I spent too much time worrying about saying and using all the right words, now I resign to at least saying something, so I won't die with a throat full of lost syllables.
As a Prince, Zuko held on to a lot. Most of all, he kept locked inside of him a secret for most of his life.
Ascending to the thrown, this secret started eating at the edges of his life, throwing shadows and thorns that made cuts in his every day. Then, a almost one year ago, it became shared with one person, and instead of losing everything as he expected, his burden was halfed and he gained something. He could say he got almost everything he could even hope for.
But things change in one single day. One meeting.
When one of his Ambassadors corners him into signing a decree, Zuko's days are numbered. He's now keeping two secrets â one from his entire Nation, and another from the person he grew to love the most. Even if they aren't his to love.
WC: Update as it goes.
Tags / Warning(s): Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Fire Lord Zuko, Inventor Sokka, Cultural Differences, Cultural bonding, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Polyamorous Character, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Explicit Scenes.
Chapters:
Prologue / One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine / Ten / Eleven / Twelve / Thirteen / Fourteen / Fifteen / Sixteen / Seveneteen / Eighteen / Nineteen / Twenty / Epilogue
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This sort of intimacy, despite all odds, somehow became the thing Peter's best at.
"Don't move, baby... that's it." Peter feels your whimpers all over his body, quivering and trembling his cells with the very frequency of your breath or lack thereof. He hums to himself, pleased, adjusting the weight of his torso, which is glued onto your back, aligning himself even better with your body and pulling you impossibly closer.
He's buried deep inside you. Both of you lie on your sides, and Peter's hugging you likeâwell, like a spider, and you're the prey in his webs. He moves his hips just a fraction, just to hear...
"Peter..."
"Shhhh."
He enjoys feeling the reverberations of the words you muffle against the skin of his arms. There's a distinct kind of peace to being sweaty with you, to having your bodies entangled as one and his head buried in the crook of your neck, knowing that outside, everything is as messy and chaotic as before. Not here.
Not inside you.
Peter can move his hips back and forth as much as he needs and wants toânothing will change your devoted surrender in his arms.
When he moves his hips again and hears your cry, your chest shaking inside the grip of his arms, Peter places a kiss on your neck and nuzzles his head against it, comforting you and himself at the same time.
He knows thatâ "Feels so good, Peter." The confession, being perfectly timed with his inner babble, makes him smile and moan back, pushing his hip forward with more force this time. He bucks his hips as deep as they go, burying his cock until the hilt, and is rewarded by your cry being out loud.
Felicity â your roommate â is going to murder both of you in the morning.
"Peter."
He'll die a happy man.
There's the whisper of your name, placed right in the shell of your ear, which he nibbles on, enjoying the mix of it all. Sweat, slick, spit, fuckâPeter would web your wrists this very second if you knew that sort of fluid came out of his wrists, but he'll take this one for now. He'll take you cockwarming him for an hour during a movie and then fucking you as slow as he needs, as slow as you craved for and begged him to an hour earlier, as slow as the clock finally ticking inside his brain.
Peter keeps on fucking you, slowly, surely, until he feels your bodies are glued as one and he can breathe. Then â and only then â, he reaches down with his hand to touch your clit and make you cum with him as he empties himself inside you, drowning in the whispers and pleas of his name on your lips.
Summary: His problem was thisâthat stupidly impossible and funny mouth of his. Peter Parker and his witty responses. Peter Parker and his clever quips. Peter and that mouth you'd love to shut so much. So you do.
OR; At a bar, you finally snap and give Peter Parker something better to do with those gorgeous lips than running it.
WC: 5,7k
A/n: I missed writing about my boyfriend, so here I am. Spidey enthusiasts, gather around, please! I love this Peter Parker playlist to set the mood. / read on ao3
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
"Oh my goddess in fucking heaven, do you ever shut your goddamn mouth, Parker?!"
The whole bar goes quiet, and as soon as his name is out of your lips, it's a heartbeat too late.
The drink in your hand feels like a bomb as Peter turns around, a stupid smile already plastered on his stupidly gorgeous face.
Everything about him is soâso stupid. He said so himself in class once. "I'm the world's stupidest genius, professor," with a laugh, that smile, that easy shrugging shoulder.
His eyes are fixed on you, as chocolate as ever, as bright and sparkling as they were when you first met him, but with a glint of something unrecognizable. When he opens his mouth, your chest tightens and your breath stills, waiting for it, knowing something clever and smart will come out of it, dreading whatever it is.
"You said you want to shut my mouth, did I hear that correctly?"
There's sweat somewhere in the back of your neck, you're sure of it. "I didn't say that."
"No?" He props his chin on the backrest of his chair, eyes now fixed in your direction and glinting with something you have never seen before. "I could've sworn I heard you saying you wanna shut my mouth."
"Nope. Hearing things once again, Parker. All I did was question whether you have the capacity to ever shut that trap of yours."
The image is born without your permission at his words, though. You wanna shut my mouth.
They echo.
You wanna shut my mouth.
How would you go about that?
You shiver.
He pouts. Sometimes, Peter does thatâone of his annoying habits that drives you up the wall, or simply drives you to stand up as you are right now. Standing up in the middle of your table because that boy can get under your skin, no matter where you are, no matter how sober or not, apparently.
"That's mean. Why are you so mean to me?" The question is delivered with a smile.
You roll your eyes and bat away the hand of your friend who's pulling on your jacket in a silent request for you to sit back down. "I don't know. You awaken that part of me like very few people do." It was the truth, and it also wasn't.
The truthâthe embarrassing and mortifying truth came with a weight you had no desire to even think about right now, in the middle of the bar while surrounded by your friends and once again arguing you Peter. The overlying excuse, on the other hand, had its own truthâeven before The Incident, Peter already got under your skin.
His existence meant danger before you knew about his stupidly witty mouth and his clever brain. Before you shared classes with him, only to discover how funny he was underneath all those clapbacks.
"How can I put it back to sleep, then?" He lifts both arms in mock surrender, dropping a bit of his drink on the friend next to him. "I didn't evenâoh, shit, my bad Lia, wasn't paying attention. I didn't even do anything to you this time!" He redirects his attention to you after his apology, and there it isâthe sweet, and yet cocky smile that drives you up the walls. "I was here, talking to my friends, having a nice time, and you decided to meddle in our conversation. What did I say this time that pissed you off so much?"
This time, the clapback belongs to you and it's at the tip of your tongue. "Ah, so you're the only one who can meddle in other people's businesses, is that it?" Even his friends laugh at it.
Peter winces a little through his smile, and there you are, smiling as you bicker with him once again.
How many times have you ended up here? Wanting his clever mouth to be shut while talking to him at the same time? Prodding and poking whenever you get the chance.
"Fine. I'm a meddler. I can admit to that, but can you admit that so are you?"
"I don't have to admit anything to you," you replied just for the sake and pleasure of being difficult.
Peter was still smiling. He did the nose scrunch thing once again, and you hated how your entire chest responded to that stupid habit of his. "You like being difficult."
"And you like being mouthy and loud about it."
"I'm seriously wondering what I said this time that was so wrong that it earned your rage." He gestures with the empty hand this time. "We're at a bar, milady! And although it seems our old married couple bickering seems to entertain the masses even here, I'm pretty sure you're as tipsy as me. You were supposed to be having fun."
I am right now. "Who said I'm not?" It was harder to keep your smile and facial features organized into something neutral or sarcastic with alcohol in your system.
Peter's smile widened. "I'm taking that as the admission, then."
"Admission to what?"
"How much you adore pulling my pigtails." As if the words were not enough, Peter pretends to tug a chunk of his hair and feigns wincing in pain. Somehow, the smile's still there, in his eyes, in the corner of his mouth.
This time, you roll your eyes and sit back down, too bothered by how much his glee affects you. "You wish, Parker. Justâyou could try keeping your shitty and wrong opinions to a low volume, at least."
From this distance â there are two tables filled with people between you and the object of your conversation â it's a bit hard to tell, but you're sure his friend makes a comment about you two under his breath.
Peter either misses it or chooses to ignore it. "I'm gonna have to insist, then. What was it that I said so wrong this time, milady, hm? Maybe I'll even apologize."
"Why don't you two stop half-screaming from across the bar and go talk somewhere else? Jesus fucking Christ, every Monday and Wednesday this shit." It's someone from one of the tables between you both.
The guy's friend says loud enough for you to listen. "Leave them to it. You know how they are."
And he replies with, "Of course I do! Everybody fucking does. Every week. Just fuck already, for fuck's sake. And stop talking over fifteen thousand other people!" He adds that last bit with a directed look at both of you.
Just fuck already.
It mixes in your brain with you wanna shut my mouth and suddenlyâyeah. "I'm going outside," you announce to your friends.
"What?! Babe, no. We were in the middle of our ratings," she gives you puppy eyes, but you're already coming around the table.
Rating every Tolkien character from least to most fuckable would have to wait until after your freak out.
"I know. I'll be back. Keep on without me," you need air. Also water.
In the back of your neck, there's the prickly and distinct feeling of being observed as you wander to the bar and order a bottle of water. "Actually, make it two, please?"
He's observing you as you walk out of the bar to the back alley where all the smokers gather. Without a glance in his direction, you can confirm that Peter Parker has observed every step you take before you are out of his sight.
The air does you good, though.
It's chilly, and it smells like cigarettes instead of back alleys, and it's a trade you'd make any day.
None of the people smoking bother you.
Drinking the water does wonders for calming your nervous system down on any given day, but today, words are rolling around your head, and they are enough to turn your brain hostage.
You wanna shut my mouth.
Yes. Groaning, sipping bigger gulps from your bottle, you can admit to yourself, under the blanket of darkness and surrounded by complete strangers, you would love to shut Peter Parker's mouth.
Maybe the confession is too much for a brain without its usual filters because it breaks a dam.
It's a domino effect: one image of you shutting his mouth inside the bar created directly by his own words, melts and gets mixed, shuffling into another image.
In this one, both of you are in the classroom you share, and yet there you are, still shutting his mouth.
Suddenly, all the instances where you and Peter have ever shared the same place are flooded by those: shutting him up, quieting him, making him lose words, making Peter unlearn all the clever things he knows until he has nothing but blabber to say or whimpers to release, noises, gasps, your name, your nameâ
The prickly sensation on your nape returns, and you react as if being stung.
Tense. Waiting for it, knowing it's coming, there he is, your brain offers, but you're too much of a coward now to look.
He approaches anyway.
"Permission to come closer?" He asks.
What a fucking nerd. Not that you are far from one, but you snicker at the comment, curse yourself mentally and maybe under your breath, but allow it anyway. The side eye you give him tells him just as much.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
She's loud, mouthy, insanely clever, beautiful, and all the things Peter keeps telling himself he only observes.
It's easier said than done.
Easier in class when it can be pivoted towards something purely academical, or at work when he can pretend it's harmeless due to the distance, or at night as he swings from building to building and she's only in his mind, and not his life.
It's harder when he's been drinking with his friends and she looks even prettier without all the walls so hung up tight.
Alcohol makes people's filters go down.
Not hisâPeter doesn't have a filter, never did, and ever since the bite his body responds to very little things, at the same time as it responds to absolutely everything.
His body responds to her.
Gods, if only bickering with her weren't so damned adictive.
When their little scene causes other people to complain and she leaves, Peter curses under his breath, leaves his glass on the table and gets up before he can even think about what he's doing.
His hearing picks up on Lia's 'oh, fucking finally' and the way Jorge responds with 'I know, if they don't get it out of their system I'm doing something insane like locking them inside a cupboard, I don't fucking know' and he thinks oh...
Maybe it's not 'easy', then.
Maybe it's been only 'obvious' and 'ridiculous' so far.
Too badâPeter's got no other way of flirting. He can admit it as he navigates the sea of bodies to make his way outside now; they have been flirting.
He's been, at least. Despite his promises to himself that Peter Parker had no right to flirt with anybody, that he had no right to make anyone his anything ever again, that's what he's been doing â they've been doing? â and everyone's been watching, annoyed or amused, entirely aware of what's going on.
The alley is filled with smoke that come out of the three groups standing in their little circles, but his gaze fixes on a very specific body standing alone against the wall, chugging a half emtpy bottle of water.
Fuck it.
He approaches, shoving both hands inside his hoodie in hopes of maybe not being so flamboyant and expressive. Not flirting too much.
(Who is he still trying to fool?)
"Permission to approach?"
Her response is a snicker, and Peter notices her body language switches to straight up shoulders without even glancing in his direction.
"Hi, Parker."
"Hello, milady."
"What can I do for you?"
Shut my mouth, apparently. Peter holds the teasing for now and his eyes wide in surprise when he sees a bottle of water being lifted in his direction. He takes it. "Thank you." Does she think he's tipsy? Probably. "Sorry if I annoyed you in there."
"No, you're not."
He smiles before he takes the first sip. "Eh," he is sorry... a little bit. "I kinda am."
Another snicker. She finishes her bottle of water. "Hard to believe ya."
"Why is that?"
"I think you love pissing me the fuck off."
Peter laughs. He hasn't gotten used to how foul mouthed she is just yet. It's been more than a year but it still makes him laugh and think about what his uncle would've said if he heard how much such a pretty lady can curse.
