#jealous!reader

You like the bar when it's empty. No lavish party being thrown, no strangers attempting to socialize with you, no pressure. Just you and Bucky making a dent in Tony's good stuff, and christening a couple of the couches while you're in here.

"So, you'll be gone when I wake up," You begin, meeting his eyes with yours. "I think that means you owe me a good night."

"Yeah?" He utters, before wrapping his hand around the leg of your stool and dragging you closer to him. "And how, exactly, do I give you that?"

"You should know by now, Serge," You reply, tracing his right bicep with your finger. His arms might be your favorite thing about him.

"No, I wanna hear it from you," Bucky says lowly, leaning in closer. "In detail. Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Your stomach flips, and your heart beats a little faster. Don't show him how much he affects you. Don't give him the satisfaction. "I want you to bend me over this bar and fuck me," You say bluntly. "Hard."

"Yeah?" He mumbles, getting that dazed look in his eyes as he places his hand on your thigh and squeezes it. "Do you deserve it?"

Unable to keep collected, you let go of your pride and give in. He's the only one who gets you like this - the only one you trust with this side of you. "Bucky," You almost beg. "Please."

"There it is," He breathes out smugly. "That's my girl. Keep going; I'm not sure you've earned it yet."

Needing to feel him against you, you get off your stool and onto his lap, legs on either side of his. "Please, Sergeant, I need you really bad," You whine, moaning as you feel his boner against you.

His lips part and a shaky breath escapes his mouth. You're the only one who gets him like this - the only one he trusts with this side of him. "Give me a kiss, baby," Bucky mumbles, his hands moving down to your waist.

And, to his credit, he gives you a fucking great night. And, like you expected, he's gone in the morning.

"Couldn't this wait until next week's debrief?" You complain as you walk alongside Natasha down the corridors.

"Tony said we needed a short catch-up; there are apparently a few important updates he wants to give us," She tells you as you approach the meeting room.

"Is he finally gonna tell the spider boy to stop eating my protein bars?" You grumble before pushing open the door to the room.

You're surprised to see not only Avengers, but SHIELD agents in the room, too, as well as some others you don't recognise. The chairs around the table are all taken, so you and Natasha elect to stand against one of the walls, next to a group of agents that are familiar to you. Everyone's talking amongst themselves as it seems Tony still hasn't arrived. Trust him to be late to his own meeting.

"Good morning, Bloodhound," An agent standing next to you says with a nervous smile on his face, making you grimace.

The name that Oscorp gave you during their experiments on you unfortunately stuck in the minds of the public and anyone else you're not close to, and though you're not fond of it, you're not sure what else you'd rather they call you. The other Avengers usually use your first name, but you wouldn't want to give the agents that same access to you. Bucky calls you gunner as a reference to your time in the army, and as a response to you refusing to call him anything but Sergeant. Though the name Bloodhound has dark memories attached to it, you've learned to live with the fact that it's what you'll always be known as.

"I, uh, saw you running in Central Park this morning," The agent continues. "I see you there quite a lot, actually."

With narrow eyes, you glare at him. Your runs are an escape from reality, so to know they're being infiltrated by a stalkerish agent isn't the best feeling in the world.

"I was thinking," He goes on to say with a small smile. "Maybe we could run togeth-"

"What the fuck are you doing?" You cut him off coldly. Have you not built up your reputation enough? Why does he feel confident enough to ask to join you on your fucking runs?

His face drops and his cheeks flush pink, and he immediately turns to face the front.

Natasha snorts before nudging you. "Be nice," She mumbles.

You turn to her with an incredulous look. "Why?" You ask her, genuinely curious to hear her answer.

It's no secret that you aren't the most welcoming or warm of people - it took you three months to let Natasha into your room - and you don't care how it comes across. Admittedly, the trauma you faced at the hands of Osborn and Oscorp rid you of any fucks to give when it comes to being nice. Maybe you sound bitter and unfair, but you've done the therapy thing and you know it's not right to blame the world for what you went through- but that doesn't mean you have to be friends with everyone.

Most people suck. You'd rather not waste your energy on them.

Finally, Tony walks into the room with Pepper. "Sorry I'm late, folks," He calls out as the hubbub in the room quietens. "We haven't got a lot to get through, though, so I promise I won't be long."

While he talks through the more boring updates, you pull out your phone to check if Bucky's messaged you. It's a bad habit, and one that's only recently started. You've found yourself anticipating him; waiting for him to say something to you. It's a bad habit.

Sergeant Barnes

Just landed in Croatia.

It's been a full ten minutes and Sam hasn't mentioned Steve yet, so you owe me twenty bucks

Your lip pulls up at the corner but before you can subtly text him back, Natasha nudges you hard.

"Is he serious?" She asks you, looking at Tony with her brows furrowed.

Deciding to listen in, you put your phone away and focus on the meeting. "There won't be a huge difference and it'll be business as usual, but a few of you are being moved into other departments as a result of the government's involvement," Pepper says, to which Tony rolls his eyes. "They think it would be beneficial to create a role specifically focused on wellbeing."

"They still don't trust that I know what I'm doing," He adds, failing to hide the bitterness in his tone. "So I'd like everyone to welcome Poppy Newton; our Team Coordination and Wellness Officer."

Everyone's eyes go to the woman sitting in the middle of the table, including yours. Her baby blue dress and yellow-rimmed glasses make her stick out like a sore thumb among the agents in their dark tactical suits. The bright smile on her face only widens as the spotlight falls on her, and she looks around at everyone while she speaks.

"It's lovely to be here, and to be part of the team," She begins. "While I will be mainly stationed in the tower with a strong focus on the Avengers, I want the SHIELD agents to know that I'm just an email away."

"Lovely," Tony says, before clapping his hands together. "Alright, that's all for today. If anyone has any questions about their changed roles, ask Pepper, not me." While everyone else begins to file out of the room, Tony points at you and Natasha. "Girls, would you please be so kind as to show Poppy around?" He asks, though you know it's more of an order.

You grab Natasha's arm. "Hey, so uh, I was planning on training-"

"No, you're not getting out of this," She cuts you off bluntly. "Come on. It'll be good to meet her. After all; she's here to look after us."

With an inward sigh, you follow Natasha out of the meeting room where Poppy is waiting. She perks up when she sees you both, flashing you another one of those bright smiles.

"It's such an honour to be working with you Ms Romanoff, and Sergeant Y/L/N," She says.

"It's great to have you with us, Poppy, and please just call me Natasha; no need for the formalities," She responds politely. "Shall we start the tour?"

"Please!" Poppy chirps, before the three of you begin walking.

The tour consists of Natasha chatting away with Poppy, while you trail close behind. You know she's a part of the team now, but you can't see yourself being friends with Poppy - she describes things as wonderful and cosy, where you just see sweaty gyms and dusty common areas.

When the tour finally comes to an end and Poppy is dropped off to her room to settle in, you let out a long sigh and rest against the wall.

"She's nice!" Natasha exclaims, already knowing what you're thinking.

"She's exhausting," You grumble. "How can one person be so constantly... on?"

"You know, there are happy people in the world," She teases, nudging your shoulder before beginning to walk away. "Not everyone is as dark and gloomy as you!"

"Nah, I've sent Sam out on a beer run, and we're about 20 miles away from the nearest town, so I'll be alone for a little while," Bucky tells you over the phone. "How's it going over there? Steve said something about a big, important meeting we missed."

"I don't know about big and important," You reply flatly while mindlessly scrolling through movies on the TV opposite your bed. "Mostly just updates for the agents that make no difference to us. Oh, and Tony's had to hire someone to look after us."

"Look after us?" Bucky repeats with confusion in his tone.

"Yeah, I'm not actually sure what her job is, but the government sent her to make sure we don't go crazy or something," You tell him absentmindedly. "So far, she's printed off everyone's schedules on coloured paper, and I think she gave Steve a massage."

"A massage, hmm? You're making me excited to come home," He says, and you can hear the smirk.

"Oh, yeah? The idea of a woman you've never even seen gets you more excited than me?" You ask dryly, not genuinely offended but still wanting to push the boundaries of whatever your relationship with Bucky is.

"Is she hot?" He asks.

You think about it, tilting your head. "She's definitely pretty," You say. "I don't know if she's your type, though."

"So what you're saying is, she looks nothing like you?" He questions, to which you snort.

"Are you saying I'm your type?" You ask slyly. "And here I thought you were just getting your dick wet with the first person who could get it hard."

"Hey, you weren't the first," Bucky says defensively.

"I was the first who managed to keep it up," You point out.

"Doesn't that technically make you my type?" He wonders.

"Maybe I intellectually turn you on because of how smart I am," You poise. "Doesn't mean I'm physically your type. But I think Poppy definitely isn't your type."

"Poppy, huh? Sounds cute," He quips.

"Oh, cute is the perfect word for her because she uses it to describe, like, everything," You say with a dry laugh. "And she wears a lot of colors, and is always smiling, and bakes cookies every night."

"Alright, I'm beginning to see what you mean," Bucky says with a chuckle. "She's not you, baby."

As much as you hate that your heart takes him seriously when he makes off-handed comments like that, you can't help it when your stomach flips. "Anyway, when are you coming back? I'm bored and want sex," You say flatly. That's it. Make it about sex. Nothing romantic or emotional at all.

"We'll be back at some point tomorrow, we just need to wrap a few things up tonight," He tells you. "Then I'll wrap my thing up tomorrow night... and put it inside you."

"That was terrible. We don't even use condoms," You utter. "But I'm looking forward to it."

"You're not leaving me, are you?" He asks.

"I have my show to catch up on," You tell him.

"But I thought, you know, with Sam gone for a little bit, we could have some fun," He says suggestively.

You smirk to yourself and sink back into your pillow. "I don't think so, Sergeant," You reply. "You know I love it when you get back from a mission with all that pent up frustration you can take out on me. I'm not ridding myself of that opportunity. Especially not when you've been gone so long."

"Fuck, you're killing me," He groans. "You're really not gonna help me out?"

"No, and you're not allowed to help yourself out, either, so don't take it out your pants," You order him sternly.

"Too late. It's been out since you picked up."

"Sergeant Barnes!"

"You know your voice is enough for me. Can't I just listen to you rant about your show, or Poppy while I... help myself out?" He inquires.

"Absolutely not; you've been waiting all week so you can wait another night. And I don't want you to jerk off while I talk about another woman," You say curtly.

"Jealous, are we?"

There it is. The stinging J word. You tease each other with it, knowing it's the second emotion you aren't allowed to feel - the first being love. You and Bucky are just friends who have a lot of sex, and emotions would just get in the way of that.

"No, it's the principle," You claim. "I'm not helping you get off to someone else."

"I don't even know what she looks-"

"Listen, Sergeant, you are not allowed to cum until you next see me," You cut him off, sick of him thinking he has you on strings. "Put your pathetic little dick away and count sheep. And when you see me tomorrow, you're gonna fuck my brains out like it's the last time. Do you understand?"

There's a brief pause and he lets out a shaky breath. "Yes."

You sigh. "Yes, what?"

Another brief pause before he responds. "Yes... mommy."

"That's a good boy," You say. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"If you haven't killed me by then," He says with a strained voice. "Fuck, I can't wait to fuck you."

"Good night, Sergeant," You sing teasingly.

"Good night, you little shit."

Team dinners are one of the first things Poppy implemented as the Wellness Officer. She claims that quality time can lead to a 25% increase in efficiency and communication in the field, and you wonder what branch of the army she learnt that from.

While the others converse among each other, you play with your stew. It's almost 8pm and Bucky and Sam still aren't back, and if you have to wait another day, you aren't sure that you'll survive. One of the reasons you and Bucky started sleeping together was stress relief, and with Poppy's delightful presence having you on edge, you're as stressed as ever.

"More bread?" Steve asks as he holds the basket out to you.

"No, thank you, Captain," You reply, unable to speak to him any less formally. Your time as a weapon for the army left you with traits and behaviors you couldn't control, most of which you therapied away, but respect for those who rank above you is one of those things that just doesn't seem to budge.

Steve knows that, and though he hates that you're constantly at attention around him, waiting for an order or scolding, he understands that it's how you're wired.

"Poppy made it fresh," Tony tells you as he takes another piece, his eyes fluttering shut as he smells it. "And it's glorious."

With pink cheeks, Poppy shyly looks down at her bowl. If nothing else, it is interesting to have her around. Though nobody is quite as stoic or cold as you (besides Bucky on his bad days), none of the Avengers are anywhere near as upbeat and joyous as Poppy, either. You wonder how it works. Where does that energy come from? Is it naivety that makes her see the best in everything? Has she never been hurt, or betrayed? What's wrong with her?

Would you be like her if you didn't go through what you went through?

"Finally," Tony says as he looks down at his watch that just flashed with a notification. "The boys are back!"

Although you want to rush to the hangar and steal Bucky away to the nearest bed, you have an image of nonchalance to uphold, so you remain seated, taking another bite of your stew. It takes almost ten minutes for Sam and Bucky to get to the dining room, each minute driving you closer to the brink of insanity.

When you see him walk in, you shift in your seat but remain sitting. His eyes immediately land on you, and he shoots you a sly wink that makes your thighs squeeze together.

"Hey, come on in, sit down," Bruce greets them, pulling out the empty chair next to him. "You must be hungry."

"Nah, we filled up on MREs on our way back," Sam tells him, to which Wanda grimaces.

"I don't know how you guys actually eat those things," She says with a look of disgust on her face.

"They're army boys; they're used to 'em," Natasha says with a laugh.

"And they're much better nowadays than they were in the 40s," Bucky adds.

"Sure? Poppy made stew and fresh bread," Tony tells them, before perking up. "Oh! This is Poppy, by the way, our new Wellness Officer. Poppy, this is-"

"Sergeant Wilson, and Sergeant Barnes, it's an honor to meet you both," She says as she rushes to her feet, shaking each of their hands.

"Please, we're just Sam and Bucky in here," Sam tells her with a chuckle. "So, wellness, huh?"

While they chat, Bucky walks over to you. "Hey, do you mind if I discuss something with you? We found some files that might be linked to Oscorp, so I wanted you to have a look at them first," He says, and you know he's lying through his teeth and just wants to get you alone so he can ravage you. And, more than happy to comply, you stand up.

"Ooh, hold on!" Poppy calls out to you both. "As Sergea- Bucky has just arrived from a mission, I need to go through the debrief with him."

"We don't have debriefs until Captain Rogers and Tony look through the intel," You point out to her with a frown.

