#nora writes

It might have been midnight in the middle of July, but you were already hip-deep in more orange, black, green, and purple beads than you could count. Two aisles over, someone sneezed.

"Bless you," a female voice called automatically.

"Don't," a male voice answered. "It only encourages the godforsaken sparkles."

You snickered as you hung another strand of beads.

Footsteps approached, making you pull one earbud out and glance up. Coming around the corner was your manager, Sheila, wearing the kind of sickly sweet smile that always meant your night was about to get worse. Beside her stood a good-looking guy with a "**NEW TEAM MEMBER"** badge, looking completely overwhelmed.

Sheila stopped beside you. "You wanted help. Here you go. You're training Barnes tonight."

Standing up, you leveled a flat look at her. "Thanks."

She gave you a smug smile before walking away, leaving you alone with the new guy. 

Looking him over, you smirked. "You piss somebody off already?"

He shrugged. "I don't think so. Is this a bad section or something?"

Shaking your head, you grimaced. "No. Sheila just hates me. If she assigned you to me, she definitely doesn't like you either."

Closing his eyes, he sighed. "Probably didn't help that I turned her down."

You barked out a laugh.

He opened one eye before offering his hand. "James Barnes. Everybody calls me Bucky."

Still chuckling, you shook it. "Congratulations on surviving the training videos." You gestured dramatically down the aisle. "Welcome to Bead Hell."

Bucky looked from one end of the aisle to the other, taking in the walls of beads and the four-foot section you were resetting with Halloween merchandise.

"I'm pretty sure it's July."

"It is." Turning to grab another box, you nodded toward the display. "Somewhere there is a palm tree crying because Halloween is already going out."

He snorted.

"It is okay, though. Christmas gets here next month."

He stopped mid-step. "...Next month?"

You nodded solemnly. "Then Halloween can sob with the palm tree."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. "Oh... that is how it is, huh?"

"You get used to it."

He pulled out a box cutter and sliced open the first carton. Before you could stop him—

Fwoomp.

A cloud of pink glitter erupted into the air. Bucky froze. Slowly, he looked at you through the settling glitter. "...I made a mistake."

Brushing glitter off his shoulder, you nodded sympathetically. "Yeah. That happens." Another piece floated onto his hair. "But good news." 

He blinked.

"You're one of us now." 

Picking up the first package, which somehow managed to rain even more glitter over both of you, you showed him how to match the item numbers before stocking them in the correct location. Once he had the hang of it, the two of you settled into the rhythm of stocking shelves.

Around two in the morning, your phone alarm chimed. "Finally."

Bucky looked over. "What's that for?"

Cleaning up your section, you stood and brushed your jeans off. "Lunch time. Come on, Barnes. I will show you the break room and our lovely snack machine."

He stood, unsuccessfully brushing the pink glitter from his clothes, and followed you toward the back of the store.

The break room was about as glamorous as the rest of the building—a microwave, a mini fridge, a snack machine, a drink machine, and exactly one table surrounded by four wobbly chairs.

Digging into your pocket, you fed a couple of dollars into the snack machine and grabbed your usual Milky Way before holding out the other dollar to Bucky. "Here. First night's free."

He stared at the bill. "You sound like a drug dealer."

Before you could answer, your coworkers Kayla and Carl wandered in. Carl pointed at the dollar. "Better take her up on that. She will not offer again."

Laughing, Bucky accepted it and bought a Snickers. "Is it always this weird?"

Kayla smiled. "Wait until Christmas shows up and we spend five months drowning in glitter branches."

Both you and Carl groaned. Dropping heavily into a chair, you opened your candy bar. "Do not mention the holiday that shall not be named while we are on break. Geez."

Carl frowned. "Christmas?"

You pointed your Milky Way at him. "See? That is exactly how it spreads."

Chuckling, Bucky sat beside you and unwrapped his "lunch."

Sighing dramatically, you waved your hand through the air. "Most holidays only stick around for three or four months. Not..." You lowered your voice to a whisper. "...Christmas." Returning to your normal volume, you continued. "That little diva takes over at least five months. Then we spend another month sorting through clearance."

Carl grabbed his usual M&M's and dropped into the chair across from you. "Anyway, new guy. You from around here?"

Rolling your eyes, you snorted. "His name is Bucky, Carl. Rude much?"

Carl shrugged. 

Kayla offered her hand instead. "Do not mind them. They have worked here too long. I am Kayla."

Bucky smiled as he shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. I just moved here with my best friend."

"Found a place yet?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Still looking. We are staying with some friends until we find one."

You caught the wheels turning in Kayla's head. Bucky, thankfully, did not. Before she could start flirting with the poor man, you bumped his shoulder. "You must like your best friend a lot if you are moving in with him."

He looked over with an easy smile. "He's like my brother." There was no hesitation in the words. "Honestly? Nicest guy you will ever meet."

You smiled back. "Maybe I will." The thought clicked into place. "Actually... my apartment complex just had a few units open up. You can use me as a reference if you want."

His face brightened. "Yeah. That would be great."

The two of you exchanged numbers, and you quickly texted him the leasing office information. Right as your phones disappeared back into your pockets, Sheila walked into the break room. "All right. Break's over."

The rest of the night was more of the same—beads for hours and more glitter than either of you thought physically possible. By the time dawn rolled around, the two of you sparkled from head to toe as you walked out into the parking lot.

Bucky looked down at his glitter-covered jeans. "Does this wash out?"

You laughed. "No."

He turned toward you. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

Grinning, you started walking backward toward your car. "I mean you are going to find glitter in places you have not been yet."

He stared at you. "That is not how glitter works."

"You keep telling yourself that."

He looked back down at his clothes and sighed. "...I've made a terrible mistake."

Still laughing, you climbed into your car while he headed for his truck.

When Bucky got home, Sam and Steve were sitting on the balcony of Sam's apartment with mugs of coffee.

Sam took one look at Bucky and immediately spit his coffee across the railing. "I thought you were going to work, not a strip club."

Steve looked up from his mug, his brow furrowing. "Why do you have glitter all over you, Buck?"

Bucky dropped into the empty chair with a groan and stole Steve's coffee before he could protest. "I've had one Snickers bar all night and seen more beads than I knew existed. I am not discussing what I've learned to call craft herpes with either of you."

Steve laughed as he reached over and reclaimed his mug. "...Craft herpes?"

"Hey!" Sam yelped.

Bucky leaned over and deliberately shook out his hair, showering Sam in the pink, green, and blue glitter already clinging to him.

"I just wanted to share the love, man."

Sam looked down at himself in horror. "I hate you."

"Give it a few hours," Bucky said. "You'll hate glitter more."

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "So it really gets everywhere?"

Bucky sighed dramatically. "Everywhere. You can shower, wash your clothes, vacuum your truck, and somehow it'll still show up three weeks later."

Steve grimaced. "That sounds awful."

"It is." Taking another sip of Steve's coffee, Bucky shrugged. "Might've found us a place, though."

Steve perked up. "Yeah?"

Bucky nodded. "Coworker said her apartment complex has a few vacancies. If she can afford a place there by herself, we should be able to together."

A small smile tugged at Steve's lips. "Her apartment complex?"

Rolling his eyes, Bucky pointed at him. "Do not start."

Steve held his hands up. "I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

Sam snorted into his coffee. "Since when don't you flirt with everything in a skirt?"

Bucky gave him a completely deadpan look. "She was wearing jeans."

For a beat there was complete silence. Then Steve and Sam doubled over laughing.

Bucky took another drink of Steve's coffee while they laughed. "Glad I could entertain you."

A couple of weeks later, Bucky and Steve moved into an apartment three doors down from yours. Tonight they were having a housewarming party, and Bucky had invited you since using you as a reference was what got them in the door.

Straightening your T-shirt, you walked down the hallway and knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately. "Hey!" Bucky grinned. "Come on in."

You stepped inside to find ten or fifteen people already scattered around the apartment with drinks in hand and paper plates piled with finger foods. "Hey, the place looks great."

Bucky glanced around proudly. "We've still got a few boxes to unpack, but it's coming together."

Looking around the room, you tried to figure out which one of the guys was his roommate. Then you saw him. Blond hair. Ocean blue eyes. Dear God. He was gorgeous.

Without taking your eyes off him, you reached over and tapped Bucky on the shoulder. "...Who's that?"

Bucky followed your gaze. A slow grin spread across his face. "That's my roommate, Steve." Then he looked back at you. "...Why?"

Finally tearing your eyes away from Steve, you grabbed Bucky's arm. "Because you're going to introduce me right now."

For half a second Bucky just stared at you. Then it clicked. *Oh. *He bit back a laugh. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

"What?"

"Nothing." Still chuckling to himself, he let you drag him across the room.

Steve looked up as the two of you approached. The man standing beside him and the redheaded woman glanced over curiously. Bucky gestured toward you. "This is my coworker. She's the one who recommended the apartment complex."

He pointed around the little circle. "This is Sam, Natasha..." Finally, he rested a hand on Steve's shoulder. "...and my best friend, Steve."

You smiled politely at Sam and Natasha before your attention landed right back on Steve. "Hi. I've heard so much about you from Bucky."

Steve smiled, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. "Hi." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah... he's talked about you some too."

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Bucky looking at Sam and Natasha with the biggest grin on his face. Both of them raised questioning eyebrows.

Ignoring whatever silent conversation they were having, you nodded toward the drink in Steve's hand. "Steve, would you mind helping me get something to drink?" You smiled sweetly. "Maybe you could show me around while we're at it."

"Oh." Steve cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sure."

He looked at Bucky for some reason. Bucky gave him an encouraging nod. "Go ahead."

"Right." Steve smiled at you again. "This way."

The two of you disappeared into the kitchen.

The second you were out of earshot, Sam looked at Bucky. "What?"

Bucky burst out laughing. "Oh, that's priceless."

Natasha crossed her arms. "What is?"

"Buck spends two weeks teasing us because some girl at work is nice to him..." Sam said.

"...and she walks in," Bucky finished, "takes one look at Steve, and completely forgets I exist."

Natasha peeked toward the kitchen where Steve was handing you a drink. Then she looked back at Bucky. "...Does he know?"

Bucky snorted. "Absolutely not."

Sam laughed. "You think he'll figure it out?"

Bucky watched Steve smiling at you while completely oblivious. "...He'll either lose the ability to talk..." He shook his head. "...or he'll miss it completely."

GroupMe Chat: Respectfully Oblivious (3 members)

Bucky: Omg. He thinks she likes me.

Sam: I'm sorry, what?

Nat: You've got to be kidding.

Bucky: Nope.

Bucky: She practically ordered me to introduce her to Steve.

Bucky: He thinks she's just really friendly.

Sam: ...

Nat: Oh no.

Sam: Steve.

Nat: Steve.

Bucky: Steve.

Sam: 🤦‍♂️

Nat: 😭

Several Sundays later, you found yourself knocking on the door to apartment 7B again.

Bucky answered almost immediately. "You're early."

You pushed a ceramic bowl into his hands. "I brought queso."

He looked down at the bowl before looking back at you, only to find your attention already fixed on Steve in the kitchen. "You don't even like football."

You glanced back at him with an innocent shrug. "I like queso."

Bucky followed your line of sight toward Steve before slowly rolling his eyes as he shut the door behind you.

Steve turned at the sound of your footsteps and smiled. "Hey."

You opened your mouth to answer and nearly forgot how to speak. The man was entirely too good-looking for your own good. "...Hi."

He dipped a spoon into the pot of chili simmering on the stove before holding it out over his other hand. "Try it. Bucky's terrible at seasoning."

Stepping closer, you lightly touched his forearm as though steadying him while you leaned in to taste the chili. "Mmm." You smiled. "That's really good." Your eyes met his. "It does need just a little cinnamon, though."

Steve's breath caught. "Oh." His ears turned pink. "Right. Cinnamon."

Behind you, Bucky set your bowl of queso on the counter. He looked from you...to Steve...then back again. "I'm gonna go watch the pregame." He started backing out of the kitchen. "You two have fun cooking."

Neither of you answered. Steve was busy digging through the spice cabinet. You were busy watching Steve. With an exaggerated sigh, Bucky wandered into the living room.

Steve finally found the cinnamon, added a small spoonful to the chili, and stirred. "Okay." He offered you the spoon again. "Try it now."

Once again, you leaned in for a delicate taste before smiling. "Perfect." You looked up at him. "I like a man who can cook."

The blush spread from Steve's ears to his cheeks. "Thanks."

His eyes drifted toward the living room where Bucky was now pretending very hard not to watch the two of you. "Why don't you grab a seat? I'll fix everybody a bowl."

You smiled sweetly. "You'll spoil me like that, Steve."

He chuckled. "Just trying to be a good host." Waving you toward the dining table, he ladled chili into three bowls before arranging them on a tray with a pile of tortilla chips beside your queso.

As he carried everything over, he called toward the living room. "Soup's on, Buck."

Bucky wandered over and deliberately took the chair across from you, leaving one empty seat beside you and another beside himself.

Without missing a beat, you reached over and moved the silverware from the place next to Bucky to the chair beside you. Bucky watched you. You shrugged. Then stuck your tongue out at him. He sighed into his chili.

Steve walked over carrying his own bowl and paused when he noticed the missing place setting. His eyes flicked between the chairs. You simply smiled. Swallowing, he took the seat beside you. 

As the three of you began eating, you hummed appreciatively. "Steve, this is amazing."

"Thanks." He scooped up some queso with a tortilla chip. After taking a bite, he smiled. "This is really good too."

You reached over and lightly touched his arm. "You're too sweet."

Across the table, Bucky closed his eyes for a second. "So..." he said loudly. "What's your favorite football team?"

You blinked, as though you had forgotten he was there. "I don't really have one." You thought about it for a moment before adding, "I mostly just enjoy watching grown men in tights try to bodily hug each other."

Steve immediately choked on his chili. Across the table, Bucky covered his face with one hand as he tried—and completely failed—not to laugh.

GroupMe Chat: Respectfully Oblivious

Sam: Report.

Bucky: She came over for football.