Probably something old fashioned enough to make her say even more curse words.
"I..." he thinks carefully of his next words and feels the entirety of his neck tingling, then warming when her eyes set on his face. "... like how passionate you can get while arguing."
At that, she takes a second. Then, she answers with, "What the fuck does that mean?"
"Means that you get involved in arguments and discussions in nice ways."
"Nice ways? What we've been doing is nice?"
"It hasn't been?"
She stops, and Peter's seen enough to recognize when a smile is being held back. "You're crazy."
He smiles. "So are you."
"It seems that way." A sigh. "Peter..."
"Yeah?" His heart speeds up. She never says his name. That is the distanceâhis delusion about all of your exchanges being nothing... and the way you never say his name. He wants to hear it again. Desperately. One single time of his name out of your lips, and he already wants to hear it again.
God, what are you doing to him?
"I'm sorry," you say.
Peter stops in his tracks, his entire body still. "Iâwhat?"
"You heard me, don't make me say it again."
"I know I did, I justâwhy? I don't get it. You've got nothing to apologize for."
Your eyes are not as glassy as they were inside the pub, and when you look at him, Peter feels something pull him a step closer.
There's a distinct vulnerability in the way you're staring that he's never seen before, or maybe never saw from this proximity to be able to identify.
"Don't I?" your voice is low and he misses the way you were speaking to him in there. He shakes his head, and takes one more step. He ignores the way this is the closest you two have ever been, and tells his speeding heart to shut the fuck up because it's too loud. You lick your lips andâfuck, maybe it's kind of impossible to tell his heart to do anything in your presence other than react to every miniscule action of yours. "I've been told I'm a... what's the term? Raging bitch, I believe, a few times."
His laughter is loud and honest, and it makes him happy when his eyes open and he sees that it pulled a smile out of you. "Ohâfuck, I'm sorry. That was hilarious."
"You think me being a raging bitch is hilarious?"
"No!" He's still laughing, but he's also warm enough to feel it in his face from the way you're staring at him from under your lasher. He mentally takes note that you made no comment on the proximity. He relishes in that fact. "NoâI just think it's funny how much men are fucking crybabies nowadays." He chuckles when your eyes widen in surprise and your smile does too.
"Who said it was only men who called me that?"
He says your name in a tone that says 'please'. "I don't go to the same course as you but we do share two classes, remember?"
"Yup. We bicker in them every time."
"Exactly. I might've heard it once or twice when someone said something about people I know. About you." He might've also told them off every single time, but he keeps that part to himselfâfor now, at least. "They're raging bitches if you ask me."
The way you laugh should be printed and bottled. "They really are."
"Not me, though?" He's fishing, and from the way you look at him, you call it immediately.
"Parker."
"Oh, no!" He groans, hands flying out of his pockets straight to his face. "Back to Parker, fuck me!"
You laugh again, and Peter cannot get drunk, but he is. All your little 'fights' and arguments have never been realâyou two enjoy playing the devil's advocate when in each other's presence but you've always been aware the other one is a decent person, he's aware of that. He knows you don't actually hate him because Peter's seen how you react around people you hate. Around men you hate, especifically.
"I can't call you by your name?" You ask, being difficult.
There it is. The thing you two doâbe difficult with one another. "That's my surename."
"Which is part of your name."
"I know, but Peter sounds so much nicer."
"Hmmmm, I don't know. I'm quite fond of Parker."
His smile is wicked when hearing those words. "I'm printing that out and putting it on a T-shirt."
You try to fight a giggle and lose it. Peter had no clue what he was expecting out of tonightâfrankly, he just wanted to please one of his friends by doing something he rarely does (or has the money to) and go out for a bit, and suddenly, there you were.
Suddenly, here he is. Laughing with you.
"You're actually ridiculous."
"But not a raging bitch?"
You punch his arm, laughing. "Stop!" Peter's heart spikes once again at the contact. "I hate it when you're funny."
"So what I'm hearing is that you hate me?"
Peter's cheeks hurt by now. He's been here for what? Two, three minutes tops, and his cheeks hurt because he's unable to stop smiling.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
It's the smile that's doing itâyour heart is attempting to murder you, or maybe Parker is, because he's been smiling non-stop and it's doing things to your insides that you're unable to stop now.
This might be flirting.
A part of you â the insecure girl who still lives somewhere in your subconscious â tells you there's no way Peter Parker is flirting with you.
The women who grew to have at least some confidence in reading basic signs and body language says his tilted head and side smile are more than enough.
You test the waters.
"You're not that funny, Peter," and there it isâhis squirming when you say his name in a low voice.
He groans again. "God, you're such a shitty liar."
"So you're back to insulting me now?"
His laughter is so nice it's unfair. "Fine. Fine!" He throws both hands up and bites his lip and your brain's sirens go off, spinning in red, blue, and screaming. "I'll just leave then. I'm not funny and I'm clearly bothering you..."
The bait is so ridiculous you're able to reel the laughter in this time, watching as he spins on his heels with the precise smoothness of his moves that always baffled you, and he starts walking away slowly with his head and eyes still on you.
You manage to hold back the desire to reach and hold him by his clothes, too terrified of what you'll end up doing if you touch him again.
You felt a jolt of electricity at the simple touch, and you keep your hands to yourself this time.
"You need a compliment from me this badly, huh?"
He stops pretending to walk away. "I would like at least the admission that I'm the funniest guy you've ever met. It's the least you could give me for making you laugh so much tonight. Plus all those times I made you laugh in class inside your head but you held it in because you gotta keep up your appearances, milady."
It's only one compliment he's fishing for, but you decide to throw everything up in the air andâwell, fuck everything.
Peter is flirting with you, and maybe you've been stupid all along to think that the biggest crush you've ever had was once sided.
So you decide, for once in your life, to be brave.
He's waiting patiently, a small smile still in the corner of his mouth as he waits to see if you'll yield, and you dive into it.
"Well... you're not only the funniest guy I've ever met, but..." you speak slowly, watching as his shoulders straighten and his face sombers at the realization something else is happening here. "Also... the smartest."
And there it is.
You've done it. You managed to shut Peter Parker's mouth.
Matter of factly, his mouth opens up slightly, gaping at your words and his eyes widen at the sincerity in your voice.
Without waiting for his brain to catch up with what just happened, you decide that since you're wet already, might as well swim in this accomplishment.
I managed to shut up smarty pants Peter Parker.
"You're also sweet," you add, smiling in victory when his eyes widen even more. "I meanâwalking with arms linked with your aunt in the market? That'sâgod, I wanted to jump into the river when I saw that, and we don't even have rivers here! That was so sweet. She looked adorable, by the way. You two laughing, talking. You're also quite talented. I noticed all your seminars have pictures that you took, and they're really fucking good, y'know that?" He has no answer to your question, but you're flying high on how stunned he is. Too stunned to speak. "You've got a great sense of morality from what I've heard around campus. That's hard to come around in guys these days. I know that's one of those 'bare minimum' requirements, butâstill. Hmmm..." you wonder how much more you can make his jaw fall, and decide to end on a high note. Pretending to just remember something, you go. "Oh! And..."
This time, it's you who steps closer.
There are only a few inches separating you two now, and you get to see that he's blushing from this distance â or lack thereof.
Even in the darkness you can see it, and if your heart was beating fast before, it's beating hard enough for you to feel it in your ears now.
"It doesn't hurt that you're also the most handsome guy I've ever seen. I know beauty's subjective, or whatever, but... to me. You're really pretty to me. I like when you're wearing your glasses, too."
The world spins and halts then, because Peter huffs out a single breath and the next thing you know, both of his hands are on your neck.
Then, his lips are on yours.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Your skin is feverish under his touch.
Peter knew it must be just his imagination, but your words drowned every thought he's had tonightâfuck it, it drowned every thought he's ever had in his whole life it seemed.
One of his hands slides through your side feeling every inch ofyour arm and then wraps around your waist, pulling you closer. As close as you can get.
He's rewarded by a groan, muffled against his mouth. Swallowed by his tongue.
There's your tongue, sliding with his with the precision and tempo of someone who's been doing that for years, despite it being only the first time. Peter moans when your hands squeeze him right back. He loves how strong you hold on to him. He loves how you fit your body inside his hold, squeezing yourself to push against him, grind against him, and he's whining into the kiss.
"FuckâI did, I fuckin' didâoh." Your words are muffled by your sigh when he sucks on your earlobe.
"Did what?"
"I shut you up," your giggle is a little bit of a moan, and Peter manages to chuckle as he assaults your neck. "That feels good."
"You feel good," he grabs your waist tighter, being extra careful with his strength there, and then someone in the alley wolf whistles, reminding the both of you how not alone you are in here.
The realization hits you both at the same time, stopping the kiss, but not the desire.
Ignoring the taunting that comes next, he focuses on the way you stare at him with expectation.
Peter smiles and you beat him to it. "Your place or mine?"
He winces a little at the question, but then he's hit by those words that tattooed themselves all over his brain once again, the part where you went 'I meanâwalking with arms linked with your aunt in the market? That'sâgod, I wanted to jump into the river when I saw that, and we don't even have rivers here! That was so sweet. She looked adorable, by the way. You two laughing, talking' and he realizes how much you got under his skin by blurting out everything that you seemed to be thinking regarding him.
His face relaxes back into a smile and you're waiting for it, patiently. "AhâI live with her."
"Oh! Your aunt."
"Yeah." He'd leave it at that, but he feels the need to add: "I did have my place for a while, but when she fell at workâdidn't feel right. Didn't wanna leave her alone after that."
"Of course not." As simple as that, and said with a smile that makes him want to burn everything down, or maybe build a whole fortress around you. "Mine, then?"
Peter nods, then drags you away.
In the cab, Peter watches as you text your friends to let you know that you're alive and won't be coming back. He does the same, and feels with a jolt of electricity running through him the second your hand comes to rest on his thigh.
As a result, he's half-hard by the time the ride is finished and you two make it to your apartment.
"I have a roomate, but she's still at the pub," you lock the door behind you and he nods, understanding he can do as he pleases.
Peter sort of wants to make you scream.
There's a second of silence when you two are alone in the dark, and you throw your keys in the table next to the door.
Slower than the first time, he glues himself to you once again.
This time, there's nobody around to stop either of you.
First, he starts by undressing you.
Piece by piece of clothing, Peter unwraps you with the same care he unwrapped the first gift he got from uncle Ben that he knew was expensive. None of the harsh and rushed tearingâhe removes the clothes, leaving kisses on every new inch of exposed skin.
A part of him wants to shy away when you decide to do the same with the exact same care, but your gaze pins him to his spot, unable to move or do anything to stop it.
He's burning.
Peter feels exposedâworse yet, he feels seen, and wanted, and where there usually would be jokes there's nothing but silence.
He enjoys how you drag both you to your room without detaching your bodies.
Then, something happens to break the silenceâwhen the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed and he sort of stumbles into it, his hands fly to his sides, dropping the picture on your side table on the floor.
"Oh, shit! Sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbles.
You laugh at him, picking the frame up and putting it back on its place. "It's fine." You sit on his lap earning a groan from himâthere are only a pair of briefs and panties separating your bodies, and the way you grind and wiggle to feel his hard cock makes him whine, too. "Hmmm."
"What?" you ask in a low voice. The silence spell was broken, and Peter's hands are all over you again.
His brain keeps screaming for him to be careful all the time, but that voice has to swim with all of the want and need he's feeling. "Such a baby."
Condescending toneâand he whines louder. Huh. "Shut up."
You chuckle, wiggling your hips slower, making a mess of his neck and chest with your mouth. "You want me to?"
"No."
"Thought so." The way you whine your hips makes your pussy fit along his cock and Peter hasn't felt this lightheaded in years. "Wanna ride you, Peter."
"Oh, fuck."
"You like it when I say your name, don't you?"
"I really do," and it sounds like a confession even to his ears.
"Hm. Maybe I'll have to make you earn that, then."
Peter refuses to admit he's a whining mess underneath you, but there's probably a stain in his briefs already and the desperate way he's bucking his hips into you while his hands grip your hips strong enough to maybe leave bruises says enough.
"You're mean," he sounds wrecked and you barely started.
Peter opens his eyes to see you smiling in delight.
"I think you like it," it might be the way your condescending tone is just right or maybe it's just you, but he does. Peter nods, defeated and desperate, and grinds harder. "Fuck."
"Yes, please."
"Patience."
"Okay," he yields in the same second. He'd allow you to hang him upside down right now. "Whatever you want."
"Oh, god." He's thankful for this, at least. He's not the only one wrecked in this room. "You're so good."
Peter has some objections to that, but they get lost when you get up for a second and then remove the last items of clothing separating both of you. He has to bite his lip when he sees you grabbing a condom because as much as his brain is screaming at him to fill you up until you're dripping down your thighs with his cum, there's no safe way to tell you he's unable to transmit any diseases.
"I wanted to give you a mindblowing blowjob, but I'll be honestâ"
"Please sit on me," he begs.
The smile you offer him is the brightest thing he's seen in months. There's a laugh, too, and Peter's too high on your touch to even manage a smile.
The next two hours pass in a blur of limbs, sweat, tongue, slick, and muffled words tangled in moans, screams, whines.
Peter has to hold his strength and he loses that battle a few moments.
