of them calling your name as the gym door slams behind you. 

Rubbing over your face with your hands, sneakers slightly squeaking as you walk to the kitchen through the sleek hallways. Yelena is standing in front of the open refrigerator, rummaging through the food. 

“Hey.” She mumbles simply, which you reply with a hum. Her blonde head peeks up from behind the door, watching you intensely as you grab some water. 

“What’s wrong with you?” She questions as the door shuts to the fridge. 

“Barnes and Walker. That’s what’s wrong with me.” You sigh before bringing the water to your lips to gulp down some of the cool liquid. 

Yelena starts laughing, her infamous raspy laugh which makes you side-eye her. 

“What?” 

“You’re sooo dumb.” She continues to laugh, which just pisses you off more. 

“Lena, just spit it out!” Your voice dripping with annoyance. 

“He likes you, dummy!” She blurts out. 

“Who?” Your eyebrows furrow. “There’s no way either of them do.”

“Walkerrrr. We can all see it. Everyone except for you,” She starts to open up cabinets still searching for a snack, “and Bucky is just trying to get under his skin, ya know. Make him jealous so he finally admits his feelings.” She points at you with a shit-eating grin. 

“Wait— John… likes me?” You point at yourself, flabbergasted. 

“I thought we were just friends. I didn’t think he liked me like that too.” 

“Yes.” She curtly nods and cheers slightly when she finds what she’s looking for. She cracks open the bag, digging her hand inside to grab the contents and shove them in her mouth. “Friends don’t look at friends like that.” 

“I just— really?” You breathe out as if you were holding air in your chest. 

“Yes, now go back and get your man! Go be disgusting, suck each other's faces!” Her hands shoo you away, following you out of the kitchen. “Go, go, go!” 

You jog down the hallway back towards the training room, the only thought running through your head right now is John Walker. 

Just as you round the corner, your body collides with something hard and broad. “Oof.” You stumble backward, but two strong hands grip you by your upper arms. 

“You alright? Whatcha runnin’ from?” A deep, familiar voice asks. 

Your eyes rapidly blink as they focus on the sturdy wall in front of you. It’s Bucky. Fuck. 

“I’m looking for John. Where is he?” You blurt out. Bucky grins ear to ear at those words, already knowing why. 

“Yelena got to you?” He says smugly, crossing his arms in front of him. With an eye roll and a scoff you reply, “Come on, dude. Just tell me where he went.” 

Bucky laughs, “Don’t dude me… Dude. He went to go shower.” As soon as those words left his mouth, your legs are already moving toward his room. “You should knock before you go barging in!” He shouts back out at you. 

“No promises!” You call back as you take another turn down a hallway, landing right in front of his door. You take a deep breath before your hand raises to knock, but just as your knuckles graze the surface, it opens. 

A waft of clean soap lingers in the air, and there stands John. Hair damp, a towel in his hand, and dressed in fresh clothes. Specifically, grey sweatpants and a band tee. Damn. 

“Oh hey.” He breathes out nervously, his eyes flitting over your frame before back up to your face. “I was actually coming to look for you.” He almost chuckles, his hand running through his hair to push it off his forehead. 

“Can I come in?” You ask softly, taking a small step forward. The toe of your shoe steps past his doorway by just a hair. You notice him visibly gulp— are you making him nervous? 

He steps aside, one of his arms coming out to gesture for you to precede him. 

“After you, madam.” He says with a little twang, which makes you grin. You walk into his room, looking around. It’s so him. 

It’s dark and a little too cold. His bed looks cozy yet unmade, and his comforter is dark blue. His taco shield sits on top of his cluttered dresser, full of papers and maybe a bottle or two of… is that cologne?

“Actually, since you’re here… Uuh… I wanted to talk to you.” John murmurs as he closes the door behind him, walking up to you as he throws his wet towel on back of his desk chair. 

Your ears perk up at that, turning to face him with a little grin, “Oh yeah?”  

“Yeah. I wanted to say sorry about what happened in training today. You know how I can get. Bucky just got under my skin." He laughs nervously and scratches the back of his head. 

You go to respond, but he cuts you off, “And I also just need to be a man and just say it. But for some reason, I’m really fucking nervous right now.” 

You take a step forward to stop his rambling, hand reaching out to rest on his forearm. His skin is warm under your palm, your fingertips tingling with desire for more. Your breath catches when you make eye contact with him, neck bent back to look up at him.  

“Me too.” You whisper into the air between your bodies, “just kiss me.” 

His eyes slightly widen, gazing into your own and then flickering down to your lips. It takes him all but two seconds to think it over before he swoops down, large hands cupping your face as he presses his lips to yours. Fucking finally. 

Your arms snake around his waist, gripping the fabric of his cotton shirt.

He’s warm, and sweet, and surprisingly a soft kisser. His scruff rubs against your skin as his lips move expertly against yours. 

You pull back when you run out of air, taking a deep breath as you both stare at each other. He’s quiet; it’s weird not to hear a sarcastic comeback maybe he’s in shock. 

The second his brain catches up with his body, his mouth smashes back on yours. He’s needier this time, rougher. His tongue slips past your lips as he backs you up toward his bed. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He mumbles into the kiss before nipping at your bottom lip. 

The feeling of his teeth makes a whimper bubble up your throat, your nails digging into his side which causes him to groan. The kiss quickly turns desperate as months of sexual tension and repressed feelings are acted upon. 

The back of your knees hits the edge of his bed, causing you to tumble backwards onto the plush mattress. You squeal, which makes him chuckle as he falls on top of you. 

One of his legs hooks under yours to pull it over his side, one hand cups your cheek, and his thumb rubs across your cheekbone. “I’ve dreamed of this.” He whispers as he moves forward to softly peck your lips, savoring the feeling of your lips against his.

“If you couldn’t tell yet, I really like you, Walker.”

“The feelings mutual, babe.” He hums before pressing your lips together once again.

People stream by you, too caught up in their own lives to notice you hanging around the decommissioned government building. There's only three guards on duty and guard rotation is due in two minutes, you just have to...

Damnit. You hear their heartbeats before you see them. Beating with that speed only supersoldiers can maintain. They're stark against the tide of office workers. All broad shoulders barely contained in hoodies, shades and caps. You smile to yourself, why are they always the go-to? 

But he looks good, you hate that's your first thought.

John's scanning the street for threats, jaw set tight in concentration. He doesn't notice you; they walk straight by you. 

Huh.

You start to follow, watch them sneak into the loading bay and subdue the security guards. Seems they had the same plan as you. You grab the third guard's keycard and step over him, keeping to the dark making sure you don't get too close. n to the basement vaults. They've made your mission a whole lot easier.

You slow your breathing, stay quiet, wait outside the door for them to download the files. They're bickering about access codes and old Hydra failsafes. You're not sure whether to surprise them, grab the drive or subdue them…

“I know you're there, mystery girl.” 

Mystery girl? 

You step around the door your gun raised. He's hunched over the console, typing as the download bar counts up to a hundred. He doesn't turn around.

“How'd you know it was me?”

“I know your heartbeat.”

“That's creepy.” 

He shrugs and carries on, his heartbeat and breathing annoyingly steady, confident.

“It's got an arrhythmia, double beat every ten, every five when you're nervous. You should get that checked.”

You glare at his back, another side effect of the serum, another irreversible mark it left on your body.

He huffs and pulls the drive out of the computer and you raise your gun, no intention of shooting, though he didn't know that.

Didn't know you well enough, yet. 

The yet catches in your throat as you meet his eyes, “I need those files.” 

He leans back against the desk, chest puffed out and arms crossed. He definitely didn't have arms like that in high school. 

His eyes flit over you curious, “Why do you work for Val?”

“Why do you?” You fire back.

“Pfft, she works for us.”

He has no idea. Val owns everything. Once they signed up to Val's program, they belonged to her. She chooses whether it benefits her to let them think they're in charge or keep them compliant like you.

“That's what you think. Files, now.” 

He raises an eyebrow at you, steps slightly off the desk, “Come get ‘em.”

You run a hand down your face, “I don't want to hurt you.”

“You know I'm a super soldier? As in Super strong? Super fast? You should worry I'll hurt you.” He speaks like he's talking to a child and waves the drive around, his other hand on his hip as he talks.

“I don't have time for this-”

He steps closer, waving the drive in your face, “Tell me your name, I'll give you the-”

You grab his wrist, twisting to get him to drop the drive, and in his surprise, he almost does, before he recovers to block you.

You go for the drive again, his other hand clamping over yours until you're locked in a weird tug of war. Both pulling the drive in opposite directions. You dig your heels in and watch him struggle against your strength. His eyes dart to your hands, his face set in frustration and shock.

You don't back down, neither does he.

“This is ridiculous, let go!”

“You let go!”

"Fine." You slip your hands from under his and take a step back, your hands raised and he rolls his shoulders.

"Glad you saw-" but you move before he can finish. The air knocked out of him as your punch to the gut sends him stumbling backwards, knocking over a chair and smashing into some boxes. 

A softer landing than you'd hoped for, though the realisation is there in his eyes. 

The drive though, that's still in his hand.

He blinks up at you, “You took the serum?” 

“It was forced on me, I didn't have a choice.” Your voice is flat from saying the same words a hundred times. You see pity in his eyes for a second, and you hate it. The only thing worse than disgust. Bucky walks back into the room, glancing between you both, his jaw set. 

“Have you two finished flirting? I made a copy, here.” 

Both your eyes dart to Bucky, John scoffs, "flirting?"

He hands you another usb drive. 

“Thanks, I'll make sure Val never sees this.” You nod to Bucky, already turning to leave, ignoring John, still on the floor.

But you can't ignore the flash of hurt at the way he scoffed, as if the idea of flirting with you was the stupidest thing he's ever heard. This kind of hurt you can push down, you're so used to it, you agree with him. You've seen yourself in the mirror, you'd scoff too.

“Urgh, you're a traitor Barnes.”

“Is there anyone who can't kick your ass Walker?”

The screams wake you first. Young, terrified, dying. Then the smell of rot and old blood, you feel it crinkle and flake from your skin as you move, your head pounds.

The last thing you remember is Brent, a desperate need to get home, blurry headlights, then nothing. You touch your temple, the sting making you gasp. You don't even remember hitting your head. There are no windows, only dirty floors and walls thick with grime and blood. Bars cover the exit, an old prison maybe? 

You crawl across to the bars, straining to see down the corridor. The screaming stops, cut off and the door at the end slams open. You can make out a crude lab, dirty equipment and a man in a lab coat. Another man drags a girl out of the room. She's too still, limp in his arms and it takes a moment for your mind to register she's dead. You hide against the wall, curling up and covering your ears. Your heart beating as fast and loud as the pounding in your head.

You're not sure how long it's been, how many have gone into that room. It's the screams that linger, the silence that means death. Not one person had come out alive. Dragged past your cell, broken, bleeding from their eyes that are still open, covered in a blue film. Each one around the same age as you. 

You can only think how close they're getting to your cell, the smell when the opposite door opens and another body is thrown inside.  

When it's your turn, you scramble back against the furthest wall, the sound of the bolt sliding open a gunshot in the dark. He doesn't hesitate, crosses the room in three strides, his hand around your wrist before you can think. You pull back sharply, try to twist and kick out at him. He lets out a huff, grabs your hair, shoving you into the wall, twisting your arm around your back.

He snarls, "I've dragged a hundred of you in and out that room kid, you're just the last today, don't get any ideas."

You dig your heels in, struggle against him until your vision blurs. He pushes back harder, drags you inevitably closer.

“This one's a fighter. “ the guard snarls, pressing his forearm into your windpipe.

You claw and scratch at him, feel his chuckle through to your bones; he's enjoying this.

The scientist's gaze catalogues like you're a specimen,“Funny, this is the one from Custer's Grove?”

The guard forces you into the chair, ties the restraint around your neck first. Then your wrists and ankles. It's stained with blood, old and fresh, scratches in the wooden armrests beneath your fingers, "perhaps the threat of death makes them brave?”

”Let me go, please!“ you can feel your heart racing, "please..."

All those times you begged for your life to end, all those nights you spent staring at the ceiling. Wishing you were brave enough to end the thoughts, the thing you saw in the mirror, the way people saw you…god, you just wanted it to stop…but now? Now you're faced with death you're a coward, you'd do anything to stay alive.

“Will you shut her up, I've not even started yet.” 

The guard moves to hit you with his gun, but the scientist grabs his wrist before it can make contact with the back of your head.

“No. A gag. She should still feel what's happening; we'll need her response for study.”

The guard grunts and picks up a dirty strip of material from the floor, pulling it tight before wrapping it around your head. You gag at the force, the smell of dirt, the taste of blood and your eyes well up, letting out a muffled whimper.

The scientist lifts your chin and you weakly struggle against the binds, a dirt-filled tear streaks his fingers and he smiles, “No wonder they chose this one. Pathetic, fat, ugly…let's see if we can make you useful hmm?”

“Test subject 39, female, 18. First trial of serum TSX…5.”  he holds out the syringe and blue liquid swirls in the vial, iridescent, almost alive. 

You struggle until the last moment, screaming into the gag at the sharp sting of the needle in your arm. There's a second where there's nothing, then your vision fades to blue, every nerve in your body lights up at once with a pain so intense your body struggles to register it.

Then it's gone, the blue recedes from your vision and you struggle to breathe around the cloth still wedged in your mouth.

“You're alive, the only one.”

The scientist moves around you like he's assessing data not a person, “How do you feel? Stronger?”

He unties the gag and your breath heaves. You shake your head, sobs wracking your body, “I-I don't feel any different. Can I go home?”

“Please,” he steps behind you, hands coming up, one framing your jaw, the other at your crown,"Please, please don't kill me."

But his grip tightens, he tilts your head, a sharp press down, then back. Vertebrae separating with a sickening pop, pain sharp and sudden, your vision fizzing out. 

There's nothing, no bright light, no stream of memories, nothing.

Moments later, you're gasping for breath, the scientist there with another syringe, smiling down at your broken form. 

“Interesting. Let's try again. I've already altered the compound.”

That was the last time you begged for your life, ever asked for help. Your mind broke apart, spared itself. Dreamed of adventures, of lives you'd never live, love you'd never feel…but this kind of pain, you could only block out so much, so long. 

Three years you've worked for Val. Three years, you'd managed to keep hidden. Out of the way. Never once crossed paths with any of the thunderbolts. Now you can't seem to get away from them, especially John Walker.

You know it's your fault. You should never have let on that you knew him. Should just tell him who you are. He starts showing up around the tower. Catching you after a meeting with Val, when you're using the archives for research, walking out at the same time as you.

He's constantly asking questions; you avoid them all, but it's the way he smiles when he sees you, as though winding you up is the highlight of his day. 

And it's definitely the highlight of yours. Even though you know it's not real, that Bucky's probably sent him to get information about you. To work you. Val scrubbed all your data clean when she recruited you as part of the deal. That must be the reason. If he found out you're just the lonely fat girl from high school, he'd lose interest. So you keep him guessing, put on a mask of annoyance, make any excuse to run away from him when your stupid heart is doing the opposite.

A week passes and Vals got you doing surveillance in a coffee shop near the tower. Spying on one of her competitors after her position. You're scrolling your phone, concentrating on hearing their conversation over the chatter. 

For the last twenty-three minutes, they've been talking about how much they hate her. One of them thinks they've found something from her past…

A large shadow moves in front of you, plaid shirt and broad chest in your eyeline, blocking your view and breaking your concentration.

John places two coffees down on the table in front of you. You glare up at him,"What are you doing?"

"You're sitting in a coffee shop, without a coffee. Not exactly blending in, are you?" He leans back on the chair, draping his arm over the seat next to him. 

God he's so annoyingly handsome, effortless for him really. You look back at your phone before he catches you staring.

"So, who are you watching?"

"That's classified."

He groans and rolls his eyes, "Claassified...you know I have the highest level of clearance right-?"

He doesn't but you don't correct him, too busy noticing how tight his shirt is, the way it clings the curve of his side when he moves.

You lean over to get a view around him, "Shhsh, I can't see past your giant shoulders."

He raises an eyebrow at that thinking giant shoulders? Across the room your target gets up to leave.

"Great, he's gone, thanks a lot." But there's no bite to your voice, not when he flashes you that amused smile, the one that crinkles his eyes, makes him look younger. He leans over and slides your coffee across the table.

"May as well have that coffee now, huh?"

"You...I'll take it to go; thanks." Your chair gets stuck on the carpet and you bump the table with your hip, the paper cups rattling. You feel your face flush as you steady them and grab your bag. You don't look at him, leave before the joke. You make it out into the cool air, but John has other ideas.

He catches up to you, keeping stride beside you, no matter how fast you try to walk. You roll your eyes, biting back a smile when he starts to get out of breath.

“Just ask Val?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Come on, I'm just trying to work out who you are, jog the old memory.” He taps his temple with a grin.

"If you have to try this hard..."

"Well, you know, a lot of people had a crush on me back then." 