"Oh, no, not a mission debrief, per say," She says with a soft laugh. "More of a personal debrief. Just to make sure everyone comes back feeling good."

"I feel fine," Bucky says flatly.

Poppy laughs again, and you realize it's something she does when she's nervous. "I'd much prefer to talk about it one-on-one with you, Bucky," She says. "It's a new policy that's been put in place. I'll talk to you first, and then Sam, if that's okay?"

"Sure," Sam agrees while taking a piece of bread from the basket on the table.

"It's policy, Barnes," Tony sings, giving him a pointed look.

Letting out a sigh, Bucky nods. "Alright," He says, shooting you a quick look. "We'll discuss the Oscorp files later."

"Yep," You say, trying not to let your annoyance show as Poppy leads Bucky out of the room.

"Ooh, Y/N's boyfriend just got stolen," Clint sings teasingly, making Sam snort.

A cold glare is shot his way from you. "Fuck off, Barton," You utter. "Don't you have kids to raise?"

"They're at sleepaway camp!" He exclaims.

"You two should fight to the death," Tony casually suggests, standing up. "I'm taking bets, people."

"I'll put ten on Clint," Bruce says, raising his hand.

"What? Y/N's a super soldier that can make his blood explode," Wanda says with a scoff.

"That was one time, and I still haven't figured out how I did that," You tell her, before focusing your glare on Clint. "But what I do know is how to dislocate your shooting shoulder in less than a second."

He clutches it protectively. "Alright, I yield," He says, sitting back in his chair.

"Anyway, I'm going to bed before Poppy comes back and makes us all sing kumbaya," You say flatly, standing up.

Thor snorts, shaking his head. "She's a lovely girl, Y/N," He comments while you walk towards the door. "You oughta learn a thing or two from her!" He manages to get in before you leave the room.

You grumble all the way back to your room. Learn from her? What, how to perfectly place stickers on a chart?

You manage to watch an entire episode of your show and Bucky still doesn't arrive. For some reason, even though you know it likely isn't his fault that his talk with Poppy is taking so long, you still want to punish him, so you leave your room and head to one of the common rooms you know will be empty at this time.

This common room is filled with lava lamps and low lighting; Tony said it would be relaxing. Relaxing isn't something you're capable of, though, so you pace around the couch instead, letting your mind wander to dark places. Are they fucking? Or worse, emotionally connecting? What if he falls in love with her?

"Thought I'd find you here, gunner."

You spin around to see Bucky standing in the doorway in nothing but a pair of briefs, taking you aback.

"You're naked," You utter.

"I'm sorry I took so long," He begins. "It-"

"I don't care, Sergeant," You cut him off curtly. "Get over here, already."

He obeys you without another word, striding over to you. Once he reaches you, he immediately crashes his lips onto yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his hands squeeze your ass. It doesn't take long for him to remove your t-shirt and pyjama shorts before throwing you onto the couch with a look of hunger in his eyes.

"I thought about this every second that I was gone," He utters lowly, sinking to his knees. "Are you nice and wet for me, baby?"

Your hips lift up in anticipation as your breath hitches in your throat. "So fucking wet for you," You whisper.

He crawls over to you before leaning up and using nothing but his teeth to pull down your panties. Once they're off, he tightly grabs your thighs and spreads your legs. When he dives into your pussy, you cry out, your head thrown back against the couch.

Bucky wasn't always this good at eating you out- in fact, at first, he was borderline terrible. It was his first time going down on someone since the 40s, and you could tell. He was happy to take on your constructive criticism, though, and now you can honestly say he's the best oral sex you've ever had - you could also honestly say he's the best sex you've ever had, full stop, but you don't want to give him a bigger ego.

"Just like that, Bucky, don't stop," You whimper, tugging on his hair. His eyes are on you, his pupils so dilated you can barely see any blue.

His hands trail up your stomach, up to your tits. While his tongue fucks you, he pulls and twists on your nipples, making your legs shake. Your eyes roll back and your back arches. The long wait for this has meant you're not lasting very long at all, ready to cum already.

"That's it, baby, let go," He mumbles before sucking on your clit.

You let out a strangled cry, pulling his hair so hard you're sure you've left a bald patch, as you reach your climax. Bucky keeps going while you shake beneath him, letting out weak whimpers.

He eventually gives you a break and pulls away, crawling up onto the couch and settling between your still-shaking legs. His hand cups your face as you breathe heavily, his thumb stroking your cheek, watching you. Many times before he's told you how much he loves watching you during this part - coming down from your orgasm. Watching as your heartbeat returns to normal, your breaths less deep, your wits slowly returning to you. Bucky lets you come down completely before kissing you. He's always been a good kisser; that was one you thing you didn't have to train him on.

"How was that?" He whispers against your lips.

"It was alright," You answer with a grin.

"Hmm. One step up from okay," He says, rubbing your earlobe between his fingers. "Ready for me to fuck your brains out, now?"

"No, I wanna suck your dick, first," You tell him. "Needa return the favor."

"That wasn't a favor; that was me doing what I wanted to you," He corrects you. "And now, I wanna fuck you."

"But I wanna suck your dick," You counter, digging your nails into his shoulders as you grind your hips, rubbing your wet pussy against his clothed boner. "Please, Sergeant Barnes, I want it in my throat."

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you don't stop," Bucky says with a shudder. "How do you get me like this so easily, huh?"

Using more of your strength than usual, you push him off you and get on your knees on the floor in front of him. He balls his hand into a fist and bites his knuckles, throwing his head back over the sofa. It drives him crazy when you manhandle him; it's the reason you can't spar together.

"Give me a second," He whispers, his chest heaving while you slowly peel his boxers down.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant, but I'm impatient," You say teasingly before wrapping your mouth around his thick cock and taking a few inches of it in.

"Oh, fuck!" He cries, running his hand through your hair. "Baby, I swear, I'm gonna cum so fucking fast if you don't give me a second-"

"So cum," You say, though your words are muffled due to the cock in your mouth. Pulling your mouth off him with a pop, you give him a blank look. "Cum down my throat, and then you can have two minutes to recover before you rail me."

He lets out a shaky breath, and lets out what almost sounds like a sob when you take him back in your mouth and start bobbing your head up and down. "Fuck, baby, you'll kill me one of these days," He groans, staring down at you as strings of pre cum and saliva coat his cock and your lips. "That's it, get it nice and messy. You like getting messy, don't you?" He rubs the cum onto your cheeks, shuddering when you wink at him. "You suck my cock so good, baby. My good little cumslut, aren't you?"

You let out a moan as his words send sparks through to your core. His dirty talk drives you insane, and he knows it. He could destroy you by just whispering a few words into your ear, and he especially loves doing so in public when there's nothing you can do about it.

"I'm close, baby," Bucky warns you.

As much as you would feel good about making him cum right now, it sounds like am even better idea to prolong his frustration- so you pull your mouth off of his dick.

"What the fuck?" He whispers between heavy breaths.

You stand up with a coy look on your face. "I changed my mind," You say simply. "Just want you to fuck me, now."

He clenches his jaw while you bite your lip, recognizing the dark look in his eyes. Not only is he frustrated, now he's irritated too. And he always fucks you harder when he's irritated.

Bucky stands up and grabs a fistful of your hair before forcing you face-down onto the couch. He mounts you from behind, using his metal hand to keep yours behind your back while he pushes his cock into you.

"Is it in yet?" You ask with a smirk, trying to hide your gasps as he fills you up.

"Fuck you just say?" He shoots back, lowering his head so his mouth is at your ear. "Gonna be like that, huh?" Without warning, he starts fucking you, hard.

Sex was something he was good at from the start, too, but he only gets better the more he learns what makes you squirm, what makes your eyes roll back, what makes your cunt tighten around him.

One of the other reasons you and Bucky decided to start sleeping together was the fact that, as you both had serum running through your blood, and had been through the worst kind of physical pain already, you can be as rough with each other as you want (which is a lot). Bucky doesn't have to worry about hurting you, which is what stopped him dating normal people, and you can manhandle him when he's in the mood to be submissive (which isn't often enough, in your opinion).

"Fuck, I missed you," He groans as he slams in and out of you. "Did you miss me, baby? Tell me."

You turn your face so your cheek is smushed against the couch. "I missed you, Serge," You let out weakly. "So fucking bad."

"Yeah?" Bucky presses, his lips nibbling at your earlobe. "Bet you couldn't stop thinking about me. Because I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Your heart flutters at his words. Don't take him seriously. It's just horny sweet nothings.

He slows down his thrusts but still fucks you just as hard, letting out a grunt each time he bottoms out in you. His face is buried in your neck, while you feel your second orgasm quickly approaching.

"Bucky," You whimper.

"Tell me, baby," He whispers softly, though his thrusts are anything but.

"I'm- I'm gonna-"

All of a sudden, you hear it. Footsteps. Then you smell it. Strawberry perfume. Bucky's thrusts stop at the exact same time your sentence is cut off - someone's coming.

The second he pulls out, the doors open. Bucky gets off you and tosses you your shirt, which you rapidly put on.

"Oh!" A familiarity grating voice chirps. "I wasn't expecting anyone to- oh."

You pull on your shorts before standing and turning to see Poppy, and you can't help the way your eyes narrow at her.

"Sorry, Poppy," Bucky says as he uses a pillow to cover his bare chest, his boner poking through his briefs.

"No, I'm sorry!" She says. "I'm just doing my nightly sweep of all the common areas to make sure they're fit for use in the morning- I assumed everyone was in their rooms by now."

"It's barely 9pm," You point out flatly, frustrated that she interrupted when you were so close to finishing.

"I'm so sorry for just bursting in like that," Poppy said, hugging a decorated clipboard to her chest. "There's never anyone in these rooms past 8."

"You've been here a week, so how would you know?" You question her.

"Alright," Bucky utters sternly, giving you a pointed look before turning back to her. "It's our fault, Poppy. We shouldn't have been... doing that here."

She nods slowly. "I wasn't aware that the two of you were a couple," She says. "There's actually a policy in place for this kind of thing - you know, to keep the both of you safe."

"I think we're plenty safe, Newton," You utter curtly. "We don't need a color-coded schedule for when we're allowed to fuck."

Bucky hides his snort with a cough.

"Of course not!" Poppy exclaims with flushed cheeks. "I don't expect you to have to schedule... that. I just want to make sure you're both alright."

"We're fine," You tell her, folding your arms across your chest. "Neither of us rank higher than the other, so there's no abuse of power. We're both consenting adults. You don't need to be involved. At all."

She winces at your words, but keeps that damn smile on her face. "I completely appreciate that, but I really do need to follow policy and speak to you both alone, just a quick catch up so we're all feeling comfortable," She says. "Bucky, could we please have the room? I'll speak to you tomorrow."

Bucky glances at you and nods. "Uh, sure," He replies, before coming closer to you and whispering in your ear. "I'll be in your room."

You clench your jaw as he walks out, watching as Poppy shyly looks down when he walks past her.

"So, that's nice! You and Bucky!" She exclaims as she closes the doors and walks further into the room. "Now that we're alone, I can ask you some questions to make sure everything's fine- which I'm sure it is."

You say nothing, your fingers twitching.

"This won't take long at all," She assures you. "Let's get started - how did this all begin?"

"Do you really need the whole story?" You ask her.

A nervous laugh escapes her mouth. "I guess not. It's just that, with you having a relationship with someone on the team, we need to ensure a healthy and respectful workplace," Poppy explains.

"I was horny one night. Bucky was there. The rest is history," You say bluntly.

Her cheeks flush pink and she nods quickly. "Right. Uh, to begin, I'd just like to ask if there have been any concerns raised by your fellow teammates about your relationship with Bucky?"

A sigh leaves your nose. "It's not exactly public knowledge," You tell her. "We've never explicitly told anyone, anyway. And to be honest, I'm not sure anyone cares."

"...Right," She says, before scribbling something down on her clipboard. "And if the relationship was to come to an end, do you foresee this resulting in any conflict, if you're still expected to work together?"

"No," You utter. "We're mature adults. I think we can handle it."

"Right, and um, just to make sure we protect you in the case of a pregnancy, would you be happy to do a monthly test?" She asks you with a raised brow.

"That won't be needed," You tell her flatly. "Oscorp didn't think it was necessary for their weapons to be able to reproduce."

Her lips part and she sucks in a sharp breath, before pursing her lips together and nodding quickly. "Right. Right."

"Will that be all?" You ask.

Poppy nods at you. "Of course. Oh, one more thing," She begins. "I would really appreciate it if you and Bucky kept your... relations... strictly in your own rooms, and not in the common areas. Alright, you're free to go!"

"I hate her," You mumble as you repeatedly open and close your switchblade. "I fucking hate her."

"She's not that bad," Natasha says. "You just need to get used to her."

You let out a grumble, staring at the breakfast counter. It's a quiet Sunday in the tower, which you're grateful for. Bucky's looking through the cabinets while Natasha paints her nails next to you. Suddenly, he gasps.

"No way. Chocolate cookie mix," He says, holding the box up. "Check it out!"

"Looks like it's been in there for years," You comment.

He reads the back and shakes his head. "It's not expired yet," He tells you, before giving you a grin. "Wanna help me make them?"

As much as you wouldn't mind baking with Bucky, you can't. Domestic, romantic tasks like that are exactly what will cause you to slip up and do something stupid like catch feelings for him. And you'll also look like a total sap in front of Natasha.

"Come on, gunner," He presses. "I'll even let you crack the eggs."

"I'm good," You say, standing your ground.

Bucky pouts at you, and before he can beg you further, someone else enters the kitchen. And of course, it's her.

"Hey, gang!" Poppy greets with a grin, her eyes widening when she sees what Bucky's holding. "Ooh, what do we have here?"

"Uh, chocolate cookie mix," He tells her. "Just in the mood for something sweet, so I thought I'd make 'em."

"That sounds like fun!" She exclaims. "Can I help?"

"Sure," He replies quickly. A little too quickly for your liking.

"First - aprons," Poppy says with a giggle, tossing him one of the aprons hung by the oven before putting on her personalised pink one that has 'Pop!' embroidered onto it. She takes the box from Bucky and reads the back. "Hey, these kind of cookies were pretty popular back when you were a kid, right?"

A warm smile grows on Bucky's face. "Yeah, they were. My grandma made the best chocolate cookies," He tells her. "I, uh, thought it might be nice to have a taste of home."

Fuck. You feel awful for rejecting him now, knowing he wanted to share a heartfelt memory with you. Shit.