The second he snaps his hips up to meet your thrusts and is rewarded with a scream and a cry of his name, he moans even louder.
You moan so pretty, baby, you tell him.
That only makes him moan louder.
Don't do that, wanna hear you, you say when you catch him biting his lips, and he cries out at that.
"Oh god, god, please, Peter," you beg at one point, and that's when he first snaps.
He's been goodâPeter's allowed you to sit on him at the speed you desire, torturing him by going as slow and as fast as you like, teasing him with smirks and playing with the head of his cock against your clit during a few moments, but when your thighs start to lose their strength and your knees weaken, you beg and that's all it takes before he flips you on your back and climbs on top of you.
Slides inside you again with so much ease.
Both of you are wet enough to make your whole sheets wet.
You're dripping enough to ruin every night of sleep he'll have for the following month, at least.
Then, there's the filth spilled back and forth between you two.
It turns out the sass and clever replies are worse in the dark and between four walls.
Peter whispers everything you seem to love hearing it, and it turns out, he does love being talked down by youâjust a little.
You just do it so well.
"That's itâno. Slow down. That's it. Don't be greedy. Fuckâyou wantedâoh, you want to please me so much, hm? So eager to obey. I like that. Don't go fasterâdon't cry, baby, I don't careâFUCK, just like that, Peter. Fuck me slow and I'll let you use me however you want, baby."
It gets to his head.
Peter's human â well, most of him is, anyway, and you seem to have the key to his guts.
All he can do is obey because he wants to obey.
Peter fits so well inside of you he grunts with the effort to not bury himself deep enough to live there.
Your voice whispering filthy, sweet nothings make a home in his brain, and he's almost crying by the time you grab his by the neck, strong enough to make him wonder if he will have bruises the next day, and say, "Fuck, I'm so close, let it go, Peter, fuck me, fuck me, it's okay."
He's almost sure he actually cries at that.
And then he does as he's told.
He lets go, and fucks you the way he secretly desired to every time you two exchanged looks. He fucks you while holding you by the neck, while holding onto your waist for dear life, while moaning and chanting your name over and over the same way you're screaming his.
Both of you get so lost in the pleasure that when you both cum, Peter thinks you two black out for a second.
He sort of wishes he could go to sleep inside of you, and that thought is the one that brings him back to life for long enough to eventually slip out and realize he'll have to be the one with the strength to clean you both up into enough shape that you can slide under a sheet and get some sleep, but he does all that on shaky legs and a foggy brain.
Peter's fucked.
Both of you are, and it goes beyond the mindblowing sex that just happened.
He pulls you into his arms and sleeps with that knowledge. That's a problem for when the sun is in the sky.
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SUMMARY: When your best friend Sarah recommends a mechanic of her brotherâs trust, all you can think about and pray is that he doesnât rip you off. Your car is your prized possession, and amidst all the worry and concern of your medical studies, drowning in even more debt sounds as suffocating as it would be.
Of course, you never thought of the possibility of the mechanic being the problem. A hot, polite, gentle, and silent type of problem.
Drowning in debt would be easier to navigate than the blue of Bucky Barnesâs eyes.
WORD COUNT: 70k; Completed.
A/N & WARNINGS: As I write the sequel to one of my favorite stories, I'm editing and sharing again the first part here. This is an Alternate Universe. Earth -1999. Mature content ahead, so minors DNI.
SUMMARY: When your best friend Sarah recommends a mechanic of her brotherâs trust, all you can think about and pray is that he doesnât rip you off. Your car is your prized possession, and amidst all the worry and concern of your medical studies, drowning in even more debt sounds as suffocating as it would be.
Of course, you never thought of the possibility of the mechanic being the problem. A hot, polite, gentle, and silent type of problem.
Drowning in debt would be easier to navigate than the blue of Bucky Barnesâs eyes.
WORD COUNT: 70k; Completed.
A/N & WARNINGS: As I write the sequel to one of my favorite stories, I'm editing and sharing again the first part here. This is an Alternate Universe. Earth -1999. Mature content ahead, so minors DNI.
Fucking hell. I have no words. Masterful. Absorbing. World building. Aaaaaahhhhh I wish I could experience reading this for the first time again. I am completely bewitched
Summary: His problem was thisâthat stupidly impossible and funny mouth of his. Peter Parker and his witty responses. Peter Parker and his clever quips. Peter and that mouth you'd love to shut so much. So you do.
OR; At a bar, you finally snap and give Peter Parker something better to do with those gorgeous lips than running it.
WC: 5,7k
A/n: I missed writing about my boyfriend, so here I am. Spidey enthusiasts, gather around, please! I love this Peter Parker playlist to set the mood. / read on ao3
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
"Oh my goddess in fucking heaven, do you ever shut your goddamn mouth, Parker?!"
The whole bar goes quiet, and as soon as his name is out of your lips, it's a heartbeat too late.
The drink in your hand feels like a bomb as Peter turns around, a stupid smile already plastered on his stupidly gorgeous face.
Everything about him is soâso stupid. He said so himself in class once. "I'm the world's stupidest genius, professor," with a laugh, that smile, that easy shrugging shoulder.
His eyes are fixed on you, as chocolate as ever, as bright and sparkling as they were when you first met him, but with a glint of something unrecognizable. When he opens his mouth, your chest tightens and your breath stills, waiting for it, knowing something clever and smart will come out of it, dreading whatever it is.
"You said you want to shut my mouth, did I hear that correctly?"
There's sweat somewhere in the back of your neck, you're sure of it. "I didn't say that."
"No?" He props his chin on the backrest of his chair, eyes now fixed in your direction and glinting with something you have never seen before. "I could've sworn I heard you saying you wanna shut my mouth."
"Nope. Hearing things once again, Parker. All I did was question whether you have the capacity to ever shut that trap of yours."
The image is born without your permission at his words, though. You wanna shut my mouth.
They echo.
You wanna shut my mouth.
How would you go about that?
You shiver.
He pouts. Sometimes, Peter does thatâone of his annoying habits that drives you up the wall, or simply drives you to stand up as you are right now. Standing up in the middle of your table because that boy can get under your skin, no matter where you are, no matter how sober or not, apparently.
"That's mean. Why are you so mean to me?" The question is delivered with a smile.
You roll your eyes and bat away the hand of your friend who's pulling on your jacket in a silent request for you to sit back down. "I don't know. You awaken that part of me like very few people do." It was the truth, and it also wasn't.
The truthâthe embarrassing and mortifying truth came with a weight you had no desire to even think about right now, in the middle of the bar while surrounded by your friends and once again arguing you Peter. The overlying excuse, on the other hand, had its own truthâeven before The Incident, Peter already got under your skin.
His existence meant danger before you knew about his stupidly witty mouth and his clever brain. Before you shared classes with him, only to discover how funny he was underneath all those clapbacks.
"How can I put it back to sleep, then?" He lifts both arms in mock surrender, dropping a bit of his drink on the friend next to him. "I didn't evenâoh, shit, my bad Lia, wasn't paying attention. I didn't even do anything to you this time!" He redirects his attention to you after his apology, and there it isâthe sweet, and yet cocky smile that drives you up the walls. "I was here, talking to my friends, having a nice time, and you decided to meddle in our conversation. What did I say this time that pissed you off so much?"
This time, the clapback belongs to you and it's at the tip of your tongue. "Ah, so you're the only one who can meddle in other people's businesses, is that it?" Even his friends laugh at it.
Peter winces a little through his smile, and there you are, smiling as you bicker with him once again.
How many times have you ended up here? Wanting his clever mouth to be shut while talking to him at the same time? Prodding and poking whenever you get the chance.
"Fine. I'm a meddler. I can admit to that, but can you admit that so are you?"
"I don't have to admit anything to you," you replied just for the sake and pleasure of being difficult.
Peter was still smiling. He did the nose scrunch thing once again, and you hated how your entire chest responded to that stupid habit of his. "You like being difficult."
"And you like being mouthy and loud about it."
"I'm seriously wondering what I said this time that was so wrong that it earned your rage." He gestures with the empty hand this time. "We're at a bar, milady! And although it seems our old married couple bickering seems to entertain the masses even here, I'm pretty sure you're as tipsy as me. You were supposed to be having fun."
I am right now. "Who said I'm not?" It was harder to keep your smile and facial features organized into something neutral or sarcastic with alcohol in your system.
Peter's smile widened. "I'm taking that as the admission, then."
"Admission to what?"
"How much you adore pulling my pigtails." As if the words were not enough, Peter pretends to tug a chunk of his hair and feigns wincing in pain. Somehow, the smile's still there, in his eyes, in the corner of his mouth.
This time, you roll your eyes and sit back down, too bothered by how much his glee affects you. "You wish, Parker. Justâyou could try keeping your shitty and wrong opinions to a low volume, at least."
From this distance â there are two tables filled with people between you and the object of your conversation â it's a bit hard to tell, but you're sure his friend makes a comment about you two under his breath.
Peter either misses it or chooses to ignore it. "I'm gonna have to insist, then. What was it that I said so wrong this time, milady, hm? Maybe I'll even apologize."
"Why don't you two stop half-screaming from across the bar and go talk somewhere else? Jesus fucking Christ, every Monday and Wednesday this shit." It's someone from one of the tables between you both.
The guy's friend says loud enough for you to listen. "Leave them to it. You know how they are."
And he replies with, "Of course I do! Everybody fucking does. Every week. Just fuck already, for fuck's sake. And stop talking over fifteen thousand other people!" He adds that last bit with a directed look at both of you.
Just fuck already.
It mixes in your brain with you wanna shut my mouth and suddenlyâyeah. "I'm going outside," you announce to your friends.
"What?! Babe, no. We were in the middle of our ratings," she gives you puppy eyes, but you're already coming around the table.
Rating every Tolkien character from least to most fuckable would have to wait until after your freak out.
"I know. I'll be back. Keep on without me," you need air. Also water.
In the back of your neck, there's the prickly and distinct feeling of being observed as you wander to the bar and order a bottle of water. "Actually, make it two, please?"
He's observing you as you walk out of the bar to the back alley where all the smokers gather. Without a glance in his direction, you can confirm that Peter Parker has observed every step you take before you are out of his sight.
The air does you good, though.
It's chilly, and it smells like cigarettes instead of back alleys, and it's a trade you'd make any day.
None of the people smoking bother you.
Drinking the water does wonders for calming your nervous system down on any given day, but today, words are rolling around your head, and they are enough to turn your brain hostage.
You wanna shut my mouth.
Yes. Groaning, sipping bigger gulps from your bottle, you can admit to yourself, under the blanket of darkness and surrounded by complete strangers, you would love to shut Peter Parker's mouth.
Maybe the confession is too much for a brain without its usual filters because it breaks a dam.
It's a domino effect: one image of you shutting his mouth inside the bar created directly by his own words, melts and gets mixed, shuffling into another image.
In this one, both of you are in the classroom you share, and yet there you are, still shutting his mouth.
Suddenly, all the instances where you and Peter have ever shared the same place are flooded by those: shutting him up, quieting him, making him lose words, making Peter unlearn all the clever things he knows until he has nothing but blabber to say or whimpers to release, noises, gasps, your name, your nameâ
The prickly sensation on your nape returns, and you react as if being stung.
Tense. Waiting for it, knowing it's coming, there he is, your brain offers, but you're too much of a coward now to look.
He approaches anyway.
"Permission to come closer?" He asks.
What a fucking nerd. Not that you are far from one, but you snicker at the comment, curse yourself mentally and maybe under your breath, but allow it anyway. The side eye you give him tells him just as much.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
She's loud, mouthy, insanely clever, beautiful, and all the things Peter keeps telling himself he only observes.
It's easier said than done.
Easier in class when it can be pivoted towards something purely academical, or at work when he can pretend it's harmeless due to the distance, or at night as he swings from building to building and she's only in his mind, and not his life.
It's harder when he's been drinking with his friends and she looks even prettier without all the walls so hung up tight.
Alcohol makes people's filters go down.
Not hisâPeter doesn't have a filter, never did, and ever since the bite his body responds to very little things, at the same time as it responds to absolutely everything.
His body responds to her.
Gods, if only bickering with her weren't so damned adictive.
When their little scene causes other people to complain and she leaves, Peter curses under his breath, leaves his glass on the table and gets up before he can even think about what he's doing.
His hearing picks up on Lia's 'oh, fucking finally' and the way Jorge responds with 'I know, if they don't get it out of their system I'm doing something insane like locking them inside a cupboard, I don't fucking know' and he thinks oh...
Maybe it's not 'easy', then.
Maybe it's been only 'obvious' and 'ridiculous' so far.
Too badâPeter's got no other way of flirting. He can admit it as he navigates the sea of bodies to make his way outside now; they have been flirting.
He's been, at least. Despite his promises to himself that Peter Parker had no right to flirt with anybody, that he had no right to make anyone his anything ever again, that's what he's been doing â they've been doing? â and everyone's been watching, annoyed or amused, entirely aware of what's going on.
The alley is filled with smoke that come out of the three groups standing in their little circles, but his gaze fixes on a very specific body standing alone against the wall, chugging a half emtpy bottle of water.
Fuck it.
He approaches, shoving both hands inside his hoodie in hopes of maybe not being so flamboyant and expressive. Not flirting too much.