You stop dead, him almost bumping into you, “Who said I had a crush on you?! It would be Lemar if there was anyone.”

“Right, so that narrows it down to…”  he actually starts counting on his fingers, reciting names and you stare at him in disbelief.

“Oh, my god.”

“Tell me, I’ll leave you alone.” He gives you that irritating smirk that makes you question murder.  He takes a slow sip of this coffee and you pretend to think for a second, the butterflies in your stomach telling you your answer. 

“Nope, I’d rather see you suffer.” 

You're only half joking; he must be getting bored of being around you by now. Days of having to try to get information on you. Having to pretend. You spin on your heel, practically running away from him. 

You'd killed people, worked with Steve Rogers for fucks sake and John Walker turns you back into a nervous teenager?

As if the universe is making a point, you crash straight into an old lady, your coffee sloshes the lid popping off and covering your top and her coat in hot latte. You only just manage to catch her before she hits the ground, her shriek going straight through you. 

"Shit, I'm so sorry!"

“You watch where you're going!” The old lady scolds as you lift her back to her feet and she bats your hands away, furious.

John coughs behind you, "Not exactly suffering.”  

You don't turn around. You can't. You're too flustered to bite back, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Muttering as you stomp away, wringing the coffee out of your jumper, cursing yourself.

But damnit, John's laugh? the smile creeping over your own face at the sound? It breaks down a layer of your heart that's been closed off for years.

Because he's not laughing at you.

It's not cruel laughter, it's warm and it scares the hell out of you. Cruel and mocking you're used to, but warm? 

There's no part of you ready for that. 

Their laughter makes his skin crawl when he hears them say your name. Worse that it's his teammates, his friends.

Truth was, he'd have stepped in for anyone, but that it's you? It hit harder. You always seemed so fragile, so gentle. But he's also seen how strong you are, always the first to help people, even if they hurt you. 

They're all drifting off by the time he sees you and he's relieved Liv isn't there.

All except Brent fucking Pearson. 

John hated him. Only on the team because his dad was the principal. No skill, selfish and violent, he always went too far.

Fuck, you look terrified. Brent looms over you, yanking your hair, shoving your head back against the wall, “who the fuck you talking to? Ugly bitch.”

John drops his stuff, coughs to get Brent's attention, already crossing the room. Brent shoves you away from him and you run. He wants to check you're okay, he will, after he deals with this piece of shit. 

“Having fun there Brent?”

“Wasn't doing anything, she-”

“Asked for it?” John smiles, while he's seething inside.

“Yeah, talking back to me with a face like that? Needs putting in her place.”

“Yeah?” John shakes his head with mock agreement.

This asshole thinks he can talk about girls like that? About you? He surges forward and shoves Brent hard into the wall. His head bounces back with a thud and he grabs weakly at John's arms. 

"What the fuck? Get off me, man."  

“Wanna hit me instead?” John growls, shoving him again, harder, ”hmm, or is it just scared girls you got a thing for? No?” 

Brent whimpers, actually fucking whimpers. 

John draws a hand back and lets the punch land hard, blood sprays from Brent's nose.

“Johnathan Walker, what the hell are you doing?! Put him down.”

“He likes hitting girls, sir.” John answers but doesn't let Brent go. Coach places a hand on his shoulder and John turns his head, surprised to see coach smiling.

“Well, that's admirable of you, but is it worth losing your spot on the team? Credits for academy?”

John loosens his grip slightly and Brent smirks, arrogant, thinking he’s won, that John will be punished.

 “No, sir.”

“Then let them fight their own battles,” Coach steps back, moving to leave. He turns back with a wink, "or don't get caught.”

“Yes, sir.” 

The gym doors click shut and John can feel Brent’s panic, he struggles again and this time John goes low.  

One more hard punch to Brent’s stomach. 

Brent hunches over in a silent scream, the air forced from his lungs, his eyes brimming with tears. He takes a shaky breath back in, choked with a sob. 

John sneers down at him, "Pathetic."

He fists a hand in Brent's hair at the base of his neck, almost pulling the hair from the roots, yanking Brent's head back and blood trickles from his nose.

“I find you hurting her again? I'll bury you."

The bars loud, high-end, filled with office workers winding down. All modern booths, trailing plastic ivy weaved with warm lights over white walls. A place you've never fit into. A place built for appearances rather than comfort. You have a view of the whole room from your booth, out of the way, plush cushions at your back. The table still digs in, you still have to hold your belly in, hide the way your stomach sits slightly over the table. You'd chosen it to avoid the flimsy high stools. You wonder if anyone else who walks into these places has to gauge the strength of the damn chairs.

You mess with your phone, waiting for the agent that Val’s sent to partner with you. These missions always left a bad taste, the look on the agent's face when they see you. That sweep of their eyes that ends in a frown. The effort they feel they have to put in to pretend they tolerate you.

The disappointment, that's what hurts most, that you're not enough, discounted before you've said a word.

At least this one is simple. Office workers dating, meeting after work, but that part makes you cringe. Yeah, like anyone would want to meet you after work, let alone date you. 

Whoever this guy is, he's already ten minutes late.

You swipe to your messages. You've been putting off texting him for days. You know you're pulling away, keeping your distance. You don't want to push your mood onto him. But you don't want him to worry about you either, you sigh and start to type.

Y: Hey, you doing okay, old man?

Three dots appear, then stop, then appear again and you smile down at your phone.

S: Not sure, have you forgotten where I live?

Y:  I'll be by soon, I promise 

S: You better, I’m bored as hell

Y: Val’s got me on another job

S: Be careful 

Y: I will x

You roll your shoulders, breathe in again, your back and hips already protesting at the too-tight skirt suit Vals dressed you in. Always at least a size too small to make you more uncomfortable than you need to be.

Shows your flaws, keeps you focused

“Hi, sweetheart, you waiting on me?”

You glance up, 'sorry you've got the wrong person' forming on your tongue, but your brain short-circuits and the words die in your throat

Holy shit.

John's leaning against the next table, a forest green suit tailored a little tight, slightly mussed up hair, white shirt creased like he's been sitting at a desk all day, shirt undone to his collarbone. You trace the moles with your eyes down to his chest hair and back up to the glasses he's wearing way too well.

God, he looks like a hot professor from a romance novel.

He slips into the booth next to you, observing the room. 

You're gonna kill Val, string her up and throw her off the roof. Like John would be here, looking like this, on a date with you? No one will fall for that. 

“She sent you?”

You grab your drink, hold in the 'I'm sitting with the hottest guy in this place, there's no way we're gonna blend in' he catches your eye, leans close enough your shoulders almost touch.

“Disappointed?”

Disappointed? You can hardly breathe and it's not only from the clothes restricting your lungs. You gesture to his glasses before you blush again.

“That's your disguise?”

“Worked for Superman.” he shrugs, twisting them on his nose and a quiet laugh bubbles up, catches you by surprise. You can't remember the last time you laughed naturally, not for a mission or to placate someone.

Johns watching you, an unreadable expression on his face before it's gone, “So, what's the angle?”

“You didn't read the file?”

"Yeah, Asgardian Opal, worth millions..." he leans back, crosses his arms over his chest and the suit practically groans with the stretch.

"It's not got any magic powers. Val probably wants to make a necklace out of it.

“Sounds like Val.” He calls a waitress over, she looks at John, then you, the judgment plain on her face. That familiar mix of shame and embarrassment curdles in your stomach. You don't let it show, ignore her, your eyes darting to John when he asks for another server.

"You didn't have to do that, I'm used to it."

He shrugs, "Doesn't make it right."

The way he says it like it's simple, something anyone would do...he has no idea.

“Hey, is that the guy?” he gestures across the room at a guy who could pass as a bouncer, but you recognise him from the files. Elias Vance, head of security. You nod and John moves, then stops, grinning back at you trying to slide out of the booth with any dignity, muttering under your breath, "these are made for torture, I swear."

"Just try not to knock any old ladies over again, yeah?"

You shove his shoulder as you pass him to follow Vance into the elevator. Once the doors close you turn to him ask, "are you Elias Vance?"

He sneers, "who the hell are you?" you take that as confirmation and knock him out cold, your knuckles sting from the impact.

"Holy shit, remind me not to piss you off." John kneels to tie him up and you grab Vance's phone, syncing it to yours using the passcode Val gave you. You punch in the penthouse code, bypass the floor entry code and the doors open to closed in corridors. You follow the floorplan to where the room should be the keypad hidden inside the wall. Another code and the door hisses open to another dark room, the opal encased in the center.

“Let me just deactivate the-”

John stalks forward, lifting the glass casing and reaching in to grab the opal before you can finish. He's passed through every laser and motion detector in the room. Alarms start blaring and he stops still, hand inches from the opal. The door seals shut behind you.

Oh shit.

“You can't just grab it!”

“No shit.”

“You said you read the file!”

“Read, skimmed. Same difference.” 

You run your hands over your face, “We've got about thirty seconds before they find us.” 

“So grab it?”

“Urghh…yes.”

He wrenches it from its casing and holds it up between his fingers to the light, “It's tiny.”

You glare at him in between trying to override the door locks,"this encryption app is useless, none of the codes work."

John shoves the opal in his jacket pocket," I'm guessing there's no other way out?"

"Nope."

"Well, that's just..."

The pounding of boots sound from both sides of the corridor, getting closer, you're trapped about to be shot, you try the codes again the warning beep making you want to smash your phone.

John runs his hands over the walls, "Come on, there must be something..."

There's a ciick and a door swings open, its onlny a tiny cleaners closet. He gestures for you to get inside. You look at him then the closet. There's no way you'll both fit in there, it's tiny, lined with shelves and cleaning bottles.  

“No way, we won't fit in there!”

“No time!”

He grabs your arm, pulling you inside the closet with him. The door takes two goes to shut, you curse, try and steady your breathing. Grip onto the shelf behind him, he smiles apologetic, "maybe this was a bad idea..."

He grips onto the shelf at his sides. trying not to touch you, but his hands are the only part of him not touching you. His chest is brushing against yours with every breath. You can feel the warmth of him through your jacket, the firm places of his chest, if you moved your head, you'd be touching noses. 

This isn't good.

The guards are right outside the door, the one in charge barking orders, "fan out, cover every exit, find them! I need that opal back."

Most of them leave but at least three remain, examining the room. You start to feel something hard, warm and insistent against your thigh, you move your leg slightly and John inhales through his teeth sharply.

“That better be your gun, John.” you whisper.

He grits his teeth and his face flushes, red to his ears,"It's the, you know, the pressure-”

"I get it…” you snap, knowing if he were in here with anyone else there would be more room, you might be able to breathe.

"Nope. You really don't.”  

But god. he feels so big, you lick your lips, your face flushes. Shit, you have to get out of here before he notices how flustered you are. You grab for the latch behind you, trying to leave and he grabs you back, “can't you hear that?”

The clatter of boots and shouts roar past the door again, stopping right outside.

“Ah shit, sorry, most action he's seen in months-”  John murmurs and huffs a laugh, trying to angle his hips away from you, but there's nowhere to go. He knocks a cleaning bottle over and you grab it at the last second before it hits the ground.

“I told you it wasn't big enough in here.” you hiss and his eyebrows go up, a breathy laugh leaves you.

"The closet, not…"

“He'll go down, just wait…yeah. Think of something else…Alexei in a dress, eating ice cream…grandma Walker and her big hairy chin…”

“What the hell are you saying?”  

If this wasn't so awkward, if you weren't trying to calm your breathing, not let on how much your body was reacting to having him so close, you'd probably have laughed.

Because you really want to kiss him. So badly it scares you. His lips pink and swollen where he keeps biting his lip.

The sharp latch digs into the sensitive part of your lower back, cutting into your skin through the fabric of your skirt.

“Stop moving like that, jesus…”

“I can't help it, the latch is sticking in my-umphph-”

“Shhsh.” he clamps a hand over your mouth, it makes you take deep gasping breaths, each one brushing against his chest, dragging your too-tight top down a little more.

They're right outside the door now, his breathing heavy, eyes flicking your chest and away again, his jaw tight, “Stop breathing so hard.”

You glare at him. The seconds dragging on, that warm pressure still insistent against your thigh and you have to resist the urge to kiss his palm, to moan. 

“unmphh unn, u bfftdd..” 

“What?” He removes his hand, his breathing almost as heavy as yours, and he's staring at your lips, swollen from his had. It takes everything in you not to close the distance and rest your forehead to his, to kiss him, but the fear of rejection? That overrides everything.

“John, it's clear.” Your voice is as shaky as your breathing.

“Yeah, it's clear.” he breathes, more to himself than you.

His hand ghosts over your hip to release the latch behind you and the door bursts open. Both of you bursting out with it. 

“Oh, thank god.” You mutter, leaning against the wall.

He fastens his jacket lower and you draw your eyes away, checking the floor plans on your phone. You try the codes again and this time they work, the door opening first time.

"There's a service elevator at the end of the left corridor…we can slip out through the kitchens.”

Neither of you speaks when you get to the elevator and you've never felt so awkward. It's been so long since you've felt anything at all, you're so touch-starved, you were imagining things, he's embarrassed, that's all.

“That was, I er-”

“Don't worry, it never happened...” you gesture between you, your lips quirk in a fake smile, “it's my fault anyway, I take up too much room."

He frowns at you like he wants to say something, but you're out of the elevator the noise of the kitchens drowning everything else out. No one looks up as you weave through the chaos to the exit

You make it out onto the busy street, the cool air soothing your still burning cheeks. He rummages in his jacket pocket.

“Here.” John hands you the opal, your fingers brush his and you desperately try to ignore the softness of them.

You smirk at him, “Next time, read the whole file?”

He throws his jacket over his shoulder, turning to leave, “We didn't get caught, made it out alive, that's a win.”

“John?” He turns back, expectant and curious, “I, er, I like the glasses, they suit you.” 

Oh my god, that's the best you can do? You wait for the joke, the mocking smile that you'd said something so stupid. Instead, something soft and unexpected flashes over his eyes, he chuckles and shakes his head.

"See you around, mystery girl.”

The opal is warm against your palm, the blue and white flecks catching the light. almost as warm as the heat over your cheeks.

Mystery girl

You're starting to like that too much. Your thoughts race over the way he felt pressed against you in that tiny closet, so good, so big...the way his breath hitched, the flecks of white in his eyes that matched the opal, but you don't let that heat settle.

You force the feelings down, lock them away, they'll only hurt you. You tuck the opal into your pocket and type the familiar name into your contacts.

“It’s done, Val, we got the opal. I'm heading to you."

Val scoffs, “We? Agent Henry said you were a no-show.”

"What?" You spin on your heel, staring after John. He's almost a block away now, talking into his phone while he weaves through pedestrians. He glances back at you over his shoulder, winking before he disappears into the crowd.

Son of a…

/PART ONE/ PART THREE

▪ MASTERLIST ▪

oh, and the suit, imagined this one (he'd look so hot in glasses too) *⁀➷

may have gotten carried away 😆 if he looked at me like that tho 🫠

It didn't take you too long to figure out the rest of the Avengers, at least on a base level. Tony was brash and flippant, Steve had morals of steel, Bruce was awkward but brilliant, Natasha and Clint were watchful (yet somehow playful at the same time). But Bucky?

He was so hard to read. Quiet, brooding. He just stood off to the side during meetings listening but not saying much. When you had team dinners, he would have quiet conversations with Steve and Nat, but was never the life of the party.

He was hard to approach. During training sessions, you would ask him to help you out, and he never said no, but he was never eager to assist. Sometimes, you couldn't tell if he liked you or hated you.

But there was something about him.

The way his lips would twitch into the faintest ghost of a smile when the team was goofing off. The sparkle of pride in his eye when he saw his best friend come home after a difficult mission. Even the ferocity with which he fought to protect his teammates on the battlefield.

When you saw those moments, it was like you could see another side of him peeking through. A layer of softness that was trying to crack his hard shell.

You saw it especially well when you were just living your lives out in the Tower.

In the morning, you would spot him making a pot of coffee and cooking breakfast on the stove, and he just looked so... domestic. So normal. Or in the evening when Steve would turn on the news and they would sit and discuss current events, he looked like any other man.

And when he would help you with simple tasks, like grabbing a book off a high shelf, or fixing a door hinge that came loose, it took everything in you not to stare at the curves of his muscles as his arms flexed. You tried not to notice the way his lips would tense as he worked. You begged yourself not to peek as his shirt rose up an inch or two to show off his muscular abs.

But over time, you couldn't help it.

You couldn't help but be hyper-aware every time you were in the same room with him. You couldn't help the way your heart would leap for joy when you got assigned on the same missions, or when both of you didn't. Your breath would catch on the days he sat next to you at meal times, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Not that you really wanted to.

A few months in, it started to feel stifling, these feelings you couldn't release. Your mind was filled with thoughts of him and nothing else, which was starting to show in your performance.

At first, it was simple mistakes, a missed cue, or an unnoticed shadow.