"Judging by these ingredients, I don't think this box mix will taste anywhere near as good as your grandma's," Poppy says, before tossing it in the trash. "I happen to have my own recipe for chocolate cookies, passed down my family through generations. Wanna give me a hand making them?"

"Of course," Bucky says, his face absolutely lit up.

You feel a little nauseous, watching them bake together. You've never seen this side of him before. He looks... happy. At peace.

Sometimes, you wonder if you make him worse. If every time he looks at you, he's reminded of his own sordid past. If every time you refer to what you went through, it gives him his own traumatic flashbacks. He tells you his nightmares aren't as bad anymore, but he could easily be lying. At first, with everything you had in common, it made sense for you to spend time with him. But maybe he's grown out of you. Maybe he needs someone more like Poppy to show him everything good in the world, rather than remind him of all the bad.

Maybe it's best for you to withdraw.

"You okay?" Natasha asks with a whisper before blowing on her nails.

"Perfectly fine," You mumble, your eyes still on Bucky who's laughing while Poppy places balls of cookie mixture on the tray.

"All you gotta do is tell him how you feel," Natasha says.

"I don't feel anything," You state adamantly.

"Sure," She says with narrow eyes. "I see through you, ice queen. You gotta melt before you lose him."

With a huff, you leave the kitchen and make your way to the living area just outside it, slumping down on the couch. Natasha may be right, but she's also wrong. It's not about you telling him how you feel or admitting that you want more than sex - it's the fact that he deserves better than you. Someone who will light him up. Make him feel joy and excitement, not bring him down.

You're watching a mind-numbingly boring documentary when Bucky walks out into the living room, smiling when he sees you. "There you are," He says, walking over to where you're sitting.

"Here I am," You reply, your heart racing the closer he gets. Get a grip.

"Thinking about me?" Bucky asks you, standing next to the couch.

"Not at all," You lie through your teeth.

He leans down and lowers his voice. "Are you sure about that?" He questions you teasingly, before leaning in and giving you a soft, slow kiss.

His hand slips under the band of your shorts and bypasses your panties, and he rubs his fingers up and down your wet pussy. A whimper escapes your mouth, and he pulls away from the kiss with a smirk.

"I knew it," He utters, taking his hand out of your panties. "Always wet for me, aren't you?"

"No. It's this documentary," You claim stubbornly. "I'm really into... the process of making sheet metal."

"Oh, yeah?" Bucky asks with a smirk. "Got it. That's my next Halloween costume settled."

"Sorry for not making cookies with you," You say, blinking up at him. "If I knew you'd emotionally blackmail me with the dead grandma thing, I'd have said yes."

A grin spills out on his lips. "Gunner, are you feeling bad for me right now?" He wonders with a look of delight in his eyes. "Don't worry, baby, I got my cookies in the end. Poppy is a wonderful baker, by the way."

"So I've heard," You say with your eyes on the TV screen.

"She's also got a great ass," He adds, trying to get a reaction out of you.

"Yep."

"And is probably a great kisser."

"Mhm."

"Baby," He mumbles in your ear, rubbing your thigh as he finally gives up trying to lure you into an outburst. "Let's fuck."

You snort. "We're not allowed to fuck in common rooms anymore," You remind him.

"So, let's go to my room," He suggests.

This wasn't the plan - but how are you supposed to withdraw from him when he looks at you like that? Maybe he is happy with you. He's been a lot less stressed out and snappy ever since you've been sleeping together - everyone can see that. He seems happy right now, anyway.

"Fine, but you're carrying me," You say, holding out your arms.

Just before he can pick you up, Poppy bursts into the room with a wide smile. "The cookies are done!" She sings, waltzing over with a plate which she places on the coffee table. "Everyone, dig in!"

Natasha's behind her, already chowing down on a cookie. Bucky immediately reaches out and picks up two, handing you one. Hesitantly, you take a small bite. You hate that it tastes amazing.

"Oh, my God," Bucky says with a mouthful of cookie, swallowing before he continues. "Poppy, this tastes exactly like grandma's."

"Ah, I'm so happy to hear that!" She gushes.

"These are incredible," He all but moans, sitting on the arm of the couch next to you. "You sure you shouldn't be a baker, instead? I'd pay good money for these."

"Oh, no," Poppy says bashfully. "I like taking care of you guys too much."

He chuckles at that, while you bitterly eat your cookie.

He wouldn't be happier with her. He wouldn't. He would not be happier with her. He categorically would never be happier with her.

That's the mental mantra you find yourself repeating as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You're not insecure about your looks. You believe him when he says you're the most attractive woman he knows. You know you're great in bed. Your physical strength is one of his biggest turn-ons. Besides your inability to love, you're the full package. But Bucky doesn't want love, anyway. He's never asked for it. That's not what this is. The both of you are traumatised beyond belief, so all you want is a warm body and orgasms; not a fragile emotion that could fall apart at any moment.

"Done checking yourself out?" Grant cuts in dryly as he stands behind you, his arms folded across his chest and an unimpressed look on his face. "I came all the way up here to spar, Bloodhound, not watch you fall in love with your own reflection."

With an eye-roll, you turn to face him. Grant is the only Agent you semi-get along with, and the only one you'd ever spend time outside of work with. He doesn't ask stupid questions, pry into your personal life, or try and suck up to you, which is more than you can say for the rest of the agents.

"Alright, Ward, let's do this," You say, walking over to the boxing ring.

Grant gets a lot more out of these sessions than you - you have to hold back your strength to make sure you don't kill him, while he gets to go as hard as he can to test his own strength and agility. The only reason you agreed to these sessions is because you've learnt that it's good to have a high-up agent in your pocket for when you need information about a mission or target that you wouldn't otherwise be able to get.

The gym's empty when you begin to spar, and slowly fills up with your teammates as the sun rises outside the window. Among the agents, you spot Bucky walk in at some point too, unable to help his wandering eyes from watching you fight. You barely break a sweat while Grant is fighting for his life, before he eventually taps out.

"Alright, alright, I'm done," He says between heavy breaths. "Next time, you can go a little harder."

You snort and raise a brow. "Are you sure about that, Ward? Know what you're getting yourself into?"

He just nods, grabbing his water bottle from the side of the ring and chugging.

"Oh, Y/N! It's great to see you here!"

You can't help but immediately roll your eyes at Poppy's chirpy voice, slowly turning to face her.

"I know you usually train alone, so it is brilliant to see you working with the agents," She goes on to say with a grin, before craning her neck to look behind you. "I hope she didn't go too hard on you, Special Agent Ward!"

"Not at all," Grant replies, wiping his sweaty forehead with a small towel as he stands next to you and wraps his arm around your shoulder. "Bloodhound looks after me very well."

With a grimace, you shove him away from you. "Consider it charity," You tell Poppy.

"Well, it's very kind of you," She says, before her eyes light up. "But if you want a more challenging partner, why don't you spar with Bucky? I know he's been complaining about Steve missing their last few sessions, and he'd likely appreciate training with someone more on his level."

"Good luck with that," Natasha calls out to Poppy with a smirk. "Barnes and Y/N don't train together."

Poppy frowns at Natasha's words. "But why not?" She asks.

"He's scared of me," You throw out as Grant clambers out of the boxing ring.

From the other side of the gym, Bucky snorts. "You fuckin' wish, gunner," He calls back smugly. "I'd have you on your back in seconds."

Ignoring his quick wink, you shoot him a glare. "You'd be knocked out before you even realized what was happening," You fire back.

"Well, why don't we find out?" Poppy asks with a grin. "It'll be good for you both to train with someone at your level so you can really give it your all. Holding back on training will only weaken you."

"Does this really fall into your remit?" You wonder.

"Of course!" She exclaims. "I need to look out for your wellbeing on the field, too!"

The truth is, the reason you and Bucky don't spar - or rather, can't spar - is because he gets far too excited whenever you exhibit your strength against him. You've sparred him exactly once, and when that ended with him jizzing in his pants, you both agreed it would be best to train separately from then on. And that was before you started sleeping together.

"I'll tell you the truth, Poppy, about why they don't spar," Sam inserts as he strolls over with a smirk on his face. "Because they're both too scared to find out who number two is."

"Number two?" Poppy repeats with a confused look.

"You know; Steve is the strongest on the team in terms of human physical strength," Sam explains. "He's beaten both Bucky and Y/N in strength tests before. So, he's number one - and if Bucky and Y/N ever fight, we'd find out who number two is."

"And they're both too scared of the shame they'd feel if they ended up being number three," Natasha adds with a shrug. "It's all very juvenile."

You hold back your smile. It's cute that they think Steve is number one. The only reason he's beaten you in training sessions is because you don't use your full strength against him - he's your Captain, your senior, and you've frustratingly got it stuck in your head that you're to be subordinate to him, and beating him would be disrespectful.

"Alright, fuck it," Bucky states as he makes his way over. "Let's do this, gunner."

You raise a brow as he climbs into the ring, and admittedly your heart flutters. Though you're much better at hiding it, there's no denying you get just as excited as Bucky at the prospect of being manhandled by him.

"This is gonna be good," Sam says with a smirk. "Tasha, get your hundred bucks ready, because Barnes is going down."

Moving closer to Bucky, you lowly warn him, "You better keep your shit together, Serge."

He clenches his jaw as you walk circles around each other. "Go easy on me, baby," He whispers.

Although you know it's best to do as he requests, you can't ignore your competitive streak - especially knowing that Natasha's bet against you. You and Bucky start slow and carefully, but it quickly turns into a brawl.

You've forgotten how much fun it is to use your full strength in a fight when you know your opponent isn't actually trying to kill you. At one point, you slam Bucky onto the ground and straddle him, pinning him down. His eyes darken and you feel his boner poke against your inner thigh.

Bringing your lips to his ear, you whisper, "You're far too easy, Sergeant."

With a huff of frustration, Bucky all but throws you off of him. He's slower and weaker than he can be, too turned on to think straight. His new goal is to pin you down, to take control, in an attempt to drive you as crazy as he feels. You fight back against his attempts, catching on to what he's trying to do.

Meanwhile, Natasha nudges Sam from the sidelines. "Is it just me, or is this incredibly sexually tense, right now?" She mumbles.

Sam just continues watching on with wide eyes.

When Bucky grabs your waist, it immediately gives you flashbacks to all the times he's grabbed it before - and you falter. He takes the opportunity to grab you and throw you down, crashing down onto you and pinning your arms down on either side of your head.

His eyes burn into yours, and suddenly, all you can see is him. The world melts away as his crystal blues hook you in, holding you captive. His boner rubs against you, stealing your breath.

With a new wind of determination, you rip your right hand out of his grip and wrap it around his throat, before pushing up your waist against his and forcing him onto his back, sitting on top of him.

He lets out a grunt and shudders beneath you, to which you grin.

"That was a new record," You mumble. "You lasted a lot longer than usual. I'm proud of you, Sergeant."

"Fuck you," He hisses through gritted teeth.

"Well, we should probably go," Sam calls out awkwardly as he claps his hands together. "I think you owe me a hundred bucks, Romanoff."

"Are you sure?" She asks, tilting her head. "I have no idea what just happened."

"I think I do," Sam grumbles before him and Natasha share a look and leave the gym.

"That was exhilarating to watch!" Poppy exclaims, entirely unaware as to what Bucky just did in his pants. "Bucky, do you want another shoulder massage? You said it really helped after your last training session."

Your eyebrows fly up. He didn't mention a fucking massage to you. And he let her touch his shoulder?

"Uh, no, I'm alright, Pop," He replies. "Think I need a shower more than anything."

Pop? That bastard.

Before he can leave first, you climb out of the ring and speed-walk out of the gym, refusing to be the one left behind.

This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream.

So why aren't you waking up?

You see flashes of their faces. The innocent lives you took without hesitation. The families you destroyed.

And you see the faces of your captors. The doctors who experimented on you, pushed the limits of pain until you forgot what comfort felt like, who turned you into an inhuman weapon. Not only do you see their faces, you feel them. Their fingers, their grip, their pull.

And you see him. Bucky. He looks soft and sweet and everything you know him to be.

But you're hurting him. Chasing him down like one of your victims, watching as his skin is coated with his blood, destroying him. He's screaming. Begging you to stop. Asking you why you're doing this to him.

You sit up in bed with a gasp, breathing heavily. A sheen of sweat sits on your skin. The bed feels cold and empty, and you think you might have a panic attack if you don't get proof that Bucky is safe, so you rush to your feet.

The clock on the wall tells you it's 2am, so you know it's likely that Bucky isn't in his bedroom. He'll be in one of the common rooms, the one with the lava lamps, probably recovering from his own nightmare. You've told him numerous times that you don't mind him waking you up when he needs to, but he says he'd feel too guilty to wake you up in case you're actually having a good night's sleep; a rare occurrence for you both.

You make your way to the common room, making sure to grab a packet of Bucky's favorite cookies from the kitchen on your way. As you get closer to the common room, you can hear his breath, but you stop in your tracks when you hear someone else.

"That's what I do, anyway," Poppy says softly. "That, or a warm glass of milk and counting sheep - my mom's method."

They laugh gently together, and you lean against the wall in the dark corridor so that you can peek through the crack in the door. He looks beautiful, his skin free of any blood, his face free of any pain. He's smiling. He looks at peace. He's safe, so you can rest easy.

But it still kills you that it's not you who he's safe with.

"If you ever need to talk, about anything, I'm always here," Poppy goes on to tell him, making your stomach churn.

Slowly, you back away. Thankfully, it doesn't seem like Bucky heard you at all; a testament to your sneaking skills. Though the feeling of panic and dread isn't quite fully quelled, you at least you know he's okay. Maybe even happy.

And you know you're selfish and a bad person for resenting Poppy for being the one to make him feel that way. It should be you - but you know you can't be that for him. So now you're stuck in a cycle of hating her but also hating yourself and appreciating her for being what you could never be for him.

It's painfully conflicting, so instead of thinking too much about it, you leave the tower, hoping to find some lowlife criminals you can beat up instead of yourself for once.

No matter how many fancy parties Tony throws, you'll never get used to the sight of yourself in a nice dress. You opted for a silky, black number, and you're glad when you see the myriad of colorful outfits that help you blend into the background as you enter the bar. Making a beeline to where Sam and Steve are chatting by the balcony doors, you avoid making eye contact with Tony's annoying business partners.

"Hey, here she is," Sam calls out with a wide grin, holding him arm out. You give him a quick side hug before standing up straight when you face Steve.

"Evening, Captain," You say firmly.

He sighs. "What's it gonna take for you to call me Steve, huh?" He asks, to which you glance down.