(Who is he still trying to fool?)
"Permission to approach?"
Her response is a snicker, and Peter notices her body language switches to straight up shoulders without even glancing in his direction.
"Hi, Parker."
"Hello, milady."
"What can I do for you?"
Shut my mouth, apparently. Peter holds the teasing for now and his eyes wide in surprise when he sees a bottle of water being lifted in his direction. He takes it. "Thank you." Does she think he's tipsy? Probably. "Sorry if I annoyed you in there."
"No, you're not."
He smiles before he takes the first sip. "Eh," he is sorry... a little bit. "I kinda am."
Another snicker. She finishes her bottle of water. "Hard to believe ya."
"Why is that?"
"I think you love pissing me the fuck off."
Peter laughs. He hasn't gotten used to how foul mouthed she is just yet. It's been more than a year but it still makes him laugh and think about what his uncle would've said if he heard how much such a pretty lady can curse.
Probably something old fashioned enough to make her say even more curse words.
"I..." he thinks carefully of his next words and feels the entirety of his neck tingling, then warming when her eyes set on his face. "... like how passionate you can get while arguing."
At that, she takes a second. Then, she answers with, "What the fuck does that mean?"
"Means that you get involved in arguments and discussions in nice ways."
"Nice ways? What we've been doing is nice?"
"It hasn't been?"
She stops, and Peter's seen enough to recognize when a smile is being held back. "You're crazy."
He smiles. "So are you."
"It seems that way." A sigh. "Peter..."
"Yeah?" His heart speeds up. She never says his name. That is the distanceâhis delusion about all of your exchanges being nothing... and the way you never say his name. He wants to hear it again. Desperately. One single time of his name out of your lips, and he already wants to hear it again.
God, what are you doing to him?
"I'm sorry," you say.
Peter stops in his tracks, his entire body still. "Iâwhat?"
"You heard me, don't make me say it again."
"I know I did, I justâwhy? I don't get it. You've got nothing to apologize for."
Your eyes are not as glassy as they were inside the pub, and when you look at him, Peter feels something pull him a step closer.
There's a distinct vulnerability in the way you're staring that he's never seen before, or maybe never saw from this proximity to be able to identify.
"Don't I?" your voice is low and he misses the way you were speaking to him in there. He shakes his head, and takes one more step. He ignores the way this is the closest you two have ever been, and tells his speeding heart to shut the fuck up because it's too loud. You lick your lips andâfuck, maybe it's kind of impossible to tell his heart to do anything in your presence other than react to every miniscule action of yours. "I've been told I'm a... what's the term? Raging bitch, I believe, a few times."
His laughter is loud and honest, and it makes him happy when his eyes open and he sees that it pulled a smile out of you. "Ohâfuck, I'm sorry. That was hilarious."
"You think me being a raging bitch is hilarious?"
"No!" He's still laughing, but he's also warm enough to feel it in his face from the way you're staring at him from under your lasher. He mentally takes note that you made no comment on the proximity. He relishes in that fact. "NoâI just think it's funny how much men are fucking crybabies nowadays." He chuckles when your eyes widen in surprise and your smile does too.
"Who said it was only men who called me that?"
He says your name in a tone that says 'please'. "I don't go to the same course as you but we do share two classes, remember?"
"Yup. We bicker in them every time."
"Exactly. I might've heard it once or twice when someone said something about people I know. About you." He might've also told them off every single time, but he keeps that part to himselfâfor now, at least. "They're raging bitches if you ask me."
The way you laugh should be printed and bottled. "They really are."
"Not me, though?" He's fishing, and from the way you look at him, you call it immediately.
"Parker."
"Oh, no!" He groans, hands flying out of his pockets straight to his face. "Back to Parker, fuck me!"
You laugh again, and Peter cannot get drunk, but he is. All your little 'fights' and arguments have never been realâyou two enjoy playing the devil's advocate when in each other's presence but you've always been aware the other one is a decent person, he's aware of that. He knows you don't actually hate him because Peter's seen how you react around people you hate. Around men you hate, especifically.
"I can't call you by your name?" You ask, being difficult.
There it is. The thing you two doâbe difficult with one another. "That's my surename."
"Which is part of your name."
"I know, but Peter sounds so much nicer."
"Hmmmm, I don't know. I'm quite fond of Parker."
His smile is wicked when hearing those words. "I'm printing that out and putting it on a T-shirt."
You try to fight a giggle and lose it. Peter had no clue what he was expecting out of tonightâfrankly, he just wanted to please one of his friends by doing something he rarely does (or has the money to) and go out for a bit, and suddenly, there you were.
Suddenly, here he is. Laughing with you.
"You're actually ridiculous."
"But not a raging bitch?"
You punch his arm, laughing. "Stop!" Peter's heart spikes once again at the contact. "I hate it when you're funny."
"So what I'm hearing is that you hate me?"
Peter's cheeks hurt by now. He's been here for what? Two, three minutes tops, and his cheeks hurt because he's unable to stop smiling.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
It's the smile that's doing itâyour heart is attempting to murder you, or maybe Parker is, because he's been smiling non-stop and it's doing things to your insides that you're unable to stop now.
This might be flirting.
A part of you â the insecure girl who still lives somewhere in your subconscious â tells you there's no way Peter Parker is flirting with you.
The women who grew to have at least some confidence in reading basic signs and body language says his tilted head and side smile are more than enough.
You test the waters.
"You're not that funny, Peter," and there it isâhis squirming when you say his name in a low voice.
He groans again. "God, you're such a shitty liar."
"So you're back to insulting me now?"
His laughter is so nice it's unfair. "Fine. Fine!" He throws both hands up and bites his lip and your brain's sirens go off, spinning in red, blue, and screaming. "I'll just leave then. I'm not funny and I'm clearly bothering you..."
The bait is so ridiculous you're able to reel the laughter in this time, watching as he spins on his heels with the precise smoothness of his moves that always baffled you, and he starts walking away slowly with his head and eyes still on you.
You manage to hold back the desire to reach and hold him by his clothes, too terrified of what you'll end up doing if you touch him again.
You felt a jolt of electricity at the simple touch, and you keep your hands to yourself this time.
"You need a compliment from me this badly, huh?"
He stops pretending to walk away. "I would like at least the admission that I'm the funniest guy you've ever met. It's the least you could give me for making you laugh so much tonight. Plus all those times I made you laugh in class inside your head but you held it in because you gotta keep up your appearances, milady."
It's only one compliment he's fishing for, but you decide to throw everything up in the air andâwell, fuck everything.
Peter is flirting with you, and maybe you've been stupid all along to think that the biggest crush you've ever had was once sided.
So you decide, for once in your life, to be brave.
He's waiting patiently, a small smile still in the corner of his mouth as he waits to see if you'll yield, and you dive into it.
"Well... you're not only the funniest guy I've ever met, but..." you speak slowly, watching as his shoulders straighten and his face sombers at the realization something else is happening here. "Also... the smartest."
And there it is.
You've done it. You managed to shut Peter Parker's mouth.
Matter of factly, his mouth opens up slightly, gaping at your words and his eyes widen at the sincerity in your voice.
Without waiting for his brain to catch up with what just happened, you decide that since you're wet already, might as well swim in this accomplishment.
I managed to shut up smarty pants Peter Parker.
"You're also sweet," you add, smiling in victory when his eyes widen even more. "I meanâwalking with arms linked with your aunt in the market? That'sâgod, I wanted to jump into the river when I saw that, and we don't even have rivers here! That was so sweet. She looked adorable, by the way. You two laughing, talking. You're also quite talented. I noticed all your seminars have pictures that you took, and they're really fucking good, y'know that?" He has no answer to your question, but you're flying high on how stunned he is. Too stunned to speak. "You've got a great sense of morality from what I've heard around campus. That's hard to come around in guys these days. I know that's one of those 'bare minimum' requirements, butâstill. Hmmm..." you wonder how much more you can make his jaw fall, and decide to end on a high note. Pretending to just remember something, you go. "Oh! And..."
This time, it's you who steps closer.
There are only a few inches separating you two now, and you get to see that he's blushing from this distance â or lack thereof.
Even in the darkness you can see it, and if your heart was beating fast before, it's beating hard enough for you to feel it in your ears now.
"It doesn't hurt that you're also the most handsome guy I've ever seen. I know beauty's subjective, or whatever, but... to me. You're really pretty to me. I like when you're wearing your glasses, too."
The world spins and halts then, because Peter huffs out a single breath and the next thing you know, both of his hands are on your neck.
Then, his lips are on yours.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Your skin is feverish under his touch.
Peter knew it must be just his imagination, but your words drowned every thought he's had tonightâfuck it, it drowned every thought he's ever had in his whole life it seemed.
One of his hands slides through your side feeling every inch ofyour arm and then wraps around your waist, pulling you closer. As close as you can get.
He's rewarded by a groan, muffled against his mouth. Swallowed by his tongue.
There's your tongue, sliding with his with the precision and tempo of someone who's been doing that for years, despite it being only the first time. Peter moans when your hands squeeze him right back. He loves how strong you hold on to him. He loves how you fit your body inside his hold, squeezing yourself to push against him, grind against him, and he's whining into the kiss.
"FuckâI did, I fuckin' didâoh." Your words are muffled by your sigh when he sucks on your earlobe.
"Did what?"
"I shut you up," your giggle is a little bit of a moan, and Peter manages to chuckle as he assaults your neck. "That feels good."
"You feel good," he grabs your waist tighter, being extra careful with his strength there, and then someone in the alley wolf whistles, reminding the both of you how not alone you are in here.
The realization hits you both at the same time, stopping the kiss, but not the desire.
Ignoring the taunting that comes next, he focuses on the way you stare at him with expectation.
Peter smiles and you beat him to it. "Your place or mine?"
He winces a little at the question, but then he's hit by those words that tattooed themselves all over his brain once again, the part where you went 'I meanâwalking with arms linked with your aunt in the market? That'sâgod, I wanted to jump into the river when I saw that, and we don't even have rivers here! That was so sweet. She looked adorable, by the way. You two laughing, talking' and he realizes how much you got under his skin by blurting out everything that you seemed to be thinking regarding him.
His face relaxes back into a smile and you're waiting for it, patiently. "AhâI live with her."
"Oh! Your aunt."
"Yeah." He'd leave it at that, but he feels the need to add: "I did have my place for a while, but when she fell at workâdidn't feel right. Didn't wanna leave her alone after that."
"Of course not." As simple as that, and said with a smile that makes him want to burn everything down, or maybe build a whole fortress around you. "Mine, then?"
Peter nods, then drags you away.
In the cab, Peter watches as you text your friends to let you know that you're alive and won't be coming back. He does the same, and feels with a jolt of electricity running through him the second your hand comes to rest on his thigh.
As a result, he's half-hard by the time the ride is finished and you two make it to your apartment.
"I have a roomate, but she's still at the pub," you lock the door behind you and he nods, understanding he can do as he pleases.
Peter sort of wants to make you scream.
There's a second of silence when you two are alone in the dark, and you throw your keys in the table next to the door.
Slower than the first time, he glues himself to you once again.
This time, there's nobody around to stop either of you.
First, he starts by undressing you.
Piece by piece of clothing, Peter unwraps you with the same care he unwrapped the first gift he got from uncle Ben that he knew was expensive. None of the harsh and rushed tearingâhe removes the clothes, leaving kisses on every new inch of exposed skin.
A part of him wants to shy away when you decide to do the same with the exact same care, but your gaze pins him to his spot, unable to move or do anything to stop it.
He's burning.
Peter feels exposedâworse yet, he feels seen, and wanted, and where there usually would be jokes there's nothing but silence.
He enjoys how you drag both you to your room without detaching your bodies.
Then, something happens to break the silenceâwhen the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed and he sort of stumbles into it, his hands fly to his sides, dropping the picture on your side table on the floor.
"Oh, shit! Sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbles.
You laugh at him, picking the frame up and putting it back on its place. "It's fine." You sit on his lap earning a groan from himâthere are only a pair of briefs and panties separating your bodies, and the way you grind and wiggle to feel his hard cock makes him whine, too. "Hmmm."
"What?" you ask in a low voice. The silence spell was broken, and Peter's hands are all over you again.
His brain keeps screaming for him to be careful all the time, but that voice has to swim with all of the want and need he's feeling. "Such a baby."
Condescending toneâand he whines louder. Huh. "Shut up."
You chuckle, wiggling your hips slower, making a mess of his neck and chest with your mouth. "You want me to?"
"No."
"Thought so." The way you whine your hips makes your pussy fit along his cock and Peter hasn't felt this lightheaded in years. "Wanna ride you, Peter."
"Oh, fuck."
"You like it when I say your name, don't you?"
"I really do," and it sounds like a confession even to his ears.
"Hm. Maybe I'll have to make you earn that, then."
Peter refuses to admit he's a whining mess underneath you, but there's probably a stain in his briefs already and the desperate way he's bucking his hips into you while his hands grip your hips strong enough to maybe leave bruises says enough.
"You're mean," he sounds wrecked and you barely started.
Peter opens his eyes to see you smiling in delight.
"I think you like it," it might be the way your condescending tone is just right or maybe it's just you, but he does. Peter nods, defeated and desperate, and grinds harder. "Fuck."