Nat: And?

Bucky: She sat in Steve's lap emotionally for three hours.

Sam: Did he ask her out?

Bucky: No.

Nat: Did she flirt?

Bucky: Aggressively.

Sam: Did Steve notice?

Bucky: Steve offered her an extra blanket because she "looked chilly."

Nat: I hate this man.

Sam: He's my best friend.

Sam: But I also hate this man.

A few weeks later, after spending all morning baking, you knocked on the door to apartment 7B again. This time you were wearing a low-cut tank top and a pair of short shorts.

Steve answered the door. His eyes widened for half a second before he smiled. "Hey." His gaze dropped to the plate in your hands. "What's that?"

You held up the homemade chocolate chip cookies. "I made cookies and thought I'd share."

He glanced back into the apartment as though checking for someone. "Um..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Buck's not here." Looking back at you, he stepped aside."...But you can come in if you want."

Smiling, you brushed lightly against him as you walked inside. "Thanks, Steve." You looked around. "Where do you want these?" 

"Oh." He hurried over. "Here, let me." 

Carefully taking the plate from your hands, he carried it into the kitchen and set it on the counter before immediately stealing one for himself. After one bite, his eyebrows lifted. "These are really good."

You wandered over until you were standing just a little too close. "I was hoping you'd like them."

Steve instinctively leaned back until his hips bumped the counter. "Thank you." His eyes darted around the kitchen before landing on the pitcher sitting beside the sink. "Do you want some tea? I just made some."

You bit your lip. "That'd be perfect." Fanning yourself dramatically, you smiled up at him. "I'm awfully hot after baking all morning."

Steve nearly missed the glass as he poured the tea. "I bet."

The apartment door opened. Bucky walked into the kitchen just as Steve handed you the glass. Your fingers brushed. Steve looked up. Your eyes met for just a second.

Bucky cleared his throat. "Hey." He looked between the two of you. "You come back for more sugar?"

You shook your head before pointing toward the plate of cookies. "No." You smiled over the rim of your glass. "Got what I needed last time." You nodded toward the cookies. "Thought I'd share with my neighbors."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. You looked far too innocent for him to believe a word of it. Steve accepted the explanation without a second thought.

"Well..." Bucky said slowly. "Thanks."

Steve nodded. "You always think of everybody." He smiled warmly. "Maybe we should start calling you Sugar."

Turning toward him, you rested your hand lightly against his chest. "You can call me Sugar anytime you want, Steve."

Bucky looked at the ceiling. 

Steve's entire face turned bright red. "...Sugar it is then."

You beamed. "Perfect."

Brushing against Steve one last time as you headed for the door, you waved over your shoulder. "See you boys on Sunday."

The apartment fell quiet. Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "She just... showed up."

Bucky stared at him. "She keeps doing that."

Steve nodded. "She's really thoughtful."

There was a beat of silence. Then Steve smiled to himself. "You should ask her out, Buck."

Bucky blinked. "...What?"

"I mean..." Steve cleared his throat. "She's beautiful."

Realizing what he had just admitted, he immediately clamped his mouth shut.

A slow grin spread across Bucky's face. "Oh..."

Steve looked away. "I just mean..."

Bucky folded his arms. "I know exactly what you mean."

GroupMe Chat: Respectfully Oblivious

Sam: How bad?

Bucky: She baked cookies.

Nat: Homemade?

Bucky: Chocolate chip.

Sam: ...

Nat: ...

Sam: That's basically a proposal.

Bucky: Steve said, "You always think of everybody."

Nat: 😭

Bucky: Then he nicknamed her Sugar.

Nat: NO HE DID NOT.

Bucky: He did.

Bucky: She told him he could call her Sugar anytime he wanted.

Sam: 💀

(Bucky shared a photo of you standing in the kitchen with Steve in the tank top and shorts.)

Bucky: He told me I should ask her out.

Sam: OH COME ON.

Nat: Steve...

(Sam changed the group photo to Steve looking confused while holding a casserole dish.)

(Nat changed the group name to Please Just Kiss Already.)

(Bucky changed the group name to Too Honorable for His Own Good.)

Sam: 🤣

Nat: 😤

You stood in the middle of your kitchen eating a banana as you eyed the sink. Finishing the last bite, you casually dropped the peel into the garbage disposal, turned on the water, and flipped the switch. The disposal groaned once before locking up. You smiled. Mission accomplished.

Turning everything back off, you stepped out of apartment 4B and knocked on the door of 7B.

Bucky answered. The moment he saw you, he narrowed his eyes. "...Yes?"

You smiled innocently. "My garbage disposal's stuck."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, without breaking eye contact—"STEVE!"

"What?" Steve called from somewhere deeper in the apartment.

"Your girlfriend broke something again."

"She's not—"

Steve wandered out of his room wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips. "...girlfriend."

You forgot how words worked. He had not noticed you yet. "What'd she break this time?"

Bucky stepped aside, finally revealing you in the doorway. Steve immediately smiled. "Oh. Hey, Sugar. I'll be right over."

You smiled sweetly. "Thanks, Steve."

Then you looked at Bucky. "See you at work."

Bucky simply shook his head as you disappeared back across the hall.

A few minutes later, you were perched on the kitchen counter waiting when a knock sounded at your door. "Come in!"

Steve poked his head inside first. "You sure?"

"Yep."

He stepped inside carrying a well-used toolbox before closing the door behind him. "So..." He set it on the floor beside the sink. "What's it doing?"

You flipped the switch. The disposal made one sad attempt to turn before giving up.

Steve immediately switched it back off. "Huh."

You shrugged. "I have no idea what happened."

"Mhm." Opening the toolbox, Steve knelt and disappeared beneath the sink.

You, meanwhile, had absolutely nothing to do except admire the view.

A hand appeared from beneath the cabinet. "Can you hand me the wrench?"

You were too busy appreciating the way his pajama pants hung on his hips to hear a word he had said.

You handed him a screwdriver. He chuckled. "Other wrench."

"Oh." Taking back the screwdriver, you handed him a pair of pliers instead.

Steve stuck his head out from under the sink. His lips twitched. "You're not helping."

Biting your lip, you gave him your most innocent smile. "I'm emotionally supporting."

He reached into the toolbox himself and picked up the wrench "You're doing great."

You melted on the spot.

The next week it was a curtain rod. The week after that, the smoke detector had somehow misplaced its battery.

A week later, Bucky came home from the grocery store to find you kneeling outside your apartment with a screwdriver in one hand. He slowly looked at the screwdriver...then at your apartment door...then back at you. "...Really?"

You finished loosening the last screw before standing. "Maybe."

He shifted the grocery bags to his other arm. "You're breaking your own apartment."

You slipped the screw into your pocket and leaned casually against the now-slightly-crooked doorframe. "Possibly."

He sighed. "You're a menace."

Grinning, you folded your arms. "I know."

Bucky unlocked his apartment door before glancing back over his shoulder."...I'm not telling him."

"Didn't ask you to." You kept grinning at him.

He glared at you. "You weren't going to." 

"Nope."

He pointed at you. "You're enjoying this way too much."

Your grin only widened. "I really am."

GroupMe Chat: Too Honorable For His Own Good

Bucky: Emergency update.

Sam: ??

Nat: ??

Bucky: She broke her own door.

Sam: Accident?

Bucky: No.

Nat: She admitted that?

Bucky: I watched her loosen the screws.

Sam: Respect.

Nat: Did it work?

Bucky: Steve fixed it.

Sam: Then?

Bucky: He thanked her for letting him help.

Nat: ...

Nat: I have a migraine.

Sam: Is he at least suspicious?

Bucky: He called her Sugar.

Sam: That's progress.

Bucky: Then he fixed her curtain rod.

Sam: ...

Bucky: Then her smoke detector.

Nat: She's manufacturing maintenance.

Bucky: Correct.

Sam: I almost don't want him to figure it out anymore.

Bucky: Neither do I.

Steve walked you home from the grocery store carrying every bag despite your repeated offers to help. The two of you laughed the whole way. Every chance you got, your hand brushed against his. Whether he noticed or not, you could not tell.

He followed you inside and set the groceries on the counter. "Thanks, Steve." You smiled up at him. "I'm glad I didn't have to go alone."

He pushed a hand through his hair. "Anytime, Sugar."

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. "I love it when you call me that."

Steve stiffened for half a second before carefully hugging you back. "...Yeah?"

Pulling away, you smiled. "Yeah."

His ears turned pink. "I should let you put your groceries away."

Before you could say another word, he was halfway to the door. "I'll... see you Sunday." Then he was gone.

You stared at the closed door for a long moment. With a frustrated huff, you started putting away the refrigerated groceries. Milk. Eggs. Butter. By the time you shoved the orange juice into the refrigerator, you were officially out of patience. "For fuck's sake."

Decision made. You slammed the refrigerator door shut and marched straight out of apartment 4B. Three doors later, you knocked on 7B.

Bucky answered. Before he could say a word, you pointed down the hallway. "Out."

He blinked. "...What?"

You took a deep breath. "Out, Bucky."

From the couch, Steve looked up from the sketchbook resting on his knee. "Everything okay, Sugar?"

Your irritation disappeared the second you looked at him. You smiled. "Perfect."

Bucky's eyes went wide. A grin slowly spread across his face. He grabbed his keys off the table. "This is the best day of my life." Then he was gone.

You stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him. 

Steve set his sketchbook aside and stood. "...What's going on?"

Instead of answering, you crossed the room, grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt, and pulled him down into a kiss. For one stunned heartbeat, he froze. Then he kissed you back.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing a little harder. Steve searched your face. "...Buck—"

You pointed a finger at him. "If you say Bucky's name one more time..." The threat hung in the air.

He swallowed. "...I thought—"

You kissed him again, shorter this time. "I know what you thought."

His hands settled gently around your waist. "I thought you liked him."

You cupped his face in both hands until he had no choice but to meet your eyes. "I used him to meet you."

Steve blinked. "...What?"

"I made him introduce us."

Silence. "...Oh."

You let out one long, exhausted sigh. "Bucky can jump in the river for all I care."

This time when you kissed him, Steve did not hesitate. His arms tightened around you as though he was afraid you might disappear.

When the kiss finally broke, he rested his forehead against yours.  "I am such an idiot."

You laughed. "You really are."

His expression turned sheepish. "I spent months trying to be a good person."

"I know."

He closed his eyes. "I didn't want to hurt Buck."

"I know."

"I thought I was doing the right thing." He looked at you again.

You smiled and brushed your thumb across his cheek. "I know."

A slow smile spread across his face. "So..."

"So?"

"You've been flirting with me this whole time?" You laughed.

"Steve..." 

He winced. "...Right."

"I've been flirting with you since the housewarming party."

He closed his eyes. "Oh, no."

"What?" You looked at  him confused for a moment.

"I have so many conversations to apologize for."

You laughed so hard you nearly doubled over. Before you could recover, Steve slipped an arm around your waist and effortlessly lifted you into his arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.

GroupMe Chat: Too Honorable For His Own Good

Bucky: She's in my apartment.

Sam: Finally?

Nat: FINALLY?

Bucky: She just told me to get out.

Sam: OH MY GOD.

Nat: IT'S HAPPENING.

Bucky: Steve just said, "Everything okay, Sugar?"

Sam: ...

Nat: ...

Bucky: I'm leaving before Steve accidentally invents celibacy again.

Sam: Wise.

Nat: Check back in an hour.

Bucky: Absolutely not.

The next morning, Steve woke feeling warmer than usual. He looked down to find you tucked against his side, your head resting on his chest. A smile spread across his face.

As though sensing him awake, you stirred, stretching lazily before blinking up at him. The moment your eyes met, you smiled. Then you poked him in the chest. "You owe me a date, mister."

Steve blinked. "...A date?"

You leaned over and kissed him before nodding. "Yes."

"I thought..."He gave you that wonderfully helpless look you had come to know so well.

"I know."

He brushed a kiss against your temple. "I skipped straight to..."

Laughing, you nodded. "Yep."

He rolled, gently pinning you beneath him as a crooked smile tugged at his lips. "...Should've asked you out first, Sugar."

You reached up and kissed his cheek. "Good thing you still can."

Steve smiled against your lips before kissing you again, determined to start making up for lost time.

Hours later, Steve wandered out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.

Bucky was already in the kitchen making coffee. Without even turning around, he asked, "You finally figured it out?"

Steve groaned. "You knew?"

Laughing, Bucky poured himself a cup before finally looking over his shoulder. "She was breaking her own apartment just to see you, Stevie."

Steve dropped his forehead onto the counter. A helpless laugh escaped him. "I'm never living this down."

You wandered into the kitchen wearing one of Steve's T-shirts. "Not living what down?"

Steve looked up at you, smiling despite himself. "You were creating things for me to fix, Sugar?"

Shrugging, you stole Bucky's coffee mug before he could take his first sip. "I wanted to see you."

Bucky sighed dramatically. "I cannot believe that actually worked."

You took a sip of his coffee. "It worked every time."

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "...In my defense, things really were broken."

You and Bucky looked at each other. Then both of you looked back at Steve.

Steve frowned. "What?"

Bucky reached for the coffee mug still in your hand. "I'd like my coffee back."

You took another sip. "No."

Bucky looked at Steve. "You see what you've done?"

Steve smiled. "I think she's wonderful."

Bucky stared at him for a long moment. Then he threw both hands into the air. "Respectfully..." He pointed between the two of you. "...you're both exhausting."

GroupMe Chat: Too Honorable For His Own Good

Bucky: They figured it out.

Sam: Define "figured it out."

Bucky: Steve finally realized she wasn't into me.

Nat: HOW?

Bucky: She kissed him.

Sam: That'll do it.

Nat: Took a direct system reboot.

Bucky: He's apologizing to her right now for not asking her on a date first.

Sam: ...

Nat: That's actually kind of adorable.

Bucky: I hate that you're right.

Sam: So... are we deleting this chat?

Bucky: Absolutely not.

Nat: Evidence.

Sam: Historical record.

Bucky: In case Steve ever forgets again.

