#stuckybingo

There’s the cut of his cheekbone, and three fingers below it – Steve has the measure of him, long since honed with his own hands – the marble-smooth line of Bucky’s jaw.

There’s the jut of his knee, slipped free from his skirt, delicate and masculine at once.

The dip of his breast, if he only twists his body just so – a faint groove just perfect enough for Steve to fit his index finger in, right between Bucky’s pecs, framed like a work of art by the neckline of his dress, cradled in blue – blue like the ocean they both crossed to stumble like fawns into this war. Blue like the sky above Rockaway Beach, the day Steve first knew he was in love with his best friend. Blue like the suit Bucky slips on every day to walk the battlefield by Steve’s side, and snuff out lives as easy as birthday candles – for no country nor no flag, but for one man only. Blue, deep, deep blue, like the mantle that was thrust upon Steve when he didn’t want it, and the one he claimed as his own not so long ago– for one man only.

This man. The haloed vision before him, slacked back in his chair like he doesn’t know how devastating a sight he makes, dolled up the way he is. Like it just happened, see?, he didn’t do it on purpose.

There he sits, his bare legs crossed; the gleaming toe of his silver dance shoe pointing right at Steve like it means business, threat or promise, it has yet to decide.

Steve is sure he’ll die right here either way, mad with passion and with a tent the size of a circus mounted on his crotch.

Bucky’s lipstick-red mouth quirks up in one corner.

“See something you like, sugar?”

The warm, velvety pitch of his voice rakes shivers down Steve’s spine. Like? He’d set the whole world on fire for a single crumb of this.

Steve licks his lips. “Don’t see nothin’ I hate to look at.”

He swallows – It sticks in his throat.

Bucky’s foot rolls lazily towards him. The slim silver band wrapped around his ankle catches the light, and that single spark zings in the dimly lit room like a meteor, a swift spot of brightness in the night sky, there and gone again before Steve can think to capture it with his hands – or God, God, with his lips, with his open mouth if he could. He’d catch any drop, wouldn’t waste a thing. Do it again, he wants to beg. Please, fuck, just do anything, I’ll take it, I’ll take anything.

“Is that so,” Bucky drawls, unrepentant behind his smirk. “And that’s all you’re gonna do about it, is that it? Look? That’s enough for you. You don’t need nothing more.” His hand smooths down the folds of his skirt, red and white under his fingers. His eyelashes sweep, down and up again, his eyes full of promise. Steve has never felt so much like prey before, never so eager to step into his snare. “You’re happy like this,” Bucky husks, pitch dropping to sweet, bone-melting gravel. “You’re... satisfied.”

The sound travels straight to Steve’s cock, teasing and inviting at once.

“Buck.”

So weak. So weak of him, so pathetic.

“Don’t know about you, sweetheart, but I didn’t see nobody puttin’ up a sign saying ‘look but don’t touch’ around here,” Bucky teases on, hips tilting forward on the edge of his chair. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

Steve’s got some idea about what it’s gonna be.

“Fuck. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, Buck.”

He’s desperate, small and pathetic and wanting, and if life would only grant him some modicum of dignity for once, he’d be able to hide just how desperate he is; but there’s no sense in even trying. Bucky already knows. Bucky always knows. Bucky knew it before Steve did.

Bucky loves nothing better.

Steve’s hand flexes around thin air, his palm sweaty against his dress pants.

“God, I want–” A breath, exhaled through his nose. It’s not enough, the slowed-down sliver of a moment it affords him is not enough, an eternity wouldn’t be enough for him to stop craving Bucky like cracked dry soil craves rain during a drought. “Wanna taste you. All of you, head to toe. Anywhere you want it I’ll give it to you, swear to God, baby, anything.”

Bucky lets him scramble his way through it like an indulgent teacher taking in his student’s fumbling words, calm and composed; but his mask is cracking, too. The tip of his tongue swiping across the seam of his lips betrays his hunger.

His Adam’s apple bobs on the column of his throat.

Hungry.

“Where would you like to start?”

Hungry.

It knocks the breath right out of Steve’s lungs. Christ. Christ, he knows just where he wants to start.

The thing about worship is, it must come from the heart or it means nothing.