"I'm sorry, Captain Rogers," You say sheepishly. "It's built in."

"Maybe you two need to spend more time together so that you can see what a goof this guy really is," Sam suggests with a laugh. "All that respect will drop real quick."

"I'd really like that," Steve says, holding his arm out to you. "C'mon, Y/N, let's get you a drink."

With a nod, you link your arm with his and allow him to lead you to the bar.

"Y'know, I've been meaning to spend more time with you anyway," Steve admits. "With how close you and Bucky are getting, I figure I better make more of an effort."

"Oh, it's not like that between him and I," You assure him.

"No? Could've fooled me," He says teasingly as you reach the bar. "What's your poison?"

"Uh, just a whisky for me, please," You say, feeling entirely odd. It's not like you to engage in casual chit-chat with Steve, let alone get him to order you a drink.

Once the bartender slides your glass over, Steve takes your hand and walks you over to the floor-length windows. "This is killing you, isn't it?" He asks with a chuckle. "Holding your Captain's hand?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, using all your will-power not to pull your hand out of his and give him a salute instead. "I'm fine, Captain Rogers. This is fine," You claim.

"Alright, I'll be nice," He says, dropping your hand with a grin. "Anyway, I don't want to be holding your hand when Buck gets here. He'd probably throw me through this window."

You laugh at that, shaking your head. "I'm sure he wouldn't. He'd be too busy dodging all the women fawning all over him, as per usual," You say with a smile.

"Crazy how that's changed, right?" Steve says with a playful frown. "I used to be the one fighting off the attention, and now he's come in and stolen it all."

"I'm sure you still get plenty of attention," You mumble without meaning to.

"Are you flirting with your Captain?" He asks in a stern voice, making your eyes widen.

You straighten your back and look up at him. "No, Captain Rog-"

"I'm messing with you," He cuts in with a chuckle. "I'm sorry. That was mean." He then takes out a flask from his inner jacket and looks around to make sure no-one's watching, before pouring a splash into your glass. "Asgardian. Consider it a gift."

As much as you didn't think so, Sam seems to have been right, and the more time you spend chatting with Steve, the more comfortable you feel around him.

"Alright, as much as I'm enjoying this, I should go speak to some of Tony's partners," He says reluctantly. "Save me a dance later, yeah?"

"Will do, Capt- Steve," You say, smiling when his face lights up.

He puts a hand on his heart as he walks backwards. "We did it!" He cheers, before leaving you alone.

You turn towards the bar in search of another drink when you almost bump into Poppy, who looks equally as surprised to see you.

"Oh, hello!" She greets you cheerily, before looking you up and down with wide eyes. "You look absolutely gorgeous!"

"Oh, uh, thanks," You reply curtly, taking in her lilac dress. "You look nice, too."

"You're too kind," She says with a grin. "Hey, I've been meaning to speak with you a little more, one-on-one. I feel like I don't give you as much of my time as I do the others."

"That's not a problem," You assure her quickly. "I don't need therapy, or anything like that."

"Well, that's not all I offer!" She claims. "I'm here to help you meet whatever needs you feel aren't being met. That could be anything and everything."

"Right," You mumble. "My needs are being met, Newton, so I don't need you."

She looks disheartened at your words, but you don't care. "Um... how are you and Bucky doing?" She questions you carefully.

"What?" You ask, getting more irritated by the second. "Bucky and I are nothing, so you don't need to keep asking."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," She says, taking your words to mean that you've ended it between yourselves.

And then you get an idea: if she thinks you and Bucky are over, she'll stop pestering you about it every week.

"Well, it was only ever sex between us, so it's not a big deal," You say casually. "I'll find someone else to screw."

"Right," She utters.

"So, like, what's wrong with you?" You can't help but ask, the Asgardian ale loosening your tongue.

"What? What do you mean?" Poppy asks you with wide eyes.

"I mean, what's your deal?" You question. "You're just always happy, and upbeat, and seeing the brighter side. What's up with that?"

She looks taken aback by your words. "Oh. I guess... I just like being happy? There's far too much sadness and gloom in the world as it is, so why add to that? I just want to make sure everyone's comfortable to be themselves, and remind them that there is so much beauty and joy to be experienced if you just let it reach you."

Taking in her words, you nod slowly, and realize exactly how different you really are to her. Where you see failure, she sees opportunity. Where you see disappointment, she sees a second chance. Even now, with you being cold and closed off, she's still trying with you. She hasn't rolled her eyes or gotten annoyed at how stand-offish you are. She listens and engages and, even though she never could, she does her best to understand.

She's the complete opposite of you.

Suddenly, you get that sixth-sense feeling. You smell his aftershave as he approaches the room, combined with the perfume he only wears on special occasions. Your stomach flips. You're facing the doorway before he even appears in it, and it's like the whole room quietens down by twenty decibels when he walks in. Everyone turns to look at him, just as you look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing you're anticipating him. Instead, you look at Poppy, and you instantly recognize the look on her face.

Her eyebrows are raised slightly, her lips parting. Her eyes are locked onto him as if he's the only thing she sees.

And you can't blame her for feeling that way. You'd be a hypocrite if you judged her at all.

She starts fidgeting, looking down at her dress and smoothing down any creases, tucking her hair behind her ear and taking in a deep breath. Almost as if she's preparing for him to-

"Hi."

Your breath hitches in your throat. With your focus solely on Poppy, you didn't sense Bucky getting closer. You turn to him, his all-black suit destroying any sense you had left in your head, and just stare at him dumbly. He's looking back at you, warmth in his eyes.

"Hi, Bucky," Poppy replies nervously.

You look back at her. She's good. She would be good for him. Better than you could ever dream of being for him.

So you pat his shoulder and give him a nod as if he's nothing more than a colleague to you, and walk away, leaving them to it.

It feels like you're being torn apart as you hear them talk, so you speed to the balcony, focusing your heightened hearing on the wind, instead. Regretfully, you take a look back just as the French doors shut behind you, only to see Bucky laughing at something she said. It's his genuine laugh; the one where his eyes light up and his eyebrows fly up in delight.

She'd be good for him. For his mental health. How could you come in the way of that? If you truly care about him, how could you stand in the way of his health and happiness? He'd probably lose the abs from all the baked goods, but he'd be happy. How could you stop that?

"Hey," A voice calls out from behind you.

You turn to see Wanda who has a knowing look on her face. "Get out of my head, Maximoff," You utter sternly.

"I couldn't help it. You looked so... sad," She says, walking over to where you're standing by the railings and looking out at the city.

"That's none of your business," You say with a bitter tone. You're angry that she's read your mind, but a part of you is slightly relieved to know it isn't just your secret anymore.

"He really, really cares about you," She claims. "It's very obvious."

"That doesn't matter," You reply, tightening your grip on the railings. "He could be in love with me, for all I care. It doesn't change the facts."

"And what facts are those?" She pushes.

"That I'm bad for him," You reveal. "I'm... I'm just a walking reminder of everything he went through. At the start, it was nice to have someone who truly understood what we went through, who could genuinely relate. But now... he's come so far, and all I do is drag him back to the past. I can't keep doing that to him. It's selfish."

"Is that how you feel?" Wanda asks you. "That Bucky just reminds you of your past? Does speaking to him, being around him, take you back to your days at Oscorp?"

"No," You answer instantly. "Never. Even when he talks about HYDRA, all I can think about is how... angry I am at them for hurting him. How much I want to make him feel better."

"So why do you believe it's any different for him?" She questions with a quirked brow.

You let out a long sigh, staring up at the sky. Barely any stars are visible thanks to all the light pollution, but the moon's still shining. "He still has a chance. There's still light and love in him; I can see it. It comes out around... people like her. She brings out the best in him. Makes him smile and laugh, and bakes fucking cookies with him. I can't do that. Her magic doesn't work on me. I'm too far gone," You tell her, the Asgardian alcohol allowing you to open up in ways you wouldn't usually dream of. "I could never be like that. In fact, I'm so unlike her that I resent her for how happy she is. How positive her outlook on life is. I'm... jealous and I wonder why the fuck she gets to be like that. Why didn't she have to go through what I went through? Why does she get to live her life in a bubble? Why does she get to be happy and patient and kind? I hate her for something that she can't control, and convince myself that it's fine for me to treat her like shit because nothing I do to her will ever even come close to they did to me. It's like I'm... punishing her. Which makes me a bad person, with a rotten soul. And proves that Bucky deserves better."

"I think you'd be surprised at how wrong you are," Wanda says simply, before squeezing your shoulder and leaving you alone again.

After a few more minutes of listening to the traffic below, you decide to head back into the party. It's warmer inside, though seeing that Bucky is still talking to Poppy sends a cold shiver down your spine.

"I was wondering where you were," Steve says as you approach him and Natasha in the middle of the room.

"Just needed some fresh air," You tell them casually.

"I'm gonna head to the bar; I think Bruce is trying to play bartender again," Natasha says with a grimace before she walks away.

Steve gives you an expectant look. "Come to give me that dance you promised?" He asks.

"Sure, Steve," You say, still feeling incredibly weird using his first name.

"That's it; you're learning," He teases before taking your hand and leading you to the makeshift dance floor.

You dance to the slow rock song for a short while without speaking, your mind racing with a hundred thoughts. Would you be able to watch Bucky with her? It would probably kill you to see them kiss. You'd need to move out of the tower, and maybe even leave the Avengers as a whole.

"What's on your mind?" Steve asks, interrupting your overthinking.

"I don't know," You answer dumbly.

"Is everything okay?" He questions with concern on his face. "You and Bucky all good?"

A dry laugh leaves your mouth. "I don't know," You repeat.

"What did he do?" Steve utters, looking around the room in search of his idiot best friend.

"Absolutely nothing," You assure him. "Bucky is... perfect."

A warm smile takes over and he leans in closer. "I have it on good authority that he feels the same about you," He whispers.

Your chest tightens but you keep the pain off your face. Instead of responding, you rest your head against his shoulder. It does feel nice, being friends with Steve and not having to be on edge around him just because of his status in the army all those years ago.

Once again, you feel it - that sixth sense. Bucky's approaching. You remain as you are, hoping he's just walking past, not sure you're able to handle a conversation with him right now.

"Uh-oh. I'm about to be thrown through a window," Steve mutters, to which you snort.

"You could take him any day," You say, purposely loud enough for the brunet to hear as he reaches you.

"Is that really how you feel?" Bucky asks from behind you. You lift your head off of Steve and turn to face him, everything inside you stilling as you see the small smile on his face. All you want is to melt into him.

"I mean, I've never seen you pull down a helicopter, Sergeant," You say teasingly, to which Steve chuckles.

Bucky's smile gets a fraction bigger, before he gives Steve a nod that says, alright, your time's up, leave us alone. And Steve, knowing his friend well, bids you both farewell before doing exactly that.

"You're avoiding me," Bucky says bluntly once Steve is out of earshot.

With a sigh, you place your hands on his shoulders. "Let's dance," You say, not giving him a choice as you start swaying to the beat.

His hands find your waist and he pulls you closer. "I don't dance," He utters bluntly.

"Neither do I," You return.

"Why did you tell Poppy we broke up?" He questions you with a frown.

"Broke up?" You repeat with a confused look.

"You know what I mean," He says with an eye-roll. "You told her you're not screwing me anymore."

"Just wanted to get her off my back about it," You answer casually.

He purses his lips and nods slowly. "But I... you are still screwing me, right?"

A breathy laugh leaves your mouth, but then you falter, and don't reply.

Bucky stops in his tracks. "Okay. You're scaring me now," He says lowly.

"Let's go talk about this outside," You say, taking his hand.

"What? No," He replies stubbornly, planting his feet on the ground. "Tell me what's going on, right now."

You look around the dance floor at all the other guests before looking back up at him. "I don't think this is the best place to-"

"I don't care," He cuts you off, his brows furrowed. You can hear that his heartbeat has quickened. "Just talk to me. What is going on?"

You run a hand through your hair and let out a sigh. "I just... I've been thinking lately, and..." You trail off, hoping he'll jump in and say something, but he just looks at you expectantly. "Bucky. I don't think we should do this anymore."

His hands fall from your waist. "You can't do that," He mumbles. "You can't just do that to me, gunner."

"It's for the best," You claim, feeling like your insides are being ripped apart.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He asks, getting the attention of a few people around you.

With a wince, you shake your head before running away, like a coward. He chases you out, obviously, grabbing your arm just as you press the elevator button.

"You have to explain yourself," He says, his eyes filled with rage and pain. "You can't just... you don't get to just drop me like I'm nothing and leave me to find out from the fucking Wellbeing chick."

"She likes you," You tell him. "Poppy really likes you, Bucky."

"And? You're just gonna give me up without a fight?" Bucky asks you incredulously. "As if I'd ever just step to the side cause some other guy had a crush on you? You're not gonna tell her to fuck off, and that I'm yours? I mean, this is Poppy we're talking about; who the fuck is she compared to you?"

You hear a short gasp and turn your head to see none other than Poppy standing at the entrance, her eyes wide. Fuck.

Bucky glances over at her, but he's too mad to even acknowledge her presence. "C'mon, let's go upstairs and talk about this," He says as the elevator arrives and opens up, and pulls you into it before pressing the button for your floor.

The doors slowly shut just as you see Poppy wiping away a stray tear. And for the first time since you were a child, you feel bad for someone.

"That wasn't nice, Buck," You say lowly, surprising yourself with your empathy.

"I'm not a nice man," He says bluntly.

"Yes, you are!" You claim, turning to face him. "You can be. If you're with someone like her."

He gives you an incredulous look. "Is that seriously what you think?" He asks, offence in his tone. "What, you think she can fix me?"

"You don't need fixing," You retort. "But she can make you happy."

"You make me happy," He shoots back at you.

"I'm just a warm body; I can't help you feel better," You say, feeling sick to your stomach.

"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks as the elevator comes to a stop.

The doors open up and you step out, with him hot on your trail as you walk towards your room. "I'm like you, Bucky. Exactly like you. Too much like you," You say as you reach your door. "I just... I don't want to bring you down. Remind you of all the... all the shit we went through. We fuck, and it's great, but I can't... I can't bake fucking cookies with you. I can't go on dates to Coney Island. I can't wear dresses like this every night and... I can't marry you or have kids. I'm nothing like her. Maybe... maybe if I wasn't taken by Osborn and turned into a weapon, I'd be more like her. But I was. And you deserve to feel normal and safe. And to go on cutesy fucking dates and eat homemade brownies and... she'd be so good for you, Bucky. And if not her, then someone like her."