Evans Varaints Masterlist

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The same thing as always. You were stirred conscious by the gentle hand belonging to one of his many praetorians, in the middle of the night you presumed the darkness engulfing your surroundings to be at, and expected to fulfill the only purpose you were being kept around for.

So you'd been told after your arrival, so you'd been treated since and therefore, you knew.

The bruises on your skin that always bloomed purple beneath the surface of your bath waters, they were a testimony to the qualities of your service to his majesty.

It doesn't take long this time. With the guard by your side to light you the way, you only make it halfway through the corridor that opens behind another corridor which leads into another corridor, before the commotion fills your ears and you even get a hint of the proportions of his temper tonight.

Of course he's fled into the sanctuary of his beloved library, and currently tearing it to shreds considering you can hear a loud crash of one of the wooden chairs being tossed into the nearest shelf, causing the clutter that has been neatly propped onto it for decorative purposes to shatter onto the tiled marble.

You wonder what – or who – caused his exasperation this time.

It is another nightly summoning of you into Geta's quarters of the royal palace, one where he ordered you whenever he was just in the mood, or like the other kind tonight, plagued by a rampage of unpleasant emotion.

"Where is she?!", his familiar voice hisses at probably no one but the tall beige columns, "what is taking her so long?!"

With a small smile you nod the praetorian that's supposed to keep you unharmed goodbye as you reach the big door that prevents his agony from being visually witnessed.

Breathe in, breathe out. Tame the raging beast. It's what you know.

The door hasn't even closed behind you, and already does the sight in front of you have your insides in a twist.

He's kneeling on the floor, right in front of the mess he just designed, his head whips around and his body quickly comes to stand again once he's taken notice of your anticipated presence.

The older Caesar is always a sight for you.

Unruly strands of ginger give away his unsuccessful attempt at finding his dreams for the night, a hard contrast to how neatly it was combed and adorned with golden laurels whenever he would show himself to any subject not belonging to the swarm of palace staff.

The veins in his thick neck stand prominently to seek your attention, deep brown eyes familiarly dark with anger as they find yours, his nostrils flare and the corner of his mouth twitches with his nerves.

What Geta wants now goes without saying.

"My emperor, you asked for me", the bow downwards isn't even a conscious decision anymore.

His face is flushed red and his chest heaves from exhaustion, pure rage boiling its way through his veins, his crimson red night robe hanging around the important parts of him loosely, and to your silent delight, the golden v-shaped hem allows you a quick glance from his exposed sternum all the way down to his stomach.

Your heart palpitates, the sight of him all riled up and asking for you doesn't leave your body unaffected. His imposing physique could easily be taken as the blueprint, the embodiment of a young Roman god, and even though his style of rule over the empire reeked of inexperience, arrogance and impulsivity, the maturity of his masculinity always draws you in like a moth to a flame.

Wide blown eyes in search for a sense of your mood, he wordlessly beckons you to come closer, it's almost predatory, hungry for something he knows only you can satisfy.

His intense, almost scrutinizing gaze in your direction from across the room makes you swallow thickly, quick to follow his order.

There's that familiar wobble in your knees again when his hot breath washes over your face, due to the proximity in which you know he expects you to stand in front of his tall figure.

The apple of his cheek glistens in the low light, he must have been crying. It's the part of his face you look at whenever you don't dare to reciprocate the gaze that you're afraid could disclose the unspoken truth about the things you seem to feel whenever he's got you standing in front of him like this.

The tantalizing mix of his signature scent and the light sheen of sweat on his chest invades your senses, his intimidating presence never shy of impact, evident in that flutter inside your chest.

With lips mere inches from yours, his jaw clenched and his head tilted so he can study your reaction as closely as possible, the soft curve of his index finger meets your temple, and you can feel each single one your cells yearn for him to close the gap.

The emperor doesn't.

His finger gently follows the side of your face downwards, and when it reaches your jaw, it is joined by another as they trace along your neck and the curve of your shoulder, just to end up curled into the loose collar of your royal blue night gown, aiding him to slip the silky fabric over your shoulder.

Geta swallows hard, too alluring is the vision of soft skin offering itself to him.

And just like that, the warmth of it under his featherlight touch is what seems to always flip the switch.

From the neurotic, tensed up, ruthless head of an empire to someone that was ... softer.

"What a delight to my current state you are, mea pluma, so tender beyond my wildest imaginations", he chases the revelation of more soft skin as he speaks to you directly for the first time tonight, "the most loyal of them all", his voice barely above a whisper, an incredibly vast difference to the display of vigorous anger you saw him direct at the bust of his own head mere minutes ago, the ginger waves that are sticking to his sweaty forehead almost meet your own as his gaze lingers on your exposed chest a little longer than what you are used to.

You're unsure what his ulterior motive is tonight.

It's almost as if your expectance is starting to feel betrayed by the divergent nature of his behaviour. Everything is the same, his nostrils flare, cheeks reddened with anger, yet something feels different, the glint in his eyes conveys something you have not seen, nor noticed in him before.

Geta could be ruthless and erratic as head of state, you've come to learn as much every time you'd witnessed him hold his hyperbolic speeches, impulsively rule over decisions in the arena or in the senate hall, on those days where he chose to keep you nearby.

However, from the antics you had been subject to witness during your time at the palace, in the matters regarding his private relations, and given plenty of occasions, your inkling denied him allowing any harm to find the only remedy to his tantrums.

He wasn't that stupid.

Instead, it had always been a push and pull.

Where Geta did most of the pushing and pulling. In the physical sense at least, and you just seemed to keep him on the edge, summoning you for more.

Before your gown can even pool around your ankles, the same hand that caused its fall snakes around your figure, just to leave a burning trace down your spine. The other finds yours and places it over the hammering of his heart against his chest, and you're not sure if it does so because he'd just turned the library into his personal rage temple, or because he's about to make you part of it.

His narrowed eyes glow ember in the flickering light coming from the one torch that is aflame next to the door, a beautifully soft golden shade cast over the glowing skin of his handsome face. It displays the hint of a smile you think, while your eyes trace that sharp jaw, the muscles dressing his neck, shoulders and collarbones.

If you didn't still feel his warm breath on your face and the dull thump of his heart against your palm, you'd think him a hallucination, a dream, only a sculpture.

It's almost romantic – and still unusual for the way you're used to this going, though you've been noticing the absence of his blatant indifference to your existence from the time you were new to the palace – the mildly gentle nature of the touch he holds you with in moments like these, his gaze that never leaves your face, studying, you still don't dare to reciprocate it, at least not in the same way.

That ache in your chest, it would rip you apart if he, the emperor you'd grown so fond of, were to cast you out. After finding out where your heart really lied. What all the summons had been doing to you.

The lack of negative ramifications to your actions had gotten you past the point of being afraid of physical punishment a long while ago, so used to his antics that by now, the only thing that genuinely caused you trepidation was the threat of abandonment.

Geta briefly pauses his intent studies when the hand that's been resting on your back comes down to roughly grab your behind, while the other lets go of your palm and takes your jaw, pad of his thumb denting the softness of your cheek.

Juxtaposition, the way he's holding you now, a sick smile spreading across his full lips.

A thrilling shiver runs down your spine once again when his tongue meets the side of your exposed neck, he drags it upwards in a maddeningly slow pace, tasting the saltiness on your skin as if it was his drug.

And boy, is he in need of a fix.

Geta inhales you, lets his nose follow the wet stripe he just placed between your collarbone and jaw hinge, and to you it feels like he's about to devour you whole, making you part of his very being.

You lean your weight against him in response, feel his eyes burn a hole through your head again right after he nips blossoms into your flesh, just to let everyone you encounter know whose claim lays on you, grip tightening briefly before the hand holding your jaw moves up to rest on top of your head.

It's muscle memory at this point.

Sinking to your knees in front of him like a sinner at an altar, Geta's ravenous gaze follows your every move and for a fraction of time, when he lets his other hand fall to his side, it feels like a revelation of not just his body to your taste, but his soul to your cradle.

The flickering light of the torch is doing wonders to the soft expanse of his golden torso, you would surely mistake it for monolithic marble if it wasn't radiating heat.

Your eyes instantly fixate on the trail of hair that drips down from his belly button, it makes your mouth water. Of course he's hard as rock already.

If this situation was up to you, if you were not merely a servant to an emperor, if his hand had not imperviously swatted yours away on prior occasions, there wouldn't be an inch of him left unattended, uncaressed. But you know his patience runs thin right now.

The greed – obvious in the way his fingers are pulling at the roots of your hair, it always gives him away.

A grunt slips past his lips once the tip of your tongue touches the underside of his head, continuing its gentle assault by running its course all the way down to the base and up the girthy shaft again, before your mouth opens fully to invite him in, an unholy routine so practiced and tested, it makes thinking about it redundant.

His eyes never leave your face, his hand never leaves your head, it's part of him trying to regain the control that he thinks has slipped him.

Sometimes, you like to think of the glint in his narrowed gaze as genuine adoration among the rage and the lust. The thought is always pushed aside as quickly as it appears in your mind though, replaced by nothing but desire for the man in front of you.

Spit creates small rivers on your chin with the way he sloppily uses you, the hand on your head having curled into a fist with most of your hair bunched up in it.

"You sinful thing, mea lapis, no mouth could ever compare to yours."

Hot and heavy cock on your tongue, stuffing your throat repeatedly in a slow, incredibly agonizing pace, his low moans and huffs and hisses lay claim on your favourite sound at this hour.

The bold declaration makes you dare to raise a hand to his thigh slowly, soft fingertips leaving a tickle of lingering affection on his skin as response to his praise, adding onto the pleasure building in his abdomen.

Drowning out the noise in his head. That's what he wants, what he needs and what he gets.

It's your silent way of proving loyalty and obedience, the things you know he needs to be reminded of in moments like these.

"A tongue so divine, it always strikes me to think you were sent to me from Venus herself. The quickness in which you– mhhh, follow my summons, so eager and ready to be her Caesar's .. relief", Geta continues, crude grunts continue to escape his lungs as he fucks your mouth, the lustful gaze he never breaks so tantalizing that you're certain there must be a sticky puddle beneath your spot on the marble by now.

The angry twitch is still present in his face, through hooded eyes you watch his nostrils flare with each drag of his underside over your tongue as the tip of it catches the soft, velvety rim of his cockhead.

It turns you on beyond any measure, knowing it's you he always asks for. The one he wishes to see when things get really dark.

It might, just might have something to do with your own eagerness to feel like more than a convenience.

"The spark in those emerald gems when they reach mine from below, all while– fuck, while that tight throat keeps humming those sweet tones, stuffed so full of me", he seems to be lavish with his praise tonight, generosity sparking when his other hand comes down to cradle your cheek and his thumb catches the tear that is threatening to run down to your jaw.

Surely it must be the circumstances surrounding his emotions tonight.

"Truly magnificent, mea pluma, you've done well", his voice drops lower, seemingly pleased with the gags he forces out of you.

With a subtle smirk Geta decides on switching from a cradle to a resolute grab of your jaw again to pull you to your feet, you feel your head being tilted lightly to the side for better access of his lips at the shell of your ear with another whisper, "need to feel you on me, stuff you so full", not wasting another second to crowd into your space, maneuvering you backwards until the backs of your thighs bump against the only piece of furniture in the room that seems to still be intact.

One swift grip on your hips makes the library walls spin until your back hits his heaving chest, you can feel the taut muscle in his arms against your front as they come around your figure to demonstrate possession.

A shiver runs down your spine at the feeling of his hot breath on your shoulder and his front pressed against the length of your backside, anticipation of what his next action might be leaving a flaming tingle in your chest, threatening to consume you whole.

The chilly midnight drafts coming in from the tall open window frames are entirely unfelt, how could your skin even pay attention when there's an impatient, needy ginger haired emperor mouthing at your neck?

His warm tongue leaves another stripe of spit behind before your brain can even foster any more thoughts, canines grazing the supple flesh.

As if it was a command coming from a higher authority, it's the tilt of your head that stands as an offer.

Primarily for better access. Underlying to that, you as a whole, the foreign concept of more than he had ever planned for you to be in the first place. It's what you so desperately want yourself to morph into, and unbeknownst to you, it's what you've already become.

Despite of the ache in your chest that all but yearns for his genuine care, the plethora of your experience in the past forces you to just know better. You've never known such agony, it makes your chest tighten and your cunt clench around nothing.

Geta purely acts on impulses. One of his hands runs up the length of your naked form until it meets one of your nipples, pebbled in the drafts of chilly spring night air, the kneading and pinching that follows making your entire body twitch with the sensations of his burning touch.

Hums that are hinting at satisfaction escape through plushness of his lips against your skin in the same breath as he presses his stiff groin against the soft curve of your ass.

Time seems to stand still for a moment in which it's just both of your breathing that fills the room.

"Oh deliciae, do you feel what you do to me?", a confident whisper fills your ear as you feel his lips promise a burst of affection against the shell of it next, and you know he doesn't actually expect an answer.

The silence helps him hear the filthy nature of the words rushing through your head in response, Geta lets go of your torso and shifts his vice grip to the fat of your hips as your upper body hits the cold wood of the table.

With his impatience only grown in proportion to his need for physical relief, it is of no wonder he switches his demeanor back to the rough standard.

"Tell me, sweet rose, tell me what you want. Though I of course can smell the thoughts between those legs of yours, I want to hear you say it." The last two words are emphasized by his sharp tongue.

Another shiver makes its way down your spine and you can't help the gasp that escapes you as you feel the soft, glistening tip of his cock nudging your dripping entrance, every inch of your rear side on full display for him to admire.

Which he totally would take time to do. If he wasn't always so incredibly pent up.

"You meus Caesar, it's you I w-want, I need", you only hear yourself verbalize your most recent thought, brain already taken over by the image of the sick smirk that is probably decorating his handsome features at your admission.

Geta slides his soft fingertips from your hips up to your ass just to grab and squeeze the fat of it, and as you feel both thumbs coming down to spread you open for him, it's another image that runs laps in your head, inspired by the way you can practically feel his lascivious gaze take in your commitment.