When Steve kneels in front of Bucky, he means it with every wound-up fiber of his being. His knees kiss the old creaking floorboards, tender like a lover, and Bucky uncrosses his legs, making room for him to slot in between: the first reward for Steve’s devotion.

“Here,” Steve rasps, wrecked with desire, looking up in Bucky’s darkening eyes. “I wanna start right here.”

He crawls closer on his two knees, his hands licking palmfuls up the length of Bucky’s legs, from the elegant notch of his ankles, up the supple curve of his calves, dusted with sparse dark hair.

Bucky leans forward, his tits – oh lord – his tits pressed together in his deep blue bodice, the cleft in between lookin’ as sweet as sin, and he pulls Steve to him, one hand cupping the nape of Steve’s neck, the other at Steve’s jaw, tracing the lines of him with his knuckles.

Bucky hovers there, maddeningly close. His lips are parted, slits of cherry red, wet from the caress of his own tongue; his breath warm, hot, intoxicating, ghosting against Steve’s face.

He’s only a hair’s breadth away. Their noses brush together, a glance of a touch: Steve’s pulse thrills in his veins.

Bucky’s head tilts just so, the way it would to fit their mouths together, and this is it, Steve tells himself, finally, finally, this is the moment they kiss, this is the first taste he’s gonna get tonight – not the boldest, perhaps, but the sweetest still.

“Buck,” he sighs, tipping his head back, his breath held inside his ribcage.

Bucky strokes light fingers down Steve’s throat, leaning in – but when Steve goes to collect his kiss, Bucky dances back an inch.

“Stevie,” he murmurs, holding his mouth barely out of Steve’s reach. “Sweetheart.”

He makes Steve chase his lips, lets him crane his neck and nuzzle at him, needy, turning his face to give Steve his cheek. Steve nips at him; kisses the rasp of Bucky’s stubble with slack lips, scrapes blunt teeth against Bucky’s jawline, holding a pinch of Bucky’s flesh between them for a moment just to prove that he can.

He wants. Wants, wants, wants with every last inch of his soul, and Bucky won’t let him have anything.

“Baby, please,” he groans, soft and wet below the hinge of Bucky’s jaw, his lips and nose mashed against Bucky’s gold-soaked skin. “You’re killing me here.”

Then, cruelty worse than any other, Bucky pulls away from him – enough that Steve can see the color of his eyes again.

He holds Steve’s chin, and his thumb slots naturally into the dip below Steve’s bottom lip, tugging to watch Steve’s mouth part under the gentle pressure.

He’s staring, his half-lidded eyes fixed right on Steve’s lips, swallowing thickly as though his own mouth were watering at the sight.

Steve knows what he’s picturing; Steve’s picturing it too, the familiar sting in his lips once they’re red and swollen and well-stretched around him. The sheen of spit he’ll leave on Bucky’s cock, cooling in the balmy night air, and the way it’ll feel on his tongue, slick and heavy and pulsing, dusky red like Bucky’s nipples and loved on with the same eager, suckling mouth. He can almost taste it. He can almost smell it, the salty musk of him, the throbbing arousal already wetting Bucky’s tip, here, beneath the ruffles of his striped skirt. Steve wants it. He’s been starving for it.

“Christ, your mouth, honey,” Bucky groans, his voice colored with desperation. He wants in – and Steve’s never wanted anything more than he wants to open up for him and let him slide home inside, where he belongs, where Steve will keep him warm. “Wanna feel it, God I want to. Steve.”

In the old days, they used to lay offerings in the lap of the gods: fresh bread and oil and wine, and fragrant incense to waft up to the sky, longing to please them.

Tonight, Steve lays all of himself right here: in this lap that would welcome him, in the temple he swore himself to, never so devout until the day he discovered that kneeling wasn’t only for church, and that a prayer could be uttered in the shape of a name – his own name, dripping from Bucky’s mouth, lit golden and gasped in the sweet pain of ecstasy.

Bucky wants him.

Bucky can have him.

“You want my mouth,” he says, staring up into Bucky’s ravenous eyes, a challenge, “you show me where you want it.”

He sees it, the slow, blood-hot exhale leaving Bucky through his nostrils, the way his chest falls and swells again with the next breath.

“Yeah. Show me, Buck. Show me where.”