"Yes, please."
"Patience."
"Okay," he yields in the same second. He'd allow you to hang him upside down right now. "Whatever you want."
"Oh, god." He's thankful for this, at least. He's not the only one wrecked in this room. "You're so good."
Peter has some objections to that, but they get lost when you get up for a second and then remove the last items of clothing separating both of you. He has to bite his lip when he sees you grabbing a condom because as much as his brain is screaming at him to fill you up until you're dripping down your thighs with his cum, there's no safe way to tell you he's unable to transmit any diseases.
"I wanted to give you a mindblowing blowjob, but I'll be honestâ"
"Please sit on me," he begs.
The smile you offer him is the brightest thing he's seen in months. There's a laugh, too, and Peter's too high on your touch to even manage a smile.
The next two hours pass in a blur of limbs, sweat, tongue, slick, and muffled words tangled in moans, screams, whines.
Peter has to hold his strength and he loses that battle a few moments.
The second he snaps his hips up to meet your thrusts and is rewarded with a scream and a cry of his name, he moans even louder.
You moan so pretty, baby, you tell him.
That only makes him moan louder.
Don't do that, wanna hear you, you say when you catch him biting his lips, and he cries out at that.
"Oh god, god, please, Peter," you beg at one point, and that's when he first snaps.
He's been goodâPeter's allowed you to sit on him at the speed you desire, torturing him by going as slow and as fast as you like, teasing him with smirks and playing with the head of his cock against your clit during a few moments, but when your thighs start to lose their strength and your knees weaken, you beg and that's all it takes before he flips you on your back and climbs on top of you.
Slides inside you again with so much ease.
Both of you are wet enough to make your whole sheets wet.
You're dripping enough to ruin every night of sleep he'll have for the following month, at least.
Then, there's the filth spilled back and forth between you two.
It turns out the sass and clever replies are worse in the dark and between four walls.
Peter whispers everything you seem to love hearing it, and it turns out, he does love being talked down by youâjust a little.
You just do it so well.
"That's itâno. Slow down. That's it. Don't be greedy. Fuckâyou wantedâoh, you want to please me so much, hm? So eager to obey. I like that. Don't go fasterâdon't cry, baby, I don't careâFUCK, just like that, Peter. Fuck me slow and I'll let you use me however you want, baby."
It gets to his head.
Peter's human â well, most of him is, anyway, and you seem to have the key to his guts.
All he can do is obey because he wants to obey.
Peter fits so well inside of you he grunts with the effort to not bury himself deep enough to live there.
Your voice whispering filthy, sweet nothings make a home in his brain, and he's almost crying by the time you grab his by the neck, strong enough to make him wonder if he will have bruises the next day, and say, "Fuck, I'm so close, let it go, Peter, fuck me, fuck me, it's okay."
He's almost sure he actually cries at that.
And then he does as he's told.
He lets go, and fucks you the way he secretly desired to every time you two exchanged looks. He fucks you while holding you by the neck, while holding onto your waist for dear life, while moaning and chanting your name over and over the same way you're screaming his.
Both of you get so lost in the pleasure that when you both cum, Peter thinks you two black out for a second.
He sort of wishes he could go to sleep inside of you, and that thought is the one that brings him back to life for long enough to eventually slip out and realize he'll have to be the one with the strength to clean you both up into enough shape that you can slide under a sheet and get some sleep, but he does all that on shaky legs and a foggy brain.
Peter's fucked.
Both of you are, and it goes beyond the mindblowing sex that just happened.
He pulls you into his arms and sleeps with that knowledge. That's a problem for when the sun is in the sky.
Literally me finishing the last chapter of 'Atlas In His Sleep' today and only because I find it my writer duty to gift that work to @theokatz . Only. ST broke my heart so much I fucking hated the whole universe for longer than a year...
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Summary: You put out the smoke, glanced at your clock, and thanked the summer heat for making nights just as perfect as days as you walked to the willow tree at the back of the lake.
Sitting under it in his baggy, black shorts and one of your favorite t-shirts of his, smoking a cigarette with a phone in his hand and a blanket underneath him, is Bucky.
When he sees you, Bucky smiles at the side, then pats the place on the blanket next to him.
Thereâs a certain peace and power in being surrounded by all of your favorite people.
Itâs the kind of peace that before certain people arrived in your life, you had only felt in garages on Sundays, drinking Cola and listening to the radio while engines ran.
Now, the smell of food being cooked inside the house and trailing to the outside where you and most of the others sit by the lake, plus the noise of conversation and Peterâs distinct loud laughter in the backâthatâs peace.
Itâs a movie scene. One of those rare moments when it feels good to be alive.
Across the lake, Buckyâs sitting on one side of his bike while Natashaâs on the other following his instructionsâfeeling your eyes on him, Bucky looks up from the timing belt and catches your eyes.
He tilts his head a little, and you keep watching, a smile opening on your face.
Bucky realizes youâre not going to look away and finds amusement in thatâhe laughs to himself, looking away from you with a shake of his head.
He then frowns at something Natasha is doing, and reprehends her with a roll of his eyes. She looks up at him with the utmost annoyance in her brows, and they go right back to arguing.
âIs it always gonna be like this?â You ask, finally looking away.
At your side, Steve looks up from his book to see what you mean and when his eyes catch what is happening on the other side of the lake, he snickers. âOh, yeah.â
Down by the right side of your chair, Gabe hums on top of his Mojito cup. âHmhm. Yup. A couple of months ago I saw Sam and Bucky just⌠flipping each other off.â He looks up at you, twisting his mustache. âContinuously. Back and forth. Justââ Gabe starts mimicking one finger being given after the other, and Morita starts laughing.
After the fifth or sixth middle finger, Morita reaches to grab Gabeâs excited hands. âI think they got it,â Morita nods.
Behind you, MJ stops the braid sheâs doing to lean over and observe the scene in front of her.
On the other side, Bucky is laughing delightedly, and you can hear him saying âyeah, you see the difference?â and your heart flutters a little.
MJ pins you with a look and a smirk. âSheâs going easy on him.â She lifts her eyebrows. âWhy?â
You inch your sunglasses lower a little, observing Nat nodding along to whatever complicated bike engineering heâs teaching her about.
The past few days, Natasha had kept Bucky walking on his toes around herânever offered him a bone, always crispy-polite when he spoke to her; you knew her game well. She was intimidating him by doing nothing at all, and you knew what MJ meant with âtaking it easyâ.
Natasha took it easy with people whose opinion she knew mattered to you and would matter in the future, meaning she saw in Bucky someone who would be around for a while.
You look at MJ. âShe knows he doesnât know everything that went through between us yet.â
At the same time Steve hums in sympathy in front of you, MJ goes: âAh.â
âYeah,â you chuckle.
Steve rests his head against the chair and looks up at you. âDonât worry. If heâs teaching her somethinâ, thatâs Buck language for a hug and a kiss on the forehead.â
Your eyes and attention shifted between the group surrounding you by the lake and the chaotic group of idiots you adored on the other side of the lake.
You nodded in agreement. Bucky took a while to warm up to peopleâwhen Nat had mentioned her new bike and how much she thought his own was beautiful, how much sheâd love to know some things about them so she wouldnât have to go to a mechanic over there too often and Buckyâs response was, âWant me to teach you some stuff?â your heart had done some acrobatics inside your chest.
âNat letting someone help is Nat language for âyouâre cool and we can be friendsâ,â you tell everyone.
Gabe points to where Yelena is sitting, watching Nat and Bucky on top of the rock. âThat one is easy to make friends with, huh?â
Yelena, almost as if sensing youâre all talking about her, looks over to you guys and waves excitedly. âNah.â Everyone turns around to you with a look that questions whether youâve lost your mind or not, but you shrug at all of them. âItâs true. You know how Nat and Bucky give off those vibes to everyone but us?â They all nod. âYelena gives off that vibe to everyone too⌠unless sheâs around Nat. Or me.â They all hum in surprise, and you close your eyes when the feeling of MJâs fingers goes back to working on your hair. âIâm happy you guys like them.â
Steve pats your calf. âWe know theyâre part of the package and weâre keeping you. Thank god we like them,â he sasses.
You laugh at him, and MJ snickers behind you to stand still.
Inside of the house, you can hear Sarahâs boys playing video games and now, the smell of whatever it is the Wilsons are cooking is truly starting to take over the air.
Steve seems to pick up on that at the same time as you, âcause he sniffs the air around him and starts craning his neck to get a look at the kitchen. âWhat on earth are they cooking in there?â
Morita hums at the back of his throat. âYouâre a lucky man, Cap.â He huffs. âThatâs a damn good family to marry into.â
To innocent ears, the compliment mightâve sounded very nice, but you feel MJ snickering behind you just as you try to hide your own laughter.
Steve, always so smart, knows better too and sees right through the bullshit. âAhtâknock it off.â He slaps Morita on the arm, and the man laughs at him, unashamed of his boldness. âYou guys and your stupid fucking poll.â Steve throws his arms up. âWeâre not getting married! Not now, at least!â
MJ lets go of any pretense of hiding her laughter when Steve slaps his friend, but she recovers quickly to tell him. âOh, câmon Steve. Donât pretend you havenât bought that man a ring already.â
Steve gasps in shock, and itâs such a genuine and loud gasp that it catches everyone by surprise. He points an accusatory finger at MJ and then looks over to the other side of the lake, where Peterâs laughter can be heard on top of Natashaâs voice. âThat TRAITOR!â
At the word, Peterâs head snaps to where everyone is on the lake.
Everyone, including you, gasps at the realization of what Steve falsely assumed⌠and ended up revealing in the meantime.
âYOU DID?!â MJ yells the question.
Watching the realization hit Steveâs face is almost as priceless as knowing that Steve Grant Rogers bought Sam Wilson a ring.
You watch as his eyes go from accusatory to wide in horror, and then his eyebrows crease in pain. Morita and Gabe start causing absolute havoc, and youâre too shocked and happy to do anything but stand there with your mouth wide open and a smile splitting your face in half.
Steve, beet red and also beating himself over his misinterpretation, gets up from the chaos that has installed between a yelling Gabe, Morita, MJ and fastly approaching Peter (âWhatâs up whatâs up whatâs up why did he yell at meââ) and starts walking in direction of the house.
Big mistake.
MJ gets up from the chair behind you and starts singing the wedding waltz, and thatâs finally what snaps you out of your shock.
Immediately, you pull her down by the waist and start shushing her. âShushhhh, oh my god, Gabe, shut up! Are you guys kidding me?!â you scream whisper. âMake it more obvious, would ya?! Let the man keep his secret at least from the person whoâs meant to be surprised, huh?!â You point vigorously at the house, looking at them like one looks at children who forgot that this is supposed to be a surprise party.
The three of them clasp their hands over their mouth, and you sigh dramatically. âIf he finds out because of yâall, Iâm killing you. I swear I am.â
Peter, between ragged breaths, looks between you all with wide eyes. âWho told you?â He whines.
For the second time, you feel MJ hiding behind you, and when Peter cries out a betrayed, âBabe?â, you canât help but laugh.
Your eyes find a pair of blue ones on the other side of the lake, and sharing your moment of happiness with him makes it even better somehow.
The words had been whispered to you while dinner was served and everyone navigated each other in the kitchen; Bucky had slid behind you at the plate line, whispered that at the shell of your ear, and fucked right off the kitchen, leaving you standing there confused for a moment.
Confused and giddy, for that was the right wordâgiddy; as if you were a teenager; as if this was all a joyous new thing to experience.
Bucky said the words and created a monarch dynasty in your belly, butterflies fluttering with his wink as he left, with your eagerness to wait for the clock to strike midnight so everyone would retire to their beds and you could watch the minutes pass by.
It was stupid and foolish, but it felt good.
At one-thirty, you kiss Natâs sleeping forehead, remove her cell phone from her hand before it falls on the wooden floor, slip it under her pillow, and leave for a smoke at the back porch.
There was no privacy at the lake house.
Surely, among a group of adults, no one lived under the impression to share a roof with prudes; on the contrary: having a group of intimate friends, you were learning, meant sharing the good, the bad, the weird, and the extremely personal.
Still. Common courtesy indicated no loud, delicious sex when you shared literally the same room with somebody else.
A thin wall? Acceptable. One can shove their heads under a pillow and go back to bed, ignoring the grunting and moaning on the other side, but when itâs sleeping right next to you?
A little rude.
Not that you and Bucky were meeting to fuck behind a tree, like an actual couple of teenagersâno. You had better self-control than that (you hoped), and taking things at their own time was not a problem for either one of you.
But god, you missed making out with him.
Kissing, tasting him, teasing him for more than an hour, feeling the way he likes to map your body with his handsâfuck, his hands.
You put out the smoke, glanced at your clock, and thanked the summer heat for making nights just as perfect as days as you walk to the willow tree at the back of the lake.
Sitting under it in his baggy, black shorts and one of your favorite t-shirts of his, smoking a cigarette with a phone in his hand and a blanket underneath him, is Bucky.
When he sees you, Bucky smiles at the side, then pats the place on the blanket next to him.
You walk to him, and instead of sitting where he suggested, stop in front of his crossed legs, looking down at him with no reservation to your thoughts.