The low and deep hum he lets out at the feeling of your soaked pussy finally stretching around his thick shaft again is equally pleasuring for your ears as what you know is going to follow for the rest of your body.

"It is truly delightful, your devotion to abide by your promise to me", Geta comments the way your greedy cunt is sucking the length of him in, soaking it, and from the subtle tremble in his voice you can tell he's as close to losing his imperial composure as you are to being pounded into another universe.

"It is of duty and my pleasure. More of the latter, if I may be so forthright", you admit, intending to soothe the sting in his chest that you can sense to still be present.

Another wicked smile spreads over his features as his grip on your hips tightens for a moment, "that I have not missed, mea pluma, too otherworldly is the feeling of you being so ... ready for me."

You can hear the smack to your both of your ass cheeks before it can even start to sting, pussy clenching and mouth whining in response to his words and the blossoming pain.

"Always so– oh gods, fuck, so ready for me", Geta repeats his own statement for emphasis as he starts forward slowly, the intention of letting you feel him as clear as the skies over Rome at this wicked hour. Inch by inch, pressing himself all the way inside of you, one of his hands runs up and back down your backside almost appreciatively before settling in the dip where your legs meet your pelvis.

The feeling of his cock sitting tight in your hole, so full of pent up want, it is your current life's most important – possibly the only – relish.

It doesn't take much from here. He makes the tops of your upper thighs meet the hard edge of the table over and over again. Rough, slow thrusts follow and behind closed eyelids you already see the parts of you that will bloom in various shades of red and purple by the break of dawn.

It's like his own painting, coming to life underneath your skin. Who knew Geta to be that much of a gourmet of the fine arts?

Each sharp thrust earns the walls of the library a symphony of groans and hot skin colliding, and you are sure you will either perish from the feeling of him being all the way up in your throat or from the pleasurable kind of torture that you have learned comes with a pace this slow.

Or – perhaps – your cause of death was going to be the devastating kind, the one that held the power to rip your heart to shreds, consisting of a future reduced to a toy, a body that was only worth so much that his level of lust defined, ultimately to be discarded to the lonely aftermath once the emperor deemed your purpose fulfilled.

The reason why you were summoned in the first place tonight makes a brief return to the forefront of his mind, it turns into the sound of another spank cracking through the night air, instantly followed by a thrilling demand, "hands behind your back." His voice booms through the room as he complements his attitude with another sharp snap of his hips before he stops abruptly, staying buried deep inside as his pelvis presses against the fat swell of your ass again, "the sight suits you so well."

Not without a whimper and clench of your cunt answering his call you obey, causing your chest and head to lie flat against the wooden surface now.

Geta is a force when he's filled with rage. This always goes the way he wants. The way he needs it to go.

You feel one of his hands gather your wrists just to hold them in place behind you, drawing his hips backwards lazily just to let them snap forward again mere seconds later.

Again and again and again, slow yet rough he drags every thick inch of his cock through you with the sincerest of intention, makes you see stars behind closed eyelids with your jaw unclenched as he soon picks up the pace and you think you might as well leave this world on the spot.

Nothing else exists. Just you, him, the hard wood beneath you.

It's the thrill of not knowing exactly what he has in mind and how each time he calls for you is going to play out.

The wetness from between your legs seeps down to his balls and drips earthbound along the insides of your thighs, lewd is the echo of your moans in dialogue with his own, accompanied by the squelching that his girthy cock knocks out of your sopping cunt. It drives him wild, the submissive way you react to his actions, letting him use you in the filthiest of ways, even visibly reveling in it.

Not that you had much of a say in the matter, but still. He had yet to admit it to anyone, including himself, but power wasn't the only subject of Geta's strong greed.

The whimpers climbing out of your chest only spur him on as he notices you arching your back, an offer that is pleading for another spank to the needy roundness of your ass, the new angle allowing him to press his arousal even deeper.

"They have it out for us, my brother and me, can't accept that we have been graced with all the favours of the gods–", he starts his usual ramble, and it's finally that time of night where the things that had gotten his chest in a twist in the first place flow over his trembling lips like a cascade. Unfiltered and raw, he wants you to know.

You feel yourself twitch when the hand that is not keeping your wrists tightly pressed to your back comes down flat next to your cheek on the wooden surface with a sudden slap, allowing him to shift balance and make your eyes roll, "just because they– fuck, yes, they think we made a mistake by ordering the General to venture too far east, and–"

Everytime his hips meet your ass with that thick slap and another increase in pace you are reminded of what salvation feels like. Tingles run up and down your spine at the sensation of feeling him nudging all the spots, your mind goes fuzzy from the way he restricts you and from the amplification of your need in your abdomen as it swells, begging for release.

"And it's the audacity, their fucking audacity–", he pauses again, keeping up his relentless thrusts. Heavy eyelids make it hard for you to keep your gaze fixated on the wrist that is planted right next to your head, and gravity has started to pull a tear or two from the corner of your eye already as your line of vision follows Geta's hand as it gets lifted out of your periphery.

The thrusts come to a sudden halt which you protest with a small whine, but he soon makes up for it when the flex of his bicep helps the grip in your hair to pull your body back up until the back of your head meets the emperor's disrobed shoulder, the fabric merely hanging off his figure to one side now.

He keeps your hands where they are as your back arches further, his other loses your hair and wraps around your shoulder to keep you upright.

"Be honest, do you think we made a mistake?", his lips croon against your ear in earnest, his eyes back to fixating your facial reaction from the side and you can hear him breathe in your scent that you are sure can by now only be of sweaty nature.

Geta rarely asked for your opinion.

"My lord, my piece of mind holds no competence to answering an inquiry of s-such.. gravity."

He exhales, tongue darting out to trace the shell of your ear and press his lips against the spot below briefly.

"But I asked. You are too modest for your standing, pluma." A low hum from the depths of his chest and warm exhale through his nose collides with the skin below your ear when he presses his lips against the same spot again, "and besides, by now I think you should know that I do not– oh fuuuuck", he swallows hard as he impulsively comments what he feels when the hand that's just been in your hair slithers south, straight to that special spot between your folds, "do not like to repeat myself."

The snapping of his hips against your ass finds a life of its own once again, and the switch of his touch back to the spots he knows you enjoy is making your knees weaken and every inch of your sensitive skin tingle gratifyingly in his strong arms.

It takes everything in your power to get your reeling mind to function as it scrambles for an adequate response all while the slaps of skin against skin echo in your ears and his middle finger rubs maddeningly practiced circles around your swollen clit.

"Y-you could never m-make mistakes, meus Caesar, too great of an aura you possess that doesn't allow for– oh my gods, s-such deviation."

Soft groans follow your statement as they punctuate every thrust of his hips, it's all getting too much for your body and mind to handle.

The words and whimpers spilling from your lips seem to do enough to satisfy the fury, tame the flickering flames behind those ember irises, hot lips press the hint of a smile to the softness of your cheek before he swiftly runs another wet stripe of saliva up the side of your neck, teeth gently grazing your flesh.

"Very well", Geta mumbles, the pace in which he pounds your tight hole increasing once again, "now show your Caesar how glorious his cock is."

Crude grunts into your skin follow, the pace he devotes to his attention on your clit not leaving you waiting any longer than you already have.

You feel so hot and desperate to cum for him, it might just be the last thing you are going to do in this world.

The stretched out moan crawling out of his lungs as he feels your cunt tighten its pathetic need around him as waves of hot pleasure tear through your body and rip cracks into your soul is helping your high to reach a new level. It's so raw and animalistic, his bruising grip on your hips as he tries his hardest to hold off his own impending release.

His title rolls off your tongue like a prayer, it fits considering his hyperbolic self-perception.

"Yeees that's it, let the whole of Rome know who fucks you this good at this wicked hour, pretty columba, so fucking good for me."

You're panting on the table, cunt squelching obscenely around his thick length with your juices.

You'd never been fucked by him like this before.

Geta pulls out entirely once the grip of your walls has eased, while you are still trying to catch your breath from your high, and soon your ecstatic bliss is being replaced by a mixture of utter confusion and surprise when you feel him kick your legs apart with his own ankle.

Did he have enough of you so soon? What did you do to have him call an end to it for the night, before he even finished?

Geta's true intention is bound to leave you speechless as his next move aids it to slowly start to dawn on you.

Your upper body is released from the confines that are the emperor's arms, it bends and drops onto the table while he drops onto his knees.

There, in this position, on the ground where only servants lived, Geta finds the tears that have rolled along the insides of your thighs and meets them with his hot, wicked tongue.

The sensation makes your lungs release a whimper through closed lips, although it's not the first time you enjoy the pleasure that comes from the wet muscle tasting your skin tonight. Just in far more innocent and … appropriate places.

Big hands grab at your ass to knead and smooth over the impact from mere moments ago, his tongue traces the rivulets on your thighs upwards and the closer he gets to where he wants to go, the more intense that anticipation in your bloodstream becomes.

Another hum vibrates in the emperor's chest, a commentary on the filth determining his judgement when you feel his thumbs on your lips, spreading you out above his face, and it feels like he's losing every bit of self restraint that may have ever existed in any cell of his being at the sight being offered to his gluttony.

Almost lovingly he finally lets his tongue dart out once again, the whole act of it making the hint of affection become palpable as he licks a fat wet stripe through your folds, tasting you fully for the first time, ever since you first stepped sole into the holy halls of the royal palace.

You can't recall a moment in your life in which you felt more vulnerable. Not knowing what a tongue on this unholy part of you would feel like, you're bound to writhe under his grasp at your thighs.

He laps at your sensitive clit relentlessly, gives the swollen bud a few greedy sucks, his moans and slurps an ode of approval and praise as they add even more intensity to the vibration, and if it wasn't for his strong hands holding you in place, you'd already be floating off towards the transition passage leading into the next life.

The sting of his hand coming down on one of your ass cheeks again makes you writhe in pain and pleasure alike, it makes you forget about the fact that he just made you cum already and simultaneously acts as a reminder that even though he may be on his knees for it, he still owns you.

"Who knew you'd taste even sweeter between those thighs?", he questions before blessing your most sensitive spot with another generous swirl of his warm tongue, a symphony of gasps and moans crawling out of your lungs, in sync with his very own pulse he can feel in the length of his twitching cock, more precum leaking from the tip of it, a silent desirous plea to his consciousness to finish what he himself started with such urgency.

Geta's hands nudge you to turn around as he rises to his feet again, the lower half of his face glistening with your slick in a devastatingly sinful way in the golden cast from the torch.

He crowds into your space again with a gaze rivaling sun rays, the table serves its purpose once again by accommodating your behind on the surface as he leaves you no other choice.

You invite him back into your warmth with a debauched moan when he holds your thighs apart, and with the force and rhythm Geta soon returns to, it is nearly impossible to hold yourself upright.

In his lustclouded headspace, he still notices you tremble. "Hold me", Geta mutters under his breath, his chest flushed red from the exercise and before you can even react, he reaches for one of your hands and guides it to the back of his sweat-sticky neck.

You take his gesture as a welcome offer as you wrap your other arm around his shoulders, the need for his own release evident in the kind of tantalizing gaze he's laid on you again. The position is of more intimate nature than anything you'd ever known, and the sentence slipping from his lips next is what sends your mind reeling again, that deep tingle between your legs flaring up once more.

"Look at me, pluma, want to see you when I empty myself", Geta utters before his chest vibrates with a deep hum, the slap of skin against skin obscene, reminder of the filth trickling through the softness of the sentiment, and he feels himself get close to that ecstatic high he's obsessed with, the feeling of your tight cunt pulsing around his throbbing cock, your second orgasm threatening to rip through you at any moment.

The sounds coming from your lungs range from salacious moans to needy whines and whimpers, an encouragement for him to lose it for you, his cum along with his pent up frustrations.

The need for release feels like life or death.

A faint smile dances over your lips as his thrusts become sloppier, breathing more erratic, grip on your opened thighs more urgent in nature, and it's that sweetly lingering feeling of being needed spreading through your system, it makes you think this might be the moment in which you can slip what has been dying to jump over your tongue for so very long.

Emboldened by the soft golden glow of his skin and the return of his intrigued studies of your facial features, you let your head fall back as you furrow your brows, soft voice turning whiny and a softly moaned Geta crawls out of your lungs as you cum all over his thick shaft once again.

You'd never before dared to say his actual name out loud, at least not in his very presence.

Geta's eyes grow wide as he realises what you just did.

He is utterly convinced that there is nothing that could've prepared him for the rush of chemicals that swirl through his bloodstream at the sound of his name slipping past your sweet lips.

The lips of the only woman who solely held the power to tame the rage and the nerves inside of him.

He groans lasciviously and mutters profanities against the ceiling in response to the rhythmic clenching of your walls around him as every cell of his body buzzes with the ecstasy that comes from fucking you, you out of everyone he could have. The way your mouth hangs agape now as you finally – finally – pay him back with a gaze so lustfilled it easily rivals the one he'd been eyeing you with once you stepped into the library tonight.

He draws his hips back far enough to paint your vulva and lower stomach with those pearly ropes you always inwardly pray for, and for the first time – mainly due to this new position he's fucking you dumb in – he lets you see his eyes roll as his lids flutter shut.

A sight for sore eyes he is. Always anyway, but especially like this, you think.

Geta might have had this thought before but now he was absolutely certain – a time in his future granted on earth in which you weren't near him would devastate him more than any stupid comment or decision from the senate ever could.

With panting breaths Geta buries his face in the crook of your neck, nose rubbing over your pulse point while the shocks of his release cause him to curse profanities under his breath against your sweaty skin. His purply shaded, spent cock rests on your soaked mound where it slowly begins to soften.

It feels like the dam finally cracked. He always tended to be a tad more gentle with you after the deed was done, after he'd successfully taken his emotions out. But this time, it feels like it really cracked.

The encouragement of letting your arms rest around him allows for you to gently tug at the ginger waves, his head lolling back pliantly as your eyes shoot straight to the sheen of sweat that's gleaming in the firelight on his thick, soft column of a neck being presented to your very own appetite.