And then came the time when you got hit by a bullet because you were distracted by him.

Clint shoved you behind a wall and growled, "What is wrong with you?"

You cried out in pain and held your hand to your side, warm blood seeping through your fingers. "I-I'm sorry," you wheezed, "I thought I saw something."

"What could you have possibly seen that would override the guy right in front of you?!"

It took you three weeks to recover to a place where you could start participating in missions again. Three weeks where you barely saw Bucky while he was out in the field.

During those weeks, you bought a box and paper and just started writing. You started writing down all of your thoughts, all of your dreams, all of your fantasies. Every scenario that you fixated on when it came to Bucky was down on paper the same day. And each letter you finished found its home in a lovely little locked box that lived under your bed.

Your letters were your perfect safe haven. A place where you could be honest and free, and spill everything you wanted to without being judged or rejected.

They were your perfect secret.

---

Your breath came quickly as you tore your room apart. Your desk was a disaster, every piece of paper in the room was thrown onto it. The contents of your shelf were on the floor, your blanket was balled up on the corner of your bed.

Crouching down, you frantically searched under your bed. "Where is it," you muttered, shoving your hand out in hopes of feeling the crinkle of pink paper.

Nothing.

A knock sounded from the door. "Hey, you good in there?" Natasha's voice called.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I-I'm fine," you replied distractedly, hopping back up on your feet.

"You sure? I heard something bump against the wall."

"Yeah, that was my desk."

"...Why are you banging your desk against the wall?"

You rolled your eyes. "I lost something, I was looking behind it."

Natasha hummed. "What did you lose?"

You fiddled with your hands, floundering for something to say. No one knew about your letters. Not even Natasha, who was the closest thing you had to a friend among the Avengers. "Just, a personal item."

"Well, yeah, I assumed. Do you need help finding it?"

"No!" you said too quickly. "I mean, no, I got it. It's no biggie."

It was absolutely a biggie. This was the most recent addition to your letter collection, and was one of the most detailed you'd written to date. If anyone other than you found it, it was over for you. Months of hiding your feelings would go straight down the drain, and all your hopes of ever becoming more with Bucky would die with them.

After all, who would be interested in someone who's obsessed with them?

No. He could never know.

You huffed and threw your pillow across the room in frustration. Where could you have possibly left it? How could a piece of pink paper hide from you this well?

Natasha's voice came again. "One other thing, we'll be leaving for the gala in two hours, so make sure you're ready to go by then."

You winced. The gala. Right. "Got it. I'll be ready."

"See you then." You could hear her footsteps as she walked down the hall and let out a sigh.

Surely, you'd find it after the gala. Maybe it was hiding in plain sight and you'd only see it later.

Quickly, you showered and dressed in the shimmering gown Tony had picked out for you. You hated to admit anything that would inflate his ego, but damn it, he knew luxury fashion.

And damn it, he knew galas.

The moment you walked into the room, you were hit with the very image of wealth. Dozens of people in expensive dresses and suits that all screamed 'look at me!', waiters walking around with trays full of sparkling champagne that bubbled delicately. Golden light streaming from the beautiful chandeliers that were hung up above a dance floor.

Steve whistled from beside you. "He really outdid himself this time."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Bucky murmured softly from beside him.

You chuckled. "He'd never let you hear the end of it."

Bucky shot you a warm smirk and your stomach twisted. He was always handsome, but he looked positively stunning that night. His suit was perfectly tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders, the deep blue of the fabric making his eyes shine like an endless sky. His dark hair was swept back with gel, brushed and combed with care.

You wished you could run your hands through it.

"You look great, by the way," Bucky said casually. "The colour is nice."

Your cheeks flushed with heat as you glanced down at your outfit. "Oh, thank you. You look great too!"

He laughed. "Thanks, doll." He turned to Steve as you entered the hall, but you couldn't let go of that one word, that term of endearment that meant far more to you than it meant to him.

Doll.

You never heard him call anyone else doll. Giddily, you held that joy close to your chest as you joined in the party.

All through the night, your eyes struggled to stay on your conversation partners, drifting around the room until they landed on the only person you could actually pay attention to.

At one point, Natasha came over and gently bumped your shoulder, apologizing to the woman who was telling you all about her most recent mission to Dubai and whisking you away to a corner of the room.

"You know," she said quietly, keeping her eyes forward, "this wouldn't be a bad place to tell him."

You blinked. "What? Tell whom?"

She chuckled softly, her eyes crinkling with a lightness you rarely saw. "Bucky."

A cold hand gripped your heart and you took a step back. You'd never told her--anyone--about your feelings. "W-what are you talking about? What do I have to tell Bucky?"

Natasha waved her hand casually. "Nothing important, just that you're completely and utterly in love with him."

Your nervousness escaped your throat in a bark disguised as a laugh. "Nat, now is not the time for jokes."

"I'm not joking."

Your face cooled into a cold neutral expression. "Drop it."

"And let you keep pining over him from the shadows?" Natasha grabbed a champagne flute from a tray that was floating by and lifted it to her lips. "Did you forget that you live with a bunch of retired superspies? Did you really think we wouldn't notice?"

Your eyes widened. "You--Who--"

"Me. Clint." She sipped her drink. "Steve probably suspects but doesn't know for sure." When she lowered the glass, she tilted her head thoughtfully. "I think it's just us two."

"I can't believe--"

Your words were cut off by the loud squeak of a microphone. You swiveled to see Tony at the podium in all his couture glory, his wife Pepper right beside him.

Off to the side of the small stage, you could see Bucky and Steve standing at the ready. It was only then that you remembered Bucky was going to be giving the welcoming speech tonight. You even sat down with him last night and helped him write it for hours. He'd been so adorably nervous about making one of his first public addresses as an Avenger.

Bucky's eyes caught yours and he gave you a smile, holding up his speech in his hand to show you.

You started to smile back when you saw the pink paper on the bottom of his stack and your face froze.

Oh. Oh god, no.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Tony started. "As much as I'd like to be the one to thank you all for coming to this event, let's be honest, you should be thanking me for the invite."

A light chuckle echoed around the room.

Pepper took the podium, shooting Tony a warning look. "This team, these Avengers, are proud beyond measure to serve you as Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Here to say more is our very own Bucky Barnes."

You watched as Bucky took to the podium and tapped the papers on the wood. Your heart started to beat wildly. That pink paper on the bottom of the stack. That was yours. That was your letter.

It must have gotten stuck to something when you went to help him write the speech last night, it had to have. How else could he have it right there in his hands?

He started to speak, but you couldn't hear a thing through the blood rushing through your ears. The world started to spin, and you needed to throw up. But you couldn't run. There were too many people, too many eyes. He would notice you sprinting away from the speech he worked so hard on. You couldn't do that to him.

But every second that dragged on brought you closer and closer to your doom. Every page he flipped brought him closer and closer to your biggest secret.

When he finished the last page of his actual speech, he paused, sliding the pink paper out from behind it.

Nope.

You couldn't do this.

You refused to. Refused to watch his eyes turn hard and cold, refused to see the confusion turn into horror. Refused to watch as he turned his eyes to meet yours in question and in pity.

And so you turned away and started to leave. You sat through the speech, now you could go, right?

Quietly, you pulled yourself away from Natasha's side and started to weave your way through the crowd of patrons who were starting to mingle again after the speech was done. You made it all the way to the elevator and managed to push the down button before you heard him.

His footsteps echoed down the hallway as he ran after you, his breaths coming quickly and shallow. "Wait," he called after you, slowing down to a quick walk.

You pressed the button again, refusing to look back. Come on, you thought. Come faster!

Bucky called your name and stopped a few feet away from you. "We gotta talk."

"Nope," you said as the elevator doors opened. "I'm not talking about anything. I am packing my things and moving to Belize."

You stepped in and tried to press the Lobby button and close the door, but Bucky stuck his hand in between the doors and they opened again. Fear flooded your system as he stepped inside with you. You were so completely unprepared to have this conversation ever, much less right this second. Your hands grew clammy and you forced them into a neat fold in front of you.

The doors closed and the elevator started to move.

You could feel his gaze on you, even as you refused to look his way.

"You really want to do it like this?" he asked, something sharp in his voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, crossing your arms.

He huffed out a breath and reached over to press the stop button. Your eyes widened. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"If I let you off this elevator down there, you're going to run away from me. You're going to run away from this." He held up a piece of pink paper and your cheeks heated to a crimson hue.

Your eyes were glued to the paper. "Give that back," you said halfheartedly.

Bucky shook his head. "Not until we discuss this."

You threw up your hands exasperatedly. "What is there to discuss?"

He opened his mouth and then hesitated, like he was editing his thoughts on the spot. "Why was your--why was this in my script?"

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. "I don't know. It wasn't supposed to be, it was supposed to be in my room with the rest of them. Hidden. Never to be seen by anyone except me and an eventual fireplace."

"...There are others?"

Realization at what you'd revealed shook you out of your pity party and you turned around to face the wall, dropping your head into your hands. "Forget I said that."

"I don't think I can. How many have you written?"

"Oh, what does it matter, Bucky?" You whipped around to face him, your eyes wet with unshed tears. "They were supposed to be for me. Just for me. So I could... unload onto something that wouldn't care."

Suddenly the tears were no longer unshed, hot and wet as they dripped down your cheeks. "I-I... I'm sorry, you weren't supposed to-to see any of them." Your breaths were uneven as they filled with your tears.

He froze, his hand trembling slightly as it held onto your letter. Slowly, he looked from the letter to you. "So, everything in here is real?"

You closed your eyes and nodded. "I know it isn't fair to you, and I'm sorry. I wanted to just keep this to myself, but I can't even do that right."

"Why didn't you tell me?" his voice was soft as he took a few steps in your direction.

You pressed yourself back against the wall, creating space between you again. An incredulous laugh bubbled up inside of you. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, Bucky, I know we don't talk a whole lot but I've had a crush on you for the last eight months and don't have the balls to ask you out!' I couldn't do that! I can barely ask Tony to get me take out most days."

You heard him make a sound, a sound that you quickly realized was him trying to cover up a laugh. "You're laughing at me," you said in disbelief. "My biggest secret comes to light and you're laughing at me!"

"Ten months."

You stared at him like he'd just grown a second head. "Excuse me?"

"I've liked you for ten months." He took another step closer to you, your letter still clutched gently in his hand like he was afraid to wrinkle it. "I didn't say anything because... I was sure someone like you would have been happier with someone else."

All you could do was blink. What was he saying?

He took another step closer. He was so close you could smell his cologne, deep and mesmerizing. Bucky took his hand and lifted your chin up gently, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

"Every time I see you, I want to scream my feelings out in to the world, to tell you the truth and run into your arms, but I'm so scared about what you might say," he quoted, reading from your letter. "You wrote that about me? "

A stray tear fell from the corner of your eye and you tried to turn away from him, but he didn't let you, just held your face firmly in place before sliding his hand up your jaw to brush the tear away with his thumb. The heat from his hands sent shivers down your spine. You gave him a small nod.

Part of you thought that he was trying to gently let you down, or tell you that you would always be friends but he was interested in someone else. There was no part of you that was ready for him to lean down and kiss you.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but when you felt him lean into you, you couldn't help but melt into him. His lips were soft and warm, full of a desperate longing that was so familiar you couldn't tell if it came from you or from him. Your head felt like it was full of air, floating away into pure bliss.

How long had you dreamed of this moment? How many nights had you stayed awake wondering what it would be like for him to be sleeping next to you? How many movie nights did you spend thinking about what it would be like if he sat next to you, close enough for you to feel his warmth?

And now, his warmth was all over you. His right hand held your face gently like he was afraid he was going to lose you, his left arm curled around your waist to pull you in tighter. His lips moved against yours, slowly at first, then quicker, fiercer with every second you didn't pull away. Your heart felt like it was beating so fast it would stop any moment now.

When you started to feel lightheaded, you pulled away, breath heaving as you tried to force oxygen into your lungs. Your lips felt swollen and heavy, and when you risked a glance up at him, he looked the same, his beautiful lips curved into a small smile.

If your cheeks could burst into flames, they would have at that exact moment.

"That was..." you breathed. "Why did you--"

"I have spent months dreaming of doing that," he whispered, placing his forehead against yours. "I never once thought I'd actually get to. Not until I saw the letter. I couldn't let you run away from me, not when I finally had a chance."

You let out a nervous giggle. "You really... like me?"

"Doll, I've liked you since the day you walked into the compound." He brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, but kept his hand near your face. "I... I know I'm not good at talking about feelings, not as good as Steve at least, but... I really like you. And I-I would love to take you out for dinner. If that sounds okay to you."

You grabbed him by the collar of his suit jacket and pulled him down into another kiss.

He smiled against your lips. "I'll take that as a yes."

A/N ngl not my best work but I couldn't get it out of my headddddd

After a couple more minutes of yapping, Yelena and Ava decided to turn in, having to wake up early for some meeting. "You sure you don't need any help?" Ava asks you, drying off her legs as you lean against the ledge of the pool. "Yeah don't worry guys, Ill clean up. I wanna do a couple laps too before I turn in." "Alright then, suit yourself." Yelena says, picking up her things before she and ava start walking out. "See you tomorrow" Ava yells, watching as you waved back.

You finally get the floaty all to yourself now. You think of going to relax in it for a bit, taking a sip of your drink before realizing you promptly finished it. So before getting into the donut, you decided to get another drink. Getting out of the pool, walking up to the rooftop bar, you open the cabinets under to see what other liquor they had. After settling on some vodka, pouring a generous amount into your glass before seeing checking what mixers you could put with it.

Once you had concocted your drink, you went back to the pool, floating in the donut to your hearts content. This routine continued as it got later into the night, getting a drink, floating around, and swimming in the pool till you just decided to grab the whole bottle of vodka. If anyone questioned it, they would probably blame Alexi anyways.

But as you crouched back down to the cabinet to grab the bottle once again, you heard the doors of the entrance open and close. You froze, peeking out from the corner to see who else would be up at this hour.

Walking up to the edge of the pool, in some shorts and a ratty t-shirt is John, who's a little confused as to why the float was still in the pool but he didn't mind it much. He sat down, letting his legs dip into the water as he pulls something out of his pocket. Though you are relatively tipsy, you notice its a lighter and a box of cigarettes. He takes on out, putting it to his lips, and as he brings the lighter up to light it John hears a small clink and scurry behind him.

He turns around to see you scrambling around, picking up the bottle of vodka which you had accidentally knocked to the ground. He puts the cigarette and lighter down, standing up to see you across from him, still dripping wet from the pool. "Hi…" you say quietly, trying to figure out how to move foreword. You look down to the bottle in your hand, lifting it up to try and offer it to him.

John smiles, he thinks you look to cute like this, a little embarrassed and your cheeks a little rosy from the alcohol . "Come here" he says, a small smile on his face. He takes the bottle from your hand, sitting back down on the ledge, twisting open the cap and taking a swig. He watches you as you sit right next to him, sliding back down into the water, turning around to look right up at him. Handing you back the vodka bottle, John watched you take a swig of it too, not taking his eyes off of you at he tried to light his cigarette once more.

As he exhales the smoke, you put down the bottle and get a good look at him. "How often do you do this?" you ask, you never knew he was a smoker. "Come up here a couple times a week" he says, inhaling another puff. "tried to quit when I became Captain America, but that didn't really work out" he jokes, tapping some of the ash off beside him. "You smoke?"

You blank for a second, still a little tipsy. "No never…" you say softly, looking up at him. He takes a moment to think before turning back to you, moving the hand holding the cigarette closer to you, raising his eyebrow to signal an offer for you to take a hit. Looking down at the cigarette, and taking in the scent of the tobacco, you think 'why not.'

Bringing your gaze back up to him, your lips slightly parted, John places the cigarette between your lips. "Inhale." he says. You follow, placing your hand onto his knee. He watches as you try to take the smoke properly with a little chuckle. "Exhale." Following suit, you let go of the smoke, blowing it out without breaking eye contact with John. "Was it good?" he asks a little too soon, because as soon as he asks, he sees you cough lightly.

He chuckles to himself as you cough, "oh poor girl" he says, a small grin on his face. "M'sorry"

"Its okay" you say, hand still on his leg. John continued to smile to himself as he grabs the bottle of vodka again, taking another swig. "What are you doing here, swimming up here by yourself?" He asked, his hand making its way to your forehead, pushing some of your hair away from your face.

"Well" you start, leaning foreword onto the ledge of the pool, crossing your arms to lay your head down. "Came out for a swim with the other girls earlier, but they decided to turn in earlier and i wanted to just stay out here a little more." John hums, nodding as he listens to you. He loves the way you look right now, that cute swimsuit, the curve of your back, the beads of water on your skin.

With the alcohol in your system, you couldn't help but giggle a little bit at the way he was looking down at you. There was some sort of look in his eyes that you loved. "And you decided to drink out here all by yourself?" he asks, taking another puff of his cigarette. "Mhm" you nod, leaning back up to move a little in the water. "wanna swim with me?" you ask, looking up at him again with a small mischievous look on your face. John smiles, sighing as he put out the butt of his cigarette. "Should I?" he teases.