Heâs always been good at reading them. Buckyâs incredible at reading you, and if someone said you were once a book on his shelf in this or any other life, youâd believe them.
His legs all but melt in front of him, uncrossing in a clear invitation. To make matters better, Bucky opens his arms wide, leaving his cigarette dangling from his mouthâwaiting. Open.
You sit down on his lap and his arms close around your waist.
âIâm glad you found the location easy, maâam,â he teases, making you laugh.
The theatrical side of him is something few people know, and you, personally, adore. His voice gets carried easily in the dark and the silence of the night; you take the cigarette from his lips and lead it to yours, take a puff and then put it out in the trunk behind his head.
Bucky pouts at you. âI wasnât done with that,â he whines a little.
You shake your head at him, rolling your eyes. âDonât care.â Youâd missed him. Missed being close to his body so much, so the first thing you do is get closerâwrap your arms around his neck and interlace your fingers in his soft, growing hair.
His hairâs getting longer again.
The days here at the lake house did him good; Bucky looks healthy, tanned; thereâs a glow on his skin thatâs almost unfair and his hair feels made of silk.
âYou look so pretty, Buck,â you whisper to him.
Buckyâs eyes are on your mouth, and even in the dark, you can see the color rising on his cheeks. âWhatâs with you and callinâ me pretty lately?â He asks with a shy chuckle.
You shrug your shoulders. âDunno. Just thought you should know,â you voice softly.
He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, but seems to miss the words to answer you.
To give him a way out, you lean closer and place a kiss at the corner of his mouth. âI like how long your hairâs getting. You plan on cutting it?â
The question is asked while you measure the length of his locks with your fingers, in the same way that a barber does before taking the tips out with a scissor.
Bucky remains quiet for a couple more seconds under you, but when he finally answers, your movements halt on his head. âDunno yet. Hey, Y/N. You really think Iâm pretty?â
The measuring stops. Your heart falters, skips, trips. It falls, and the floor of your chest echoes with the shatter.
Your body inches back slowly, to avoid spreading the pieces under places youâll never find again.
Buckyâs looking straight aheadâeyes fixed on the necklace around your neck, both of his hands tight on your waist. With care, you cup his face into your hands and lift it until his eyes meet yours. âBucky.â The moonlight does wonders with his eyes, and youâre growing to love the privilege of seeing him under a light that only you get the opportunity. âYou. Are the prettiest person. I have ever seen.â
He blinks through watery eyes at how much emotion slips out of your mouth alongside your words, and both of you have to swallow down the knots of tears that belong to another moment.
You kiss his pink cheeks, one by one. âSo pretty, Sergeant.â A kiss between his eyes. Catching a sniff of his citrus-smelling hair, you add âand you smell so nice.â Bucky chuckles under you, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. âExcept after your runs.â
Now, he laughs harder. He kisses your sternum, and you sigh. âThanks, doll.â He looks up at you, his face still safe and happily tucked in your hands. âI ask âcause⌠youâre the most beautiful ever. So. You deserve to be with someone you thinkâs pretty.â
God, this manâs beauty will be your ruin.
His outer beauty, his inner one, too. Your smile widens, and you suddenly hate every breath you take without having kissed him at least once. âTrust me. Iâm right where I should be.â Wiggling on top of him, you adjust your legs around his waist and tuck your feet under his thigh, just a little. âKiss, please?â
Buckyâs eyes lose some of the blue with the question, and he obliges with that smile that always steals some of your breath and melts your insides a bit.
He closes the distance slowly, and his lips are soft and wet when they suck on yours.
Kissing Bucky is the smoothest bike ride youâve ever been on.
If you unlearned everything overnight because of a mysterious reason or a curse, maybe a true kiss would be real, then. Youâre certain that having his mouth on yours would come back to you, sure as the Sun does every day.
Whether itâs the same rhythm as you, or the way Bucky enjoys kissing, just like youâhis lips on yours are a sweet taste you canât get enough of. Never could, never will.
Bucky sucks on your tongue and kisses you until youâre both breathless. He lets you get some air, gasping through ragged breaths, as he sucks on your neck and licks on your neck with abandon.
He licks a stripe from the middle of your clavicle all the way up, finishing right under your chin. Itâs ticklish, and your giggles get eaten by his hungry lips once again.
You suck on his moans and swallow down the grunting noises he offers you; kissing Bucky always makes your body come alive, your head spinning with the lack of oxygen and your lower body melting with the heated need that overtakes everything.
He kisses you with his right hand fisting your hair at the nape, his left hand gripping your waist, your ass, pulling you closer and further at the same timeâBucky wants you closer, but the more you sit and sigh in his arms, the more you rub yourself against his cock, which is rapidly answering to your hips and filling up inside his sweater-shorts.
When his left hand grips your waist tight enough to leave bruises and pull a whine out of your mouth, you both go still at the same time.
You take a deep breath together, inhaling the same air, right against each otherâs mouths.
Bucky smiles, and you try your damn best to not move. His iron-grip on your waist is whatâs guiding you now, and you did say to yourself you had better self-control than this. âFuck, baby,â Buckyâs voice is wrecked.
It twists the knife on your stomachâthe one made of butter, cutting through you like youâre made of honey.
He might be wearing boxers. Whether he is or not, you can feel the outline of his dick nestled between the lips of your pussy, even through the layers of your panties and your sleeping shorts.
You hum, and press a tentative, innocent kiss on his lips. âSorry.â When he smiles, his grip on your waist loosens, but you remain still. âI thought you had come here to read for me⌠or something,â you joke.
It worksâBuckyâs laughter is suppressed on your sternum, and you try not to think about how close his lips are to your nipples. Heâs trying to keep it quiet; the laughter can be carried through the wind and end up waking someone up in a fright inside the house.
Fuck. Youâd wake up everybody and kick them all out if it meant he just went back to kissing you right now.
âI was reading Ham on Rye before you came,â he whispers to you.
For a moment, your mind finds a safe boat. âAh! Your first read or re-read?â
Bucky kisses your exposed shoulder, and the imaginary safe boat floats away like a popped balloon. âRe-read, butâthe first time I read it I was pretty young, so itâs kinda like a first read?â
He hums thoughtfully, and you know he isnât done yet.
Another kiss is placed, higher up on your shoulder this time, and you wonder if youâre safe to relax the bottom half of your body without going back to circling his hips like a bitch in heat. Maybe, maybe not. It depends on how much he behaves, too.
âI like it,â Bucky adds, kissing the column of your throat. So much for behaving. âBut thatâs not much of a surprise. I like the dirty old man.â
The silly nickname and jab at one of the authorâs titles make you giggle. âHe really was one, wasnât he?â
Bucky laughs, but itâs with his stubble scratching your throat. Your own laughter dies in a little whine. âGuess we share a trait, then.â
âYouâre not aâŚâ your words trail off, ending in a soft gasp. Bucky sucks on your earlobe, and his hips buck up a fraction, and you never had a chance; not when he feels so desperate underneath you. âDirty old man,â you whisper.
Thereâs a low hum as Bucky kisses more of your throat. âDunno if I always was one, or if you justâyou got this power to awaken somethinâ in me.â Bucky takes both of his hands from your body and places them on your cheeks, turning your focus entirely on him. âI used to be a real smooth fucker before, you know?â He whispers, stealing every ounce of your attention.
Itâs unnecessary detailing before âwhatâ; whenever Bucky mentions âbeforeâ, heâs referring to the army and, more specifically, his injury. Your body is frozen on top of his, listening attentively and feeling his fingers caressing your cheeks.
âI was always a decent-looking fella,â he says in mock-humbleness, and you roll your eyes at him. He chuckles, but continues in a more somber tone. âBut after things like that, itâs. Fuck. You lose touch with yourself andâthings that felt normal before. Theyâre harder. New, all over again.â Bucky leans up and kisses you, and you melt around him in an embrace. âIâm sorry I got so overwhelmed that morning⌠I never. Before youâthe women Iâd been with; they hadnât noticed the thing I do. I donât think I had either? It hadâitâd been a while since I looked at someone I was being intimate with. And⌠I think knowing you really think all the things you say about me helped me⌠see myself. A new light, a bit better, all that yadda.â
The way he finishes does little to mask how real and open all the other things heâs said were.
Buckyâs fiddling with your necklace by the end of his speech, and youâre trying your best to finish picking up the pieces of a heart that broke for him because this⌠it needs to fall again.
How could people just skim past someone elseâs obvious body language that way?
Wellâthinking back on how all of this started, it had all come from the fact that most men before Bucky had never paid attention to yours, to begin with.
Not until this âdirty old manâ came and showed you what could truly be.
You close the distance between your lips in a soft kiss. âIâm glad I can make you feel that way, Buck,â you whisper. âI know we joke about your old age and whatnot, but honestlyâyouâre one of the most handsome men Iâve met. Youâve got years of being a menace to my heart and health ahead of you yet.â
Missing his 40th birthday had been the only truly sad day of this vacation for you. You knew from Steve Bucky had an amazing time with his younger sisters â Becca hadnât gone because of an important work thing, it turns out â and you were happy for them.
But you also knew Bucky and how much the date mustâve made a mess in his thoughts about a lot of things.
âYou see me being a menace to your heart and health for a long time?â He asks.
He makes himself comfortable against the tree, adjusting the pillow on his lower back and pulling you close with him. âSure. Do you?â
Bucky smiles up at you. âFor as long as youâll have me.â
It goes to your head. Of course it doesâBuckyâs offering himself to you on a silver platter, and saying itâs yours to have and hold.
âOne more kiss, please?â You ask nicely.
Bucky chuckles at you, pulling you by the nape. âHave as many as you want,â he whispers before closing his lips on yours on short, sweet pecs. âJust⌠control these damn Succubus hips of yours, please?â He pleads, sucking on your bottom lip. âItâs hard already having you sitting on meâif youâah, donât do that, Y/nâif you give me blue balls in here I swear Iâll make you cum at the cinema theater as a punishment or somethinâ. I know I probably deserve them, but you smell so good, doll, itâs torture already, câmon.â
The problem with Buckyâs soft pleading is that it turns you on even more.
You have to physically stop your hips from circling his again, and he kisses you so sweetly that for a moment, you think of nodding along, saying âyeah, Bucky, sure, babyâ.
That plan goes downhill when his hands go down on you.
For someone trying to keep himself away from blue balls, Bucky is sure not doing his best at keeping his own excitement at bay.
When the sweet, languid kisses start heating up once more, itâs him who starts pressing your waist down and guiding it with his big hands to rock back and forth against him. Buckyâs hands are big, they hold firmly on your pelvis and when you see, heâs moaning in your mouth because of the movements heâs inflicting on himself.
But god, does it feel good.
He kisses you like he starved for it for a month, and he did.
When you think about the last time you had Bucky inside of you, so long ago, your resolve cracks, and youâre whining on his mouth.
That, he notices, and it snaps Bucky out of his drunken lust. He pulls back with a gasp, and if he was half-hard before, thereâs no doubt he finished getting himself worked up now.
You know intimately and closely the weight and the girth of that fully hard cock, and you whine again, rocking your hips against it. Buckyâs hips buck up to meet yours, and he groans against your neck. âOkay that mightâve been on me this time,â he gasps, licking and kissing on your neck. âDoll,â he rasps out, and woah, he even sounds drunk. âYouâre gonna have to be stronger than me. I canât get my hands off you right now,â he moans, leaving his trail of kisses on your beard-burned throat.
âDonât wanna.â
Unlike you, he finds amusement in this frustration, because he chuckles. âY/n, weâre both just gonna get more worked up and even more frustrated, baby.â He takes a deep breath and tries inching his waist back a little. âI didnât bring anything with me,â he whispers to you, smiling through what are supposed to be comforting kisses. âPlusâI got a date to take you in first, donât I?â
The logic is sound.
âFine.â You pout. âYou didnât bring anythingâno rubbing on each other. Justâkiss me?â
Buck obliges, kissing you with fervor.
If the plan and the reasoning were good, you two only missed one factor in this equationâthe kissing, which you are both very good at, is effective with or without you two letting the lust and the heat take over your heads.
You and Bucky kiss to taste the missing days on each otherâs tongue, to find in his soft sighs the words you missed from poems he read away from you, to nibble on the lonely days at his house and the moments you couldâve had together at his birthday.
Under minutes, your foreheads are glistening with sweat and your hands have found home under each otherâs sleeping shirts.
Buckyâs burning under you, and heâs so hot and ready that his body starts doing something that breaks every last bit of resolve and rationalization you had stored in your brain.
For a second, youâre embarrassed to feel how wet your panties are. Itâs ludicrous to be ashamed of itâBucky loves how wet you get, but under the given circumstances you think itâs wise to have him at least lying on top of you instead of under before you start rutting against his clothed dick like one does to the corner of a couch.
Itâs with a slip of the hand that you notice youâre not alone.
Adjusting yourself, you move back a little and start saying, âDâyou wanna get onâŚâ but when your hand misses his thigh â a genuine mistake in the dark â and finds his crotch instead, your words die on your tongue.
Buckyâs wet too. âOh, fuck,â you mutter, pressing your hand harder on the patch now. âBucky.â
âY/n,â he groans.
Heâs dripping pre-come in his boxers, and the wet spot on his shorts says as much as your panties do at this moment.