"So, you'd be happy with someone more like her, too?" He asks you. "Someone more normal?"

"No, and that's the point!" You exclaim, entering your room. "She asks me to do pottery painting and I'd rather smash the clay over her head. She wants to go on fucking nature walks and play board games and I'm too bitter and resentful to play along. It's like I... I don't want to be happy. I'm fine the way I am. But you're... I see the way you laugh with her. I can imagine it. Maybe not her specifically, but someone you could have a picket-fence life with. A healthy relationship that fulfills you in every way, not just sexually."

He doesn't say anything, processing your words as he follows you into your room. You collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh, lying back and staring at the ceiling. He shuts the door with a soft click before pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto your drawers. For a short while, neither of you speak.

"I don't even know where to start," He mutters, taking a seat at your desk. "I... I had no idea you felt like that. As if you've been doing anything but bringing me peace."

You let out a dry scoff. "Buck, I cry to you almost every Saturday night about all the fucked up shit I've been through," You remind him. "I dump my trauma onto you as if you don't have more than enough of your own. That can't be healthy."

He stands back up and sits on the opposite site of your bed, lying down so his head is next to yours. "Remember that first time you opened up to me, all those months ago? When you first had Thor's beer and were drunk for the first time since you were a teenager, and all you could do was cry?" He asks you, making you cringe.

"All too well," You whisper.

"And I kept you in my room because I knew you wouldn't have wanted everyone to see you like that. And the next morning, I thought you'd just leave, but you stayed. And you talked to me. Opened up to me about your feelings and your triggers and... fuck, you were hugging my arm so tight, and..." He shakes his head, letting out a short sigh. "That was the first time in a long, long time that I felt like I could help someone. The fact that you felt comfortable enough around me to speak about your deepest wounds... Letting me hold you while you cried, like I wasn't a monster. Like I could be someone that protected you."

"You were that person," You mumble. "You are."

"And since that day, I've never stopped wanting to be that for you," Bucky tells you, turning his head to face you. "That's how you make me feel. When you trust me with your secrets and let me carry the burden of your past, I feel more human than ever. This isn't just sex to me, my girl. You mean so much more than that."

You turn your body to face him and rest your hand on his chest, feeling each of his breaths with a rise and fall. "I'm not the kind of girl you can take bowling, and I'd rather die than kiss you in public," You point out. "I'm not gonna be your Valentine, or celebrate anniversaries. I'm-"

"I'm not asking for anything to change between us," He cuts in, placing his hand on top of yours. "I'm just telling you that... you're it for me. This is it for me. I don't need anyone else or any other kind of woman. As long as you want me, I'm yours. You fit me, more than anyone ever has and ever could."

You lean forward so your noses touch. "I... I'm not going to say this often, Barnes, so take it in while you can," You pre-warn him. "I love you."

A grin spills out on his lips. He doesn't try to hide it. "I love you, my girl," He whispers back. "We're all we need."

You smile back at him.

"I didn't get the chance to tell you how incredible you look tonight," Bucky says softly. "When I walked in, all I could see was you. It's like that every time I walk into a room. Even when you're not there, I look for you. Just... wanna be wherever you are."

"I, uh, have this weird thing," You begin with a laugh. "You know how we can tell when someone's about to walk in? We hear the specific weight of their footsteps, or smell their perfume, or whatever? Well, with you, it's like... I know it's you before I even hear your footsteps. And not just because I recognize your aftershave. I just... feel you. And it puts me at ease, knowing you're nearby. I'm not exactly a damsel in distress, but I feel safer when you're with me. I've never depended on someone like that. Even though it terrified me at first, I've grown to appreciate it."

Bucky's eyes flutter shut as his grin stays up. "You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that," He says, turning his body to face you and cupping your cheeks in his hands. "And I know it's hard for you to drop your guard. I'll never do anything to make you regret it."

"I know," You mumble, before laughing. "You look weird upside-down."

"I was just thinking whether I'd be able to kiss you in this position," Bucky admits with a chuckle.

You lean forward and shuffle down so your lips are level with his. Slowly, you close the gap between you, and though it's slightly odd at first to be kissing his mouth upside-down, you quickly get the hang of the tongue logistics.

"As much as I love you in it," He begins saying between kisses. "How about we get you out of this dress?"

You grin into the kiss, tugging on his hair. "I thought you'd never ask, Sergeant."

a/n: eek so this has been in my drafts for a good few months. been a concept i've wanted to write for soooo long. reminds me a little of one of my first ever (potentially my first ever) bucky fic, silent girl and the winter soldier. hope you enjoyed <3

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Ever since he became Toruk Makto and defeated the skypeople, Omatikayan women had been drawn to him as if he was nectar. You, in particular, could appreciate his new look. His mohawk and braids made your heartbeat pick up strangely in your chest and the way his cumberbund sat snug around his middle drew your eyes towards his figure more than you would like to admit. Being fully Na’vi looked good on him.

As much as the Omatikaya were fascinated with him, it was the Olangi women who swarmed around him. Ekani was the most recent of his Olangi admirers to attempt to gain his attention. The dregs of their clan had integrated with yours after The Battle of Ayram Alusìng, and together, under Tsu’tey’s and Akwey’s leadership, the people had started rebuilding.

Jake had given many good insights and advice, including not finding another hometree, and instead building camps near Hell’s Gate and forging alliances with the remaining humans who had fought on the Na’vi’s side. His reasoning had been solid, even as you missed the cozy embrace of Hometree. This way, the Omatikaya no longer had a target on their backs if the humans ever came back, and the humans were easier to keep an eye on when they were close by. 

You had decided to back him up and stand behind him during the council meetings, helping sway the other’s decisions and forming a tentative friendship between you and Jake. You still acted like a Pa’li (direhorse) taking its first steps sometimes, but when it came to work to be done, you managed to ignore your infatuation with him and focus on the task.

He and you were often paired on hunting missions together, which you had a feeling Neytiri had her hand in. Additionally, Jake started approaching you at dinner and sitting with you and Neytiri, but always on the side closest to you. In the forest or in a meeting, you were competent, able to act like the skilled warrior that you were, but in a social situation, you clammed up. Eywa, you were a grown woman! You had fought at his side in battle, but you could not hold a conversation with the man without sweating. 

“You need to just go tell him how you feel,” Neytiri chimed unhelpfully. 

“What? Who?” you asked, your thoughts jarred from their current derailment as you tore your eyes away from Jake and guided them to Neytiri who was smirking at you. 

“Jake. You are in love with the fool and everyone knows it, even he suspects it,” she explained, and your face turned a burning purple hue. 

Your eyes widened, horrified. “He does?” you asked quietly, not even bothering to deny it any longer. 

“I do not know if it was because he sensed your attraction, or because of his own, but he has asked me of your feelings,” she confessed and your eyes nearly bugged out of your head.

“Neytiri! And you did not tell me?” you hissed, alarmed. “How did you respond?” you demanded. 

She shrugged, “I said nothing! I would not betray you, friend,” she promised, but you struggled to believe her. 

“But, it will not matter and he will not be an option, if you do not act quickly,” she urged, nodding to where Ekani was handing Jake a wrapped package, no doubt containing a courting gift.

“Kehe! Pxasìk (No! Screw this)!” you gasped, jumping to your feet before you could think twice about it. As Jake began unwrapping the leaves, you stomped over to the two warriors, anger and jealousy blooming in your gut. 

“Get away, kali'weya (poisonous arachnid/bitch),” you said through your teeth, hand gripping the handle of your knife as Ekani jolted to her feet. Jake looked up, startled. His fingers stilled, the gift hanging forgotten in his hands. 

“Careful, do not start battles you cannot finish,” Ekani said, evenly, as if she had been expecting you all along.

You laughed, a clipped and bitter version of your usual one. “I started this one a while ago. I am finishing it now,” you bit out in Na’vi. “Back away, Olangi. He is mine.” Jake’s eyes widened as he picked up on some of the conversation being had about him.

“He is not yours, he is unclaimed,” Ekani replied shortly. She spoke of things she had no idea about.

You hissed, fangs bared at the words. “He is not to be claimed by you,” you asserted and this had Ekani drawing her knife and Jake leaping to his feet. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tsu’tey’s braids swing wildly as his head flew to your direction. Neytiri stood up from her seat, watching closely in case she was needed, but she knew you could handle yourself.

“Woah!” Jake exclaimed, holding out his hands between the two of you. “Maybe I heard the Na’vi wrong, but you really shouldn't be fighting over me,” Jake insisted, but neither of you tore your eyes from the other. 

“Then choose one of us and there will be no need for fighting!” Ekani exclaimed and your heart dropped. Every eye in the space turned to the three of you and the fight that was unfolding. Your brow pinched in the middle as you suddenly realized you had stormed in between them without any idea of Jake’s feelings towards you. If he chose her now, you would be the fool.

“Uh…” he looked between the two of you, purple rising to his cheeks as his mouth hung agape. You would have thought him especially cute in this moment if not for the tension of this situation. 

His eyes landed on you and you could not help, but avert your eyes from Ekani to him instead, just to check that he really was looking. The eye contact made sparks of electricity fire along every one of your nerves. 

As his eyes lingered on you, and your hand began to loosen around your knife, Ekani hissed. “If he will not decide, then we will!” 

Your eyes snapped back to her as she lunged back into a fighting position. You hissed back, “I will do what I have to,” you ground out. 

Jake barked out a humorless laugh, as if he could not believe the situation, which drew both of your attention away from the other. “No,” he said in English before he shook his head and switched to Na’vi. “Kehe,” he insisted, and Ekani faltered. 

He turned to you and said, “Do not fight over me. You really don’t have to do all this,” in English so Ekani could not understand. You had gone to Grace’s school, you knew the language to some degree. The Olangi were much more removed from humans and many had seen them for the first time during the battle.

“If she wants you, she will go through me first,” you nearly growled. Ekani’s lip curled in frustration that the two of you shared a language she did not know.

He scoffed, “I didn’t even know you were interested in me! You barely speak to me, you just look! How was I supposed to choose you, if I didn’t know you were an option?” he asked and you froze. 

“I was nervous!” You exclaimed, and his ears lowered in surprise. 

“Nervous? But-”

“Enough demon talk!” Ekani roared. With sickening speed, she lunged at you, her knife poised to strike. You sprung into action, drawing your knife to deflect her blade, and ran at her, meeting her head on. 

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw people moving around as you fought. You would guess the two Olo’eyktan’s had moved in to mediate, and Jake stayed just outside of range, looking for a way to intercept without getting sliced. 

You were quick to dismantle her knife from her hands, the blade flying off to the side. She let out a frustrated scream, but lunged forward again, grabbing hold of your hair. You yelped, but pushed her off of you, the several feet of space allowing you to move your hair away from your face and have a split second to decide your next move. You prepared to be the one to attack this time as Ekani caught her breath.

But you would never get to make contact, because as soon as he saw the opening, Tsu’tey jumped in, hooking an arm around Ekani’s waist as you felt someone grab your own. The two of you were pulled apart like two nantangs squabbling over territory. 

You let out a sound of frustration as your knife was plucked away by a four fingered hand. You saw Jake’s hand disappear behind his back, evidently tucking your blade away in his loincloth. “Let me go!” you exclaimed, squirming in his arms. “I was winning!” you yelled. Ekani was trapped in Tsu’tey’s hold, but was quickly deposited with Akwey who grabbed the back of her neck to hold her still. 

“Get her out of here,” Tsu’tey ordered when you shot Ekani an especially nasty glare. 

“Yeah,” Jake agreed. With controlled strength, he turned you in his arms, crouched down, and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of bean pods. 

“Put me down!” you demanded, pushing up with your arms to look at the others. Neytiri stood beside Tsu’tey, covering her mouth with her hands as she laughed. You would never hear the end of this.

“Are you hurt?” he asked evenly, as he walked away from the crowd that had accumulated. His tone did not betray any of his thoughts or feelings. 

“No, as if that vonvä' (asshole) could hurt me,” you scoffed.

“Then no way, Sweetheart,” Jake muttered.

You huffed, finding Ekani again in the crowd, “You fight like a child”, you yelled at her from over Jake’s shoulder. His grip on your thigh tightened in warning and your mouth snapped shut. She sneered, but did not say anything back as her Olo’eyktan looked down disappointedly at her.

You were suddenly aware of every point where Jake’s warm skin met yours and embarrassment finally caught up with you. You took your hands off of Jakes back, liking the feel of his muscles flexing under your touch too much for your own comfort. Instead, you propped your elbows on his shoulder and watched as the people grew smaller.

“Put me down, I will not fight anymore,” you promised, but Jake did not slow. 

“Nope,” he said shortly as he made it to the tree line, “We have things to talk about.”

“I have nothing to talk about,” you huffed.

“That’s not true,” he refuted and you rolled your eyes.

“Still, put me down so I do not feel like an overgrown child,” you ordered. Unfortunately, he made no movements to do as you demanded. 

“You should have thought of that before you threw a tantrum,” Jake said.

“I did not throw a tantrum!” you exclaimed and he finally halted, deeming the area far enough away from other’s ears. He set you down, standing back up to loom over you and you felt anymore arguments dry up in your throat. He was too pretty this close and it was suddenly very clear to you why you struggled to speak to him. 

“You were,” he cocked his head to the side, “but that’s not what I want to argue about.”

“What then?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as he stared down incredulously at you. 

His brows lowered, “Maybe about how you just started a fight over me?” he said and you deflated the smallest bit. 

“Oh, that,” you said, eyes suddenly avoiding his.

“Yeah, that. So you like me?” he asked.

You bit the inside of your mouth, thinking over what to say, but there was really no way to avoid the embarrassment now. “Yes…” you muttered. 

He stared at you for what felt like hours before his face broke into a grin. “Then why do you say all of three words to me whenever I try to talk to you?” he asked. 

You pressed your lips together before sighing, “Because, I am not good at speaking, especially around you. I guess I thought that if I could not make sense, then I should not speak at all. The less I say to you, the less stupid I sound. Eywa, when I see you, my mind goes all lekye'ung (insane),” you explained with a huff. 

 “You never sounded stupid to me, I thought it was real sweet. Why do you go lekye'ung?” he laughed slightly, the movement being all it took to draw your attention away.

Your eyes traveled down to rest on his broad chest, made hard from training and battle. The scar from his fight with Tsu’tey had turned a light blue, contrasting against his deeper toned skin and making him look every bit the Na’vi warrior. Beads from his hair hung over his shoulder, showcasing eyecatching color that only added to the appeal. 