You swim a little bit away from him when he asks, keeping eye contact.

"Try and catch me?"

Another small chuckle comes from John as he runs his fingers through his hair before he suddenly jumps into the pool, swimming after you. You squeal as he chases you, feeling his hand occasionally graze your skin as he catches up. You reach the other edge of the pool, setting yourself on the steps as he reaches for you. Backing yourself up on the tiles, you scream again as he grabs your calf while rising up from the water and climbing over you. He's soaking wet, the pool water dripping from his hair and his skin onto you, the drenched fabric of his shirt resting softly over your stomach.

"caught ya'" he says, panting. He's so close, closer than you've ever been. You never ignored those subtle glances and touches he would send your way in the tower, you loved the way he was quietly obsessed with you in his own way. You could always see right through it.

Looking down at you, John takes a moment, debating whether or not to do something. Whether or not to change the two of you forever. You quickly feel the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands pulling your head in closer to him.

Opening yourself up to him, you place your hands on him too. In his hair, on his back, your clutch trying to keep him as close as you could. As he kisses you, he gently slips his tongue against yours. His hand continues to move lower, caressing the curve of your waist. The feeling of him all over you drives you crazy, making you try to pull him closer to you. "Fuck…" he mumbles in between kisses, both of you feeling the way he was pressed against you.

John chuckles as he feels you trail kisses down his cheek, onto his neck, whining for him. He quickly grabs you chin, looking right at you. "You've been drinking baby." he says, a small grin on his face as you pout at him. "You can have me another night I promise." As he gets up, you can see all the water on him drip down.

⋆☀︎｡BONUS close ups & kisses just bcs :p

She tripped, a few people knocked into her and she couldn’t get back in. You were running, helping her up and shoving her towards safety then the next thing you felt concrete hit the back of your leg, knocking you down to the ground. You looked up in horror to see a slab coming down on you. It was off the old Avengers’ tower. It had to weigh at least a ton. You struggled against the concrete but it had stabbed through your jeans, effectively pinning you. You balled yourself up, eyes closing so at least you wouldn’t see your impending death. The world darkened even more then suddenly the slab was no longer falling. You opened your eyes, looked back and John Walker was there, supporting the entire thing on his shoulders. You locked eyes with him and he gave a tense nod, like to say “You’re safe”

The rest of them ran over, Yelena Belova, Ava Starr, Bucky Barnes, the other guy. You watched as they flipped the slab. Everyone around you cheered. John leaned down and pulled the concrete loose that had stabbed through your jeans then was offering you his hand. He tugged you to your feet like you didn’t weigh anything then directed you towards a nearby building “Get inside. I’ll find you later to check on you further” you nodded a bit numbly, following his direction and the crowd of people. You looked over your shoulder as you stumbled into the building to see John look back at you one more time before him and the rest of the team trying to save everyone else turned their attention to the void quickly swallowing the street. 

It was over. The void was gone, everything was back to normal. You were among the first group of people to make your way out onto the street. You weren’t sure what you were looking for but your eyes immediately landed on John where he stood, Valentina De’Fontaine announcing them all as the “new avengers”

Cleanup was happening. John helped to move wrecked cars out of the street until tow trucks could come. He kept glancing around, looking for you, thinking about how he’d told you he’d check on you after but wasn’t sure if you’d want him to. You probably had time to register who he actually was now, the things he’d done. He just got through righting a few bus benches when he heard your voice and turned to you standing there. You smiled shyly “Hi” and introduced yourself.  He nodded, “Hey” 

“Can I hug you?” you asked and his eyes widened “Huh?” a light flush graced your neck, “I mean.. For saving my life? I’d like to buy you a coffee or something also if you’d let me” he chuckled nervously, “A hug is fine”

You stepped closer, arms snaking around his waist and after a moment he let himself relax. You felt safe with him. That was the biggest shock. “Thank you John” you murmured low and he felt his heart flip. “That coffee sounds good too, even though you don’t owe me anything. I’d do the same a thousand times over” 

You looked up at him, a small pout on your face then shrugged “I want to though. It’s the least I can do” the startling realization hit him that he hated seeing that pout on your face. He’d do damn near anything to replace it with a smile. “I’d love to then sweetheart. Just name the time and place”

“You look nervous” John looked up and Yelena was leaning against the wall, eating a bag of chips. “Bite me Belova” she chuckled, “I think it’s sweet, almost” then walked away. 

The truth was he was definitely nervous. He’d taken his wedding ring off and tucked it away now that the team knew the truth. He was dressed in casual clothes, just jeans and a light sweater. You’d picked the place but was this a date or just a thank you from a beautiful woman? 

_________________

John noticed the place was further from the public, off the beaten path a little and when he walked in you were tucked into a corner table. You smiled when he walked over and stood to hug him. “I got us a corner table and saved you the place facing the door”  He felt his heart flip yet again at the thoughtfulness. 

____________________

You and John were talking, enjoying your drinks. You had thanked him again for saving you, he’d told you he was just glad he was there. 

You got quiet and John cut his eyes up, realizing you were staring at him. He ducked his head, “Something on my face honey?” you shook your head, laughing. “No! It’s just.. You’re just so handsome and sweet! I don’t know why the media tears you up like they do for a mistake. It was bad, I get that but you’re trying. You and your team saved so many people, myself included just because it was the right thing to do”

“You don’t hate me for what I did?” he asked, voice so light it surprised himself. You shook your head, “Honestly? If it was my best friend? I would’ve done worse” he swore to himself if you’d give him half a chance he wouldn’t fuck this up. 

____________________

Hours later (and enough drinks and tips none of the baristas complained about the two of you being there) you and John finally had to call it. When you asked about another date he thanked whatever god there was. He grabbed a box of pastries for the team and walked you to your car. Right before you climbed in you kissed his cheek, “Can’t wait till next time” he felt a smile slip onto his face. Neither could he.

You and John had been dating a while. He was keeping up with dates at least once or twice a week, whenever missions allowed. You always picked more secluded spots. He thought it was because he didn’t like crowds, it was really because you just wanted him to yourself during those days. 

Hell your first kiss was when you kissed him. He’d had a cut on his cheek half healed, a black eye but still showed up with flowers for you. You couldn’t resist. When you apologized, worried you’d moved too fast, he’d assured you that you could “Do that whenever you wanted”

A week mission was a week too fucking long. John barely took the time to shower before he was making his way to your place. The moment he knocked because he didn’t want to use the key you’d given him and scare the shit out of you, you cracked the door open, a sound between a gasp and a yelp left you and you were throwing yourself into his arms.

He grunted low, catching you, lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. “Are you ok?” you asked softly, lips crashing into his. He nodded, mumbling into the kiss “Am now” 

The two of you hadn’t slept together yet, he’d been wanting to take it slow but this felt different. The mission had been rough, he hadn’t been able to contact you. He wanted to tell you he was in love with you and god the way you were kissing him, clinging to him. You pulled back to look up at him after he closed the door and locked it. “I love you” he froze, eyes wide. “What?” you nodded, fingers grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m in love with you John. I needed you to know, it’s ok if you don’t feel the same..”

He cut you off with a kiss that you moaned into you, he pulled back just far enough to say “Of course I love you” you grinned against his lips, “Take me to bed then” he swallowed hard, eyes searching your face, “You’re sure?” you nodded, “Please”

_____________________

John’s hands moved across your body like you were made of glass, tracing the dips and curves. Your thighs bracketed his hips, his larger frame pinning you to the bed. Every roll of his hips had the head of his cock kissing your cervix, his pubic bone adding a delicious amount of pressure to your clit. You’d never felt pleasure like this.

He buried his face in your neck, teeth grazing the pulse. You could feel another orgasm building, was right on the edge and needed him to fall over with you. “I’m covered John” you breathed softly and he groaned, hips rolling even deeper into. 

Your release hit you like fire flickering across your skin in the most pleasant way. Your back arched, nails digging into his shoulders. He gave a few more deep thrusts before he came with a low groan of your name, his release thick and hot as he filled you, fucking you both through the aftershocks.

____________________

“I’m terrified of the media coming after you” John spoke softly in the quiet of your bedroom, “It’ll be ok John” you were laying across his bare chest, head laying right over his heart. He kissed the top of your head, swallowing hard. “Yelena has been trailing you the last week”

You sat up quickly, blanket falling down your body. “What?” he nodded. “I trust her with you. I was stuck on the other side of the world. I couldn’t get home. I needed to know you were ok to keep my head on straight” “Oh baby” you cooed, moving to slip your leg over his waist so you could fully drape yourself over his body. He spread one hand wide across your lower back, the other on your neck to tug you into a kiss. “They want to meet you.. officially”  you hadn’t met the team because John didn’t want lines getting blurred but now you guessed it was becoming more and more apparent they were truly blurred. “Are you sure? What about the worries you’ve had?”

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, not wanting to voice your worries that maybe he’d been keeping you on the corners of his life. Something in your expression must have given you away. He kissed your forehead then your nose then your lips, “I’d burn the whole world down before I let it take you. I was worried about Val targeting you, enemies hurting you. I was never unsure about them meeting you because of us lasting or not. I love you” 

“I love you too John. I’d be good with having them over. How about tomorrow night?” he smiled softly, “Sounds good to me”

John sat on the corner of your sofa with you curled up in his lap. You were happily chatting away with Yelena and Ava, Bob throwing in a few words here and there. Alexei was chomping away on pizza and commending your pick of movies. He glanced over where Bucky sat in the recliner and froze because Bucky was staring at him. He raised an eyebrow but Bucky just shook his head and turned his eyes back to the movie.

_________________

“She’s really sweet” Ava was the first to say something when everyone got back to the tower. “I like her, she’s spunky too” “She makes him a lot more.. Human” Bob added. Alexei nodded, “She’s a good woman” 

Bucky just pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to John “We’ll keep her safe. You keep her from being hurt”

_________________

John’s phone dinged with a text, you were asleep in his lap so he adjusted to pull it out and read what Bucky sent. A smile slipped onto his face but he replied with just a simple thumbs up.  It made him feel better knowing the team would help protect you, you deserved the entire damn world even if for some reason you chose to love him. 

You shifted in your sleep, face nuzzling into the bend of his neck, barely mumbling out “I love you” and he smiled, he may not understand why you chose him but damn he was grateful.

John Walker Fanfic

"What do you mean by that?" Yelena asks, leaning back on the couch, scrolling through some document she had to approve on her little ipad. "Like…" You took a moment to think, placing the clipboard you had down on your lap for a second, "he kept mentioning things about my appearance, like he told me that I should grow out my hair, and get my lashes done, AND try a certain lip color." You said, thinking back to the night. "And it wasn't even in like a 'I think this would suit you' way, more like 'I want you to look like this' kinda way."

"I told you, New York boys that look like that are little freaks" says Yelena, shaking her head side to side. You sigh, leaning your head back onto the couch, "I thought he was so cool, but apparently he's just a loser… and not even one of those cool losers."

As the two of you complain on the couch, doing some work, John was in the kitchen listening to you the entire time. He just came in to make some little smoothie for his workout, and ended up hearing you guys. He's overheard you, Yelena, and Ava talk about this guy for the past couple of weeks, how he's treated you over the couple dates you've had. Sure John was a little prick, but he wasn't this immature.

He tried not to make a big deal out of it, but John always liked it when you were around. When you'd sit in the corner of team meetings to take notes, waiting for them on the pad whenever they arrived back from a mission, or giving the team their water bottles during training, he couldn't keep his attention off of you. Though, he didn't talk to you much, sure some small conversation, or some requests for work, but never truly personal. Most of the things he's heard of you have come from things Yelena and Ava had said in passing, but whenever he did hear those little things, he relished it every single time. There was just something about you, something that enamored him so much.

'could treat you so much better than this jackass.' He thought to himself, putting the lid on his smoothie. John could say something to you right now, say that you should stop going out with him and look for a man somewhere else, somewhere a little closer, but not today. Today he'll just go about his day, continuing to keep this to himself.

In the training room, John continued to beat the punching bag, his throw a little rougher than usual. The thought of this random guy just pissed him off to a certain degree. But you wouldn't really want him, he thinks. John's older than you, divorced, a dick to his teammates, and don't even get him started on his past. He wasn't the type of guy girls like you want.

Maybe he was thinking too hard because suddenly out of nowhere he hears the doors of the training room open, and sees you. It's like something knew. "Hey Walker" you say, making your way towards him. John throws one more punch before taking a break, turning towards you, looking down at the wrapping on his hands for a second. "Hey" he responds, huffing as he catches his breath, sweat dripping down his skin. "I'm just making my rounds, seeing if you guys need anything. You want some water or something of the sorts?" He takes a moment to look at you, the way your hair is done, how your clothes fit you, the way your hands rest. "um.." He quickly snaps out of it though, not wanting to seem creepy.

"I think my water is almost empty, and a Gatorade sounds nice too…" he says, wiping some of the sweat from his forehead. "Okay," you say, walking over to get his water bottle, "Ill be back in a bit!"

He watches as you walk out of those doors, taking a second to think about you before going back to the punching bag. John loved the way you looked at him, he could tell you wanted to know more about him, try and get a little closer, but he didn't know if that was the best thing for you. You really shouldn't be concerning yourself over him.

When you came back he was wiping himself down with a towel, finished with that portion of his workout. You said hi to him again before handing him his water bottle, "thanks" he said softly. For a moment he felt the tips of his fingers graze your skin, his stomach fluttering a little as he realized. It wasn't much but it did a lot for him. He drank his water before closing the lid and putting it down onto the bench, John looked back at you who looked like you were waiting for something.

Just looking at you, John thought fuck it. A little advice wouldn't hurt. The other already have their own opinions of him.

"I think you should stop going out with that guy" he said softly. "What?" you said, confused but you didn't show any sign of running off. "Sorry.." he said, grabbing the other bottle of Gatorade you brought him, "I just overheard you and Yelena talking earlier when i was in the kitchen" "oh." "not to like tell you what to do, but if you're uncomfortable then maybe stop it before it gets too weird."

You take a moment to think, maybe he was right, it could get worse and you'd be subjected to this guy for who knows how long. Looking back up at John, you give him a little nod, "yeah… maybe you're right. Thanks Walker."

"Call me John." He says, patting his hand on your shoulder before walking back to the gym. The feeling of his hand on you sent something down your spine. It felt kinda nice. His size next to you made you realize how much of him you never really recognized. You wonder how big his hands would be next to yours, or even other parts of you. How would the callouses feel against your skin? How do the freckles on his skin look like up-close?

Sure, you've had the thought that he was good looking, handsome in a classic American kinda way, but never really thought of the details. As he walked away you could see the way the muscles on his back moved with him, and you tilted your head a little as you watched. You were a little enamored with him.

As John went back to his routine, he tried to act like he didn't notice, but he could tell you were thinking about the interaction you just had with him and that you were watching him as casually as you could. He knew it was a little wrong, but he loved the feeling of your attention. Before he started a new set on the machine he looked back at you, who was still staring at him. "I'll see you later yeah?" he says, a small smile on his face. You quickly snap yourself out of whatever was going on before scrambling to get your stuff. "Yeah!" you say, starting to make your way out of the training room.

"See you later… John." It felt a little weird to say his name that way for the first time, but you could see that he liked it. You could tell you were getting a little flustered, and proceeded to get out of there before either of you could tell what as going on.

A couple days later, you were going around the tower again, holding a small box of cookies while you searched for literally anyone. Lucky for you, as you turned around the corner, somewhere down a hallway near Johns room, you bumped into him. Looking up at him again, that feeling came back to you. "whoops- sorry" he said, giving a little chuckle. You never really gave much of a thought towards facial hair but for some reason you really noticed it on him. The short stubble of his beard growing out.

Wonder what it would feel like against your palm…

"Its okay" you reply, laughing a little too nervously. "uhm-" taking a second, you remember what you were doing. "I helped Bob bake some cookies, and I was trying to see if any of you guys wanted to try it?" you said, lifting the container up a bit. You look at him in the eye, and suddenly you notice how blue they actually were, and how nice his lashes were too. "Sure" he says, a small smile on his face, only breaking eye contact when he looks down to get the treat.

Taking a bite, he nods in approval. "Its good" he says, still chewing. He looks at you again at he eats the cookie, continuing to hum and nod. Enamored, you just watch him, enjoying the smile om his face. You could feel that some sort of intimacy was building, and you were letting it happen.

"oh- you have a little something" you try and make a gesture on your face to mimic where the crumbs on his face were, but when he tried to wipe his cheek he didn't get it. "Its more like a little-" and suddenly, your hand was reaching up to his chin, thumb grazing against his scruff and getting the crumbs off as you feel the texture of his beard on your skin. When you put your hand down, he smiles again, still looking at you. "Thanks." he says, a little under his breath. For a moment you realize just how close you were, it didn't take much for you to hear him.