You donât care whether heâs brought a condom or not anymore. âBucky⌠dâyou⌠have you been with anyone?â You ask him in a shaky whisper. Under you, Bucky stops groaning. And moving. âI swear I ainât asking to be a dickâIâm asking, wellâIâm asking âcause I trust you enough to know youâre one of the good guys and you donât lie about this shit like some do just for pussy. And right nowâI need to know. Not if youâve been with othersâthatâs notâI care if youâre clean, âcause I am, and Iâm on the pill, and if you tell me you are too, just this once we couldâŚâ
Bucky grips you by the jaw, stopping your rambles, making you look at him. âYou really think I could touch anyone else when Iâve had you?â He asks, seriously.
You close your eyes, sighing in relief over a worry you had no right to have. âBuckâŚâ
He kisses you eagerly, and you correspond in the same way, almost forgetting all about your question until he answers you. âI havenât, no,â he says calmlyâtoo calmly for a man undoing your insides like youâre a wool sweater and heâs unmaking you by the thread. âAnd Iâm clean.â He pulls you closer again, since you had slid lower on his lap. âAre you sure, though?â
You nod, eagerly. âSo, so sure.â
His groan is guttural. The grip on your waist and neck are primal, tooâBuckyâs having a hard time hiding from you just how much you and your body are affecting him, or perhaps he doesnât want to.
He never hid from you, but itâs with him writhing and moaning against your skin, unabashed and so soft at the same time, that you noticeâhe never hid, but he downplayed.
The Bucky whoâd laid with you for months had been a giver, and a taker, and a very good partner.
This Bucky is everything.
Heâs shamelessâthe way he looks up at you from under his eyelashes, so little of his eyes left blue and his cheeks pinker than the sky at twilight, it screams give it to me.
How could you not? If heâs shameless, then so are you.
Buckyâs wide open in his desire, rotating his hips to meet yours as he kisses you with the hunger to end a feast. When the heat starts becoming too much inside of you, the need to externalize it before you explode is what makes you take off his t-shirt, then yours, leaving his torso naked for the mosquitos (and you) to have a go at it, and your upper body in nothing but the black bralette your put on for bed.
Itâs his little whines of your name that while he takes himself from his boxers that make you want to screamâyouâre thankful for the loose booty shorts when you notice how practical it is for him to slip your panties to the side and move the head against your wet and waiting core.
Muffling the sounds that leave your mouths can only be done if youâre kissing at that point.
Bucky slides inside of you with ease, burying all of him to the hilt in only a few thrusts.
His metal hand holds your panties away, and his right hand grips the other side of your waist, and when he moves, the filthy sounds of your bodies connecting and your breathy moans start becoming a symphony.
It would be a lie to say it felt the same as other times.
Itâs not. âBucky,â you grind down on his lap, feeling full to the brim with him seated inside of you. âOh god. Missed feeling you. Missed being so full.â
Buckyâs face feels stapled to your neckâthe deep, almost wounded sounds heâs letting out would definitely be more than enough to wake everyone up, but theyâre buried with the stubble burns on the side of your neck. âYou missed it, baby?â He asks, biting on your skin. Heâs picked that from youâBucky was never a biter. âI missed ya too. Fuckâyour pussyâs so goodâoh god, so tight, Y/n, like it was made for me , huh?â
If you were a stronger person, youâd swallow the scream that climbs up your throat, but Buckyâs words, his strong arms, and the way he moves his hips like theyâre made for sinningâitâs too much.
Feels too good. Drives your mind up the walls on every corner; it reminds you that heâs in you, and how thereâs nothing between him and youâand oh fuck, fuck. âBucky. Buckâare you gonna cum in me?â Your hands fly to get a grip on his hair before your back gives up and you fall backward, nothing but a puddle of pleasure in his hands.
His hips falter and become still inside of you, making you whine loud. âY/n.â On one hand, itâs only your nameâon the other, his dick twitches inside of you, pulling a broken moan out of your lips. Bucky moves back, just enough to get a look on your face, and he looks just as drunk and fucked out as you imagine you are. âLook at you.â Buckyâs right hand goes up to your face, getting the hair thatâs plastered on your face away from it, then leaves kisses all over it. Youâd try moving your hip, but the iron-grip of his metal hand makes it impossible. âYou tryna kill me, doll? Hm?â With that question, Bucky starts to piston his hips up in slow, deliberate moves. âYou tryna gimme a heart attack?â
The movements are slow, but you feel when he secures his feet against the ground and then, the next thrust is sharper. Thankfully, Bucky puts his mouth on yours before you scream one more time.
âYou tryna wake everybody up so they know whoâs making you feel so good, huh, pretty baby?â Buckyâs words are slurred out together, and he highlights some words by just pushing in harder, then pulling out slowly. âYou call me pretty then⌠then get cock drunk on top of me like thisâfuck, it ainât fair.â
The second his hand goes from your waist to your neck, your hips gain free range to circle him and meet his thrusts; Buckyâs pace hits all the right places inside of you and the patience he has to make sure heâs angled just right every time is exactly why you know heâs right.
Buckyâs fucked you speechless before, heâs fucked you into a blubbering mess, heâs fucked you until all you could say was his name, but today, youâre taking him with you.
Gripping your pussy tighter around his cock in his next thrust, you feel his broken moan against your lips. âI am,â you breathe out, laughing breathlessly and mouthing on his jawline. âYou feel how good you make me feel, Buck?â your voice is small, drunk, just as slurred as he is, but he hears it. Leading your lips to the shell of his ear, you grip him tighter on purpose again, going down a little faster. âYou look so pretty under meâfuck, right thereâso, so pretty, Sergeant. I wanna feel it. Can I?â
If he planned on pulling out before your whiny pleading, the resolve gets lost when you hold his face between your hands and kisses him filthily, just to match the sounds of your hips meeting each other.
âIâmâyou sure? Fuck, are you sure?â Bucky moans brokenly.
All your agreement is muffled in the next kisses, but Bucky reads and understands the permission.
When he gets both arms around the middle of your waist again, you know whatâs comingâthe strain of his muscles every time he takes your full weight to himself and starts thrusting up faster and harder gets you without fail, burning you up even hotter.
You hold on to his biceps, feeling him kiss on your cheeks and your damn forehead like he does in front of everybodyâand thatâs what it does you in.
He kisses your forehead while fucking straight into your g spot, his grunts and moans all absorbed by your skin and trailing to the lake behind you two, and youâre done, youâre pulsating and cumming all around his cock, his name falling from your lips in a desperate prayer or a pleaâyou canât know, you donât care.
Bucky feels your pussy squeezing him and the only warning you get is the way he buries his face between your boobs and lets out a grunt before you feel him shooting inside of you.
Neither of you moves or says another word for what it feels like the longest minutes everâthis is going to become a problem.
You donât want him to pull outâhell, you never want him somewhere thatâs not inside of you, filling you up, ever again.
âAre you trying to kill me?â Bucky whines underneath you.
Oh. You said that out loud. âIâm⌠never.â You laugh brightly. âSorry.â
âDo not apologize,â he laughs back.
âIt just⌠it feels good.â
Bucky groans, and when he tries to pull out just a little, your whine stops him. He takes a deep breath and rests his head back against the tree trunk, and you get to appreciate his sweaty, fucked-out look.
The smile is your favorite part. âI donât see how this is a problem,â he whispers to you, moving his hips a little again for another reactionâyou both hiss at the sensitivity, but you hum pleased right after. âNope. Nevermind. This is a problemâyou know, I had a dream on New Yearâs day when you slept over that I woke up and I was already inside of you for some reason?â Buckyâs voice is still deep and raspy, and you missed how he sounds after all those grunts and growls. âThatâs why I went on a run.â
âThatâs a nice idea,â you whisper.
âAre you trying to kill me?â He begs again, louder this time.
Laughing, you realize that Bucky is only starting to get an idea of how much you truly want to âkill himâ.
The comment is offered so honestly that you canât help but tease a little. âYeah.â You sip on your Coke, then add in a tone as serious as you can muster. âFew places in this world are as cutthroat as a Ballet school.â
Bucky stops with the straw halfway to his mouth and, sensing how much of an absolute little shit youâre being, only shakes his head, amusement written all over his face. âI can imagine.â
You smile behind your cup, biting on your lip. Itâs a little hard to concentrate on staying on topic when he looks so good. âAnyway. I think itâs good for them to get a little competition going on.â Natasha and Yelena were always good at bringing the best out on each other. âI canât wait for the casting paper picture. They send me a pic of the paper the professors pin on the board with all the names of whoâs dancing and as whatâvery pretty handwriting, dramatic old school style.â
Bucky smiles at that. âMy betâs on Yelena.â
âWhat!? Why?â You lean in, curious.
âNatâs more experienced, but from what youâve told me, sheâs also⌠distracted,â he wiggles his eyebrows.
Oh. He had a point.
Wanda. âYou really think so?â
âSure. Sheâs got other priorities right now,â Bucky nods.
âHmm, that is true.â Youâre munching on your straw at the answer, thinking about the goodbyes at the airport, when the food arrives.
Given it was the last week of summer, everyone had (reluctantly) left Steveâs small piece of heaven and headed back to where they came from.
Your girls, after their extended vacation, flew back to Russia with the biggest smile on their faces and a little bit of a tan to boot.
When you were saying goodbye, Natasha had whispered. âI like him, lyubov. Heâs still⌠pending. But I like him.â
Behind her, Yelena rolled her eyes and made a small heart with her fingersâshe knew her sister, probably knew exactly what she was saying, but getting the stamp of approval from both your girls meant the world.
In front of you, Bucky thanks the waitress â a girl named Monica, who he introduced you to as soon as you arrived at Nakajima â and gives you a raise of his eyebrows at how delicious the food looks.
You prefer spending time observing how appetizing he looks.
The black trousers, brand new black shirt and plaid overcoat made his long hair and clean stubble give him almost a model look. That, or perhaps you were biased with how handsome he was.
Riding with him on his bike was maybe one of your favorite things now.
âHowâs the pretty rescue?â You ask, digging in the food.
âPretty rescue,â he chuckles under his breath. âI shouldâve never shown you pics of him, âtill last week I was âpretty boyâ and now all I hear from ya is âwhereâs my pretty boy, let me see that ball of fur, Buckyâ and no love for me.â
Most people would think Buckyâs doing all that theater just to get the laughter out of you â which he does, always â but you know him better; Bucky loves hiding his true adorable persona behind sarcastic jokes that have a little bit of truth.
Thatâs why you squeeze him by his cute chin, call him pretty when he wakes up, and wolf-whistle when he passes by in all his shirtless glory.
The comfort and ease that he carries himself around you now could never go unnoticed by you.
(You, and others.
Is that Bucky SHIRTLESS behind you? Damn, Y/n, thatâs Buck language for serious businessssssss đ Steve had texted.)
Chuckling, you grab him by the chin. âSorry, baby,â you press a kiss on his pink, sake lips. âHeâs just too fucking cute. Iâll call himâhm. That long silky fur reminds me of those prince lap kittens who always look super mean, but Alpine isnât mean, heâs just prince.â
âAlright, Iâll take it.â Bucky gives a small little bite on your chin, and you smile to yourself. Definitely picking up on your habits. He goes back to his food with a smile and answers, âHeâs fine. I thought heâd have left âtill I was back, but Luke said he gave no trouble and always ate the food he left for him. He even sent me a couple of pictures of them playing a couple of times when he came by and Alpine was sleeping on the couch or just around. Did I show you?â You nod, listening with a smile. âRight. Heâs just been getting all my clothes properly branded nowâeverything has his fur, Y/n, I swear to god.â
Bucky feeds you the broccoli he isnât going to eat. âThatâs gonna be the default now,â you tell him.
âI know.â Bucky sighs. âI told myself âheâs not gonna sleep on the bed, you bought him a bed, Buckyâ butâhe is. Yeah.â You laugh in sympathy, nodding along to Buckyâs conformism. âYouâll see when you go.â He shakes his head. âHe annoyed me all day, every day, for a week when summer started and when I gave him shelter during that first storm I saidâjust tonight. Heâs cryinâ outside, youâre not heartless, Bucky.â He turns to you and pauses dramatically. âHe was eatinâ from my plate yesterday, Y/n. I have lost control of my own home.â
That does it inâyou burst out laughing, your upper body falling forward, leaning against him.
âStop laughing at me! This is serious!â He says, laughing too.
Not laughing with him is almost an impossible task.
Thatâs why youâre not scared, says a voice in your head. Whenever the things you feel for Bucky grow and bloom inside of you, growing branches to new places and solidifying how much he means to you and in your life, the breeze of fear is nothing but a passenger cold in your stomach.
It goes away quickly. Bucky warms you up with laughter every time he speaks to you.
Thatâs how you know heâll be in your life for as long as he wants toâeven when things were bad, or difficult, Bucky managed to make you smile through the sadness or the hurt.
He makes you happy.
âDoes it taste good?â Bucky confirms at one point, when conversation dulled in favor of you both devouring the delicious dinner Yori prepared just for you two.
You nod with a mouth full, chipmunk cheeks ending up poked by one of Buckyâs metal fingers.
âCutie,â he chuckles, pressing a tasty kiss on your cheek.
Dinner is almost as good as the date itself.