Bucky leans back, draping himself against the backrest of his chair. He’s tall like this, taller than Steve, the way he used to be, towering over him. He never made Steve feel that difference, never once looked down on him even when Steve was tilting his head back to look him in the eye, drawn to the easy confidence of Bucky’s smile.

Bucky leans into his advantage now, tall and magnificent as a godling on his throne, his body heavy and high-strung and flushed over with desire, the way only a mortal creature can be – flesh-made and bone-dense and fragile, human and finite and brimming with life all the more because of it.

He’s perfect. The combed waves of his hair limned with copper from the lamplight, the faint outline of his nipples showing just barely through the fabric of his dress, his face, his face – transfigured, intent, eyes bright and breath shallow with anticipation. Steve would kiss the ground his feet stepped on, and beg for more after.

Bucky grabs two fistfuls of his skirt.

He’s deliberate with it, slow and meticulous, the way he gets when Steve turns impatient under his hands; when he decides that they’re going too fast, scorching their way towards the edge, and he needs to rein it in, show Steve that this, what they share, what they give, is worth waiting for. Pay attention, he seems to say: This is important. He doesn’t want Steve to miss a single moment of it.

“Here.”

The hair stands to attention on Steve’s arms, gooseflesh rushing across his skin.

Bucky pulls. Slowly, slowly, as though time didn’t matter, as though the seconds ticking by were nothing but hard pearls of sugar dissolving on his tongue, only his to savor, a thousand more of them to spare, tucked just in his pocket.

“Here’s where I want you.”

The sound of the fabric grazing over his legs is hypnotic. Up, up the skirt’s hem goes, baring Bucky’s thighs in its wake – and what are they, if not the pillars to Steve’s temple, the doors to his shrine.

Bucky’s legs spread for him, the red and white of his skirt hiked up around his hips to show Steve the nest of dark curls between them, the proud shaft rising from the core of it, waiting for reverent lips to come and soothe its hurt, lick its tears away.

“God, Buck.”

He takes his mouth to Bucky’s knee, diving in blindly and laving open-mouthed kisses into Bucky’s inner thigh, where his flesh is most tender. When Bucky lifts his leg and hooks it up over Steve’s shoulder, Steve surges, heart and body, like a man possessed, palms grasping Bucky’s naked hips under his skirt. He presses his face snug into that coarse thatch of hair, inhaling Bucky’s scent, licking up the sweat collected in the warm crease between Bucky’s hip and thigh. Bucky gasps out loud above him, a soft, perfect “Ah,” startled by the wet heat of Steve’s tongue.

“Steve,” he urges, a fervent prayer, choking on his own breathless voice.

His fingers sink in Steve’s hair, cradling him close, pleading with him, mercy, oh, mercy.

What’s more sacred than this? What’s holier than the giving, than the pure, wholehearted glory of bringing pleasure to the man he loves? In crafting it with his own means, wrought from his own body, from the touch of his hands, from the heat of his mouth?

He remembers his Sunday mornings at mass, Steve does. Nothing was ever deemed more devout than dropping to one’s knees and opening one’s mouth to receive.

He remembers the lectures, when he was a child preparing for his first communion; how the nuns held up the thin wafer discs, not yet blessed by the priest, and told the children, We don’t chew on the body of Christ.

No. You were supposed to hold it in your mouth, let it slowly come apart on your tongue, and then, only then, swallow it all.

It was only many years later, kneeling between Bucky’s trembling legs and hearing him instruct, soft and brittle of breath, “Don’t use your teeth, doll,” that Steve had seen the old lesson truly come to fruition.

He remembers it, even now.

You don’t bite into something holy: you simply take it inside of you, whole and glorious, just as it is.

He noses along Bucky’s hardness, tongue glancing over his tip to gather the first taste of him.

Steve Rogers was made for the worship of one man, and one man only; and like a faithful at the altar, taking his holy bread, Steve curls his hand around Bucky’s cock, parts his wet lips, and swallows him down.

...

“We did,” Steve says.

He offers Bucky his hand, palm up and open (that’s how a gentleman is supposed to do it, his Ma taught him well), and Bucky takes it, reaches out with his sleek silver fingers and takes Steve’s hand in his – takes the warm flesh and the strong bones and the unspoken invitation that goes with them, the same as he always did anytime Steve reached for him: without a second thought.