"I gotta go find the others" you say softly, looking back down at the cookies. "Okay then" he says before quickly grabbing another one from the container, "see you later."

You couldn't help your mind wandering, imagining what other little surprises these two had in store for you.

"You doing okay, angel?" Bob asked, his tone suddenly much more gentle. You opened your eyes, and he was much closer than you remembered. You didn't even hear him move. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your skin in soothing circles. John had shifted as well, the arm that held you down having slid down to your waist, his hand warm against your stomach. The hand that was on your clit was gently rubbing up and down your bare side.

"Got quiet all of the sudden," John said. You turned your head as much as you could without dislodging Bob's hand to see your other boyfriend gazing down at you with concern in his eyes. He looked adorable - hair sleep rumpled, a line from a fold in the pillow sheet on his cheek, and a little frown that was closer to a pout than he'd ever admit. "Too much?" John asked, his tone gentle, a sharp contrast to the smug attitude from just a minute ago.

You shook your head minutely. "No. It felt wonderful. I just…" You bit your lip, taking a moment to find the right phrasing. "I was wondering what other kinks you two have up your sleeves that I don't know about."

John and Bob shared a look, and you couldn't help but feel like some secret understanding passed between them. They simultaneously turned their attention back to you, John giving you a short, sweet peck on the lips, his beard pleasantly rubbing against your skin.

"Obviously someone was doing a shitty job making you feel good if you were getting distracted," Bob jeered, smirking at John with a playful glint in his eyes. It was jarring how quickly he transitioned from doting boyfriend to horny menace.

John snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, and that's why she's soaking wet for me. Think you can do better, Bobby?"

Bob's answering grin was so sharp it could cut glass. "I know I can, Johnny."

John was apparently thinking something similar, because he leaned down and mock-whispered in your ear, "I think Bobby likes watching you, pretty girl. Look at him."

You opened your eyes obediently, catching Bob's heated stare as he gazed down at John's hand rubbing lazy circles around your clit. He was as beautiful as ever - sleep-mussed hair, too-big sweater that he insisted on wearing to sleep even if he got too hot, warm hand resting on your inner thigh, and the prominent tent at the front of his boxers that made your mouth salivate at the sight of.

Judging by the flexing muscles, John was trying to pull his arm away with no luck. He wasn't even budging Bob's rock solid grip. Looking back up, Bob's eyes glowed gold. He looked absolutely furious. The muscles in his jaw ticked as Bob clenched his teeth, his lower lip almost quivering in anger.

"What the fuck are you doing, you asshole?" Bob snapped back, easily pulling John's fingers out of you and pushing his hand away. "You're going to fucking hurt her being that rough. You didn't even prep her first!"

"She likes that!" John said, starting to raise his voice. "Did you hear her complaining? Or are you not used to hearing the sounds of her actually enjoying getting fucked?"

Bob's eyes started turning brighter gold, practically glowing. A light bulb in an adjacent room audibly shattered.

"Whoa!" you interrupted, flinging your arms out to gesture for them to stop. "Okay, that…that escalated quickly. Everyone calm down."

Judging by the flexing muscles, John was trying to pull his arm away with no luck. He wasn't even budging Bob's rock solid grip. Looking back up, Bob's eyes glowed gold. He looked absolutely furious. The muscles in his jaw ticked as Bob clenched his teeth, his lower lip almost quivering in anger.

"What the fuck are you doing, you asshole?" Bob snapped back, easily pulling John's fingers out of you and pushing his hand away. "You're going to fucking hurt her being that rough. You didn't even prep her first!"

"She likes that!" John said, starting to raise his voice. "Did you hear her complaining? Or are you not used to hearing the sounds of her actually enjoying getting fucked?"

Bob's eyes started turning brighter gold, practically glowing. A light bulb in an adjacent room audibly shattered.

"Whoa!" you interrupted, flinging your arms out to gesture for them to stop. "Okay, that…that escalated quickly. Everyone calm down."

"She's fine, Bobby. She's wet enough that she could take it," John said with the kind of tone you use to explain big concepts to a child. Bob glanced away from you just long enough to send John another annoyed look over your shoulder. "If you weren't sticking your fingers in her mouth like a weirdo, you could feel for yourself."

"She likes when I put my fingers in her mouth," Bob snapped back, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He kept his eyes on you though, the gold in them having faded back to the deep, stormy blue you were used to. "Baby, let me…" Bob's words trailed off as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth, quickly replacing them with his index and middle fingers. You let out another happy hum, closing your eyes as you sucked on his fingers, lathing them with your tongue, getting them nice and wet like you knew he wanted.

John shifted behind you. Judging by the shadow that loomed over you, blocking out the faint light that was making its way through your bedroom curtains, he was trying to catch a glimpse of your face.

"I'll be damned," he said with a faint note of surprise in his voice. "She hates it when I do that to her."

"Was she topping you when you tried?"

There was a pause before John answered, sheepishly. "Yeah. Now that I think about it, she was in control."

"Thought so. She only likes it when she's being submissive." You could hear Bob pause and lean a little closer to John like he was sharing a secret. "It really gets her going to have something in her mouth when you're in charge of her. I got her this gag that…"

With a pop, you pulled Bob's fingers out of your mouth and opened your eyes, glaring at the two men. "If you two are done sharing trade secrets, I'd really like to stop being teased and get fucked if you don't mind."

Grinning down at you, John complied. "Yes ma'am," he said, putting a little more pressure on your clit, starting to run little figure eights over the bundle of nerves.

Bob obeyed as well, using his split-slick fingers to circle your entrance before slipping one digit inside. A moan left his lips, sounding like it forced its way out of his chest at the feel of your wet heat around him.

"Wet?" John asked. He was still grinning, this time at Bob, amusement dancing in those bright blue eyes.

"Soaked," Bob confirmed, starting to pump his finger in and out of you. Unconsciously, you started moving your hips, rocking them in time to meet his thrusts.

That tension was already building in you again. Both of your boyfriends were touching you, bringing you pleasure simultaneously. It wasn't perfect - John was a little faster and more aggressive on your clit and Bob taking his time and focusing on slowly stretching you - but the visual alone was nearly enough to undo you. Bob was biting his lip in concentration, paying no mind to the strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes, too focused on building up a rhythm and watching your hips rise up to meet his thrusts. John's eyes were everywhere: watching every micro-detail of your face and drinking in your reactions, trailing hotly down your body, watching his own fingers move over your flesh, and staring at Bob's hand as he stretched you open, adding a second finger to your slick heat.

It didn't matter that John was speeding up and Bob almost seemed to be slowing down, not when John pressed a little harder on your throbbing clit and Bob curled his fingers to hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars with every rolling thrust. You could feel it again, the pressure in your stomach, a knot coiling there, each caress, each movement, each second bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Only for it to stop suddenly again.

You let out a cry of despair when John stopped moving, but he didn't seem to notice. He was too fixated on Bob.

"You're going too slow."

"Huh?" Bob asked, looking up at the other man, his pace also coming to a complete halt. If your mind wasn't reeling from the abrupt change in pace - the second of the fucking morning - you could have screamed in frustration. "What are you talking about?"

"Your fingers. She's never going to cum if you keep going that slow," John said, that smug, know-it-all-tone back in his voice.

It was Bob's turn to roll his eyes. "That would be a first."

"What? Her cumming? I can give you some tips if you need." Now John was just being a dick.

Bob scoffed. "Hardly. She's always finished when she was with me."

With a smirk, John replied, "You sure, Bobby?"

Before Bob could respond, you were sitting up in bed. Both men stared at you in surprise, especially when you started actually trying to leave. Hands came up from both of them to stop you, and you batted them aside, making to crawl out from between them on the bed.

Their words overlapped when they both started speaking at once.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where are you going?"

"Are you okay, angel? What's wrong?"

You stopped, turning and fixing both of them with a pointed glare. "If you two can't work together to get me off, I'm going to go to the bathroom and get myself off, thank you."

They spoke over each other again:

"Hey now, let's not be so hasty."

"Baby! I'm sorry! Please don't go."

Even though they had struggled to do anything in sync with each other before, both John and Bob grabbed for your arms at the same time, pulling you back by manhandling you and trying to draw you closer respectively.

"C'mon," said John as your back hit the pillows as they leaned you up against the headboard. "Sure, we fucked up. But we're a hell of a lot better than just using your own hand."

You opened your mouth to tell John that you'd prefer your hand to getting edged by a cocky asshole, but Bob started talking first. "She wouldn't have to use her hand."

John blinked at him in confusion. "Excuse me. What?"

"She, uh…" Bob glanced at you, instantly clocking the annoyed look on your face and stumbling over his words. "S-she wouldn't ha-have to use her hands. She has, um…she has toys in the bath…the bathroom."

"Toys," John deadpanned, obviously not processing what Bob was meaning.

"What he means," you said, crossing your arms. "Is that I have a dildo and a vibrator in the bathroom drawer."

John practically sputtered. "What?! Why?"

You shrugged. "Just because I'm dating both of you doesn't mean I don't need some alone time."

"Actually, that's exactly what that means," John corrected, arrogant as ever. "Baby, if he's not satisfying you, I am more than happy to -"

"Oh, fuck off," Bob exclaimed, interrupting his proposition.

John rounded on the other man. "How do you know she has those anyway?"

"Because I use them on her," Bob said simply.

Scoffing, John replied, "Yeah, because you go too slow to make her finish."

Bob rolled his eyes again, his annoyance with John strong enough to make him forget yours. "No, because I don't feel inadequate because she wants more than just my dick to make her feel good. You're missing out," he added. Before John could question him further, Bob answered. "If you've never used a toy on her, you've never got to watch close up how she falls apart on your cock. And sometimes I like her to finish a few times before we even get started."

"Jonathan." Craning your neck, you turned to glare back at the man who at least managed to look at least a little remorseful.

"Too far?" John asked, a self-deprecating deadpan tone in his voice.

Bob let out a low, amused laugh. "Ooh, you got the full first name, Walker. You're in trouble now."

Your fingers that were curled in Bob's hair tightened painfully, jerking his head back with a flick of your wrist. He gasped loudly, the sound half-surprise and half-moan, and you felt the bed dip as Bob involuntarily rolled his hips, seeking friction.

"Be good, Robert," you chastised, turning back to look him in the eye. There was a flash of gold there, but one raised eyebrow was all it took for Bob to blink, his irises returning to their regular deep blue hue.

"Yes," Bob panted, pausing to lick his lips before starting again. "Yes, ma'am."

Lace Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

MDNI Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in headers are not mine.

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

You sat at the long dining table with your chin resting in your hand while Sam dramatically retold his version of the mission that took place barely two days ago. 

“And then,” Sam said, pointing his fork at Clint, “this man misses the target completely-”

“I did not miss.” Clint argued, throwing a pointed finger at the Falcon. 

“You were supposed to hit the damn agent. But you took out the only light in the room.” 

“It was tactical.” 

“Making everybody blind?” 

Easy laughter rolled around the table as everyone continued to enjoy their meals. 

Across from you, Pietro leaned back in his chair lazily, silver hair still damp from his shower. The soft gray sweatshirt he wore hung loose around his shoulders, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. Every now and then his eyes drifted toward you, studying your reactions to the conversation. 

Although you tried to ignore it, butterflies swarmed your stomach every time his eyes found yours. His gaze locked onto you now, blue eyes bright with amusement. 

“You are quiet tonight,” he said. 

Your stomach betrayed you immediately.

Pietro always looked at people intensely, but when he looked at you, it felt different. Intentional. Like the rest of the room faded away, leaving only you illuminated by a spotlight in the center.  

“I’m listening,” you defended yourself, taking another bite of the spaghetti Wanda had prepared for the team.

Pietro shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting instantly. “No no. You are staring off dramatically.” he teased, “Very different thing.”

You kicked his shin lightly beneath the table, earning a victorious grin from the speedster. 

The moment lingered for only a second longer before Natasha directed everyone’s attention toward you and Pietro. 

“You two are disgusting.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“What?” You asked, the word falling out faster than you had intended. 

Pietro leaned forward, feigning innocence. “We are simply talking.”

“The flirting is becoming unbearable.” Clint chimed in.

“I’m tired of watching these two idiots circle each other. I'm starting to think they're just gonna flirt forever.” Sam muttered.

Wanda, sitting beside you, smothered a smirk behind her glass as she noticed the heat creeping up your cheeks. 

Pietro scoffed loudly with a shrug. “There is no flirting.”

The table went silent for a moment as everyone's gaze shifted from Pietro to you, then back to Pietro. A round of scoffs erupted instantly, mixed into teasing laughter. 

“You literally carried her to the Quinjet two days ago because she twisted her ankle.” Bruce said.

“It was a long walk.” Pietro argued. 

“You also threatened me because I knocked her flat on her ass in training.” Sam added.

“You did too much.” 

“You threw Steve’s shield at my head.” 

“It missed.” 

“THAT’S NOT BETTER.” 

Laughter consumed the room again, and the Avengers drifted back into their own conversations.

You tried to hide your smile behind the rim of your cup, but Pietro caught it anyway. His expression softened instantly at the sight of you, amusement melting into something gentler. 

You hated when he looked at you like that.

It felt unfair. The way his attention settled over you, as if you were the only person in the room worth looking at. He looked at you like he could already love you, but you knew he didn’t. 

Pietro was naturally flirtatious. He was naturally touchy. He bumped shoulders, stole food from plates, and threw his arm around people without thinking twice about it. He teased everyone. That look meant nothing. Right? 

Under the table, his foot nudged yours. Neither of you moved away.

—

Hours later, the compound had settled into comfortable silence.

Music drifted quietly from Tony’s new speakers in the common room, low enough to blanket the evening paired with the rain outside. The lights had been dimmed significantly, casting everything in warm shadows. Thor had fallen asleep in one armchair with a blanket halfway slipping off him, while Clint and Sam quietly argued over a card game at the kitchen island.

You had curled up on the couch sometime during a movie Tony insisted on watching, throw blanket draped loosely around your shoulders. Your head rested against the arm of the couch, eyelids heavy as voices faded in and out around you. Sleep tugged harder on your mind with every passing second.

Across the room, Pietro looked up from where he sat on the floor beside Wanda, immediately noticing you drifting off. His expression softened so quickly Wanda smirked.

“You are staring again.” she murmured.

“I am not.”

“You stare a lot.” 

Pietro ignored the violent flip his stomach did, completely fixated on your battle against consciousness. 

“She is falling asleep out here.”

“And?”

“She will wake up uncomfortable.”

Wanda looked deeply unimpressed at his logic. “Uncomfortable on the thousand dollar couch. Tragic.”

Pietro shot her a glare, rising to his feet. She waved him off, turning her attention back to the movie. 

You barely felt the couch dip beside you before a gentle hand found your shoulder.

“Prinţesă.” Pietro murmured softly as his thumb rubbed a circle into your skin. 

The nickname reached you before consciousness fully did. Your eyes blinked open slowly. He was sitting half off the couch, Silver hair messy from running his hands through it all evening. His blue eyes were warm in the low light. He sat enough that you could feel heat radiating from him. You were almost convinced this was a dream. Almost. 

“Mm?”

“You should go to bed.” His voice was quiet and warm.

“This is fine.” You mumbled. The chuckle that escaped him did dangerous things to your heart. 

“You will disagree in the morning.”

“Feels good now.” 

“You are impossible.” 

You smiled lazily, enjoying the banter. Pietro’s chest tightened painfully at the sight. He thought you were so beautiful like this, sleepy and soft and comfortable. 

Bringing yourself back into the moment, you sat up slowly. The blanket slipped from your shoulders, caught quickly by Pietro before it could hit the floor. He instinctively offered you a hand, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat when your fingers intertwined with his. 

The contact only lasted a second as you let him pull you up, but warmth lingered in his palm afterward. 

“Thanks, Piet.”

“Always.”

The word came too quickly.

Something flickered across your face before he draped the blanket over the back of the couch and both of you looked away.

—

You walked beside Pietro through the dim corridor toward your room, shoulders occasionally brushing. The overhead lights were brighter in the hallway, perfectly illuminating his messy hair.

You hated how aware you always were of him. His hands, the warmth that radiated from him, the way he slowed his pace to match yours even though he could lap the entire compound in seconds. 

“You are tired.” He observed quietly.

“A little.”

“You should sleep more.”

“I’d be asleep now if you left me on the couch.”

“I didn’t want to hear you complaining about your back tomorrow.”

You laughed softly, earning a warm smile from him. He loved making you laugh. He realized this recently as he found himself joking more and more in your presence. He hated the feeling of his heart swelling when you laughed at something he said, but he was addicted to it. 

Somewhere between teasing you during training and memorizing the exact sound of your footsteps in the hallway, he had fallen helplessly in love with you. He was completely infatuated with everything about you, and it terrified him. 

The walk to your door ended too quickly. The quiet hallway suddenly felt very small, but neither of you moved. 