You feel your mouth salivate, the aftermath of your orgasm multiplying the urgency that's tugging at your heartstrings to declare your infatuation for the man in front of you. To him, most of all.

Trailing up the side of his neck from collarbone to jaw with soft pecks of your softer lips, a satisfied groan vibrates against them.

And Geta lets it happen. Lets you touch him, lets you see him, lets you in.

He's driven by impulse, and impulse only.

You crack through his act that he wears everywhere like armor, and the fact that he doesn't shove you away makes you begin to realize how much you must actually mean to him.

"What makes you think you can touch me like that?", Geta suddenly grips the nape of your neck, thumb digging into your jugular as he tears your affection away from his skin with a glint in his ember eyes, one that has nothing to do with the torch flame reflecting in them, and the wicked grin appearing on his handsome features sparks a hint of doubt in your cells.

Wiped away as quickly as it arose though, he doesn't wait for a response, instead he does the unthinkable.

You'd had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like, feeling those plush lips on your own, moving against them, tongues slipping past and just exploring. Tasting other parts of his that had been off limits for so long.

The contents of your dreams at night (and day) were not even close to what reality felt like.

You lose one hand in his ginger waves at the back of his head again, it makes him groan into your mouth as his strong arms pull you flush against him, warm cock still taking rest in the smear of cum between your bodies that has found its way onto his abdomen as well now.

It's like the need to feel calm with nerves being soothed, had just been replaced by greed for you, or maybe it was synonymical. Maybe it had been since the first time the older emperor ever laid his eyes on you, such fateful day you'd been keeping vividly in your recollection.

Geta's arms close the remaining distance between the two of you, his lips kiss you until yours are swollen with his spit, hands swiftly coming up to cradle your face, charged with the unspoken truth and urgency of his need.

When he breaks it and lets go to take a step back, the illusion of being something bigger than the world around you that the two of you had just conjured together in this room, breaks along with it.

The expectance of being dismissed claws its way back into your consciousness as quickly as it was fucked out of it just minutes ago, even though the nightly summon already feels hourlong.

You take it as your sign to leave.

Get up, find your robe that's been so carelessly discarded a couple meters behind him, slip out of the room and back through the maze of hallways, down to the servants' quarters where you could run yourself a bath, wash off the remnants of heat shared, only to crawl under the linen covers after and drown in your pining and self-pity like all those countless nights before.

The heated, sweaty skin sticks to the wood when you carefully peel your sore behind off the table, the wobble in your knees exceeds your estimation when you come to stand in front of Geta's figure. He just stares at your chest, zoned out for a moment as he tries to process that you're about to disappear from his periphery.

He seems lost in thought which isn't entirely new to you, and your hand finds his jaw softly as it lifts his head, forcing his gaze elsewhere. The touch of your palm snaps him out of it, warmth in his eyes finding yours and his hand shoots up to roughly wrap around your wrist in a bruising grip.

The next thing he does silently screams his repressed emotions into the night air.

You make the young emperor feel helplessly vulnerable, something he's never learned how to handle. All he's known was how to best answer discomfort with aggression and erraticity, and all he knows now is that he doesn't want any harm to find the one good thing that hasn't left him. Doesn't want the one thing that has significant impact on his wellbeing to vanish.

Spinning you around, your back hits his chest once more, and his plush, rosy lips are back at the shell of your ear, declaring a compelling whisper.

"Another country my mobile data network doesn't work. I can only call people." Tom put his phone on the table as he took a sip from his iced tea from the cafe. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"Sorry. You know I never bring my phone if we're only going out eating lunch. Besides, what's the problem, haven't you already read the script before?" Harrison excused.

"Err, I might have or not read the script..."

"What the fuck Tom?" Harrison said in disbelief. "I literally gave you the script in paper-version two weeks ago, you div."

"I know. I've just been so, ehm, so busy lately. I kinda forgot it." The heat from the big city made it hard for Tom to not sweat. Due to the current situation, Tom couldn't stop thinking of potentially lose the part in the movie. "Fuck. Rachel's gonna call soon."

The hot weather in the south-west Asian country was a big contrast to the weather in England. He had spent the last days of break, before going on a press tour, with his friends and family.

"Ah shit, I even forgot to transfer the script to my google docs. It's in my Mac...in London." As the problem couldn't get worse, he would have no access to the script even if he found a place with free wifi.

"You're such an idiot Tom." Harrison sighed.

"Hey, you're the PA. Shouldn't you help me out with stuff like this?" Tom asked while trying to figure out a plan.

"Man, I only came with you since I wanted a vacation. I left all my stuff at the hotel - which is 30 minutes walk away," he answered as he took a long sip of iced coffee. "But if the script is at home, maybe we can get someone to log in on your Mac and send it to you?"

"Haz! That's a great idea!" Tom exclaimed, getting a little faith. "What the hell, man. When did you become so smart?"

"You dickhead! I've always been the smarter one." Harrison replied as he laughed.

"Who should I call? The twins are out of town, mum and dad are visiting my aunt." Tom listed up all possible people who could help him out.

Tom's eyes widened. "Fuck. The only person who lives close and is possibly available is Y/N."

"Y/N Y/L/N?! Our neighbour Y/N?" Harrison looked at Tom as if he was crazy.

"Do you even have her number? If so, when and how did you get the guts to ask for her number?" Harrison mocked.

"Ha-ha, very funny," Tom replied sarcastically. "She actually gave me her number after I helped her out once."

"What are you waiting for?" His best mate asked. "You've got approximately twenty minutes before Rachel calls!" Harrison questioned.

Tom took the clue and dialled your number. He put the phone by his ear as he waited for a response.

· • ●· • ●· • ●

When you gave Tom Holland your number, you never imagined he would call you in the middle of the night.

It had been a tiring day and all you wanted was to get a good night's sleep. Unfortunately, one British guy was in the way of your wish.

As the loud sound from your phone signalized that someone called, you couldn't help but groan. You checked the clock. Three o'clock in the morning. Freaking three o'clock.

"What the hell?" you mumbled as you stretched your hand to pick up your phone. An unknown number appeared on the display.

You had two choices. Pick up the phone and realize someone was calling the wrong number, or not picking up at all. On autopilot, you answered the call before thinking furthermore. "Hello?"

"Is this Y/N Y/L/N?" a British voice said. The voice seemed familiar, but you couldn't guess which person it was.

"Uh yes. Who's this?"

"Hi, uh, Y/N! It's Tom. Y'know. Neighbour Tom. The one who lives in the apartment across the hall?" Tom rambled as you tried to process everything he said.

"What the hell, Tom? It's three in the morning!" you groaned.

Tom went silent. He was so stressed out by the situation that he forgot there were different time zones. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry, love. It's just...um...I need your help."

"What can I do for you, maybe ruin someone else's beauty sleep?" You snapped. When you were tired and sleepy, you tended to become sassy. Immediately as you said it, you regretted it. Tom probably had a good excuse to call you. "Sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm just very tired I guess."

"No no no, it's my fault." Tom nervously answered. "So, I need you to break into my apartment and email me a script for an upcoming movie."

"Tom, what the fuck?" you replied shocked. "You sure I'm not dreaming? Is this a prank or something?"

"I wish it was only a prank. 'M sorry, but I need that script, and you're the only one I know that can send it to me on the little time I have." Tom excused.

Tom said desperately. "Or else I'll lose the part, which I really don't want to."

You took a deep breath before answering. "Okay, I'll do it. You did me a favour once, it's my time to pay. Tell me how to break into your apartment."

· • ●· • ●· • ●

Tom let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you thank you so much! You're an angel!" Harrison eyed his best mate suspicious. The two-minutes long phone call was the longest conversation Tom had ever had with Y/N, as far as Harrison knew.

"Well, you're not exactly breaking into my apartment. Just pick up the keys hidden behind the nearest lamp." Tom described as he waited for a response. "Y'know, the one lamp that flashes all the time."

"I just need to get dressed, wait a sec." was all he heard from the other side of the line.

You opened your door, on the way to do the special favour. "When I gave you my number, I never imagined you would call for such favour or even call in the middle of the night too."

"How many times do I have to say that I'm sorry?"

"I don't know? Maybe ten times more?" you answered as you laughed. "Alright, I got the keys. I'm unlocking the door."

"So I have an alarm system. The display for a code will be on your left side. The code is 772017."

"That's a lot of 'sevens' for a code. Is it a date or something? In 2017?" you suggested as you entered the code and turned off the alarm system. "You should consider changing it, y'know. Too many sevens."

"I mean, I see a giant Spider-man Homecoming poster with the premiere date which is oddly alike the code to turn off your alarm system." you continued.

"Well, about tha-"

"-you're a famous actor, you should at least secure your home a little better. I bet the bad guys from Home Alone could break in and steal all your stuff easily," you stated.

"Hey stop judging my security system! And the thieves from Home Alone were good thieves. They were just, uh, dumber than that eleven-year-old kid." Tom said defensively.

You searched through his apartment for his Mac. "Chill I was just joking. But you should consider changing it or something. Some fans of yours could track you down and everything."

"Alright then, darling," Tom said in defeat. Harrison couldn't help but laugh at the scene. He had no idea what the conversation had transferred to, but he couldn't stop but grin. "I think I left my Mac on the kitchen counter. Or wait, maybe it's in my cupboard."

"Why do you have so many Spider-man posters and figurines. Are you that self-obsessed?" you chuckled.

"...no."

"Bingo! Found it." you reached towards the closed computer, as Tom waited on the other line for updates about the situation. "Tom, uh, I need your password."

Tom froze the moment you mentioned 'your' and 'password'. He should have known. His eyes went wide when he realized what his password was. "Wait a sec!" Tom put his call on mute as he let out a stressed sigh. "Shit shit shit. Fucking hell!"

"What?" Harrison asked as he saw the stressed expression on his best mate's face.

"She needs my password."

"Of course she does, you dumbass." Harrison laughed. Tom replied by sending him a death glare. "What? Why is it such a problem?"

"Because, um, oh fuck," Tom exclaimed. "Promise not to laugh, okay." Harrison shrugged as Tom took a deep breath. "It's 'mrs(your name and last name)holland'. That's the password."

"What the hell, Tom." Harrison laughed. "Why is that your password?" He facepalmed as he watched his nerve-wracked friend in a crisis.

"I don't know! I just, I don't know, I needed a password no one would guess!" Tom explained vividly as his best mate cracked up. "Don't you dare laugh, you dickhead."

"You dumbass. What the actual fuck, you div!" Harrison rolled his eyes. "How're ya gonna tell her?"

"I honestly don't know. I mean, I don't want to seem like a creep or something, but I really need that fucking script." Tom heavily sighed.

"You're on your own, mate." Harrison saluted jokingly.

Tom turned off mute on the call and put the phone to his ear. "Tom? Are you there?" he heard.

"Yeah yeah. Sorry. Bad connection, I think." he excused.

"Anyway, I need your password," you said again. You couldn't help but grin when you saw a picture of Tom and his presumable brothers doing a human pyramid. The camera had captured the exact moment Tom fell backwards while his family had worried face expressions.

"Yeah, 'bout that. Um, please don't take this personal, okay. I'm not a creep or something, I promise. Gosh, I'm so sorry." Tom rambled. "But yeah, um, the password is 'mrs(your name and last name)holland'".

The other line went silent until you laughed. "Wait, what? You're joking, right?"

"I honestly wish I was."

"Holy shit, you're serious?" you exclaimed. You quickly typed the said password. Surprisingly, you got in.

"I never thought this night could escalate into something even weirder, but it just got up to another level," you mumbled.

"Just tell me you logged in." Tom groaned as he was again reminded of the somewhat awkward situation.

"Yes yes, I'm in. I'm guessing the script is in the 'script' folder. What's the name of the film, again?" you asked as you searched on his computer.

"It's 'Beneath a Scarlet Sky'," Tom replied quickly. "Transfer it to my email, please."

"On it."

As you saved the file and tried to remember how to transfer files through mail, Tom ran frantically around the streets trying to find a place with free wifi. Of course, he used to be afraid of people hacking his phone through unsecured free wifi, but he didn't have time to care.

In the end, he found a small shop selling Christmas decorations all year. "Okay, I just sent it."

"Thank you thank you, darling! You're an angel!" Tom thanked. He refreshed his mail several times until the script file turned up. "I just got it!"

"Yay!" you cheered as you turned Tom's Mac off. "I guess my job here is done." you yawned.

"Shit, I'm so sorry. Fuck, I forgot it's three in the morning in London. Thank you so much, love! You really helped me out." Tom thanked and rambled.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Any favour?" he asked flustered.

"I'm glad to help you out, Tom," you answered.

"But I guess, um, we should - well go out on a first date before, y'know, we get married. Haha." you hinted. "I, uh, I mean, it would be nice to get to know you better."

Tom's face reddened as he was reminded of the password scene earlier. He was still embarrassed. "Um, I, just, uh, please don't make me try to explain."

"I'm not going to bug you about it. It's just a bit, y'know, weird, Tom. But I mean, I'm not going to judge you. My name makes a perfect password, right? Hahah." you couldn't help but facepalm as you said the last sentence.

"Um, yeah, it really does. I guess." Tom replied awkwardly.

"Just come by my flat when you're back in town. I know a place with delicious pastries and hot beverages. I mean, only if you want to." you suggested.

"Yes! I mean, of course. I would love to meet up with you, darling." Tom answered excitedly.

"Great!" you replied quickly. "Anyway, good luck with the, um, meeting about the film. I can't wait to see you in it!"

"Thanks! Um, sleep well, Y/N. I hope I didn't bother you too much. I will surely call you another time. Probably when you're not asleep, right, ahahah. Yeah." Tom laughed nervously. "Good night."

"G'night." you smiled as you ended the special call.

The week after the incident, a very happy Tom Holland knocked on your door with bright sunflowers in his hands.