It’s only when he’s standing up, pulled halfway into Steve’s space, that he hesitates.

“I don’t–” He swallows, his Adam’s apple moves with it. “Don’t think I know how, anymore.”

The sorrowful rasp of his voice slices right through Steve’s heart.

The sheer wealth of things that were taken from Bucky, both great and small, innate and inconsequential, makes up a tapestry vast enough to coat the room from wall to wall; and still Steve has to watch it grow and grow when a new patch is found, sewn in at the edges as a reminder of one more thing, one more loss, one more sliver cut away from the fabric of Bucky’s soul.

Much of what was stolen, Steve can never give back, and the truth of it is an ache sharp like glass in the marrow of his bones. But here sits his glimmer of hope: sometimes, more often than not, the foundations are still there, safe beneath the rubble, and they can be built upon.

“I can teach you,” he offers, thumb stroking over the steel-smooth valley between two of Bucky’s knuckles. Like you taught me, is the sweet aftertaste, clinging to the roof of his mouth. “If I learned, anyone can.”

Something suspiciously close to fondness flickers in Bucky’s eyes. They wrinkle at the corners – soft, soft. Lovely. Someday soon, he’ll have crow’s feet to show for it; they both will. How sweet a thought that is. How easily it settles in the cradle of Steve’s heart, as true today as it seemed impossible yesterday: they’ll have crow’s feet. Their skin will crinkle and soften, their hair will sport wisps of gray, and their joints will creak and pop a merry little song when they roll out of bed in the morning. They’ll grow old. They get to grow old. Together.

Emotion ripples through him – love, always love, warm and potent and self-fueling, coursing like blood in Steve’s veins and filling him flush from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. Some of it must show on his face, because Bucky finally acquiesces.

“Alright. Yeah,” he nods, soft-spoken. “Show me.”

It’s easy, is the thing: as easy as Steve remembered. Their bodies need no instructions at all.

Steve may guide them, but Bucky’s arm already knows to go ‘round his middle and pull him close. Steve’s hand skates up the strong rope of muscles lining Bucky’s shoulder, just to nestle on his nape, and have the softness of Bucky’s hair at his fingertips. Their joined hands, pinned together above Bucky’s heart. This is their place, same as the stylus slotting into the grooves of the vinyl and making smooth music out of it.

He runs the tip of his nose along Bucky’s nose, gentle, his eyelids falling closed with the motion.

“I’ll tell you what you told me back then,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky leans into him, breath and body and warmth, his forehead tucked against Steve’s forehead, his fingers splaying wide on the small of Steve’s back.

The music swells. It’s a love song.

“You don’ hafta do anything. Don’ hafta go anywhere.”

They sway, slow and intimate, like seafoam lapping its tongue over the shore’s golden sheen; four socked feet standing on the one tile, barely lifting off the floor.

“See? We’re staying right here. Nothin’ fancy about it. ‘S just you and me.”

Bucky presses him closer.

“Just you and me.”

They’re dancing.

Steve breathes in, breathes out. It’s all Bucky, all of it, all of him– curling deep into the maze of his lungs, filling up his chest, the lingering taste of him sweet as cream under Steve’s tongue.

The heart trembles inside him.

Nothing else moves him like this: like the kiss of Bucky’s eyelashes fluttering against his skin. Like the pounding of Bucky’s heartbeat under his hand, steady and thrilling. Like the cinch of Bucky’s arm around him, herding him in, bringing him in from the cold. Like the fit of Bucky’s body against his, ever-changing, ever-perfect. Nothing else could.

They’re dancing.

Dropping his bag by the door and kicking off his boots, Steve lets out a tired breath.

He refrains from the impulse to rest against the doorframe, knowing that if he does, he will fall asleep there. He doesn't have much time before debrief; all he could manage was a few minutes to drop off his bag and have a shower.

Steve drags himself over to the bedroom and sighs when he hears the shower already running. Looks like he'll be having a shower after the meeting. That's... fine. It's fine. Really.

He gives a longing look towards the bathroom door, feeling his skin itch with all the dirt, blood, and whatever else. The bed, he doesn't dare glance at, knowing his willpower will break if he does.