You turned toward him slowly, fingers tugging on the sleeves of your oversized sweatshirt.

“Thanks for walking me back, Piet.”

His nickname in your mouth nearly killed him. He could listen to you speak for hours and never get tired of the sound. 

“Always, prinţesă.” The word came softer than usual. He noticed how quickly your breath caught in your throat. 

Pietro stepped closer without thinking. Not too close and not close enough at the same time. Your thundering heartbeat suddenly became impossible to ignore. 

You could see the pale blue of his eyes clearly now. Your eyes drifted to the tiny scar near his jaw, landing on his lips, parted slightly like he wanted to say something. Heat rose in your cheeks again, and you found yourself manifesting he’d say it. 

After a moment of silence, fear wrapped tight around your ribs. If you were wrong, if all of this was just Pietro being Pietro, you weren’t sure how your heart would recover. 

His hand twitched, rising carefully to cup your cheek. Within the same second, you both froze there. Pietro swallowed hard, realizing he was one breath away from changing everything. 

You watched the conflict in his expression shift from wanting to fear. 

“Goodnight, draga,” he whispered finally, brushing his thumb along your face gently.

You did your best to conceal the disappointment that echoed throughout your body. He noticed that too.

“Goodnight, Piet.”

Neither of you moved at first.

Then he stepped back, cold air replacing the warmth of his hand. He smiled softly, and walked away. 

—

Sleep came slowly for Pietro. He couldn’t lay still. He turned back and forth, settling on tucking an arm beneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Your face had burned itself into the back of his eyes. The way you had looked at time outside your door, the way your breath caught when he called you prinţesă, and the subtle disappointed look on your face before he left consumed every thought he had. 

He almost kissed you right then. Pietro dragged his free hand over his face with a frustrated groan, calling himself a coward. Eventually exhaustion started pulling him under. The compound had gone quiet around him, the rain outside remaining steady and soft. 

Just as he felt himself drifting off, the world exploded.

A blast shook the entire building violently, followed immediately by blaring alarms sounding throughout the compound. He shot up in bed as another explosion echoed in the distance. 

Red emergency lights flooded his room. F.R.I.D.A.Y. called out over speakers, voice muddled by the confusion in his mind. 

He was moving down the hallway before he realized he’d gotten out of bed, sprinting towards familiar voices echoing throughout the compound.

Smoke had already begun curling through parts of the ceiling vents by the time he reached the common area where the others were gathering. 

Steve was barking orders, altering the team of multiple breaches around the east and south wings of the compound. Tony’s armor flew onto him piece by piece. Natasha was already armed. Wanda appeared beside Pietro, red magic glowing faintly around her hands.

“Are you okay?” he asked quickly.

“I’m fine.”

Relief washed through him briefly before he felt his stomach drop in an instant. You were not here. The memory of him leaving you, sleepy and unknowing, in your room flashed across his eyes. Your room was in the east wing. 

As if the thought summoned it into existence, another section of the compound groaned violently nearby. Dust rained from the ceiling as part of the eastern hallway collapsed inward.

Pietro’s blood went cold before he turned sharply toward Wanda.

“Have you seen Y/N?”

Her expression shifted quickly, worry flashing across her face. She shook her head, and fear hit him so hard it became hard to breathe. 

If a bomb went off near your room while you were in it…

Pietro was running before anyone could stop him. Steve shouted after him, but he barely heard it.

Smoke thickened the closer he got to your hallway. Mercenaries flooded through blown entry points, rifles raised as the compound descended into chaos around him. One caught his arm as he passed and had been slammed into the nearest wall hard enough to crater it. 

Another tried to rush him. Pietro twisted violently, disarming the man before driving his elbow into his throat.

He moved automatically and mechanically, his thoughts laser focused on you. He prayed to whoever would listen for you to be alive. 

He passed glimpses of the others fighting through smoke-filled corridors. Sam roughly knocking two agents into each other, Clint rapid-firing arrows at every moving target, and Wanda’s powers lighting the darkness as she cleared stragglers. 

Pietro couldn’t stop, not while you were still in there, not while every horrific possibility and every regret tore through his mind. 

He should have stayed.

Should have kissed you.

Should have told you.

The corridor leading to your room was nearly destroyed. Part of the ceiling had collapsed entirely, flames crawling up broken walls. Pietro’s heart hammered violently as he climbed over debris and furniture. 

As he approached what was left of your room, he heard a struggle. A sharp grunt pushed him to move impossibly faster. Your room was barely recognizable. 

Half the wall had been blown open, exposing the dark forest outside and letting the rain fall quietly into the building. Fire licked across ruined furniture while smoke thickened the air.

He spotted you next. You were stuck in a grapple, fighting off one of the agents as blood gushed down the side of your face. Ash and debris scattered across your clothes, painting dark splotches across your arms and legs. One eye had already started swelling from impact. 

Your movements were slower than normal, you were disoriented and confused, but still fighting. Alive. 

Relief hit Pietro so hard it nearly brought him to his knees.

“Y/N!”

Your head snapped toward him, giving the agent the perfect opportunity to grab your neck roughly. A quiet squeak escaped your mouth as your airflow constricted. 

Pietro saw red.

The man’s fingers wrapped tightly around your throat, excessive force instantly pulsing through your ears. Before you could even blink, the pressure dropped along with you to your knees. Pietro had crossed the room, slamming into your attacker with enough force to send him soaring into what was left of your bedroom wall. He didn’t get back up. 

A cough tore its way through your throat and Pietro was down beside you in an instant. Shaky hands cupped your face gently, brushing away soot and blood to search for additional injuries. 

“Prinţesă-” He choked out, not trusting his voice to speak further. 

“I’m okay,” you breathed.

“You are bleeding.”

“It looks worse than it is-”

“You are hurt.” His voice cracked on the last word as the adrenaline rush finally caught up to him. 

Pietro looked terrified, silver blue eyes wide and frantic. 

His breathing was uneven. His hands trembled against your cheeks. Ash streaked across his clothes and face while panic burned openly in his eyes.

“What’s happening?” You questioned, failing to find your balance. His hands dropped to your arms, steadying you. 

“I don’t know. We are under attack. The alarms went off, then the bombs, and the intruders everywhere, and I thought…” He stopped abruptly as his gaze fell. 

I thought you were dead.

The unfinished sentence churned violently in your stomach. He pulled you against him suddenly, desperately convincing himself that you were still here. Alive. 

You felt his heartbeat slamming against yours as he dropped his face into your hair. He inhaled roughly, holding you like you’d disappear if he let go. Anxiety lodged painfully in your throat.

Beyond the hallway, the compound continued to rumble. The familiar sound of a battle echoed into your room, bringing both of you out of the shared moment. 

You slowly pulled back enough to look at Pietro. “I’m okay,” you spoke gently, watching the clouds in his eyes ease just slightly. His lips parted like he was going to argue just before a loud crash echoed somewhere down the hall. 

“We have to go.” Your head snapped toward the sound immediately. You pushed against the floor to stand. The second you stood straight, dizziness swarmed your vision and your balance wavered significantly. Pietro caught you, standing on his own two feet now. 

“No.” He was firm. 

“I’m fine, Piet-”

“You can barely stand.”

“I’m just a little dizzy.”

“You are hurt, draga. You stay here.”

“No,” you snapped, harsher than you intended. “I will go.” 

Despite the situation unfolding around the compound, Pietro almost laughed. “Still stubborn, I see.” 

You rolled your eyes, steadying yourself against him. He waited patiently for you to breathe through the dizziness. When the room finally stopped spinning, you looked up at him with a determined look. 

“We need to go help them.”

Pietro’s jaw tightened immediately. Every instinct screamed at him to get you somewhere safe, away from the disaster and danger consuming your home. But beneath the blood and ash, your eyes were steady and certain. He knew better than anyone that you hated being treated like you were fragile. You were an Avenger. He'd seen first hand the damage you could do with one hand tied behind your back. 

Another explosion shook the compound, followed by muffled shouting in the distance. You looked toward the hallway and back at Pietro, coming to a mutual understanding. Pietro exhaled sharply through his nose before nodding in agreement. 

“Stay close to me.” The order came out more like a plea. His hands slid down your arms, catching your hands in a firm squeeze before his warmth left you. 

“Always, Piet.”

You slammed your foot into his calf, making him stutter-step, stopping him long enough for the Sentry to arrive, a blurred ribbon of gold before he pulled up short, ripping the target off the ground. He threw him back down onto the concrete like he was an empty sack. The body rag-dolled, then rolled a few feet away, but he was alive. Alive enough.

John pelted up to you, not even winded. The Sentry floated gently down to hover between you and John, dusting off his hands.

“Thanks for joining us,” John muttered. There was something about them being together on a mission and Bob in the suit; the second he put it on, the old, scabbed wounds burst. Neither of them could resist school yard jabs, but John was usually the more aggressive offender.

“You had it handled,” Bob said mildly. His eyes, faintly gold, lingered on you, on where your chest pumped against your suit. Before it could become a tell, he met your gaze again. You never knew what to call him anymore—he was generally such a sweetheart, but something in him shifted when the suit went on. He stood taller. His responses were clear, fast, sometimes glib. “I did a sweep. Looks like we’re clear.”

“Smooth as silk, gentlemen,” you said, kneeling to check the guy for weapons. There was a suspicious keycard in one pocket, which you took, thanks much, before tossing his pistol somewhere he couldn’t reach.

“I just think you could contribute a bit more when we’re in the shit,” John was saying, launching in. “He was getting away. You can fly, for fuck’s sake.”

“Are you saying she’s slow?” Bob asked, and judging by his tone, with total knowledge that it would give John an aneurism. Either you were imagining things, or the vibe was particularly tense when it was just the three of you on missions. Like they were competing. Like every word of their charged exchanges was a fist beating on a chest.

“I’m not…no. Jesus, Bob, I would never say that.” John started pacing. He dodged closer to you, dipping down to make sure you heard the next bit clearly: “I would never say that.”

“It’s the Sentry,” Bob said, calm. You smiled down at your work; he never corrected you when you slipped up like that.

“It’s eat my fucking dick,” John snarled, arms crossed as he finished pacing, placing you directly in the crossfire between them.

“Down, boys,” you said. Your hands moved firmly over one pocket of the man’s cargo pants. Something bulged inside. They went on bickering. You dipped into the pocket, withdrawing a cylinder that looked like a cologne or spray. Before you could examine it further, the man lurched upward, hand closing over yours, forcing your fingers down around the latch mechanism. “Shit,” you managed to whisper. “Get back—”

The cylinder broke, the amber liquid inside exploding into gas as the dispersal apparatus fired.

Bob’s hands closed around your waist, yanking you away from the mushrooming cloud that erupted. John staggered out of that same cloud as Bob set you down gently a few yards away. Without hesitation, Bob went to collect John, too, carrying him back to where you waited. There was no point pretending you hadn’t inhaled the mystery gas; you could taste it in the back of your throat.

“What the hell was that?” John asked, wet coughing into his fist.

Bob frowned, backing away from the cloud as it thinned and spread, the color fading as it diluted. “Smelled like…turpentine,” he said.

“And cotton candy,” you added.

John stopped coughing long enough to turn pale and then slightly green. “Shit.”

“What?” you asked, following as he strode down the walkway between the old, moldering construction machines, double timing toward the arched doors leading out of the warehouse. “Do you know what that was?”

“We need to get back to the safehouse,” he said. “Now.” Then softer: “God, I hope I’m wrong.”

Minute by minute, John knew that the agent you had all inhaled was exactly what he feared it was. The smell, the symptoms, the method of deployment, it all added up. He was just trying to decide how to deliver the news to two colleagues that they were in for a very intense, very awkward night.

You and Bob went ahead into the safehouse, John lingering outside to grab a few more cold breaths of wintry air before barricading himself inside. His poker face was failing him, because you looked panicked as you swished the curtains aside on the front window and peered out at him. Just the sight of your face and how his body reacted was further evidence that his theory was right. He turned around, paranoid that you would see how tight his pants were becoming.

This is not how I wanted to do this.

For God’s sake, he had pictured a leisurely date, maybe a place with a dress code, flirting with you over a few drinks, a meandering stroll back to the tower with plenty of stops to make out like teenagers in the shadowy alcoves between buildings. Not this. Never this. You were going to turn into animals, all three of you; losing all inhibition with you was one thing, but now Bob was part of it. Fuck. His collar was choking him. The unnatural heat clawing its way across his chest was damn near unbearable. He scratched open the toggles on his uniform, pulling until he could expose his neck to the cool air.

There was no point prolonging the inevitable. It was still possible, he thought, to get through this without detonating a bomb in your personal and professional lives. Maybe you could tie each other up, separate yourselves in different rooms of the house, figure out some kind of quarantine system. This wasn’t defcon, not yet. John strode in through the front door, closed it, and spun to engage every bolt and lock. He went window to window, making sure the curtains were tightly closed.

It was a quaint two-story cottage, nondescript, white plaster walls and black roof, a working fireplace, the first story dominated by a cozy sitting room with two sofas and a coffee table, and an adjoining kitchen with a farmhouse dining table. Nestled in the French countryside, it didn’t exactly scream orgiastic sex frenzy.

John told himself it wasn’t going there. It couldn’t go there.

“Guys,” Bob murmured, decidedly more Bob than Sentry as he smoothed his hands down the front of his suit, fingers spreading across his stomach. “I don’t feel right.”

“I know,” John said, massaging his temples. He threw you a helpless look, maybe a preemptive, silent plea for understanding. You hovered in the no man’s land between living room and kitchen. Nobody seemed willing to sit down.

“I feel…I feel like I need to barf or jerk off,” Bob continued, squeezing his eyes shut, swaying. “Maybe both.”

That didn’t draw a snarky response from John, which made you instantly suspicious. John never missed an opportunity to get a lick in. You rounded on him, marching over and poking him in the chest. There was already a glaze over your eyes, like you were halfway to wasted, but you were holding on, pushing through it. “John. What the hell is happening to us?”

“Rapid breathing, heart palpitations, fever, sweats, sweats and then chills, sensitivity to light and touch, did I miss anything?” John asked, listing out the symptoms. As he named them out, he watched you get more and more withdrawn.

“Feels like my dick is growing another dick,” Bob muttered.

“And that. Yeah. Whatever that is,” John said with a loose gesture. “Does anyone read the mission briefs? The addendums in the back? You know, we print those out for a reason.”

Bob said nothing, still holding his stomach like he might puke on himself at any second. You shook your head, blinking too fast, like you were having trouble following a simple question. That tracked. You had taken a full blast in the face of the stuff, and he had no idea if the serum would slow things down or speed things up. Either way, you stumbled forward suddenly, grabbing his arm to stay upright.

John held you by the waist, but loosely, aware that any touch at any time could make things descend into chaos. “Jesus, you two. It’s experimental chemical warfare. It depresses your central nervous system, inhibits memory formation, rapid GABA deployment, prioritizes blood to erogenous zones—”

“Erogenous zones?” Bob covered his mouth, laughing.

“Yeah. What? Is that not the right term?”

“No, it is, I just didn’t realize you were a grandma.”

John’s mouth fell open in exasperation. He considered how much torque would be required to tear off a god’s head. Probably more than he could generate just with his bare hands. “Okay, wise ass, try this instead: it’s fuck dust.”

That shut him up.

Your grip tightened on John’s arm. You stared up at him, dazed. “Meaning what?”

John’s tone softened as he addressed you, his heart pounding in his ears as his attention snagged on your beautiful mouth, the way your pulse fluttered in your neck, how lickable you had become all covered in sweat… He shook his head, fighting the urge to press you against his body. “Meaning we’re about to experience a real HR nightmare, that’s what. If the lab tests I’ve read are accurate, then the…the need for stimulation is going to become painful. It will feel life or death.”

The silence was almost comical. John usually yearned for a minute of peace with the two of you around, but now he was desperate for someone to fill the void with a genius workaround.

“For how long?” Bob asked, frowning, brow furrowed. He was clawing at his suit like it was full of fire ants, tugging at the collar.

“Hard to say.” John wiped his hand down his face; it was getting tougher to form a clear thought. You smelled so fucking good, fresh meat to a starving man. “Depends on length of exposure, metabolic rate…” He trailed off, begging his last available brain cells to have mercy, cooperate. It felt like a veil was closing over his vision and all he could see was you. “If we’re lucky, twelve hours. If we’re not lucky—”

“Twelve hours?” Bob shouted, startling you. “I can’t do this for twelve more minutes.” Before either of you could tell him to calm down, Bob detached his cape, tore away his gauntlets, then flipped the latch on the back of his rubbery black neck guard, yanking it off and tossing it across the room. The lights overhead flickered ominously. He wrestled with the zipper on the back of his suit until it gave, and with a grunt, he pulled his suit down, letting it hang loose over his belt.

John felt you twitch in his grasp.

“Holy shit, Bob,” you murmured, glassy-eyed and gawking. You pointed first at his well-developed pecs, then his washboard abs. Even John could admit the definition was insane. “That was hiding under there this entire time?”