“Eyes are up here, Sweetheart,” he smirked and you tore your gaze away. “But I think I understand,” he nodded. 

“I have not felt this way before,” you confessed. His eyes widened, as they ran down your body before dragging up again.

“I have nothing on you, Sevin’eve (pretty girl). Have you seen yourself?” he asked and you blushed. 

“We do not have contraptions to see ourselves like humans do,” you answered literally, and Jake smiled, flicking his eyes up to the sky as if asking Eywa for strength. 

“I’m trying to say that you’re beautiful, and you shouldn't be nervous. If anything, I should be,” he insisted and your face heated. 

“You think I am beautiful?” you asked shyly.

“Yeah, do you think I am?” he asked confidently and your stomach did a flip.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His eyes hardened into satisfaction and his lips quirked up on one side. “Good, that’s good,” he murmured. 

“If you liked me back, then why did you never say anything?” you asked, feeling childish for asking. 

He scoffed, "Because I thought you just liked the look of me! I tried to get to know you, asked Neytiri to help me even, but you always shut down so I thought you changed your mind or something. ” he explained and understanding suddenly dawned on you. 

“Oh,” you grinned and shrugged sheepishly. “I am sorry, Jake, I am a skxawng.” 

“It’s alright. We know now, right?” he asked, brows lifting. 

“Right. We feel the same,” you said. “I like you… you like me,” you muttered, getting entranced with the way he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, wetting it as he prepared to answer. 

“Then-” but before he could get the words out, you worked up the courage you had been missing for so many months. Still working off of the adrenaline coursing through your veins from the fight, you muffled his words by surging forward, planting your lips on his and grabbing his shoulders for balance. 

He let out a surprised noise, unmoving for a second before he kissed you back, hands finding your jaw as he deepened the kiss. You could not help but smile through it, finally getting to do what you had been imagining for so long. Your hands slowly, but eagerly, traveled down from their landing place on his shoulders, coming to stop on his chest. 

Jake huffed out a laugh between your joined lips as you felt along the line of light dots that ran along his skin, amused that you were taking the opportunity to do with your hands, what you had been previously doing with your eyes. The sound made you realize this was maybe a bit much for a first kiss, so you began to withdraw your hands back to his shoulders. But, as if this day could not get any better, he grabbed your wrists and dragged your hands back to their previous spot.

When you both returned to the village hand in hand, nearly an hour later from when he originally carted you off, the people you passed smiled knowingly. You supposed the stupid grins on both of your swollen lips did not help. You and Jake exchanged mirthful glances as you spotted Neytiri high up in a tree where she was collecting fruit. She raised an eyebrow down at you and you only shrugged up at her, smiling as she whistled in congratulations. 

It seemed you had won the fight after all. 

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“She’s insecure-avoidant with strong narcissistic traits,” he said. “Needs to be wanted, needs to be in control, but the second she senses rejection, real or imagined, her entire sense of self collapses. That collapse is what makes her kill.”

Prentiss clicked the remote. A close-up of ligature marks on the first victim filled the screen.

“Manual strangulation after chemical submission,” she continued. “Victims were dosed with a fast-acting benzo slipped into their drink while they were still at the bar. Once they were compliant, she finished it face-to-face. No hesitation marks. She watches them die after she stabs them. That’s not just personal. That’s intimate.”

JJ’s voice was softer.

“All four victims were last seen at Luxe Noir, downtown. Same club, same VIP section. She’s not cruising random bars in the Downtown area. This is her hunting ground. She’s comfortable there. Possibly a regular. Bartenders might recognize her face, but she pays cash mostly and never uses the same card twice, nor does she check a coat.”

Reid didn’t look up from the geographic map glowing on his tablet.

“Comfort zone is a six-mile radius centered on the club,” he said, rapid-fire. “Victimology is… unusually specific. Caucasian males, thirty-five to fifty. Dark hair, above average height, physically fit. All divorced or recently separated. All dominant personality types, lawyers, surgeons, CFOs, et cetera. Friends and colleagues uniformly describe them as serious, intense, natural leaders.”

Morgan let out a low huff that might have been a laugh if the room hadn’t been so quiet. He tipped his chin toward Hotch.

“Which means the single best piece of bait we have in this building is already wearing a suit.”

Every head in the room swiveled to Hotch. A couple of the younger detectives did obvious double-takes, like they were only just noticing the resemblance to the victim board behind him.

Captain Gordinski cleared his throat. “You’re telling me you want to put your unit chief on the menu?”

Hotch didn’t blink.

“I will enter Luxe Noir tonight as a patron,” he said, as if reading from a mission brief he’d already memorized. “Man in a high position in Chicago on a consulting trip. Drinking with a friend and projecting availability, but emotional distance. It’s the exact profile she’s killed four times already.”

Rossi folded his arms. “I will be that friend. The rest of us will be inside, dressed for the occasion, staggered positions. Agent L/N and Agent Morgan on the dance floor, Dr. Reid and Agent Jareau covering exits, Agent Prentiss at the bar. And me and Agent Hotchner up in the VIP mezzanine. We’ll have eyes on him the whole time. She makes contact, we move.”

Hotch’s gaze swept the room, settling on Gordinski.

“We need CPD to maintain a three-block perimeter. Unmarked units only. No uniforms inside the club, no marked cars on the same block. If she’s spooked even once, she vanishes, and we start over with victim number five. If we need immediate extraction or additional manpower, we’ll call it on the tactical channel. Clear?”

Gordinski exhaled hard through his nose, eyes flicking from Hotch to the victim photos and back again. The resemblance was uncanny, same jawline, same dark eyes, same look of authority that made people listen when he spoke.

“You sure she’ll bite?” the captain asked.

Hotch’s answer came flat and immediate.

“She already has a type,” he said. “I’m just making sure she doesn’t have to look far to find it.”

Hotch stood under the harsh locker-room fluorescents, rolling the sleeves of a black dress shirt that cost more than most of the uniforms hanging on the hooks behind him. No suit jacket tonight. No tie. Just the tailored shirt tucked into dark jeans and the top two buttons deliberately undone, revealing a tuft of chest hair.

He looked like the kind of man who could ruin your credit score and your life in the same evening.

He slid a thin wallet with a fake ID, cash, and one black Amex with a name that wasn’t his, into his back pocket when the side door that connected to the temporary women’s changing area opened.

You never knocked anymore when it was just the two of you.

He turned, and whatever smart remark he’d had ready died in his throat.

The dress was black. Backless. Front… negotiable. Thin straps crisscrossed over skin that had no business being on display in a police station.

The hem barely qualified as decent, and the heels, strappy, vicious-looking, and fire-engine red at the bottom, made your legs look longer.

Your hair was down, tousled as if you’d just come from someone’s bed.

Lips painted a red so dark it looked like you’d bitten someone and enjoyed it a little too much.

You looked like sin with a badge.

And you were glaring at him as if he’d personally offended you by existing.

Hotch arched a brow. “Problem, honey?”

You shut the door with a soft click that somehow echoed louder than the slam you clearly wanted to give it.

“I’m fine,” you said, folding your arms over your chest, which only made the neckline plummet further into criminal territory. “Just admiring how dedicated you are to the whole brooding-divorcé-in-distress aesthetic. Really committing to the open-collar, fuck-boy-on-a-mission vibe.”

He leaned back against the lockers, lips twitching.

“You’re jealous.”

You stepped closer, heels clicking on the tile.

“Excuse me if I don’t love watching my husband get dolled up like a high-end escort so some serial killer can try to roofie him in a nightclub,” you hissed. “Honestly, Aaron, two buttons? You might as well wear a sign that says ‘Please drug me, I’m emotionally fragile but great in bed.’”

He pushed off the lockers and closed the distance in two strides. His hands found your bare waist, thumbs tracing the warm skin just above where the fabric dared to start again.

“You’re wearing a dress that would get you dress-coded at a rave party,” he murmured, voice low and fond, boarding a chuckle, “and you’re giving me grief about two buttons?”

“I’m giving you grief,” you muttered, jabbing a finger into his chest, “because every woman in that club is going to picture riding your dick like they're bouncing on an exercise ball. Including the one who wants to murder you. It's the efficiency I don’t support.”

His laugh was soft as he dipped his head until his lips brushed your ear.

“For the record,” he whispered, “the only person dragging me anywhere to bounce on my dick tonight is currently glaring at me in four-inch heels and a very healthy sense of ownership.” He grabbed your hand and rotated your wedding ring slightly on your finger to get his point across.

Your glare lasted one more second before it cracked. He felt the moment you softened.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, but your hands were already sliding up his chest, fingers curling possessively into his open collar.

He kissed you right at the corner of your mouth so he wouldn’t ruin the perfect red of your lips, and when he pulled back, your eyes were still narrowed, but the possessiveness had warmed into something dangerously close to pride.

A sharp knock rattled the door, and Morgan’s voice, dripping with amusement, filled the room. “I swear to God, if I walk in there and you two are defiling a Chicago PD locker room, I’m telling Garcia, and she’ll find a way to live-stream it to the entirety of the Bureau. Wheels up in three, lovebirds!”

You flipped the door the finger even though Morgan couldn’t see it.

Hotch pressed one last kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger.

“Come on, wife,” he murmured. “Let’s go catch a serial killer before you decide to cuff me for disturbing your peace.”

He laced his fingers through yours and tugged you toward the hallway.

Luxe Noir VIP Mezzanine Booth 12:42 a.m.

The bass thudded through the floorboards and up into Hotch’s ribcage. He sat with his back to the wall, one arm draped casually along the top of the leather booth, the other nursing a glass of bourbon he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes.  

Rossi sat opposite him, pretending to scroll through his phone while actually watching every reflection in the mirrored wall behind Hotch.

On the dance floor below, you were a weapon in motion.  

Morgan’s hands rested on your hips, guiding the slow, filthy roll of your body against his. Your back pressed to his chest, one of your arms hooked up and around his neck, the other braced against his thigh as you dropped low and ground back up. Red soles flashed every time the strobes hit.  

You looked both like a sex goddess on the dance floor and a murderous wife in equal measure as you moved to the music.  

And every thirty seconds, your eyes cut to the booth he sat in.

Morgan leaned down, mouth near your ear, grin audible even over the music. “Damn, mama, if you glare at your husband any harder, you’re gonna set his shirt on fire. Jealous looks real good on you, by the way.”

You bared your teeth in something that was definitely not a smile. “I’m not jealous.”

“Sure,” he laughed, spinning you so you faced him, hands still respectfully low on your waist. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

You opened your mouth to hiss something venomous when movement at the booth caught your eye.  

She was here.

Sleek auburn hair, black dress that looked like it cost more than most people’s rent, smile sharp enough to cut glass.

She slid into the booth next to Hotch like she belonged there, one manicured hand already resting on his forearm. Hotch turned that slow, charmed smile on her, and your stomach knotted so hard you almost forgot how to breathe.

Morgan felt you go rigid against him. “Easy, tiger. That’s the job.”

She leaned in, said something that made Hotch laugh, and although you knew he was faking it from the way his head tilted slightly back, your vision still tunneled with red-hot rage.

Ten minutes. That was all it took. Ten minutes of her touching his sleeve, his knee, leaning in to whisper against his ear, before Hotch threw down a stack of bills, offered her his hand, and led her toward the back exit like a perfect gentleman.

You'd seen her drug his drink, seen the two notice and quietly switch drinks when her attention got caught by something across the room.

Morgan’s grip tightened on your waist. “We wait for the signal—”

But his words were too late; you were already moving.

You tore out of his arms and cut through the crowd like a shark through water. Morgan’s curse was lost behind you. You hit the back hallway, heels silent on the rubberized floor, and shouldered the emergency exit open.

And stepped into the alley five minutes too late.

The unsub had Hotch against the brick wall, one hand fisted in the front of his shirt, the other pressing a thin, wicked blade to the hollow of his throat. A bead of blood had already bloomed where the edge kissed skin.

Hotch’s hands hung loose at his sides. He was letting her, you could tell by his posture.

He was waiting for the team.

Waiting for you.

Because he knew you would be the one to take this killer down from the pure reaction you'd had to him dressed like a man whore—in your own words.

Your Glock came up before the door even finished swinging shut.

“FBI! Drop the knife!”

The woman startled, pressed harder.

The blade bit, but didn't cut.

You didn’t hesitate.

The shot cracked through the alley like lightning. Her right arm jerked back, the knife clattering to the wet pavement as she screamed and clutched the blooming red hole in her bicep.

Hotch moved in one swift motion, one second pinned, the next he had spun her, slammed her chest-first into the wall, knee in the back of her thigh, cuffs ratcheting tight around her wrists.

“Ava Rollins,” he said, voice calm, “you are under arrest for the murders of Daniel Whitford, Marcus Lange, Patrick Brennan, and Richard Callahan. You have the right to remain silent.”

Chicago uniforms flooded the alley, red and blue lights painting the bricks. Someone took the sobbing, bleeding woman off his hands.

Hotch turned to you, breathing steady, one hand absently touching the thin surface wound at his throat.

You still had your gun up, chest heaving.

He walked over slowly, plucked it from your fingers, and holstered it for you.

“Really?” he asked. “Five minutes. You couldn’t give me five whole minutes before you came storming out here like a one-woman SWAT team?”

“I wasn’t—”

“Jealous?” He stepped closer, voice dropping to that low register that always unraveled you. “Baby, you shot a serial killer because another woman had her hand on my chest. That’s the textbook definition.”

You folded your arms tight across your chest. “I’m not jealous.”

“Uh-huh.” He brushed a thumb over your lower lip, smudging the red just enough to make you crazy. “Remind me to wear this shirt more often. Clearly, it drives my wife insane.”

"How did you know her name?"

Hotch shrugged. "She introduced herself."

“I hate you.” You glared up at him.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Liar,” he whispered. “You really, really don’t.”

Behind you, Morgan finally caught up, hands on his knees, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

“Told you,” he wheezed. “Queen of England. My ass.”

"what happened?"

"you seemed a little... discomfited. so I thought we should have a moment alone.”

you sigh. "well. too many women around you," he studies your face for a moment, before he pulls you into a secluded room.

he leans against the edge of a table, tugging you closer. "zayne," you laugh.

he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, and tilts his neck, exposing his pulse as an offering.

a mischievous smirk appears on his lips and his eyes glint. "here," his voice is a low whisper.

"this should help put your mind at ease."

"oookay. what's wrong?" caleb grasps your wrist when you arrive home. you just shrug at him, as if you hadn't been burning holes of rage through his face the whole time at the party.