Probably for the best if he just heads over to the meeting now.

Just as Steve turns to leave, the bathroom door opens. Bucky stands at the open door, dripping and nude, steam from the running shower spilling out around him.

"You look tired," Bucky says in greeting.

"Thanks, you look great as well." Steve says dryly, letting his head drop, "Missed you too, so glad to be home."

He hears Bucky let out a small huff of a laugh.

"C'mere, Punk." Bucky grabs Steve's hand and drags him into the bathroom. "I know just the thing."

Bucky pulls him into the shower still clothed, despite Steve's tired protests.

"They're going straight to the laundromat anyway," Bucky says, cutting Steve's arguments with kisses.

Bucky starts peeling off Steve's sodden clothes, letting them fall to the shower floor.

"I have- mphf -a meeting in- Guhhh -in three minutes. BUCKY!" Steve tries to say around Bucky's amorous efforts.

"Mhm," is all he gets in response.

"It's important I-..." more kisses. "The team-..." his shirt is pulled over his head. "I can't miss-...". Bucky drags his teeth down his neck, and his resolve isn't the only thing weakening.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's shoulders as his knees tremble under his partner's attention.

"Bucky, please..." he moans.

He feels Bucky's mouth curl into a smile as he bites his shoulder.

"I know what you need, Baby," Bucky says, pressing back against the shower wall. Pushing himself between Steve's legs and grinding his cock against Steve's. "Some 'quality time' right here."

Steve blinks through the water, hitting him in the face to stare at Bucky. If he says no, this would stop. He'd be able to make it to the meeting on time.

It's been a long week. He's exhausted. He's tired of the weight of command and the violence of battle.

He doesn't really want to sit through Debrief.

What he wants- needs- is Bucky.

"Hang on," Steve says, bending over to pick up his pants from the shower floor and grabbing his phone.

With quick fingers, Steve calls the Avengers Line. "Hey, JARVIS. I'm sorry, I won't be making it to the meeting. Something came up."

Bucky laughs against his neck, "Yeah, it did."

Kicking off his boots and setting down his bag by the door, Bucky lets go of the tension he's been holding for the past week. He's back home.

He doesn't bother turning on the lights. He makes his way through the dark by muscle memory, heading up the stairs to his bedroom.

He carefully pulls back the blanket and slips into bed, finding his spot covering Steve's back as always.

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve's middle as carefully as he can, not wanting to wake him.

He smiles as Steve melts into his embrace, knowing him even in sleep.

“I said no,” Steve hissed at his husband. “She needs a rest. Today, people took something important away from her. I won’t say that I’m not happy Y/N is the one having our babies, but she had other plans.”

Bucky stopped pacing to look at his husband. “I know, Steve,” he said, eyes saddening. Bucky felt guilty because your choice was taken away from you. “Maybe we should’ve asked her to be our surrogate from the beginning. Things would be different.”

Steve sighed deeply. “Buck, you know we wanted more from Y/N than she was willing to give. We need to be patient and be there for her. If we want her to stay and raise the babies with us, you must hold back and stop being needy.”

Bucky gasped. He pursed his lips and glared at his husband. “If you want me to touch your cock ever again, you’ll take that back.”

“It’s true,” Steve smirked knowingly. “You gave her the look you always have when you want something. Food, dick, a baby.”

“I’m not needy,” Bucky angrily replied. “All I want is what everyone wants. My sexy husband and our pregnant doll filled with our babies.”

Steve grabbed his husband’s face, smirking when Bucky’s breathing quickened. “Needy baby. How about I take care of you tonight? Y/N is asleep, and we shouldn’t disturb her.”

Bucky eagerly followed Steve toward their shared bedroom. He smirked to himself, knowing Steve would be relentless and rough tonight to show him who’s in charge…

The next morning, you reluctantly walked down the stairs to join Steve and Bucky for breakfast. You were aware that they wanted to talk about what happened yesterday.

The problem was that you didn’t know what to do. You felt helpless and lost. For the longest time, you wanted to become a mother, and now, the dream has been shattered.

“Doll, morning." Bucky got up from his seat to pull a chair for you. “We prepared a healthy breakfast. I hope you still like bagels and fruit salad.”