He absorbed your appreciation with a little toss of his hair, then flicked his gaze from your face to Johns. “Why?” he asked, voice rough with desire, full of the arrogance that the serum tended to bring out in him. “Like what you see?”

“Oh shit,” John groaned. Knowing it was fruitless to try and stop you as you tugged out of his grip and drifted toward Bob. “It’s starting.” He watched you cuddle up to Bob’s side, the other man’s hands immediately tangling in the zipper on the back of your suit, tugging it down. You didn’t notice or didn’t fight him on it.

“Whoa. Hey wait, okay? Are we not going to even try and figure out a way to fight this?” John asked, tearing his gaze away from the sight of you running your fingers up Bob’s ripped stomach. He paced back toward the door, hands in his hair, but each idea that sprang to mind was dumber than the last. “We could…we could find rope. Rope. Yes. Tie each other up. Do we have rope?”

Bob was listening but not looking. His attention was fixed entirely on you, his fingers catching on the open back of your suit, pulling until you wiggled and your arms came free. “Rope,” he murmured, laughing, eyes gold and hot as he leaned in to brush his lips across yours. “Do you think a rope will hold me?” He touched your chin with his thumb, the sheen of sweat across his bare chest so strong it looked like he had been dipped in oil. “I’d chew through it to get to you.”

You shivered, arching against him as he gave one more firm tug and stripped you to the waist. Like him, your skin-tight suit caught on your belt, but John wasn’t thinking about that, he was thinking about the big hand closing over your breast, squeezing it, testing the weight.

“I’d burn it to get to you,” Bob added, the fabric of your bra shimmering before it was incinerated off your body, there and then nothing, a whisper of ash scattering to the ground.

John knew he had to do something, but it was like every thought was on a five second delay. He had become a bystander. Incidental. A flurry of crucial memories passed in front of his eyes just then—you and Bob playing scrabble in the common room long into the night, bickering over whether or not bongwater was a playable word; Barnes taking Bob aside after one of his first missions back to lecture about not shattering anyone’s spine, which had been Bob’s enraged reaction after a goon got a clean punch on you; Bob hearting absolutely everything you said in the group chat, even things like okay; Bob bringing you back tiny mementos from his missions abroad…

John crossed the room in three immense strides, hooking his arm around your waist and spinning you until you squeaked and teetered against him, hands propped on his chest.

“Stop. Everyone stop. Slow down.” Maybe it was because he was the oldest, maybe it was because he was a father, whatever it was, he felt like it was his responsibility to protect both you and Bob. John wiped the sweat out of his eyes, holding up a hand toward the other man, who straightened up and grimaced like John had coldcocked him in the training room. “Don’t square up to me, Bobby. If we’re not going to sequester ourselves or…or…”

“Go ahead, man, sequester yourself,” Bob suggested lightly.

John was trying to be patient and fair, he really was, and this time out was as much for him as it was for Bob. But you were the one he worried about. It didn’t matter what the dust was whispering, you could get hurt, emotionally and physically, if they weren’t careful. You were trapped in a house with two of the most dangerous men on the planet, super soldiers who were about to lose all common sense.

John was trying to be patient, but Bob’s annoying little suggestion punctured his resolve. He wrapped you up in both of his arms, holding you tight to his chest as he leaned toward Bob over your shoulder. “If you have something to prove, that’s fine. I’m not letting her get hurt tonight.”

“I would never hurt her,” Bob whispered. He seemed to come back to himself all at once, noticing his own suit draped around his waist, then yours.

“I know we don’t always get along, Reynolds, but we set that shit aside here and now. She’s priority one tonight.” John said, using a tone of command he reserved for dire situations. The use of Bob’s last name seemed to reach him in a different way, like they were brothers in arms, maybe not friends but on the same side.

“Everything runs through you,” John continued, shifting you to stand at arm’s length. He winced. “Bad…bad choice of words, sorry. You get final say. On everything. We—” He glared across your shoulder at Bob. “—can’t let this spin out of control. We’re still a team.”

“Okay,” you said, softly, down toward John’s chest. You glanced up, nodding. “Okay. I say no and it all stops?”

Bob’s expression softened. He touched the back of your head, the gold fading from his eyes as he swallowed visibly. How the fuck would John make a god stop doing anything, he wondered, realizing their only hope was that Bob’s affection for you was strong enough to keep him in check. The Sentry with no inhibition, with the brakes off, scared the shit out of him.

You closed your eyes sleepily at Bob’s touch, then nuzzled forward into John’s neck, lips moving across his throat as you reached for the zipper on his chest. “And what if I don’t want to stop?”

Then we go until the wheels come off.

Bob had done a lot of crazy shit in his life, but this was right up there. He had never ingested an evil, experimental biological agent but there were times when he probably would have, if it meant a single night of numbed out bliss. But he was a different man now, in recovery, working on things, and Walker’s words of warning broke through the dark, thick haze that had hemmed him in on every side. Things could get seriously messed up if the three of you weren’t careful—he had seen significantly less complicated dynamics fracture just after a night of heavy drinking, and this was…this was…

“Can we at least do this in a bedroom?” John was asking, his huge hands wrapped around your wrists, stopping you from undressing him just feet from the front door of the safehouse.

Bob snapped back into himself, or as much as he could, the heavy, honeyed feeling sliding through his body making every non-sex related thought a chore. There were two bedrooms upstairs; the night before, you and Bob had each taken one and John used the hide-a-bed in the living room couch.

This was the first test. Bob could see John getting impatient for your answer, but he needed that answer. His chest was rising and falling like an overworked bellows, his throat bobbing around a cumbersome swallow as you looked at him and then Bob.

You nodded, unsteady on your feet.

“Words,” John grunted out.

“Take me upstairs.”

That was the gun firing at the starting line. John swept you into his arms, bridal carrying you out of the living room and to the narrow stairs, his boots thundering through the house. Bob stumbled after the two of you, noticing a weird, pink halo at the edge of his vision, a technicolor fog. His legs only cooperated when he began picturing what was waiting in that bedroom. Naked skin. Willing fingers. He groaned, shivering, pawing at the oversized S of his belt, unhooking it and letting it fall wherever. The hand railing creaked as he pushed his weight down onto it, pulling himself to the second level like it was a triumph of the spirit.

Time wasn’t making sense. He had no idea how long it took him to go from living room to bedroom, but it felt like hours, every minute without touch driving him a little crazier, making that fog creeping in denser, harder to push back. He paused at the top of the stairs, the sweat on his hands making the removal of his suit almost impossible. He had been on some serious drugs but this was something new. Just the feeling of his own hands sliding down his legs, peeling the suit away, pulling off his boots, made him want to fall to his knees and cry out.

He left behind a pile of clothing on the landing, ping-ponging against the hallway walls as he tried to remember the layout of the extremely tiny, manageable house. The dust wasn’t just settling in now it was taking hold, taking him by the throat and shaking. He slammed against the open doorway to the bedroom, hands curled into claws as he panted like an animal and watched the last of your super suit hit the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob whispered, wiping the wet hair off his forehead and the sweat out of his eyes.

“Still with us, Bobby?” John asked. To his credit, he sounded genuinely concerned. His suit was gone, too, the towering V of his torso rising behind you as he held you lightly by the waist. The room was dark. That wasn’t good for Bob. He squeezed his eyes shut until two different lamps flickered on, bathing you both in wholesome, golden light. But what those lights illuminated was anything but wholesome—you, perfect and naked, head falling back against John’s shoulder as you reached for Bob, silently imploring him to join.

The amount of floor between the door and the bedside felt insurmountable. It was only the guarantee of skin to skin contact that got him there. Fuck, you were beautiful, held in the light, held by John, his scarred hands moving up your ribs to cup your breasts and pinch your nipples, pulling them toward Bob like you were an offering, an offering to a god.

That’s you, dingdong.

Bob raked his eyes up and down your body, taking in every delicious inch. He had pictured this many, many times, though admittedly never with John’s hands on your boobs. He hated it less than he expected. That was probably the dust talking, but the contrast between Walker’s huge, chiseled body and your softer curves made Bob’s head spin like a top. He dragged himself across the room, watching John’s calloused fingers tease your nipples into stiff, swollen peaks.

“This for me?” Bob asked, hands smoothing across your waist, head dipping to pull one of those buds between his lips. His tongue rolled out along with a groan; John hissed through his teeth at the contact, but he didn’t move his hand completely out of the way.

“Yes, for you,” you whispered, arching, fingers tangling in Bob’s hair, pressing him harder against your chest. He latched on, telling himself you had twelve whole hours of this to go, stuffing down the urge to disintegrate his own underwear and fuck you on the spot. No, he needed you to last.

John’s hands let go, scraping down your sides to your hips, one moved lower; Bob was only too willing to replace John’s hands with his own, squeezing and massaging you until your fingernails scraped across his scalp in response. He heard a soft, mouthwatering, wet sound as John started playing with your slit, dipping one finger inside, making it even clearer he had given up any pretense of trying to fight the dust.

Caught between them, your skin roared with heat, feverish to the touch.

“How does she taste?” John asked in a rasp.

“So sweet,” Bob murmured, eyes fluttering shut as he switched one from nipple to the other.

“Yeah?” John vented a wry laugh. “Bet I know something sweeter…”

His big hand slid into Bob’s hair alongside yours, jerking Bob’s head back and off of your tit until he released it with a reluctant moan. His disappointment didn’t last long; John slipped his fingers out of your body, offering a taste to Bob. If John was going to be a little bossy, Bob could put up with it if it was going to be like this.

“Words,” John prompted gruffly.

“Oh, hell yes,” Bob whispered, opening his mouth. Your eyes were wide and glistening, your lips parted in pleasurable wonder as John Walker painted your slick across Bob’s waiting tongue.

You watched Bob suck the shine off of John’s finger with a full body shudder. Holy shit. You had worried briefly about John’s ability to play nice and share, but whatever setting had clicked on in his head was exactly the right speed. Everything was moving forward, but not too fast, and even with the crazy-making dust screaming through your system, it quieted the panic in your chest to have John in control. The heat was building, but for now it was a controlled burn. You had no idea how he was managing, just gratitude that he was.

Bob slid down in front of you, knees thumping against the hard wood, hands clamping around your thighs as he pushed his chin between your legs. John met him there, fingers spreading, parting your folds, the combined pressure and presence of Bob’s mouth and John’s hand making you sizzle and buck.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, grabbing harder onto Bob’s hair. “No. No, no, no, too much, I can’t—”

“Actual no or good no?” John asked.

“Good no, so good.”

His breath warmed across your neck; those breaths came faster as you worked your hips against Bob’s face and back against the thick, heavy erection rubbing against your ass.

“Then you can,” John growled, biting the shell of your ear, tugging it. He laughed softly as you whined and twisted. “And you will.”

John held you open, Bob went to work, eating you like he was born to do it. You felt the atmosphere charge around the three of you—before it had been foreplay, but now the room filled with the wet sound of Bob dragging his face against you and you sighing at a higher pitch; his tongue speared up into you; there was no going back. Even if you wanted them to stop, you weren’t convinced you could dredge up the words.

Every part of you was too sensitive. It usually took much longer to get where you wanted to go, but now just the lightest graze of his nose across your clit pinched the world into a single, narrow slice. You could see the open door and Bob’s trail of clothing out in the hall, and if you glanced down, a pair of liquid fire eyes gazing up at you, half-lidded and dust-addled. He was watching you intently, keen on every new sound and every twist of your hips.

“Keep going,” you heard John mumble. His left hand slid from your hip, disappearing to tangle in his shorts, push them down, free the hard column of heat he had been pushing against your ass. You felt the thick, weeping tip dodge lower, nudging against your entrance. “I’m going to fuck you now, baby,” he whispered, gasping, probably to keep from tackling you to the ground in a blind heat. “And Bobby’s going to make you cum, isn’t he? He’s going to suck your little clit until you scream.”

Bob logged no complaints at that, hands gripping your thighs tighter as he licked a broad stripe up your slit to refocus on just your aching clit. He held you there while you shook, grabbing Bob’s head with one hand, the other reaching back to hook around John’s neck. He bent low to get the angle right, rearranging his hold on you until you could lean onto his forearm.

“You have to tell us,” John said, words a jumble as he pulsed against your entrance, his cock twitching in anticipation, jumpy, needy. “Have to say it.”

It was the dust. Had to be. You would never do this otherwise, never let one of your crushes eat you out while the other fucked you from behind. “Please, yes, please,” you whined, so wet you could feel yourself opening for John despite his brutish size. Maybe because of it. Fuck, he was gigantic, it was going to change everything, satisfy the burn, satisfy the dust, satisfy you. Then the pounding in your head would go away and the voice shrieking at you to screw everything in sight would be silenced.

“Please, please, god, fuck me, make me cum,” you moaned, half-swallowing the last word as John pressed forward, his teeth closing over your shoulder as he roared out the sound of a man in agony.

“She’s tight, Bobby, fuck, she’s tight,” John whispered, broken, hips stuttering as he worked you open. You could imagine the immense restraint required on his end to keep from ramming into you like a freight train because you were faced with the same brutal gambit—obey the insane demands of the dust and potentially hurt yourself or focus harder than you had ever focused in your life and wait.

John caught his breath, sweating against your shoulder, easing forward on another controlled thrust, claiming more ground. But even as you wanted to concentrate your entire being on the feeling of that glorious stretch, Bob wouldn’t let you forget he had been given orders. His thumb joined his mouth, circling your clit with firm strokes, tongue handling the more direct stimulation. Whoever had taught him to do that deserved a hundred million dollars.

Bob’s hungry little hum, the vibrations, undid what weak shame remained. You couldn’t hold on, and John was right—you couldn’t control what came out of your mouth. For a terrifying second you thought you were losing your vision entirely. The room bent inward, squeezing until you couldn’t breathe, and without air, without sight, there was warmth and pleasure, the shocks of stimulation and the pressure of John filling you up. You felt him slide deeper, hilting you, just as your orgasm shuddered from your navel to your throat.

The relief was incredible, but painfully short. You slammed back down to silence, both men watchful and still.

“Are…are you okay?” Bob asked, gazing up at you with wide, terrified eyes. “Did we kill her?”

“She’s breathing,” John said, his hand closed over your chest, over your heart.

“I…I…” You had gone completely boneless in John’s grasp, your toes dragging against the floor. You stirred upright with a shudder, clenching around John’s dick with a gasp. “Fuck, I’m good. So good. Don’t stop.”

With Bob sitting back on his haunches, chin slick and shiny, John took advantage, turning you to the right, toward the bed, hauling you onto it until you were on all fours. He did it so fast, so easily, you didn’t have time to overthink it or even react. John shoved his knees against the edge of the mattress behind you and fisted his hand in your hair, pulling just enough to send electricity across your scalp.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he rumbled, stealing your breath away with a dragging thrust in and out. “Can’t…can’t last, not when you look like this…”

The dust was hitting him as hard as it was hitting you. Your ass slapped against his thighs as he drove home once, twice, a sound of strangled surprise preempting what felt like a volcanic eruption, his fingers tightening in your hair as he burst against your depths. You didn’t expect it to feel like that, but then you’d never been fucked by someone juiced to the gills with serum. You cried out too, shocked by the sensation, he let go of your hair and your head dropped forward. It was so warm inside, so good; you squeezed around his half-limp dick, milking it, gifting yourself another little whined out orgasm.

John staggered back from the bed on heavy steps, shaking the house, leaving you sensitive and swollen but nowhere near satisfied. Your knees buckled; you rolled onto your side, eyes closing on heavy blinks as Bob gave John a playful shove and climbed onto the bed beside you. He smiled at you, gentle, hand smoothing down your cheek, stroking away tears you hadn’t realized had slipped out.

“Feel good?” he asked, smile deepening at your frantic nod. You didn’t know how you could still want more, but Bob was so beautiful, shining with sweat, eyes deep and blue and sweet as he stroked his hand down your face to your shoulder, tracing the lines of your arm, transferring to your hip, over the curve of your ass before his fingers danced between your thighs. He rolled you onto your back carefully, shifting closer. At some point he had taken off his shorts. His dick was hard and throbbing, curved against his stomach, pulsing faintly with his heartbeat.

You heard John sink onto a chair somewhere behind Bob with a fwoomp and a groan. Bob didn’t notice, his eyes following your line of sight. He looked down at himself, fisted his cock, gave a few lazy pumps while you watched. He read the hunger in your gaze, fingers pushing between your thighs and dipping into your cunt, fingering you with the same unhurried pace of his jerking off. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, shivering as he stroked himself faster, still watching you closely.

“Mmhm.”

“Words,” John grunted from across the room.

“Feels good,” you told them both, opening your thighs to give him better access.

Bob nodded, licking his lips, trying to gather his next thought into something coherent. “John got you all messy,” he said, fingers sliding deeper, fucking John’s cum back into you. “Are you our messy girl tonight?”

You closed your eyes, circling your hips and humping against his hand. “Yes.”