CALEB:

"dont--" he mimics your shrug-- "me. come on. you've been sighing like a grandma all evening,"

"i didnt know you were this popular." you mumble. "i mean youve always been popular with girls in high school but..."

he squeezes your hand. "...you're jealous?"

you smack his arm. and he playfully gasps. "of course i am. you're my boyfriend now, you idiot!"

"even back in high school. i wished i could punch every girl who followed you around like a puppy. i had no right back then, but now you're... you're..." you bite your tongue.

"now i'm yours?" he asks softly, taking both your hands in his now.

"...yes."

good god. how long had he waited for this moment? seeing you so worked up over him? he could get down on both knees and propose to you.

"okay then. the colonel gives you full permission to throw hands if you ever find the need,"

you just snort as you yank him by the collar and kiss the stupid grin off his face.

RAFAYEL:

it's his art exhibition, for heaven's sake. of course he's going to be approached, flirted with and fangirled upon. it shouldn't be a huge deal. you know he couldn't give a shit about anyone else but you.

and yet...

you can't stop recoiling at the sight of him swarmed by women wanting to take pictures with him at the exit later.

"um cutie?" he calls as you kick your heels off. you turn toward him.

"you've got some colour on your face," his lips turn into a fond smile. he cradles your face, thumb brushing against your cheek.

"uh oh. it's like... blended into your skin."

you frown. "i'll just wash my face."

"nope, no point. you're all green," he doesn't let you go. "with jealousy." he laughs at his own too-smart joke, earning himself an eye roll.

"yeah..." you finally admit. "a little,"

"what! no, that won't do,"

he bites the inside of his cheek before pulling out his phone. he pulls you close and kisses your cheek as he snaps a picture of you.

"what... are you doing?"

"hard launching our relationship."

XAVIER:

you’re halfway through demolishing a claw machine when a girl two machines down leans toward xavier.

"do you know how to win that one?" she asks, smiling brightly. "you look like you would."

you almost snort. xavier blinks at her slowly. "it's mostly timing."

she laughs like he said something charming. you miss the grab completely.

"fuck," you mutter, jaw tightening at the jealousy bubbling as the girl keeps talking. you shove another coin in harder than necessary. he smirks when he catches it.

"hey," xavier says gently.

you don’t look at him. "what?"

he steps closer, leaning close enough to smell your sweet perfume. "you're pressing the button too early."

"i know how to play."

"i know." he gives you a soft smile. "you're just distracted." with that, he places a small kiss on your cheek, chasing the girl away.

"i didn't mind," you lie, pretending to focus on the machine.

"nope. i'm good." he watches the claw descend. the plushie drops cleanly into the slot.

he picks it up and places it in your arms. "i'm already playing with someone," he says simply.

SYLUS:

you physically cringe when you see sylus' lips twitch up at the sales associate. yes, you've been telling him to smile at staff more so he didn't scare them left and right but you weren't prepared for the day he'd actually do it. he only ever smiles at you.

"what was so funny," you don't bother hiding your displeasure.

"mm?"

"the woman at the mall," he smirks when he notes your clenched jaw.

"a sullen kitten," he hums, his tone teasing. but under all that nonchalant facade, he's never been more turned on. "it is quite the sight."

you acting all tough, willing to fight women off just because he seemed mildly amused? his pupils are already blown out.

to affim his point, you fold your hands tighter, a small pout forming on your lips.

"she suggested an outfit for you. and i was merely imagining how you would look wearing it."

your face visibly unclenches as you mumble an "oh,"

he just laughs, shaking his head and pulls you into his arms. "you don't need to concern yourself with this."

he tips your chin up so you can see the red gleam in his eye.

"i don’t tolerate anyone thinking they have access to what’s yours.”

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

VALENTINE’S DAY IS ruined.

Lando had gone all out to make sure that won’t happen, starting the morning by waking her up with muffins in bed, the scent of vanilla still lingering in the sheets as he pressed lazy little kisses to her neck.

They spent the day walking around the city, and shopping, wandering through little boutiques where he insisted on buying her anything and everything she had laid her eyes on.

And then, la pièce de résistance: a fancy dinner at an exclusive restaurant, the kind of place with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A soft melody played from a piano in the corner, setting the perfect atmosphere. The food was great, the wine was good, and every detail screamed romance, from the flickering candle between them to the way Lando’s thumb traced tiny heart shapes on her hand as they talked, his eyes never leaving hers.

All in all, it had been perfect. Until he ruined it.

The moment was burned into her mind, replaying it over and over again, like a broken record. The waiter, a girl who had been a little too friendly with him all night, had leaned in when she refilled his wine at some point, brushing his shoulder with a touch that lingered for too long. And Lando, oblivious as ever, had winked at her.

Winked.

She knew her boyfriend. Knew he was clueless about these things, that his flirty nature wasn’t always intentional. But that didn’t make it sting any less. Because the waiter had noticed. She smirked at him, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and acted like his girlfriend wasn’t literally sitting on the other side of the table.

After that, she had gone silent.

The entire ride home, she stared out the window, with her arms crossed and lips pursed, and her knees facing the opposite way from him. Lando figured something was wrong ever since; he glanced at her between shifts, brows furrowing, but he didn’t say anything, probably thinking she was just tired.

Then they got home, and she had barely looked at him as she changed into something more comfortable, still replaying the scene in her head.

Had he done it on purpose? Probably not. But did it matter?

That’s… debatable. It mattered to her.

Deprived by every emotion except irritation, she followed Lando setting up his last surprise of the day — a cozy movie marathon on the couch, complete with fuzzy blankets, sweets and drinks, and a bunch of her favorite Valentine’s-themed movies ready to run.

Now, their apartment is quiet except for the hum of the TV that neither of them is really watching. The tension between them is thick, lingering in the air like a storm that hasn’t broken. Yet.

She breathes heavily, sitting curled up on the opposite side of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, and arms crossed over her chest. Lando, on the other side, is content to let her be.

Until he isn’t.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or are we playing the guessing game again?” he finally asks, voice edged with concern. He knows that she needs time to process whatever’s bothering her at the moment, but his patience has limits, too.

She doesn’t look at him, just shrugs as she lies, “Nothing’s wrong.”

Lando puffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Right. That’s why you’ve been side-eyeing me like I insulted your entire family ever since we got back. It’s annoying, you know? If you have something to say…” his voice trails off, but he feels a wave of anger building inside, so he decides to let go before making it worse.

Her jaw tightens.

She doesn’t want to give in, mostly because she knows that the reason why she’s mad is, well, kind of absurd. But at the same time, she’s frustrated in a way that isn’t just about her boyfriend winking at other girls. The weight of the week has been pressing down on her shoulders, and she needs something — him — but she’s too stubborn to say it. Especially now. Still, her eyes keep flickering down, lingering on the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips, the lazy way he’s sprawled out, legs spread wide.

He catches her looking, fighting a smile as he stretches his arms over the back of the couch. “You wanna sit on it?”

Her head snaps toward him, face heating instantly at his question. “What?”

Lando shrugs, “You keep looking,” he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “Figured I’d save you the trouble of pretending you don’t want to.”

She scoffs, but can’t deny it. She does want to. Desperately. But she’s mad at him. So, she says nothing. Just presses her lips together, turning her attention back to the screen like she isn’t thinking about climbing onto his lap and letting him pull her apart, little by little.

On the TV, the main characters are making out, sending her mind spinning relentlessly, fueling her sudden desire. Apparently, that’s enough for her to decide that she has to put an end to it, finally taking Lando’s advice and speak her mind. But he’s faster. His hands are reaching out for her, almost like they appeared out of nowhere, gripping her waist, effortlessly pulling her onto his lap.

A surprised gasp leaves her lips, but she doesn’t fight him, and doesn’t push him away. If anything, she melts just a little, legs instinctively settling on either side of his hips.

He looks up at her, fingers squeezing at her waist. “That’s better, hm?”

She glares, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

Lando raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You didn’t say I couldn’t either,” he counters, sliding his hands down to grip her thighs, thumbs brushing tiny, teasing circles on her skin. “And you’re not exactly running away.”

She hates how smug he is. Hates how easily he sees through her act. Hates how good he looks right now.

But then his hands slide further up, fingertips ghosting over the curve of her ass, pressing her down against him just enough for her to feel him through the fabric of his sweats. And the feeling is… intense to say the least, since she’s only wearing an oversized t-shirt and her pajama shorts.

Lando watches her closely, aware of the effect he has on her. “Gonna tell me why you’re mad, or do I have to make you forget?”

She shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. But when he shifts beneath her, dragging her forward so deliciously slow, her resolve crumbles.

Her hands grip his shoulders, nails pressing in. “Shut up.”

“And?”

She closes her eyes, exasperated by his attitude, “Shut up and do something.”

Lando grins at her bluntness, fingers tightening on her hips as he rolls her against him again. “Ask nicely.”

She huffs annoyed, but so needy it aches. “Lando,” she warns in a low voice.

Lando shakes his head. “No, baby. You know how this works,” he reminds her, lips brushing against her neck as his hands keep guide her movements. “Use your words.”

She breathes lightly, head tipping back as the friction sends heat pooling low in her belly. “Please?”

“See, that’s a good start,” he chuckles, nipping at her jaw and dragging his tongue over the sting, “But I know you can do better.”

Her pride wars with her desperation, but it’s a losing battle. She needs more than that, and she knows he won’t give it to her until she breaks.

Next time she speaks, her voice is a whisper, breathy yet sweet, “I need you, please.”

He smirks as he watches her through his eyelashes, happy with the state he managed to put her in so easily. “There goes my girl.”

Lando can see the shift in her the second he finishes his sentence. It’s in the way frustration morphs into impatience, and how her breath hitches every time he grinds her against him but doesn’t give her what she really wants.

“I know you’re enjoying this, but there’s no reason for you to take your sweet ass time, you know that,” she mutters, her voice edged with irritation.

Lando shrugs. “And you know I like watching you squirm.”

She rolls her eyes, but her body betrays her — again and again. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, while her thighs tense around his waist. With a sharp exhale, she moves on her own now, hands sliding down between them, tugging at the waistband of his sweats. Lando follows her movements, amused, but doesn’t stop her as she pulls them down just enough to free him.

Her breath catches at the sight: he’s already hard, the head flushed deep red, leaking just slightly.

She glances back at him, brows raised, but Lando shrugs again, as if the reason is obvious. “You on my lap, begging? Kinda hard not to get… you know, hard.”

Her stomach clenches at his nonchalance, the way he acts like it’s inevitable. Like, of course he’d be this ready for her. Duh.

Lando exhales excited as she wraps her fingers around him, stroking just enough to make his hips twitch beneath her. His breath gets slightly unsteady after that, but his control remains.

“Getting bold now?” he asks, eyes locked on her as he pushes her shirt up just a little, tracing his fingers along the warm skin of her waist.

The girl doesn’t answer, just bites her lip as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down and letting them catch on the curve of her thighs before she kicks them away. That’s when the teasing glint in Lando’s eyes fades, replaced with something darker. He swallows hard, hands settling firm on her hips as he drinks her in.

“So soft,” he mumbles under his breath, mostly to himself.

She feels exposed in a way that has nothing to do with being half-naked. It’s like he’s seeing everything, because he knows her so deeply. Like he’s about to ruin her in the best way possible.

And she’s going to let him.

Lando wraps his hand around hers and, together, they pump his cock slowly, his gaze always on her, watching the way her body responds to the sight of it. Then he runs his thumb over the tip, spreading the bead of wetness there while he moves purposely, dragging the length of himself through her folds, groaning at how slick and warm she is.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to hers for a second, while she needs to hold on to him with both hands now. “You’re dripping.”

She whimpers as he does it again, sliding against her, teasing her clit with the thick head before pulling back, drawing out her frustration.

“Lando, don’t…” she whines, shifting against his chest, trying to get more of him.

Lando laughs, low and raspy, but his grip on her isn’t loosening one bit. “Patience, baby.”

“I need—”

“Yeah?” he cuts her off, pressing the head of his cock against her entrance this time, barely pushing in before pulling back out. “What? This what you need?”

Her stomach flips at the feeling, so raw, unable to spit out any words. Instead, she only manages to nod.

To show her that he appreciates her honesty, Lando guides her hips, dragging her along his length, pressing his swollen tip against her clit once more and holding her there. Without moving. She gasps, her whole body shuddering as the pressure sends sparks through her nerves.

Lando groans, feeling how she pulses against him, how her body aches for more. “Well, shit. That’s pretty,” he admits, watching her fall apart in his hands.

She lets a little cry out in protest, trying to push down, but he keeps her there, right on the edge of everything, everything.

“You gonna beg for it again?” he asks in a teasing voice.

She wants to fight him on it, but she can’t. Not when she’s this close to him, when every second of waiting feels like pure, unfiltered torture.

She shakes her head, her little cry turning into a throaty moan.

Lando gets ecstatic at the sound and the way her body shivers — so desperate, so utterly wrecked for him before he’s even inside her. For a split second, he considers giving in completely. But then he remembers she’s mad at him. Or at least, she was. And if she thinks she can get away with that attitude without consequence, she needs to understand that she’s sorely mistaken.

Instead of giving her what she wants, Lando kisses her. Hard. His lips crash into hers, swallowing the whimper of frustration that slips from her throat. He starts guiding her against him, harder now, making her ride the thick length of his cock without ever letting her sink onto it, the friction sweet but never enough. She tries to pull back, gasping against his mouth, but he doesn’t let her. One hand tangles in her hair, holding her close, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

Until her patience snaps and, with a sharp gasp, she bites his lip, just hard enough to make him hiss, her nails digging into his scalp as she pulls at his curls. Lando moans, a low, needy sound that strikes her like lightning. The sting, the fight, the way she’s clawing for a type of control she won’t get — not yet — motivates him to keep teasing her.

Annoyed, she lets her hand slip between them, fingers wrapping around his cock, slick and throbbing, before she finally sinks down onto him. Because, sometimes, the best thing you can do for yourself is to take matters into your own hands.

At that, both of them go silent.

Her body tightens around him instantly, the fullness of him stealing her breath, making her walls flutter as she adjusts to his length.

Lando’s forehead presses against hers, his lips parting with a violent inhale, his hands squeezing her hips.

“Jesus, baby,” he breathes, voice wrecked, “What buttons did I push?”

She doesn’t reply. Doesn’t move. Neither does he.

They just sit like that, their bodies locked together so perfectly it almost feels cruel to even blink. The fight, the frustration, the teasing… it all fades away in one moment, replaced by something more intense. Something profund.