“We have tea too,” Steve tried to get your attention. With a smile, he placed a cup with freshly brewed tea in front of you. “Fennel, your favorite. No sugar, no honey.”

You were speechless. Clive didn’t remember anything you liked, but your boss knows how you like your tea. “Yeah, thank you,” you murmured and took the offered seat.

“Relax, Y/N. It’s only us,” Bucky said, making your situation sound so easy. “I know this is not how you imagined things would play out.”

“Bucky and I talked last night,” Steve said, keeping out that they talked after he had his way with his needy husband. “We want you to know that you would’ve been our first choice.”

“Why did you never ask me?” You sniffled silently. “I didn’t even know you wanted to have a surrogate.”

“That’s not something you can just bring up to an employee and a good friend. We didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” Bucky was quick to ease your worries. “If we imagine raising a child, having you here with the kids and us is a dream come true.

Steve nodded in agreement, his expression gentle. “We were afraid it might make things awkward. You mean a lot to us, Y/N. As a friend, a great employee, and a confident. We never wanted you to feel pressured.”

Bucky reached for your hand across the table, squeezing it. “But we’ve always wanted you to be more than a friend, Y/N.”

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Their words were reassuring, but your life was still a mess. Even before the mix-up. “It’s just that… I wanted to do this on my own. Men disappointed me in the past, and for once, I didn’t want to depend on a partner.”

Steve nodded. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he took your hand, holding it gently. “We know you are an independent and strong woman. Bucky and I will respect whatever you decide. If you want to have our babies and for us to leave you alone, we’ll do it.”

Bucky felt like his throat was closing in, but nodded in agreement. “If you decide that you want to do this with us. We will make sure you always feel safe, cared for, Y/N.”

Steve leaned forward, his tone soft but steady. “We know how important this is to you. Whatever

They exchanged a quick look before turning back toward you. “We understand if you want to take some time to figure things out. There’s no rush, doll. We just want you to know, we’ll be there for you.”

You exhaled sharply, the tension easing up. “I know this situation is not ideal, but we should talk about legal actions against the clinic and the laboratory. After that, we should …maybe, get to know each other better. Our routine, how we like to do things, and if we could make this work.”

“Yes…of course,” Bucky was buzzing with excitement. “How about we leave the legal stuff to our lawyers? We already explained the situation, and they are going to take legal action."

“Sounds good,” you replied with a small smile. “What about the other thing?”

“What if we spent more time together? You could move in with us." This time, Steve was faster. He suggested what his husband only dared to dream of. “What do you say?”

“For a few days? Maybe over the weekend,” you suggested. “I don’t want to be a burden or annoy you with my presence. You’re used to having your home and the attention of your partner to yourself.”

“I was thinking about having you around for the next month. We will help you move your things, and we can figure out what we want to do.” Bucky scooted closer. He didn’t want to lose the chance to move you into their home permanently.

Steve noticed your hesitation and softly said, “You know, you don’t have to decide today. If you like, we can just leave you alone for a while.”

 “I’m scared,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Everything feels so heavy right now.”

Bucky’s eyes watered. He felt the worst because he only thought about having you and the babies in his life.  “Whatever happens, we’re in this together. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“We will figure this out together," Steve added. “Let’s spend the weekend together, and go from there…”

Part 4

Tony steps out into the alley behind the tower. Taking a moment for himself to breathe in the (arguably) fresh New York air.

He's doing good, being healthy, and all that grand stuff. It wasn't at all because he dropped and detonated a canister of crowd repellent that he was attempting to install into his armor... essentially smoking himself out of his own building.

The outdoor air was already working wonders on drying his stinging, watery eyes and easing the burning deep in his nose.

Tony turns his face to the sun, shutting his eyes and letting it warm him.

This is nice, actually. Taking a moment to breathe.

Not that he'd admit that to Pepper.

Tony takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His sense of smell was returning.

Wonderful. Though he could do without the smell from the bins. Thinking of it, yesterday was the pick-up day for the bins. There shouldn't be any smells.

Frowning, Tony opens his eyes.

Better investigate whatever's wrong with his bins before he gets a fine from some by-law officer, and it makes the news. He didn't need that. Stark-Industries didn't need that. Neither did the Avengers.