“You’re going to get a lot messier,” Bob murmured, but he sounded pleased about it. Excited. Curious. “Want to taste me? I’m kinda messy, too.”

His cheeks darkened, deep pink as he showed you how much precum was bubbling out of his tip. You whimpered, pulling yourself closer to him by his knee, flopping up partially onto his lap, resting your head on his thigh. Bob didn’t pull his fingers out of you, just shifted you around so he had a better vantage. With his free hand, he drove his thumb into your mouth, opening it, then urged his cock toward your widened lips, feeding himself to you.

Just the smell of him made your body flutter, made it feel like you could cum again. His salt musk taste pooled on your tongue while you licked him like a sweet. He groaned, abs clenched, stomach tensing while he let you take him in at your own pace. And your pace was eager but fascinated, tongue mapping the ridges and veins, the delicious length. You craned up suddenly, licking a smeared wet spot off of his stomach.

Bob laughed at that, cupping your cheek, just holding you, not pressuring you to go back to what you were doing. He knew you would; the crazed heat that burned in him still flamed high in your chest, in your abdomen. He inhaled through his teeth as you closed your lips around his tip, gliding over him, hollowing your cheeks and sucking experimentally, tongue rolling back and forth, teasing him.

“Shit,” he whispered, caving in slightly, shoulders slumping forward as he fought something off. “This is…I could fire off right now…shit.”

John huffed out a knowing laugh.

“Not yet, not yet,” Bob cautioned, shaking as he gently pried your jaw open, easing out of your mouth with a sigh. He pulled his fingers out of your puss and almost wiped his hand on the coverlet, then thought better of it and offered his hand to you. His eyes gleamed as you wrapped your lips around his fore and middle fingers and cleaned off your own arousal and what John had left behind.

“God, fuck yes,” he murmured, pulling his lip between his teeth. “Taste good?”

“Mmhm.”

“Want more?” he asked, scraping his fingers along your lower teeth as he shifted to reposition you on the bed, draping you across the mattress the short way, ass toward him and the wall, head dangling toward the rest of the room.

“Yes,” you said, knowing John would bark at you if you didn’t vocalize the answer. “More. I’m not…I can’t…”

“I know,” Bob said, voice full of sympathy. “It’s eating you alive.”

You whimpered, nodded, heat rocketing down toward your core as Bob settled on his knees between your legs, teasing his cock head up and down your sex. His gaze flicked from your heaving tits to the chair across the room, where John was seated beneath the glow of a golden and green stained-glass lamp.

“Look at that,” Bob whispered. “You’ve got Walker all worked up again.”

Upside down, you took in the harrowing vision of John Walker fisting his dick from base to tip, using a bruising grip as if punishing himself for liking what was happening on the bed. His face was red, his hair slick with sweat, eyes blue flames as he nodded and groaned with you as Bob dipped lower and fucked into you.

His path was smoother than John’s, your body so relaxed and ready for him, lubricated with your seemingly endless hunger and John’s cream. That didn’t lessen the pleasure, in fact, you couldn’t keep your eyes open or your mouth shut as Bob took his time on each devastating pump, fists pushed into the mattress on either side of your waist. What he lacked in sheer girth he made up for in length. And you felt it, scratching your fingernails across the blankets, meeting his thrusts with desperate shakes of your hips.

“More. Please more. Fuck me,” you urged him, a stranger to your own voice. Something deep inside you still longed to be dealt with, fed. If anything, your grip on sense and reality was only loosening. You didn’t know if this was the apex of the drug; you trembled to consider there was worse to withstand and what you would do to survive it.

“You heard her.” John’s voice was closer now, much closer. He had crossed the distance from the chair to the bed. Even before you opened your eyes, you knew he was close—you could smell yourself on him, and the heady scent of your mingled sex clinging to his skin. When you did open your eyes, you were greeted with the underside of John’s hard dick. His head tilted to the side in playful inquiry as he took up one of your hands and brushed your knuckled across the heated flesh.

“More,” you said, both to him and to Bob. Your hand closed around him, John’s fist still closed tightly around the base as he fucked against your palm.

“Give it to her, Bobby,” he said through clenched teeth. “She wants it. Give her—fuck—give her whatever she wants.”

“More, yeah, sounds good,” Bob repeated, prompting himself. He leaned down, taking your legs and bending them back until your knees almost touched your tits. You cried out, struggling to catch your breath as he opened you up and found that much more of you to pound. “How’s that? Is that the spot?” he asked, eager, giving you a taste of the angle. Your eyes rolled back, hand numb around John’s dick as Bob lowered his weight onto your thighs; your hamstrings burned as he leaned down to kiss you, folding you into the mating press.

“I’m gonna die,” you whispered, laughing.

“Relax, baby, he’s going to make you feel good,” John said, smoothing the hair back from your face. Something about his encouragement made you shiver and loosen, another wave of honeyed pleasure rolling up from where your body met Bob’s. John gazed down at you so lovingly, eyes watery as if he had never been this proud of anyone in his life. “He’s gonna fill you up again, is that what you want? Is that what you need?” John’s pale eyes flickered as he glanced down your sweaty torso to Bob. “It’s what he needs. It’s what we both need, to fill you up until you can’t take anymore, until you tell us to stop.”

“Don’t stop, John,” you said, so fast it made them both chuckle.

“No, baby, nobody’s stopping,” John assured you. Bob started dragging himself in and out, groaning like he was in pain. “Bob’s not going to last very long in that tight pussy.”

“N-No,” Bob muttered, shaking the wet strands of his hair as he almost collapsed on his next thrust. He kept going somehow, brushing an absent kiss across your lips, eyes screwed shut as he picked up speed. “Shit, John, she’s soaking.”

As if to prove him right, his next thrust came with a filthy squelch. You arched, your own slick and John’s dripping down between your cheeks, pooling on the bed.

“Jesus Christ, did you hear that?” John worked himself against your hand faster, moving his fist up to tighten around your fingers and make a combined sleeve for him to fuck. You could feel him swelling, getting close…

“Wet, tight, fuck,” Bob whimpered, lost, somewhere else entirely as he rocked into you. He dropped his hips lower, angling his dick to scrape a spot you could feel in your teeth.       

“Oh god, Bob, oh god, oh god—” You blurted out words to the rhythm of his thrusts, sawed back and forth by the snap in his hips. John ran his thumb along the seam of your lips.

“Can you open up for me, baby? Wanna cum, wanna cum right now…”

You groaned, doing as he asked, drunk and dazed and fucked as Bob seized up, still for an instant before pounding into you on three quick strokes. Thick, salted heat poured down your throat from John as Bob finished, his face pressed against your throat as it worked to swallow John’s release. You felt Bob’s as the head rush ebbed, as you sputtered and coughed, John holding your head up and steady while Bob’s dick jerked against your depths. It was too much heat. It was just the right amount. It was on you and inside you and incinerating you from the inside out.

The come down nearly plunged you into a blackout. You couldn’t remember how all three of you wound up in the bed together, one bedraggled sheet slung over your bodies, Bob curled around your back, spooning you, the furred wall of John’s chest against your cheek. You could feel Bob’s erection pulsing against your lower back, his fingers toying idly with your nipples, his lips worrying along the ridge of your shoulder.

“Just relax, that’s it,” John was saying. You didn’t know what had come before that. Had you fallen asleep? It could be midnight or dawn, you had no idea. The burn in your chest was a simmer, but not completely gone. John reached down, feeling between your legs; you shivered, rubbing your face back and forth against his chest. “Are you done?” he asked, almost shy.

You tossed your head.

“Are you sure?”

“Come on, man, don't be an asshole, just give it to her,” Bob said, half impatient, half annoyed. “She likes it, she’s our messy girl. Aren’t you?” His tone changed, light and loving when he nuzzled into your neck, rutting slowly against your back. “If he won’t help you I will. I can go again. I can go again right now—”

John’s hand closed over the back of your head possessively, his long fingers still exploring you, as if searching for some physical sign it was time to call it quits.

“She gets to decide,” John said, firm. “Not you.”

You wiggled closer to John, hooking your thigh around his, inviting him in.

It just felt good when he slid into you, his erection as hard as the first time, far more controlled now, easy, like you were two lovers alone, tangled up in bed before going to sleep. He kissed you deeply, holding on like you could slip away. Time warped around you again, you remembered that kiss, not tipped with drugged fire but romantic, full of longing. And Bob’s steady heat against your back, his kisses along your shoulder tickling as his evening stubble scratched your skin. John held your waist while you ground against his pubic bone, shuddering and blissful and full.

When you opened your eyes again, John was holding your back to his chest, the steel bands of his arms anchored around your waist. Bob was crawling down the mattress, kissing his way down your body, detouring to suck and bite your nipples for so long John grumbled something at him.

“It’s all coming out, can’t have that,” Bob was saying, three fingers pushing into you like it was nothing. “Gotta keep us inside, can you do that?”

You wanted it, you supposed, anything to keep the pleasure coasting through your body. Anything to satisfy the demon, even if it was getting quieter, going to sleep. You came back to yourself minutes later, Bob fucking you against John’s chest. It felt like you were going to break, but it was too much in all the right ways. Every thrust sent you closer to yourself. Your arms fell back, looped loosely around John’s neck.

“One more time,” John murmured, nose against your temple as Bob shuddered and bucked. “Let us take you there one more time, baby. Have you ever been fucked like this? Have you ever felt this good?”

You shook your head, whispering nonsense.

You remembered a light clicking on, brighter. Someone carrying you. The cold bite of tiles on your bare feet. Soap that smelled like rosewater. Two hard bodies holding you up in the shower, gentle hands touching you everywhere, washing, caring. The towel was like a cloud. The bed was different, smaller, but you didn’t ask about it or complain.

Morning crackled behind your eyes like a seam of sunlight on the horizon.

You breathed into consciousness with a gasp, warm as bread in a toaster. You groaned; it felt like you had gone ten rounds with a grizzly bear. There was a persistent, intense ache between your legs. Someone had put your panties back on, but you could tell the crotch was wet. Fear lanced through you like a cold spike as you realized this wasn’t your bedroom back in the Watchtower.

What was the last thing you remembered? John and Bob fighting, bickering on the job. A white house with a black roof. France. Right. You tried to move, finding it very difficult indeed with two bodies pressed tight against you on either side.

What. The. Fuck.

Your bleary eyes traveled up a column of skin dusted with freckles, landing on a russet beard and the calm, angelic face of John Walker fast asleep. His arm was slung across your waist. It felt like a barbell pressing you into the mattress. Judging by the way your nipples were pillowed against wiry hair, he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.

“No, I’ll do it tomorrow,” someone slurred behind you.

Bob.

You carefully turned your head like a turret on a wheel, catching sight of Bob’s golden brown hair mussed against your shoulder. His nose was buried between your shoulder blades, his arm nestled just under John’s. They were naked. They were naked and they were touching.

The hyperventilating had just begun when John’s eyes blinked open.

“Whoa. Whoa. Look at me. Breathe.” He lifted his hand from your waist, cupping your jaw firmly until you did as he instructed. Worry tugged his brow down as he inspected you. “Do you remember last night?”

“N-No. John. John. What the fuck is going on?” you asked, trying not to scream. This was insane. A disaster. You were in bed with both of your crushes, with absolutely no memory of how things had progressed this far.

“When we were in the warehouse, when you chased down that guy, do you remember the cannister in his pocket?” John asked.

The specificity of the question lowered your panic. “I…Yes. Yeah. Something exploded. There was gas everywhere, it smelled like shit.”

“It was a chemical agent,” he explained, slow and clear. His thumb stroked gently across your cheekbone. “We all inhaled it. There’s really no professional or easy way to say this, but it made us all want to…” He closed his mouth, opened it, closed it, tried again. “We had a lot of sex. A lot.”

Memories started to percolate. Bob mumbled in his sleep, restless and shifting against you. His morning wood poked against your back. You closed your eyes and told yourself to breathe exactly sixteen times before saying anything else.

You remembered Bob’s suit piled in the hallway. The tremor in the usually unflappable John Walker’s hands as he helped you undress. Your own voice begging for more, more, more.

“Oh my fucking God,” you whispered.

“Yeah. Yep.”

“John, this is a catastrophe,” you added. Your eyes filled with tears as you forced yours to meet his. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t…I don’t know…”

“Sh-hh, hey, don’t apologize,” he said, voice just as careful and low. What was with him? Why did he care or not whether Bob Reynolds of all people had his peace disturbed? Bob was drooling down your back in his sleep. You were going to puke.

“No, you don’t get it,” you hurried on, scalding tears blistering down your cheeks. John hurried to wipe them away. “I…like both of you. Fuck. Like is such a stupid word. I mean I respect both of you, too, although I’m sure that’s fucked now…”

John suppressed a rumbled laugh. “Nothing is fucked.”

You stared at him. “How? You must think I’m some crazed slut…” You got up the courage to slip your hand down between your legs. The evidence was actually confounding. How was that possible? “Jesus Christ, John, how much sex did we have exactly?”

“A lot,” he said, cryptic, clearing his throat. His blue eyes searched every inch of your face. “Do…do you want the details? You’re owed them, obviously, I just--”

“How do you remember it all? My memory is gone…”

“The serum, I would guess,” he said. “Which, uh, means Bobby over there will also probably remember.”

“Oh my God.” You couldn’t breathe. You actually couldn’t breathe. “Yes. Details. Now. Tell me.”

John sighed, gathering himself. “You and me, um…” He turned a shade of red you weren’t sure until that moment was biologically plausible. “Four times, although once was—fuck, okay this is harder than I thought—”

“Once was what.”

“Once was in your mouth,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You and I had sex three times?” Your heart sank for reasons that were perhaps more embarrassing than the effects of the sex gas. Now you would never remember your first time with him. Them. More tears slipped down your face. John, as ever, was ready to catch them. “I don’t remember. I don’t…I can’t…”

“Hey, hey, hey.” John surged against you, pressing his forehead to yours. “Breathe. You have to breathe. You have to breathe and you have to believe me when I say that this doesn’t change anything between us, I’m still—” He caught himself, biting off the end of that confession.

“You’re still what?” you asked, hands curling against his chest.

“I’m still crazy about you,” he said. “Crazier, maybe.”

“Yeah, last night certainly sounds like it was fucking crazy.”

John laughed, and you thumped your fist on his chest. “I’m not going to speak for Bob, but I bet he’s going to say the same thing.” His eyes fluttered over your shoulder to where Bob was still peacefully drooling on your back. “We’re both crazy about you. I thought I was going to tear him in half when he touched you, but…I don’t know. I don’t know anything yet, I just know I’m not going to forget the way you said my name. And if you tell me to fuck off and die, I will, but I’m…here. Here and not going anywhere.”

It didn’t fix everything, but at least you could breathe again.

“Are there pancakes?” Bob asked in his sleep, flopping away from you and into the wall so hard he hit his head with a wheezed: “Ow.”

John looked at the ceiling for help, sighing. “Guess you can ask him yourself. Good morning, Bob,” he said, exasperated.

“Whoa. Hey. Morning?” Bob rolled back toward you both, his face appearing next to yours as he propped it on your right shoulder. “Is this, uh, the debrief? Does she—”

“She doesn’t remember much,” John said, and you were grateful for the assist. “I was just telling her how much we are not judging her for what occurred here.”

Bob snorted, ruffling your hair, his strong hands smoothing down your side to curve over your hip. “You were incredible.”

You raised your eyebrows at John, who raised his right back.

“Say: I told you so,” you muttered. “I dare you.”

“How’s our messy girl this morning? Sore? Tired? Fuck, you’re so beautiful…” Bob kissed your neck, hand sliding down your hip to your stomach, lower, playing in the absolute filth they had left inside you the night before. Judging by how otherwise pleasant you all smelled, they had tried to clean you up and done a very half-assed job of it. “God, you’re wet again, or is that us? Both, maybe? Shit, my dick has been poking you all morning, hasn’t it?”

“Bobby.” John’s voice sliced through the horny stream of conscious monologue Bob had decided to unleash first thing in the morning. “She’s still…figuring this out. Give her a break for God’s sake.”

“S-Sorry.” Bob’s hand stilled, his jaw tense against your neck.

But the fucked up part was, you didn’t want him to stop. Your mind raced, your traitorous fucking nipples hardening against John’s chest, your stomach unwinding, pooling toward the sensation of Bob’s hand cupping your sex.

“No, it’s okay,” you stammered out, licking your lips nervously.

John studied you, brows still at his hairline. “Baby—”

“Baby?” You snort-laughed, sizing him up. “Is that what you like calling me?”

His next blink was drowsy, his lips parting. “Next best thing after mine.”

“Ours,” Bob suggested, hand flexing around your pussy. When you twitched your thighs apart, his fingers slid right in. He groaned. “You’re ours.”

John leaned down to kiss your forehead, hands closing over yours where they rested on his chest. Bob went to work, John held you tight. “Everything runs through you,” he whispered. “Just say the word and it all stops.”