When she shifts just slightly, Lando whines, feeling the way she clenches around him, and how perfectly they fit together. The thought makes him throb inside her, the heat of her making his pulse race.

She presses her forehead harder against his, her breath shaky. “Baby,” she whispers, “Shit, you feel so good.”

Lando opens his eyes, finding hers already on him.

For a second, he’s happy to simply look at her. Her flushed cheeks, the way her lips are swollen from his kisses, the way she’s barely holding herself together — everything about her is perfection. Then, he lifts her up, and the sudden rush of cool air against his cock makes him moan.

She shrieks at the emptiness, at the way her body aches to take him back. “Please, not now,” she pleads.

Before she can continue, he shoves himself back in, agonizingly slow, making her feel every inch of him as he stretches her again. As a result, her head falls forward, a desperate whimper breaking from her throat.

Lando keeps his eyes on her, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks, “Already falling apart, love? I’ve barely even started.”

She whines, arms wrapping around his neck, hips twitching like she wants more. Much more.

“This what you needed, yes?” Lando taunts, rolling his hips just enough to make her lose her mind. “You gonna stop being a brat now?”

She tries to answer, but all that comes out is a shaky breath. Lando smiles, dragging himself out just to push back in, watching her eyes flutter shut.

“No, no. Keep those pretty eyes open,” he instructs, nipping at her jaw, “Come on. I wanna watch you break for me.”

Because he is absolutely evil, Lando keeps it slow. Too slow.

Every roll of his hips is calculated, dragging himself out so she feel his cock slipping away, then pushing back in deep, filling her up so completely it makes her walls pulsate. She can’t do anything but take it, her senses overwhelmed by him — by the rough drag of his hands on her skin, the warmth of his breath against her lips, the filthy sound of their bodies meeting.

Then his hands move, sliding up from her waist, fingers tracing over her ribs before finally cupping her breasts. It makes her gasp, her back arching into his touch as his thumbs sweep over her nipples, teasing a little, then rolling them between his fingers.

“So sensitive, look at that,” says Lando, his voice thick with lust. “Are you shaking, baby?”

She is. Her thighs tremble where they straddle him, her whole body squeezing him with every slow thrust, every lazy swipe of his thumbs against her skin.

His gaze drops between them, and his breath stutters at the image. “Beautiful.”

She doesn’t understand at first, too lost in how slowly he fucks her, but then he guides her chin down, forcing her to look.

And oh, fuck.

She can see everything: the way her body stretches to take him in, the way she’s dripping down his entire length, making a mess on his lap, and the way her thighs are trembling on each side of him.

Lando’s heart starts beating faster, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck. “See how you’re fucking ruining me?”

She lets out a soft, broken moan, fingers playing absentmindedly with the curls at the back of his head, mostly to anchor herself in the moment.

“Lan…”

“I know, love,” his tongue flicks against her pulse point before he kisses her jaw. “Not so mad at me now, are you?”

Right now? No. She realizes she’s not. She can’t be. Not when he’s touching her like this, fucking into her with such lazy, devastating precision. Not when he’s whispering filth into her ear while looking at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.

Her hands move, framing his face, tilting it up so she can kiss him again. But this time, their kiss is different. It’s not angry, not desperate, but tender and loving. A kiss that makes Lando’s grip falter, that steals the breath from his lungs and sends him to a new world that’s only inhabited by them.

She whimpers hungrily against his lips, and that’s what breaks him, because he knows he broke her first.

A guttural moan rumbles from his chest as his fingers dig into her thighs. And then he snaps. “Let me take care of you, baby,” he whispers next to her ear, thrusting into her harder. It takes her by surprise, the way he is holding her so tight like he’s trying to fuse them together. “Need you,” he adds.

The sudden change in pace fractures something in her brain to the point she can’t remember anything else except his name.

“It’s okay you’re mad,” Lando assures her. “You can be as mad as you want, yeah? All day, everyday,” he groans, voice wrecked. “I’m still gonna fuck you like this. Gonna give you exactly what you need. Whenever you need me, love.”

Her head falls back, a loud moan spilling from her lips as he loses himself in her, in the heat, the mess, and the way she clings to him.

“Always gonna take care of my girl,” he promises, sealing the words against her skin. “No matter what.”

She can feel his control slipping in the way his thrusts deepen, the rhythm faltering slightly as his breath becomes gradually uneven. He’s still trying to hold back, but she can tell he’s far from behaving. She feels his cock twitching so deliciously inside her, and the way his hands melt with her skin almost painfully on her hips. Every new sensation makes her dizzy, until it’s too much. The pressure building in her chest, the overwhelming feeling of him inside her, the way his hands start roaming over her skin, and his mouth leaving hot trails across her neck — all too much.

With a shaky breath, she collapses forward, her body unable to keep steady, falling against his chest as her hands slide weakly to his sides.

“I can’t,” she gasps, “Can’t hold myself up.”

Lando’s hands move immediately, his hold firm on her back, and voice filled with a deep urgency, “I got you, baby. You know I do.”

And then he flips them, his strength not-so-surprising as he rolls them onto the couch, her body now on her back with him above her. The new angle makes them both moan in unison, the sudden shift in depth making every movement feel sharper, more intense.

Lando’s hands find her thighs, pulling them apart so he can press deeper, pushing into her with a delicious force that makes her stomach tighten and her toes curl. The sound of their bodies slapping together fills the room — wet, sticky, perfect. Her hands reach up, gripping the back of the couch, her nails scratching at the fabric, trying to keep herself grounded as he fucks her harder.

“Fuck, baby,” Lando groans, his face flushed with sweat, his lips parted as he stares down at her, eyes wild with need. “You’re so fucking perfect, can’t get enough of you.”

She can feel him getting closer, the way his movements grow sloppier, more desperate, but there’s no slowing him down. He’s all in — in her, in the moment, and she can barely breathe under the weight of it all.

The sounds of their passion are unrestrained, loud, their breath ragged and frantic. It’s all they hear now: her moans, his grunts, the soft squeak of the couch beneath them. But as the tension starts to crack, she feels herself spiraling as closer to the edge as he is, and she finally feels the last remnants of her jealousy fade away.

She looks up at him, her vision blurry from the pleasure. “You… winked at the waiter.”

Lando freezes for just a moment, his thrusts shallow, and he looks down at her, confusion flickering in his eyes as he forces himself to regain control. “I did?” he breathes out wildly, his lips twitching with a laugh that’s barely contained.

She moans, biting her lip as she writhes under him, “Yes, when she came back with the wine,” she admits, her voice soft, barely a whisper. “It was so stupid, I wanted to throw it in your face.”

Lando finally laughs, a genuine chuckle, his face still flushed with pleasure. “Always so dramatic, aren’t you?” he asks, leaning down to kiss her lips before pulling back. “Wanted to be mad, but you’re too busy getting fucked to even care now, hm?”

She wants to argue, wants to tell him he’s being a cocky bastard, but the words get lost in the sound of her own moans as his rhythm picks up again, faster this time, his cock hitting places inside her that have her seeing stars.

“Oh,” she gasps, her voice full of the tension and the blinding pressure building in her chest, “I’m so... Fuck. I’m close.”

Lando doesn’t ease off. “I know, baby. I feel it.” He pushes her closer, his hands gripping her legs just right, his thrusts brutal and relentless. “Wanna come for me?”

She doesn’t have enough time to process his words. The wave hits her hard, crashing over her like an unstoppable force, and her body goes taut, every nerve lighting up as she cries out, her back arching off the couch as she cums around him.

And Lando isn’t far behind.

He slams into her once more, and then his head falls on her chest with a groan as he releases, the hot pulse of his cum filling her up just as her own orgasm shakes through her. Breathless, they stay like that, bodies joined, both of them tangled in the aftershocks of their release.

“Next time, don’t wink at other girls if you want to keep your eyes,” she finally says, feeling him softening inside her.

“Next time,” he whispers, still trying to catch his breath, “Don’t go non-verbal on me. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

She smiles weakly, pressing her lips to his. “You never mean it like that, do you?”

The air between them thickens, leaving behind an almost palpable silence. Affected by her last affirmation, Lando’s hands find home on her skin, the touch light, slightly hesitant, like he’s afraid to disrupt the fragile calm that’s settled between them.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She traces her fingers through his curls, her body feeling like a flame now, flickering gently after being ignited. There’s a warmth spreading from her chest, outwards, a comfort that soothes the storm inside her. But still, her heart races, and the lingering heat from their connection seems to hum through her veins.

Lando shifts, moving to pull her closer, his arms wrapping around her. She nestles into him, feeling the heat of his skin and the sweat against hers, the warmth of him grounding her.

“You okay?” she hears him again.

“Yeah... just needed a moment to catch my breath,” her voice is a soft murmur in his ears.

Lando smiles weakly, his lips curling with that familiar grin. He brushes a lock of hair from her face, fingers skimming her cheek like a whisper, and the gesture is enough to make her chest tighten.

“You’re everything I need, silly. Always.”

She knows that. And luckily, the storm inside her has subsided. “I’m sorry, too. For being stubborn,” she whispers, her voice full of a quiet vulnerability.

Lando chuckles, “Stubborn is an understatement.”

She lets out a breathless laugh. “Don’t push it.”

His hands, once firm and assertive, now trace delicate patterns over her skin, mapping every curve, every inch of her as though trying to imprint her into his soul. There is no need for words now, not anymore.

As Lando presses another soft kiss to her lips, she remembers why they will always be able to overcome any childish misunderstanding.

“I love you,” she says, her voice steady.

He smiles, feeling a familiar warmth spreading in his chest. And, instead of saying it back, Lando tilts his head slightly, meeting her gaze with a teasing smirk.

Then, he winks at her.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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You should have been able to shake it off. You shouldn’t care. You weren’t together anymore. It was over. You were fine.

This was fine, and yet…

Memories of him flared up with painful clarity. The way he used to brush his hair back when he laughed, the way his metal arm would flex unconsciously when he got excited, the faint scar on his shoulder that only you knew about, the way he would soften in the quietest moments, all those little things that made him yours.

Not hers, not today, not ever.

Your chest tightened with a surge of possessive jealousy. You hated yourself for it, hated that it hurt this much, but you couldn’t stop it. Every fiber of you screamed that he was not supposed to smile for anyone else, not now, not ever.

You paced your room, phone clutched in your hand, mind racing. “It’s just a date,” you whispered to yourself. “He’s allowed. It’s nothing. Move on.”

But the thought of him with someone else, laughing, leaning in close, touching her hand, twisted your stomach into knots. He should be mine. You hated yourself for thinking it, but you couldn’t help it.

By the time you decided to go for a walk - anything to stop your brain from spinning - your feet carried you almost instinctively toward the little café he’d loved, tucked on a quiet street with warm lights spilling onto the sidewalk.

It just so happened that he was here.

With her.

Bucky. Laughing. Leaning toward a woman who wasn’t you, a light in his eyes that had always been reserved for you.

Your knees went weak. A hot, sharp mix of jealousy and longing surged through you. How dare he? How dare he smile like that, touch her hand like that, when you were the one who had spent countless nights memorizing the way he moved, the way he breathed, the way he smiled just for you?

Your instinct was to turn and leave, to hide, but some stubborn, aching part of you stayed rooted to the sidewalk. You wanted to see him. No, you needed to see him.

Bucky looked up, and for a split second, his smile faltered. His gaze caught yours across the street. There was a flicker of recognition, a tremor of surprise and something else you weren’t quite ready to admit: guilt.

“(Y/N)…” His voice was quiet, careful, unsure.

You crossed the street, heart hammering like it wanted to escape your chest. “Bucky,” you said, trying to steady your voice, but it shook with fury and longing. “You’re… on a date.”

He flinched, not from your words, but from the truth behind them. “I… yeah. I was trying-”

“Trying what?” you snapped, letting the heat of your jealousy spill over. “Trying to move on? Trying to pretend you’re not… mine?”

His eyes widened. “Mine?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” you hissed. “You’re my Bucky. You’ve always been my Bucky. Even Strve and the team call you my Bucky! And seeing you with her… smiling at her… it hurts, Buck! I hate it. I hate that I feel this way, but I can’t help it.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might disappear, vanish into the night to avoid the storm you’d become. But he didn’t. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, the familiar heat of him both tormenting and comforting.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head, voice low. “You’re wrong. You’re not imagining it, but… it’s not like that. It’s not like I’m… I’m hers.”

“Then what is it like?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve moved on. Like everything we had… doesn’t matter anymore.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flicking away, and you hated the flicker of shame that crossed his features. “Because… I thought I should try. Thought maybe moving on would… make it easier. Easier for me. Easier for you.”

“For me?” you repeated, bitter. “You think seeing you with her makes it easier for me?”

“No!” His voice cracked, raw and unsteady. “I… I didn’t think. I thought I could… forget. I thought I could be normal. But I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words hit you like a punch. Every thought, every memory, every heartbeat you’d tried to suppress, came rushing back. “You… Do you still love me?”

“Yes.” His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with longing. “I never stopped. I tried, but I couldn’t. And seeing you here… seeing you standing there, jealous and furious, it… it makes me realise I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want anyone but you.”

Your breath caught, the tension in your chest giving way to a raw, aching need. “You’re lying,” you whispered, half in disbelief, half in desperation.

“I’m not.” His hand lifted slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, fingers trembling. “I tried. I thought I could, but I can’t. I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry you saw me like this, but I don’t care about anyone else. I care about you.”

The city of New York felt impossibly quiet, the distant sounds of traffic and chatter fading into nothing. Only you and him remained, heartbeats echoing like drums.

“I-” you began, voice shaking, words failing under the weight of your emotions. “I still love you too. I’ve been trying not to, but I can’t… I can’t stop.” Your eyes welled up, tears spilling from the corners.

Bucky’s lips curved, tentative, soft, as he stepped closer. “Then don’t. Please. Don’t.”

You let yourself close the distance, stepping into him, into his arms. He wrapped you close, one hand sliding around your waist, the other brushing over your hair, forehead resting against yours. The heat of his body, the familiar scent, the soft rumble of his voice, it all crashed into you, overwhelming and intoxicating.

“I’m still yours,” he whispered, the metal of his arm cold but steady against your back.

“And I’m still yours,” you replied, letting the jealousy, the hurt, the longing all dissolve into the safety of finally, finally being together again.

For the first time in months, everything felt right. The heartbreak, the anger, the distance, it all melted away in the warmth of Bucky’s arms, and you knew, with every fiber of your being, that no one else could ever take your place.

No one could ever be your Bucky like you were.