He briefly wonders if it's safe enough yet to slip back into the garage to grab some PPE before doing this. Probably not. The canister was high-strength. But the allure of temporarily losing his sense of smell again was strong.

'What could even smell that bad? Geeze!'

With a drawn-out sigh, Tony turns. Freezing as he spots the issue.

It wasn't the bins.

Hanging from some of the cables crossing the alley were three dead bodies. Strung up by their feet, rotting in the afternoon sun.

Tony quickly turns away, retching. Thankfully managing to keep his lunch down.

He should do something. But he's afraid that if he looks, he will lose everything he's eaten the past week.

Tony looks up as the back door opens, and Cap-2-electric-boogaloo steps out.

"Crap!" Barnes says, immediately noticing the bodies. Pulling out his pocket knife, the man throws it at the cable. The cord snaps, and the bodies hit the floor with a thud.

Tony shudders sickly. Averting his eyes as Barnes investigates the bodies.

"HYDRA. High ranking," Barnes says, admiration in his voice. "Throat cut efficiently. Drained. Clean work."

"Please don't sound so impressed," Tony says, crossing his arms.

"He's good at what he does."

"Who? You know who did-" realization dawns on him. "Oh, no. Barnes-" Tony turns to stare at the man and regrets it as he spots the bodies again.

"I'd say he's doing a good job."

"No!" Tony says, "Do NOT encourage him to leave bodies on my doormat for you like some damn cat!"

Barnes shrugs, eyeing the windows with poorly buried longing. And Tony knows he's hoping to spot him. His Winter Soldier.

He carefully casts an eye around the alley and up at the windows, looking for the spooky Ghost of America Past. Hoping to spot him like he would a creepy bug; so he knew where the thing was. It's always worse when they disappear on you, but you know they're still there.

He has a feeling Winter was here, somewhere, watching Barnes inspect his gift, hidden in some crack or crevice. Able to see Barnes and himself, but completely invisible to them.

Tony shivers. Hair standing on end. He eyes the back door. He needed to get out of here.

"They," he says, gesturing to the bodies, "don't go in my bin. He's your buddy; you dispose of them."

Barnes barely gives any reaction to that. Lost, gazing forlornly into the dark of shadows. The only indication that Barnes even heard him was a small nod.

Needing to be sure he was actually listened to, he adds. "I want this area clean. Completely spotless, understood? Not a single hair left. I want to-"

"I know how to dispose of a body, Stark," Barnes grumbles, "It'll be done."

"Alright," he says, barely managing to not stumble over his words.

Barnes makes no move to start cleaning up, still looking.

Done with this entire situation, Tony turns around and storms back into the safety of the tower.

“This is a legal nightmare,” the nurse exclaimed, fearing losing her job. “I only brought Miss Y/L/N to the room. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We are not responsible for the mix-up. The embryology laboratory messed up, not the clinic.” One of the guys in suits said. He sounded like a lawyer, and you already disliked him and the others.

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, blame the laboratory, not your incompetent employees.” He said, his tone laced with venom. “We wanted our surrogate to get pregnant with our babies, not our employee! You should’ve double-checked before impregnating Y/N!”

“What will people think, hearing that our employee is now pregnant with our babies?” Steve added, glaring at the lawyers. “This will have consequences!”

“Guys in suits?” The absurdity of the situation almost made you giggle. It was hilarious that eight people were fighting over your womb. “What the fuck did you do? I wanted a baby, and you put the wrong semen into my eggs, and now…”

Steve was by your side in three long steps when you started to cry. He wrapped his arms around you, shushing you. “Everything is going to be alright, Y/N.”

“Gentlemen, ladies,” Bucky said, looking at his husband and you, not the people fucking your dream over. “I think we need a moment here. Leave us alone for a moment, everyone. Our lawyers are on the way. We won’t sign anything until they are here.”

The lawyers and the doctor reluctantly left the room. For different reasons, they didn’t want to anger your bosses even more.

One of the nurses gave you an apologetic look before walking out of the room, too.

“She shouldn’t be alone now. If you need anything, push the button,” she said. “I know this doesn’t mean anything, but I’m sorry this happened to all of you.”

“We should send the surrogate home, shouldn’t we?” Bucky murmured, his eyes glued to you in Steve’s arms. “I don’t want to stress out, Tiffany.”