· • ●· • ●· • ●

Anyway, just wanna say that it makes me so happy to hear your responses to this!! So please leave a message or something <3

And it will also make me happy if you reblog this so others can read this ;D

· • ●· • ●· • ●

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The thought alone makes you want to relive the collision of his lips against yours, satisfy the ache that flares up again at the sight next to you, that wicked tongue you've grown fond of in places you had dreamed of but never expected it to be actually going.

The first light of the day softly paints the clouds in a pinkish red, it is too early for any imperial duties to present a bother to his majesty just yet.

You lean over, your mind and body entirely unable to resist, a small peck to his shoulder blade. A deep, sleep soaked hum vibrates through him at the feeling, "find your sleep again, pluma. There's no good in watching me instead."

Part of you still hesitant to reach out and let your want transpire into his skin through your fingertips, you stay on your back, head tilted to the side so you can take in what you prefer to look at the most these days.

"You are no sight to dismiss so easily, meus Caesar."

The suggestive answer makes his lips curl, dark brown eyes fluttering open as he immediately finds yours.

It is that same distinct something in his gaze he already had bestowed upon you the night before. So incredibly alluring, a promise of granting your safety, almost.

He takes in his vision as that gaze travels elsewhere, the way the thin sheets covering your modesty rise and fall with the landscape of your body, there is no doubt in the room he wants to see you exactly like this. Soft sleepy morning glow surrounding your every fiber, all there for him to take.

"Am I now?", he mumbles, the rasp in his voice betraying his awakeness. You smile and nod with a small giggle escaping your chest, it's all you seem to be capable of when he slowly pushes his torso away from the mattress, an attempt to stretch the sleepiness out of his limbs, and you can still see his muscles flex beneath the soft plains of alabaster skin despite the lack of light at this hour of the day.

He stretches further, spreads his knees and leans back on his heels, and you can't help yourself but look. Even the last ounce of boyishness surrounding him dissolves when your eyes rake down from his broad shoulders and chest adorned by rosy nipples, over his mildly pudgy midriff, acknowledging how it is decorated by small patches of freckles spread like starbursts in the nightly sky, just to subsequently land on the light and thin thatch of coarse hair right above his stiffened cock, the night spells you knew some men would awake with in the mornings from time to time, present in his system.

"If you think you are being subtle about your flattering desires, I must inform you that the gemstones in your eyes betray yourself, carissima."

He feels generous with his words again this morning, and what he does not yet grasp is how you have taken notice of his very own desires just as well. As consequence, you feel your cheeks warm and the notice causes the wetness to pool hotly in your core.

It never meant to be a secret, it had just been safer to keep the extent of your need for him being around stashed away, in the privacy of the walls of your chamber.

A hand on your knee nudges your legs open, it burns so warm to the touch you think it is going to leave a mark. You oblige his silent demand, allowing him to flop back down, sunset head of hair right where your thighs meet.

"I just never expected your grace to want me around for longer, for more, for the moments when your temper would not be the reason. It is not exactly common for someone like me being … allowed among these sheets", you pause, eyes slowly peeling away from where he is situated and taking in the material opulence surrounding you, "in this room, even."

The warm breath from his tight lipped sigh feels warm against your core, even through the crumpled sheets still covering you.

He wants you to understand that the invitation to his very bed was impulsive, yes, but nothing less than a promise of his very own loyalty.

You feel a soft brush of his lips through the fabric, right where you need him, his warm ember eyes never leaving you, it sends a jolt of pleasure and anticipation through your system.

"But you are here now, yes?"

His nose digs into the meat of your inner thigh, and not long after, every other part of your skin not yet freed by his hands from the remaining layer of fabric. Like a feline creature he rubs his cheek against you as he inhales every single note that determines your scent, something that finally can transpire into the linens, engulfing him for future nights to come. Determined to still the need for registering every minor detail of your reaction to his ministrations.

You nod with a hum and a smile, and his question almost feels like one asking for consent for what's about to follow.

It takes everything in your willpower to fight the urge to close those thighs again when he pulls at the sheets, the attempt to squirm and shy away from his heavy lidded gaze so lustfilled it easily rivals the one you had been set aflame with half a night ago.

And it does its thing to you again, as if his eyes summon the throb in your heart and between your folds, anticipation so evident it already drips down onto the linens.

"Do not go all shy on me now, sweet one. Not when your wet cunt whispers my name so desperately, I cannot help myself but answer."

With a gaze between a command and a warning, he begins tasting you, licks a long stripe from the back to the front where he's already found out lays your most sensitive spot.

He sucks, lets his tongue circle, sucks again and hums like he wishes to spend the rest of his waking days right there.

It makes your eyes roll and lungs moan with no restraints, your hand finds those sunset coloured strands of hair and your hips find an involuntary rhythm against his mouth.

As a response his moans vibrate against your clit as he watches your every move, letting you know just how much he finds himself enjoying the way you pull on his roots softly, mingled with the way the taste of your weeping cunt lingers on his tongue, hands that have wandered to your inner thighs gently rubbing up to your knees and back down and back up and back down, keeping your squirming legs opened for his insatiable hunger, an encouragement in its own.

Geta takes, and takes, and takes.

While all at the same time he gives. And gives. And gives.

Cumming on his mouth for the first instance feels like breathing and dying at the same time, like the spark of a new sense of self is being ignited inside of you, the lower half of his handsome face glistening with your slick in the rays of sunlight permeating the windows now. A grin splits his lips, beaming with pride of his most recent achievement as the skin around his eyes falls into wrinkles.

You're panting still, slightly sweaty around your middle while your sensitive cunt is drenched with slick and spit, the aftermath of his eagerness, and he takes a moment once again to acknowledge the sight of you as he sits back up once more.

It strikes you then, haphazardly getting up in an attempt to flop down onto your belly right inbetween his spread thighs as your hand reaches for his leaking cock, intending to fulfill his expectations as quickly as you are used to.

With a smile warmer than anything you had ever seen on him before, he stops you in your tracks, one of his big hands cradling your face for a brief moment as it emphasizes what he does next: pulling you towards him by your neck, allowing for his plush, rosy lips to meet yours in a searing attempt of a kiss.

"Caesar, I–", you mumble into the warmth of his exhale while the taste of yourself registers on your very own tongue, he doesn't seem to want your mouth on his dick just yet and it causes you confusion.

Another soft bite to your lower lip cuts you off as the muscles in his arms pull you against him swiftly, the feeling of your belly causing gentle friction against his stiff length, making him twitch against you as he sighs from even just an ounce of pleasure.

"Nuh-uh, shhh, enough with this caesar nonsense. To you, I am Geta, nothing else", the last words are dropped in something lower than his usual baritone as he moves his lips to your soft cheek, right where his nose presses against the side of your cheekbone. He keeps himself there with closed eyes, urgency in the way he tightly holds you to his searingly warm body, "want to fuck you, carissima, right now. Fuck you so good you will not be able to leave this room anytime soon, screaming my name for all of Rome to hear."

The desire drips from his lips with every word that jumps over them, thumbs catching the meat of your sore behind where he holds you to him as his eyes skim over the blossomings on your neck from the nocturnal summoning.

After a peck to your lips, he barely waits for you to register his words, pushes you back into the sheets and flips you to your belly, only to move so he straddles your legs and nudges your ass up.

Geta moans at the sight once more, entirely past the point of feeling any shame that would keep him from informing you of the way you have him feeling.

His hard, twitching cock rests between your ass cheeks before he pulls back and slowly fills you with barely any resistance but under whimpers from your own lungs. The stretch burns so delightfully, the weight of him presses you into the mattress along with the slow and deep thrusts he soon starts grinding into you.

Huffs and moans fill your ears, his lips are back on your shoulder. It feels like he has all the time in the world to do this to you. No rush, no hurry, no need to be anywhere else but here.

Each short, slow drag and grind of his hips makes your eyes roll in pleasure as he breathes filthy words against your neck. You always enjoyed being at his mercy, given the nature of your granted stay at the palace, so being underneath him once again, hopelessly letting him take it, actively restructures even the tiniest of parts that make up your existence. His actions exude familiarity, yet they are laced with so much more gentleness.

"Mea praecantrix, you feel so divine, it is so hard not to think of you, of this, of your tight sweet warm hole inviting me in. My mind is constantly surrounded by you, just you, all the damned time. I cannot even yell at any of the senators in peace, without the sweet memory of you and this body nagging at the forefront of my cranium."

The last sentence makes you giggle, you turn your head so you can catch his eyes in the corner of your vision.

"I would like to say that I am sorry, but that would be a lie."

A smile spreads over his features, he is genuinely putty in your hands for the first time, but if you would put more thought to it, it had been going in a direction indicating his favouritism for a while now. He had stopped laying with other concubines months ago, requested your presence more frequently, visibly twitched with nerves whenever your attendance to whatever he occupied himself with was delayed.

You arch your back, allowing to press his arousal even deeper. It is like sending him a signal about your very own feelings, and he catches it.

The gentleness evaporates slowly, thrusts becoming more urgent and enthusiastic as he stems his arms into the mattress on either side of your ribcage to gain leverage.

"Thought I missed the way you always – mmmh gods, you look at me, pluma, your gaze nearly burning holes through my skull when I would have you accompany my brother and me to the imperial box at the games, feeling your prying eyes on every part of me whenever– mhhhh, I would need to undress for my green-haired physician at his clinic, or the unseeming glances from the windows whenever I would pay a visit to the gardens", he pounds you harder with each sentence, emphasizing his want, his words spilling into your ears and straight to your core, "not to mention this incredibly sweet wet, needy cunt you always present to me so willingly."

His words make you whine out for him, need for your second release starting to overwhelm your senses.

"As I said, you're no s–sight to dismiss so easily, Geta", a satisfied grunt escapes him at the mention of his actual name and you swallow hard, "oh my gods, please, please dont stop!"

In a matter of seconds he pulls out, manhandles you onto your back with legs spread and cunt gaping, before he slips back inside and continues the same pace. Slap, slap, slap, the collision of skin and your soft begs drive him nuts, once again.

His elbows find their spot on each side of your head this time, and the next thing he says is a whispered promise, "not until I have your sweet release all over and dripping from my cock, dulcia."

Goosebumps, goosebumps everwhere.

The side of his nose touches yours as he leans in further, his weight back on you comfortably as his hips keep up their relentless rhythm. He groans into your mouth when you release another whimper with furrowed brows, announcing your peak as your hands reconnect with the golden waves on his head, pulling and tugging softly between cradles of his head in an attempt to convey your desperate desire in his sheets.

"There, oh fuck, right there, meus Geta", your eyes roll as the waves crash once more, and it doesn't take more than a few seconds of bucking hips and the pulsing of your walls for your Geta to follow.

Plush lips find yours again inbetween panting breaths, the remnants of both your climaxes evident in the messy nature of the affectionate exchange.

He lets his weight back down on you, comfortably, as one of your hand rakes through his sunset waves once more, a smile decorating both of your faces inbetween pecks.

There is a part of you that still expects him to dismiss you now, even though in reality, it is the furthest thing on the emperor's mind.

"Tell me you will stay."

No hesitancy on your mind, being at his beck and call was your purpose, after all.

"Of course, for as long as you wish. You literally own me, Caesar. I have nowhere to go, even if I wanted to."

He senses what you are trying to refer to, an exhale colliding against your chin and neck. The hierarchal structures of Rome were so etched on your mind it feels like this time it is you who needs to remind him of your place.

A realisation seems to crack over his features, and you watch his adam's apple bob in his throat before his eyes find yours again, holding more truth in them than perhaps ever before, "you were free the moment I laid my eyes on you for the first time."

The admission is nothing short of a glitch to your mind, brows disappearing behind your hairline, "do please not ever lie to me, Carissimus."

His nose decides to brush against yours again, earnesty in his gaze, the corner of his mouth twitches upwards at the petname crawling over your tongue for the first time.

"It is of candor. You have been doing such wicked things to me, sweetness. Without fail I feel so much better whenever basking in your presence, just the look into those deep forests brings me calm. I see you in my dreams at night, and whenever you leave the room you never really leave."

With him in the golden glow of the morning sun, hovering above you, his still hard cock pinning you to the mattress while his mouth turns his thoughts into spoken verity, it all feels like a dream one would only experience in a high fever, and yet, it has become your stark truth. Over time, yet very sudden.

It had quickly become a running joke around SHIELD Headquarters that you were Captain America’s favorite analyst. Usually you shut the comments down by pointing out that you could not help it if Steve Rogers appreciated competence. It did not exactly make you any friends, but who was counting?

Steve always came to you first after missions. Debriefs. Updates. Tactical review. Sometimes he needed clarification. Sometimes, you were fairly certain, he just liked lingering around your desk.

Tonight was no exception. By now the tower had mostly emptied out, leaving only you, the captain, and the cleaning crew drifting through the halls. The overhead lights had dimmed automatically an hour ago, washing the office floor in low fluorescent light. Your monitor was the only one still displaying something other than the SHIELD logo.

You were typing steadily as you sorted through the information gathered from Steve’s latest mission. Somewhere behind you came the familiar sound of the break room door swinging shut.

A moment later a coffee appeared beside your keyboard. Two creams. No sugar. Exactly how you liked it.

You glanced up long enough to smile at Steve in thanks before taking it carefully from his hand.

“Thought analysts ran on caffeine and spite,” Steve said as he dragged a folding chair over beside your desk.

“We do,” you replied easily. “This is preventative maintenance.”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh and settled beside you with the mission report you had already reviewed. There was exactly one green sticky note attached to the top page.

Next time you decide to jump out of a quinjet without waiting for backup, at least have the decency to stop alarming me personally.

— Your increasingly hostile analyst

Steve looked up instinctively, but you were already focused back on your screen, typing like you had not just casually admitted concern for his well-being on official SHIELD paperwork. A smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth.

Shaking his head to himself — and already knowing Sam was going to give him hell for it later — Steve peeled the sticky note free and folded it carefully before slipping it into his pocket with all the others.

Whenever anyone asked why the inside of his locker was covered in your sticky notes, Steve claimed they were mission corrections. No one believed him.