“Tiffany?” You sniffled against Steve’s chest. “Is that your surrogate?”

“Yeah, a college girl wanting to earn enough money to pay for Stanford,” Steve replied. He ran his hand up and down your back, trying to help you relax. “We will still give her the full sum, Buck. She was willing to have our babies.”

“I’ll handle everything later. Let me just call a driver to get her home safely.” Bucky quickly left the room. He stayed away for a few minutes, explaining the situation to their surrogate. He assured Tiffany that they’d still pay her in full.

“Tiffany was somewhat relieved,” Bucky huffed as he walked back inside the hospital room. “It’s only fair we pay her for her help.”

“What do I do now? I wanted a baby,” you choked out a sob. “I don’t have the money for more tries. This was my only shot.”

“Another try?” Steve sounded panicked when you told him again that you didn’t have the money for another in vitro fertilization. “Y/N, maybe it worked the first time.”

“Yeah. Maybe it worked the first time,” Bucky said. He sat down on the hospital bed. “You’ll look beautiful, swollen with our babies.”

“Buck!” Steve hissed, but it was too late. You lifted your head to look at Steve.

“I can’t give you my babies! They are mine! They used my eggs!” You teared up. “You can’t take the babies away from me!”

“Doll,” Steve whispered lowly. “We won’t take them away from you. If you are having our babies, we will raise them together.” He casually said. “You’ll have children, financial safety, and two devoted men helping you raise them. They’re going to be ours.”

“Stevie is right, Y/N,” Bucky scooted closer to whisper in your ear. “We know that none of your boyfriends treated you right. Stevie and I know how to treat a woman right. Especially the one carrying our babies.”

“What if I didn’t get pregnant because they used the wrong sperm? ” You hiccupped. “They ruined my chance to have a baby without a man who doesn’t want to settle for me.”

“We will give you all the babies you want. Steve and I will do anything to fulfill our dream." Bucky lowered his voice, making you shudder. His hands moved to your waistline, and he left no room for your imagination. “We can do it the old-fashioned way, too.”

“Buck. We have talked about boundaries before, haven’t we?” Steve hissed in his husband’s direction. “Can we please just help her cope? Y/N’s dream just got shattered. She wanted to have a baby without a man. Now she’s having our babies.”

You sniffled, “Or not. If it didn’t work, you would turn toward Tiffany, and I lost my only chance to have a baby without a man around.”

“No, no, baby doll." Bucky wrapped his arms around you from behind. “You are the perfect match for us. You want a baby as much as we do. Why don’t we have them together? We have been friends from the beginning.”

It was true. Steve and Bucky were more than your bosses. You often had lunch or dinner together. The pair even invited you to join their book club and to attend a cooking class with them. They always treated you with respect and helped you after yet another breakup.

“How about this? The doctor said you can go home. When we stormed into the room earlier this day, they had already checked on you.” Steve wanted you to feel safe and take you home with them. “We will grab a few of your things, and you stay with us over the weekend.”

“I remember,” you chuckled. “I was mortified because my two bosses were staring at my coochie.”

“I wasn’t staring, Buck did,” Steve sternly said.

“She was all spread out!” Bucky grumbled under his breath. “How could I not stare at her perfect…” He bit his tongue. “Never mind. Steve is right. We should take you home with us. Let the lawyers fight for us. Whatever happens, we will not leave you alone in this. We promise to make your dream come true.”

Bucky and Steve watched you sleep in the backseat of their SUV. They exchanged glances, that smirk creeping on their faces. “We need to talk about boundary issues again. Y/N is vulnerable right now. Don’t get overly excited. Maybe we already made it.”

“I want to see her swollen with our babies, Stevie.” Bucky wasn’t in the mood to give in. Tiffany wasn’t their first choice. It was you, always you. You were the perfect match, but they didn’t dare to ask you to become their surrogate.

“Buck, I want it too, but we must be patient. Y/N needs us now. Her dream of being an independent mother was just shattered. She needs to adapt first. You can be a little overwhelming sometimes, babe.”

“I’m charismatic and charming,” Bucky snapped back. He pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “If we didn’t make it this time… What do we do then?”

Part 3

Surrogate tags

@orionnebula23, @linkilocks11, @oofwitty779

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