“Rogers, c’mere. HYDRA writes better mission reports than you.” You still were not looking at him, your attention fixed on the screen as you typed. Steve pushed himself out of the folding chair automatically and moved behind you to look over your shoulder, his arm settling across the back of your office chair without thought.

It was not the first time he had stood this close. Something about tonight felt different anyway.

You kept talking, pointing something out on the screen while Steve’s attention drifted almost immediately away from the report entirely.

As usual, you sat cross-legged in your office chair — something that drove SHIELD HR insane, though you had never seemed particularly concerned about that. There was a faint ink smudge near your wrist, probably from writing before the pen had fully dried. Your eyes looked tired from staring at monitors all day and your voice had gone slightly rough around the edges from exhaustion.

Steve found himself noticing all of it. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear while thinking. The crease between your brows when you concentrated. The quiet warmth of your shoulder pressed near his chest.

“You seeing this pattern or not?” you asked finally, turning toward him when he failed to answer. And abruptly realized how close he actually was. You paused mid-sentence.

Steve had gone too still beside you, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your mouth. His eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that immediately sent your pulse stumbling.

Not the file. Not the screen. You.

Your throat tightened slightly as your eyes flicked down instinctively before finding those devastating blue eyes again.

Steve’s gaze dropped to your mouth. The shift was tiny. It still felt catastrophic.

For one terrible second neither of you moved. Then both of you leaned forward slowly, unconsciously, like gravity had changed inside the room.

Your brain caught up first. You nearly launched yourself out of the chair. Smoothing your shirt quickly, you stepped away from the desk and forced your expression into something resembling professionalism.

“You should probably head home,” you managed, your voice only slightly strained.

Steve blinked once like he was pulling himself back into reality before stepping away as well. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You should too.”

“Good idea.” You saved your work a little too quickly and locked the screen before gathering your things while making a very deliberate effort not to get anywhere near Steve again.

Then you made the mistake of heading for the elevator. You almost made it there alone too. Almost.

The sound of Steve’s footsteps caught up quickly thanks to his stupidly long stride, and by the time the elevator dinged he was beside you again, hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his jacket.

You should have taken the stairs.

Instead the two of you stepped into the elevator together, immediately retreating to opposite corners of the small metal box like that would somehow undo the last five minutes.

The only sounds in the elevator were the steady beep counting down floors and the quiet rhythm of both your breathing.

This was absurd. You were both perfectly capable adults. There was no reason to act like two teenagers who had almost gotten caught making out.

Turning toward Steve to say something, your voice caught in your throat as the elevator suddenly jolted to a screeching halt. The lights flickered once overhead.

You froze. Terrible things happened in elevators in this building. Honestly, you had no idea why anyone trusted them anymore. Gripping the handrail tightly, you forced yourself to take a slow breath. “Okay,” you said quickly, looking toward the ceiling lights. “Probably just a temporary power relay issue.”

Steve heard it immediately anyway. The way your voice pitched slightly higher when stressed. The white-knuckled grip you had on the rail. He reached over and pressed the emergency call button before looking back at you. “I’m sure you’re right.”

The elevator shifted abruptly beneath your feet. The lights blinked out completely before the dim emergency lighting kicked in a second later.

You went utterly still. No movement. No breath.

Steve’s attention sharpened instantly. Mission panic he understood. Civilian panic too. But this — this felt older somehow. Automatic. Buried deep enough to bypass logic entirely.

Finally you pulled in a shallow breath. “I don’t like this,” you admitted quietly, so soft even Steve almost missed it.

Instinctively he stepped toward you before stopping himself. Five minutes ago he had almost kissed you and you had practically fled the room. Touching you now without permission felt like a terrible idea.

His eyes flicked briefly toward the elevator doors. He could get them open if he wanted to. Probably in under thirty seconds. He also suspected watching Captain America pry apart steel doors with his bare hands mid-panic attack would make this exponentially worse.

So instead Steve reached for an older instinct. The part of him that had learned how to calm frightened people long before the serum ever made him strong enough to save them physically.

Slowly he crouched down, making himself smaller instead of larger, his voice dropping softer as he leaned back against the wall. “Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me for a second.”

You tried. Really tried. But the second your eyes met his, your breathing hitched again and darted away.

God, this was humiliating. You were a grown woman. A fully trained SHIELD analyst. And you were standing here on the edge of a panic attack because an elevator had stopped between floors. In front of Captain America.

Your breathing broke into short uneven pulls. “This is ridiculous,” you managed weakly.

Steve shook his head immediately. “No,” he said, calm and firm all at once. “You’re scared. That’s different.”

The simple certainty in his voice made your chest ache unexpectedly.

Steve shrugged off his leather jacket before sitting fully on the elevator floor. Then he spread the jacket out beside him and glanced back up at you. “C’mere,” he said softly. Not pushing. Just offering. And stayed still while he waited to see if you would.

A nervous laugh escaped you then. “You say that like stray cats don’t hiss at you.”

A small smirk tugged at Steve’s mouth. “They usually do, yeah.”

Another slow breath worked its way out of you before you rolled your eyes at yourself and finally sat down beside him on the jacket. Your shoulder brushed lightly against his, just enough contact to ground yourself a little.

Beside you, Steve stayed perfectly still, deliberately keeping his breathing slow and even in the hope that yours might unconsciously follow.

It was strangely nerve-racking. This was the closest you had ever willingly let him sit beside you before. He could smell the faint scent of your body wash and whatever subtle perfume you wore beneath the recycled elevator air.

Leaning your head back against the wall behind you, you closed your eyes briefly. “I hate not being able to get out.”

Steve’s expression softened instantly. He closed his eyes for a moment and nodded once. “I know.”

You looked over at him then. Really looked at him.

Oh. Right. Steve Rogers understood being trapped better than almost anyone alive. In the ice. In the war. Inside a symbol people often seemed to value more than the man himself. If anyone should have been panicking in this elevator, it should have been him.

Something in your chest loosened unexpectedly at the realization that he truly understood what you meant. Slowly your breathing began to settle back into something normal.

Then, just as abruptly as it had stopped, the elevator lights flickered fully back on and the car resumed its smooth descent downward.

Neither of you moved. Partially because you were both waiting to see if it actually kept working. Partially because neither of you seemed eager to address the massive unresolved situation currently sitting between you on Steve’s jacket.

The elevator reached the ground floor with a soft ding and the doors slid open.

Steve stood first, brushing dust from his jeans before automatically offering you a hand. Without thinking, you took it.

The moment you were upright both of you paused slightly, your eyes dropping briefly to your joined hands before snapping back to each other’s faces. You let go quickly.

To avoid creating yet another moment, you bent to pick up his jacket instead and held it out to him. Steve took it carefully, your fingers brushing lightly together in the exchange.

Shoulders bumping accidentally, the two of you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. Your footsteps echoed softly in sync despite your best efforts to maintain some kind of professional distance.

It was nearly midnight and somehow both of you were suddenly acting like normal conversation had become an advanced combat exercise.

Steve moved ahead slightly as you reached the exit doors, automatically pulling one open for you.

“Thanks,” you said softly. You slowed your pace just enough afterward to let him fall back into step beside you again.

Glancing sideways at him, you tried to break the awful silence. “At least we didn’t die.” Your voice came out drier — and slightly shakier — than intended.

He snorted softly. “Yeah.” His blue eyes were already tracking you again. “You okay?”

You shrugged, biting lightly at your lip. “Statistically elevators are extremely safe.”

That nearly made him laugh. It also made him absolutely certain you were deflecting.

As the intersection ahead came into view, Steve realized this was usually where he split off to head home. Instead his brain abruptly started moving a mile a minute.

He did not want you going home alone like this. Not because of the panic attack. Well. Not only because of that. Fine. If he was being honest, he just wanted more time with you.

Beside him, you were still carefully avoiding looking directly at him for more than a second at a time as you checked both sides of the street.

Before you could step off the curb, Steve cleared his throat.

You paused and finally looked at him fully.

Steve immediately looked like he regretted having a functioning nervous system. “Do you—”

He stopped abruptly, frustration flashing across his face before he muttered a curse under his breath.

You nearly laughed. Steve Rogers swore so rarely it still caught you off guard every time. “That’s never a good start,” you pointed out cautiously.

Steve looked at you like he was asking for patience on a spiritual level as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Right. Okay.”

He squared his shoulders slightly, like he was preparing to charge directly into enemy fire. “I was gonna ask if maybe you wanted to get coffee sometime.”

Then his eyes widened almost immediately. “Not because of the elevator.”

You blinked at him.

Steve pulled both hands from his pockets, holding them up helplessly. “I mean—not not because of the elevator.” He shut his eyes briefly. “Christ, that sounded worse out loud.”

You could not help it. A real laugh escaped you then — clear, warm, helplessly amused. Because somehow the man who fought aliens, HYDRA, and literal gods was visibly panicking over asking you to coffee.

Steve’s shoulders dropped slightly at the sound, some of the tension easing from his expression. “I just meant—” He glanced briefly toward the sky like he was searching for divine intervention before exhaling heavily. “I like talking to you. Outside work.”

Another breath. His eyes found yours again. “And preferably outside small mechanical boxes.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten unexpectedly. Studying him carefully, you hesitated. You wanted to say yes. That was the problem. The two of you worked together. SHIELD relationships had a reputation for becoming disasters at alarming speeds.

Delicately, you asked: “You’re asking me on a date?”

Steve opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then let out a small huff of laughter. “…Yeah,” he admitted. “I think I am.”

You snickered softly despite yourself. “You know, for a guy who jumps out of planes, this is surprisingly painful to watch.”

Completely serious, Steve answered immediately: “You’re very intimidating.”

That finally broke you completely. You smiled then, because he meant it. Not just the invitation. The nerves too. The fact that this mattered more than either of you quite wanted to admit yet.

“You know this is a horrible idea,” you said softly.

Steve let out another breath, tilting his head slightly. “Probably.” Then, more hesitant this time: “Still wanna do it.”

Your mouth twisted as you tried not to smile too obviously. He looked painfully earnest standing there under the streetlights. “Okay.”

Steve’s entire body relaxed instantly. “Really?”

You nodded, laughing quietly again. “Really.”

His smile turned softer around the edges before he glanced down the street and back at you. “Can I walk you home?”

You tried fighting the smile this time and failed completely. “You’re getting greedy now.”

Steve gave a small helpless shrug. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Shaking your head, you started walking before glancing back over your shoulder. “You coming?”

Steve fell into step beside you immediately.

The night breeze curled around both of you as moonlight spilled across the sidewalk. Neither of you spoke much on the walk home. You did not really need to.

Your shoulders bumped occasionally. Once, your hands brushed lightly together and neither of you acknowledged it.

At your apartment building Steve stopped automatically at the bottom of the stairs, clearly trying very hard not to push his luck any further tonight.

You turned toward him, smiling despite yourself. “Goodnight, Steve.”

That nearly destroyed him on the spot. It was the first time you had ever called him anything other than Captain.

For one dangerous second Steve considered kissing you anyway. Instead he swallowed hard and managed: “Goodnight.”

Still smiling faintly, you climbed the stairs, unlocked your door, and stepped inside. The second the door shut behind you, you leaned back against it with a helpless smile already spreading across your face like a woman fully aware she had just made a terrible decision.

Outside, Steve stood there another moment staring at the closed door before finally turning back toward his bike. His own smile matched yours almost exactly.

Evans Variants Masterlist

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Twisted metal, broken glass, Remains of a dangerous crash. Exposed bone, seeping blood, Hold on baby here comes the flood. Bright lights, loud noise, Strange that these are joys. Floating darkness, numbing pain, What was my name?

It was dark and you were floating in a sea of nothingness. There was pain, dull, and voices, but nothing you could make out. You tried to open your eyes, thinking that must be why it was dark, but they were so heavy you gave up for now. The floating was nice.

You became conscious again to voices around you and light above you, but it was all still hazy. The voices seemed closer now. You tried to open your eyes again, and this time they fluttered, not really opening, but moving, and you knew you could not give up. Bright light be damned.

It was a fight to surface, and when you first opened your eyes, that damnable brightness forced you to close them again quickly.

Taking a deep breath, you opened them again slowly and looked around. Everything was in shades of white, and it took a second to realize it was not your eyes; it was the room. Everything was sterile, white or some variation of eggshell. An IV was in your arm, rails along the bed.

Hospital. The word came to you in a rush as your eyes landed on a man far too large for the chair he was curled up in, asleep. He had pale skin, long dark brown hair, and scruff on his cheeks. You had no idea who he was, but he was definitely good-looking. Why was he here?

It took a moment to find the nurse call button, but with some effort from your obviously out-of-use limbs, you finally reached the red button. It took another moment before a nurse came in, not even looking your way, just focusing on the man with a confused expression before finally turning to you and dropping her clipboard, eyes wide.

"You're awake?" It takes her a moment to collect herself as you struggle to clear your parched throat and speak, but only a gurgled grunt comes out. Finally, she ducks her head out of the room, calling for a doctor, saying that you are awake.

It is enough to wake the man, and deep blue eyes land on you and widen before he throws himself out of the chair toward you.

He breathes a name you do not recognize and takes your hand. "Baby, I missed you so much."

It is too much. With your weak muscles, it takes effort, but you pull back, confused. That only seems to confuse him more, but he does not get to say anything as the doctor comes in, beginning to take your vital signs and forcing him to step back so they can work.

After shining a light in your eyes, the doctor finally asks, "Do you know where you are?"

With your still dry throat, you croak, "A hospital."

The doctor nods. "Correct. I'm Dr. Martins. What's your name?"

You go to answer, but draw a blank. You look down at your lap, searching, but nothing comes. Startled, you look back up at the doctor, fear in your eyes. "I, I don't know."

The man who had been sleeping in your room says that unfamiliar name again, telling you it is yours, but you just shake your head. The doctor pulls your attention back. "Do you know this man?" He points to the brunette, whose eyes are imploring you to say his name.

You look back at the doctor and shake your head. "No. I have no idea who he is."

The air leaves the room. Or at least, that is what it feels like, judging by the reaction from the man, the doctor, and the nurse. Before he can completely fall apart, the nurse pulls him from the room as the doctor keeps asking questions.

What year is it? What state are you in? Who is the president? What are your parents' names?

Your answer to all of it is the same.

You don't know.

There is nothing; your mind is a complete blank, save for the lingering emptiness from before and this blonde angel talking to you. But you cannot say if that is real or some fever dream.

After an exhaustive number of questions, the doctor finally nods. "The name that young man said is correct. That is your name. You were in a bad car crash with another driver and have been in a coma for almost a year."

All you can do is look at him like he has two heads. "What? Is the other driver okay? Am I okay? What is happening? Who was that guy?" The questions spill out of your mouth as your world seems to spin.

The doctor puts a kind hand on your shoulder, grounding you before you can spiral. "Breathe for me."

You take a deep breath, then another, and the world settles. "Can you answer any of my questions, please?"

He gives you an equally kind, resigned smile and begins to answer. "You were going through an intersection when a drunk driver ran a red light and struck you. She was injured too, but is now in jail for reckless endangerment and vehicular assault. You were badly injured, but now you are simply weak and apparently have retrograde amnesia." He takes a breath. "That man in here was your fiancé. Bucky Barnes is his name."

Your head spins again. Not only do you not remember any of that, you do not even know who you are, let alone your own fiancé. You lick your lips and look back up at the doctor. "Will my memory come back?"

The doctor shakes his head. "We need to do a few tests before I can give you a proper answer. But my hope is that, with time, you will recover your memories."

You swallow hard. "What kind of tests?"

He smiles. "Nothing invasive. We just need to do some brain imaging and cognitive tests to see how severe your memory loss is. It does seem like you remember basic functions, like how to talk, but we need to know what you need help with."

Looking down, you take a breath and nod. "Okay, okay. Um, what about the guy? I mean, Bucky? That was his name, right?"

Dr. Martins meets your eyes. "That is entirely up to you. I will not have you uncomfortable just to soothe someone else. You are my patient, so if you want him to leave, that is what I will tell him." He tilts his head, shrugging slightly. "If, however, you are okay with him coming in to talk with you, I think it would be good for you and may help shake loose some memories."

You consider for a moment, then look back at the doctor. "Can I change my mind later? I mean, if I let him in now and it becomes too much, would you ask him to leave?"

He nods. "Of course."

Taking a deep breath, you nod again. "He can come in then. For now."

Smiling, he nods, taking your chart and beginning to write. "I will order the tests and some food for you, but I do not want you pushing yourself yet."

You nod, and the doctor leaves. The man, Bucky, comes back in after speaking with him for a moment.

He shuffles a little, looking unsure as he approaches the bed. You take pity on him. "I may not remember you, but I'm not going to bite. I promise."

Bucky lets out a startled chuckle. "Sorry, just…" He searches your face. "You really don't remember anything?"

Shrugging, you fidget. "I'm sorry. I really don't." You take a breath. "I didn't even recognize the name you called me."

He whispers it again, and you bite your lip. Bucky sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. "What did the doctor tell you?"

"That your name is Bucky Barnes, and you're supposed to be my fiancé." You watch him, his dark blue eyes still searching for some sign of recognition, finding none.

He swallows, and you see his Adam’s apple bob with the effort. "I am your fiancé. We got engaged a few months before the crash. We hadn't done much planning yet."

Biting your lip again, you search his face, trying to remember him, but still come up empty. Instead, you grasp for a different question. "Do I have a family? I mean, parents, siblings?"

His hand goes through his shaggy brown hair again. "Uh, yeah. Your folks are still alive. I need to call them. But you were an only child. You did… well, we do have some close friends that are like family too."

Nodding, you twist the sheets in your hands. "Do they visit?"

Bucky nods, taking a deep breath, a small smile pulling at his mouth. "Yeah, they do. Your folks will probably be here as soon as I call. Our friends might take a bit, but they'll all come through pretty quickly now that you're awake. Do you remember anyone?"

Shaking your head, you sigh. "No. It's all blank. I don't even remember myself."

He tentatively takes your hand, and you let him, if only for the comfort of another human being. "Are you okay to see everyone then? I mean, it might be overwhelming."

For a moment, you consider that. Yes, it will be overwhelming to have a bunch of people who know everything about you but whom you do not recognize, but, and it is a big but, you hope that maybe something will shake loose. Resolved, you look into his eyes. "It will be, but I don't know who I am, and I will only get better if I try. Maybe you can warn them first?"

"Okay, yeah, I can do that." He pauses. "Thank you for wanting to try. I mean, not that you normally wouldn't, but this all has to be a little scary right now."

Your shoulders relax. "It is, but scared can't be all I am."

Bucky smiles at that, like you said something familiar. As a nurse comes in with some ice chips and broth, he rolls his shoulders. "I, uh, guess I should give you some space then. Let you eat and do all those tests the doctor wants. I'll be back later with your folks."

You give a small wave as he retreats out the door, then turn gratefully to let some ice chips slide down your sore throat.

A few hours later, after an MRI and CT scan, as well as more cognitive tests than you knew were possible, it was confirmed that, as far as functioning and basic knowledge, you were fine, but no personal memories remained.

The nurse wheels you back to your room, where you are greeted by Bucky and an older couple who look excited but subdued. You assume they are your parents. It is an awkward meeting. These people watched you grow up, but now you cannot even feel recognition for them. They are patient and kind, and you talk with them for a bit, listening as they tell you stories of your childhood that feel more like stories than memories you can grasp.

According to your mom and dad, you and Bucky Barnes, along with his best friend Steve Rogers and your other friends Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson, and Tony Stark had been thick as thieves since the eight of you were in elementary school. Only in college, though, had you and Bucky started dating and eventually become engaged.

None of it feels real; it all sounds like things that happened to someone else, in a different life. Eventually, you grow tired after so many tests and so much new information. As your energy fades, Bucky and your parents head out to let you rest.

The next few weeks go much the same, settling into something like a routine. The doctors run tests and begin working on rehab for both your body and your mind, and it is slow, frustrating work, full of small victories that feel insignificant and setbacks that feel far too large.

Bucky comes by almost every day, often with your parents, sometimes with his friends. Well, you suppose technically they are your friends too, though that still feels unreal. You thought you would meet his best friend Steve first, but apparently he is out of the country with his girlfriend Peggy, visiting her family in England, and the explanation comes with a flicker of something in Bucky’s expression that is gone too fast for you to name.

The next person you meet outside of hospital personnel is Sam Wilson. Bucky shows up as usual, hope written all over his face in a way that makes your chest tighten before you even speak, and when you confirm once again that you have no memory outside of after waking up, you watch that hope dim into the same tight smile he has worn every morning. He nods. "I have someone here to meet you today if you're up for it."

You sit up a little more in the bed, curious despite yourself. "Sure. Someone I used to know?"

Bucky nods and opens the door, motioning someone in. A tall man with a warm, easy presence steps inside, offering you a sheepish smile. "Hey. I'm guessing you don't know me anymore. I'm Sam. Sam Wilson." He holds out his hand, and you take it gently, still getting used to how your body feels.

You give him a small, self-deprecating smile. "I know you know me, but nice to meet you."

Sam’s smile softens instead of faltering as he takes a seat beside your bed like he belongs there. "Yeah, I figured we'd just start there." He studies you for a second, not in the searching way Bucky does, but like he is trying to understand where you are now. "So this must be weird, having people tell you things about yourself but not really being able to connect to it."

You let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh. "Yeah. It only gets more frustrating. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the effort."

That gets a real laugh out of both of them, easing something in the room, and Bucky lingers for a moment like he is deciding whether to stay before finally stepping back. "I'll let you two talk." You watch him go, noticing the way he hesitates at the door before pulling it closed behind him.

Then it is just you and Sam, and somehow it is easier. He does not try to make you remember him or test you, he just talks, telling you how you met in a sandbox, about Steve and Bucky getting into trouble, about you apparently being the one who got them out of it more often than not, offering pieces of himself like something to build from instead of something you have lost.

At some point he pulls out his phone and opens a music app. "I know you don't remember anything," he says, handing it to you, "but I thought it might help for you to just listen to some music and see what you like. Don't worry about what you used to like; just decide what you like now."

The choice hits you harder than you expect, your throat tightening as something dangerously close to tears rises, not from frustration this time but from relief. "Thank you," you manage, smiling at him. "I'd really like that."

For a few hours, you and Sam go through every genre and decade, arguing over songs and artists, discovering what you like, what you hate, and what makes you laugh for no reason at all. Bucky comes back somewhere in the middle but does not interrupt, just sitting quietly off to the side and watching as Sam helps you create something new, and when you catch him looking at you, something soft and almost painful flickers across his expression before he looks away. It is not a real memory, but it is something that tells you who you are that you did not have before.

A few days later, Bucky walks into the room with three women who smile at you and introduce themselves as Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, and Pepper Potts. You cannot help but smile back, though you notice how comfortable Bucky seems around them, maybe a little too comfortable for someone who is supposed to be your fiancé. You are almost sure that is just you, though, since none of them seem to notice.

Once again, he leaves you with them as they take seats around your bed, and quickly it turns into what you can only assume a sleepover would have been like. The three of them are so different, but the way they fall into conversation makes it obvious they are close. They talk about their lives, their relationships, and you—about how you have always been the one they go to, the one who listens, the one who somehow makes things make sense.

Especially Pepper, who rolls her eyes fondly as she talks about Tony Stark.

"He is a menace," she says, though she is smiling.

Natasha snorts. "You love it."

"That is not the point."

Wanda laughs, glancing between you and Pepper. "You two usually just sit there and let us complain about Tony and Bucky."

Natasha huffs a quiet laugh. "And then remind us we picked them."

There is an ease to it, a rhythm you cannot quite step into, but you can see the shape of it—until something catches. The mention of Bucky being a flirt lands somewhere deep, sharp in a way you cannot explain, not a memory, not even a feeling, just an echo that refuses to settle. Natasha notices first and smoothly shifts the conversation before it can linger.

They spend the rest of the day helping you figure out things that feel almost embarrassingly basic—your favorite color, your style, even how you like your coffee now—and like Sam, they seem more interested in learning who you are now than pushing you to remember who you were.

About halfway through the day, the door swings open and Tony Stark drops in like he owns the place. "All right, which one of you is the problem child?"

Pepper sighs immediately. "Tony—"

He ignores her, eyes landing on you as he crosses the room without hesitation. "Tony Stark. Billionaire, genius, occasional pain in the ass." And then he hugs you like it is the most normal thing in the world. You freeze for half a second before awkwardly hugging him back, and he pulls away like nothing about this is strange. "Good, you hug back. That's a strong start."

You laugh before you can stop yourself, and that is new.

He does not ask what you remember or try to tell you who you used to be, he just talks to you like this is your first meeting and immediately starts teasing you like he does everyone. "We are definitely upgrading your situation," he says, glancing around the room. "This is depressing."

"Tony," Pepper warns.

"What? It is." He looks back at you. "We will fix it. I have opinions."

You huff out a laugh. "I believe that."

He points at you immediately. "Oh, I like you. We are keeping this version."

Pepper looks aghast, Natasha looks entertained, Wanda looks delighted.

Tony studies you for a second, then snaps his fingers. "Daisy."

You blink. "What?"

"You need a nickname. Daisy. It works."

Pepper stares at him. "You cannot just rename her."

"Watch me." He gestures vaguely. "It is better than Ditzy, considering—"

"Tony!"

You laugh again, louder this time, surprising yourself. "Daisy," you repeat, testing it, and it should feel wrong, but it does not. It feels easier, more natural than the name they keep telling you is yours.

At the end of the day, Bucky circles back and pauses just inside the door, taking in the sound of your laughter before his gaze lands on you, something shifting in his expression—relief, maybe, or something more complicated.

Tony claps him on the shoulder. "Good news. She likes me best."

Bucky shakes his head, but there is no real heat behind it. "I'm not surprised," he mutters, before noticing the exhaustion finally catching up to you and stepping in to usher everyone out despite Tony’s protests. "All right, out. She needs to rest."

The room empties slowly, voices trailing off into the hallway, and just like that, it is quiet again.

That night you dream of him again, or at least you think it is a him. The blonde angel who keeps showing up in your dreams with sunlight behind him as he looks down at you.

Everyone seems to take turns showing up to see you, helping you build something new out of pieces you do not recognize, telling you stories and offering memories as you try to learn things about yourself and them from both before and after the crash.

Almost a month after waking up, Bucky comes in with two new people, a brunette woman and a blonde man with ocean-blue eyes that, the moment your gaze meets his, steals the breath from your lungs. Something in your chest tightens in a way you do not understand.

Bucky is speaking, introducing them, but his words blur together as your attention fixes entirely on the man. Peggy, he says first, and she smiles warmly at you with that beautiful British accent, but you barely register it. Then he turns to introduce the man, and before he can, you are already speaking.

You breathe out his name. "Steve?"

The blonde stills, clearly having noticed your fixation, and steps forward carefully. "Yeah," he says, searching your face. "You guessed that right?"

You shake your head, eyes wide. "You're Steven Grant Rogers. Born on the Fourth of July… and you're my best friend."

The room goes quiet as Steve moves closer, looking at you like the world just shifted under his feet. "You remember me?"

And then it hits. Not slowly, not gently, but all at once.

You and Steve swinging in your backyard as kids, sunlight in your eyes and laughter in your chest. A much smaller, skinnier Steve at a Sadie Hawkins dance, trying so hard to keep up with you. Steve holding you years later, steady and unshaking as you cried into his shoulder.

Your best friend.

Your Steve.

You nearly sob as the real him takes your hand, your vision blurring as you nod. "Yes." You take a shaky breath. "I don't remember my own name, but I remember you."

That is what breaks you.

The tears come fast, and Steve does not hesitate, pulling you into his arms like it is instinct, like he has done it a thousand times before, holding you together as you fall apart.

Over your head, his expression shifts as he looks at Bucky, something uncertain and almost afraid in his eyes, because what does it mean that you remember him and no one else?

And behind him, Bucky has gone very still.

Part Two