After picking you up on his special bike â a black, sleek and traditional Harley â and taking you for a ride around town, Bucky took you to a spoken poetry event heâd gotten the tickets for before you two had even âbroken upâ.
He held your hand the entire evening, asking or whispering things to you about the books surrounding you and the people he saw.
People-watching with Bucky was much more fun than with most people; his observational skills were incredible and after the spoken-poetry session ended, you two roamed the fair in which it had happened and left there with two bags of books, your mouths sweetened of cotton candy, cheeks pink and aching from smiling so hard.
Then, he asked you, âReady to eat?â And you knew where you two were going.
This time, Bucky had introduced you to Yori.
The Japanese man owned the restaurant, and it took you two minutes laughing at their sharp banter to see how much Yori meant to him.
Yori had told you about what inspired him to do a place where Asian cuisine is so mixed, and heâd given you a tour of both floors while talking animatedly about how much he loves regulars who dress so nicely as you.
He also ignored Buckyâs attempt to be part of the conversation, because, according to him, âDonât mind him, Y/n, he wants my attention âcause heâs used to it. Lemme talk to the girl, James. Go get us some more sake.â
It was nice to see someone else with the upper hand around Bucky who wasnât Steve.
You two finish a whole bottle of sake before dinner is over â mostly you, considering heâs driving â and by the time your stomachs are full and conversation has finished making a hundred different stops, your bodies are leaning against the glass window behind you, your hands intertwined under the table.
Bucky smiles when he feels you leaning your cheek on his hand. He pinches it softly, then kisses it. âIâm gonna go to the bathroom and drink some water.â He kisses your eyelids, which are feeling heavier already. âIâll get the bill before I come back. Iâll bring you a bottle, kay?â
Thatâs Bucky language for âyouâre tipsy and Iâm gonna hydrate youâ, and you appreciate it. Silently tilting your chin up, Bucky gives you the kiss your gesture asks for. âMeet me outside? Iâm gonna smoke.â
He snickers, giving you a cheeky smile. âTsk tsk, bad habit, miss.â
âIâll quit it when you do.â
âI know. Iâll make us quit, you see,â he laughs.
Itâs something you two have been teasing each other about, ever since Bucky heard you yelling at Natasha over the phone to wait until youâve found your lighter, and she replied with âagh! that nasty fucking habitâ and received a âwhich I got from WHO?â that silenced her really quick.
He claimed he was gonna help you get rid of this nasty habit before you were a hypocrite in a white coat and he had no lungs to eat you out for hours or have you sit on his face.
âLoving the priorities, Buck.â
Clutching your jacket closer around your body, you laugh at the memory.
If Bucky and Natashaâs competitive streak ends in you becoming healthier, then so be it.
âAh! Youâre here.â Your head snaps in the direction of the familiar voice and finds Yori getting down the steps from the side door, joining you in the alley outside. âI have Monica stalling James at the cashier with a pep talk of her little girl, that should buy me some time,â he says, making you laugh.
âAre you here to gimme more dirty secrets on him? âCause Iâm all ears,â you joke, angling your body so it faces the wind direction and none of the smoke hits Yoriâs face.
He notices it, and eyes your cigarette with the same distaste your mother does. âIâm not, actually.â
The seriousness in his tone makes you hesitate a little, sobering up, too. âIs something wrong?â
Yori waves his hands in front of him in a dismissive way. âNo, no. Nothingâs wrong.â He points at the smoke on your hand. âExcept for that. I heard James saying you two are going to quit.â Yori pins you with a look. âNext time you two come over, I better not see smoke breaks,â he waits for you to nod in agreement before continuing. âGood. Iâve been trying to get him to quit for years, but if it takes a pretty girl and being in love for him to do it, at least it gets done.â
âWeâll quit it, Mr. Nakajima.â
He looks away with a shake of his head. âAh! I told you beforeâYori.â To your surprise, Yori puts out his hand in a request for the cigarette and you hand it to him, trying to contain your smile. âItâs a nasty habit.â He takes a slow drag and says through the exhaled smoke. âFeels good, though.â
âThat it does,â you chuckle.
Yori looks at you calculative, taking another drag. âI came to thank you,â he passes it back to you.
âFor what?â
âYou know what.â Yori points to the inside of the restaurant, where if you follow his finger, Bucky can be found smiling at a picture thatâs being shown to him on the girl you recognize as Monicaâs phone. âHe hasnât smiled like that in years.â When you look back at Yori, the man has a smile on his face you havenât seen before. âMy son used to make him smile like that all the time, so I think thereâs definitely a type there to where his taste lies, butââ he looks away from Bucky to you, his smile growing. âKim could never get through his thick skull. You do. And heâs finally opening up to being happy againâŚâ Yoriâs hands join together and, like a flower, open in a blooming gesture. âUnder your light.â
The words get caught on your throat, and you put out the cigarette even though it was only half-finished.
âKim was your kid?â You ask, feeling suddenly very hot under the streetlight. My son used to make him smile like that all the time.
The picture in Steveâs corridor flashes behind your eyes; the bright smile of a younger Bucky, unmistakably happy and delighted.
Fuck. My sweet Bucky.
âYeah,â Yori confirms. âI adopted him when he was just a kid.â His smile has sad and sharp edges. âI had a kid before him, but he⌠life can be tragic, sometimes.â Yori catches your hand between his, and his smile eases. âBut not always.â Shaking your head and stealing a glance to the inside, he whispers. âYou two make the loveliest couple. I can see in his face how much he cares about you. Which is hard. Men like James can hide a lot from their face, but he canât hide it with youâoh, no,â he shakes his head, chuckling amused. âIâm happy.â
So were you. âSo am I, Yori.â You squeeze his hand back. âIâm happy too.â
Being Buckyâs girlfriend is, just as you expected, even better than being his friend.
Heâs a great partner, he discovers. You knew that alreadyâhe had taken care of you in more ways than one when first approaching you.
The soft-spoken compliments might not have been there, or the subtle touches he seems to love so much when heâs in public with you now, but the laser-focus attention and the sweet way of caring have always been.
Being Buckyâs means grease stains on your cheeks too because heâs incapable of seeing you at his shop and not kissing you. It means late-night dinner at Nakajimaâs, the place with the best food in this area of Brooklyn.
Thereâs also the mindblowing sex, but that was your entry card.
With the days passing, you discover more of him can blow your mind.
His ability to compromise is incredible.
Buckyâs patient with your scheduleâwhen summer ends and the rush of school starts once again, your first fear is that your studying and how busy you are will mess up the good flow you two have going on.
What happens is: Bucky brings back the habit of texting between you two and when he catches you biting your lip raw in worry, he hugs you for a long time and kisses your worries away with a simple âI met a busy woman, I asked a busy woman to be mineâIâll deal with the consequences, kay?â. Just like that.
His openness about his past takes a little of your breath away.
Through text messages or in person, Bucky starts offering to you cuts and pieces of life before you met him.
You learn more about his family â he and the girls are getting much closer and Bucky mentions a couple of times about the possibility of you meeting them â and in return, he listens to your tragic tales about yours, told through sarcastic jokes and glasses of brandy.
He never shies away from your touch or hides in the shadows anymore. Yoriâs analogy of a flower gets imprinted on your head and, in only a few days, thatâs all you can see in his selfies or cute little snaps.
Bucky looks amazing. Happy, and less broody.
He looks seen.
And from how he talks, he feels that way too. âHeyâcan I pick you up at your University?â He asks on a Friday over the phone.
âHello to you too, Sarge.â
âHi, pretty.â He chuckles. âCan I pick you up? Morita just sent me a page about somethinâ on the other side of town youâre gonna like and I wanna take you. I even changed clothesâI wonât look like a hobo coming to kidnap you, I promise.â
The joke makes you laugh, but it also raises the need to do something in your brain.
As soon as Bucky arrives at the parking lot of your university and parks his bike, you throw Sarah a cheeky wink and go to walk in his direction.
Bucky hugs you close and kisses you hello, and then you put your plan to action. âSergeant.â
âHm?â He asks, taking your backpack from you.
You circle your arms around his neck, bringing his attention fully to you. Sweet like honey and low enough for only his ear, you ask. âYou see all these people⌠looking at you over my back. Drooling a little. Eyeing you up and down?â Buckyâs eyes go over your shoulder, looking around in the parking lot, and you get to witness his eyes widening a little, his cheeks tainting. âYup. All of âem.â You kiss his jawline. âTheyâd all love for you to show up here dirty with grease and make their wildest dreams come true just by⌠getting a look at you.â You cup his surprised face in your hands. âYou forget sometimes, donât ya?â With a kiss to his smiling lips, you add. âPretty boy.â Another kiss, and Buckyâs smiling too. âThey all wish they were me right now, Sarge.â
That makes him laugh loudly, and the way he eyes you up and down, eating you with a glance; your skin burns hotter from it. âOh, baby. They wish,â he states boldly, kissing you again.
Buckyâs spontaneous rides around town are the best surprise of them all, though.
He takes you to see a poetry reading, a book opening for a poet youâve never heard of before and in return, you take him to the car exposition you always went to when you were younger with your dad, but stopped frequenting once he left.
You take Bucky to Flora and Rosaâs back-to-school play because if thereâs one person who deserves to see your special little bundles of joy dressed as aliens, itâs him.
Bucky officially asked you to be âhis girlâ on the night of your first date, and only a month after that, you noticed that you were his girl since he first leaned down on Bulletâs window and asked about your carâs name.
His eyes hooked you in, and his voice sank you down below, but it was his personality that froze the lake and kept you under until now.
Bucky stops reading to you when he notices you arenât paying attention.
âHave I lost you?â He asks with a smile.
Heâs lying on your bed with What We Buried in his hands, reading the poems out loud to you, he has your legs thrown over his lap and your back nestled against the headboard of the bed.
The thermal bag over your stomach eases the cramps youâre feeling, but Buckyâs the real medicine here. âA little bit, but in a good way,â you answer.
Your voiceâs groggy from the pain meds, and Bucky leans down to kiss your exposed thigh, and you feel his warm breath on your sensitive skin. âDo I keep reading?â He asks.
âYes, please.â
âJust donât fall asleep like that, baby. Youâll crane your neck.â
âI wonât.â
âYori said heâll bring dinner for us later âcause none of us are gonna cook tonight, okay?â
âHe just wants an excuse to see Alpine,â you giggle.
âAlpine and you.â Bucky huffs, and opens the book again. âI said he could âcause I canât say no to his food, but donât abandon me when he gets here. You two always lose me on your Chinese literature rants.â He throws you whatâs supposed to be a menacing look. âNo man left behind, doll.â
âYes, Sergeant,â you smile.
âGood girl.â He kisses your leg again, and clears his throat. âNowâwhere was I?â
âBucky?â
He looks away from the book with a patient smile. âHm?â
âI love you, pretty.â
He smiles with the same happiness from the first time he heard it, and leans in his whole upper body to place the next kiss on your waiting lips. âI love you more, baby.â He pulls back smiling. âNow hush. Iâm reading the pain away from my girlâwhere was I?â
âIn This Story, you have clawsâŚâ
He nods happily. âIn this story, you have claws. In this story, happily ever after has bite marks in it. In this story, you are free and terrifying. In this story, you get away. In this story, you bleed. In this story, you survive.â
We do, you think.
In this story, you bleed, and the love leaves bite marks, and even though youâre terrifying, both of you are freeâhe, a survivor, you, a fighter.
You two get away, and most importantly, get together.
In this story, Bucky smiles at you under the sun and the Moonlight, and heâs just as perfect as he was when you met him, perhaps only a bit brighter.
Bloomed. Like you.
Like your love.
㠤㠤㠤ââââââââ㠤㠤㠤ââââââââ㠤㠤㠤âââââââââ THE END â
I'm writing a one-shot for TASM!Peter (for the first time in so long, good gods) and after that Zuko imagine I know it'll end up as another 10k porn with plot, so I wanted to know if anyone's interested in being tagged :)
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Summary: You four sip on cocktails and cover from Bullet's past, to Freud and the latest sexy TV show that hasn't left your mind since you've seen it.
With the help of Yelena, you and Sarah get a little bit about Wanda of Nat. Knowing your girl, this is definitely the first time someone's sparked Nat's interestâWanda's younger, has a twin who's her pair in classes, but from the way Nat speaks, it's clear she'll end up dancing in your best friend's arms sometime soon.
Nat's interest is simmering and shy, like a flower with the potential to bloom.
Vulnerabilityâs always been stored in close hugs and the dark corners of a house.
According to therapy sessions, you spent a good amount of money on, rationalizing this part of yourself came from childhood moments when feeling your emotions was not an option, or if it was, knowing youâd be judged for it.
Thanks to those insights, even if it killed you a little bit, you allowed yourself to feel it.
Itâs impossible not to.
Buckyâs words might as well have been printed on your brain, and if they werenât, his belongings lingering in different rooms of your apartment demand his presence and, now, his absence to be felt.
First, youâre numb to it.
Thoughts like âwhat if you two arenât fucking anymore? it doesnât matter'Â is your go-to response, but they last only minutes when youâre left alone with your thoughts. No ego is louder than a mind coming to realizations.
Then, the pain comes in waves.
It comes when you find his t-shirt in the middle of your clothes before your shower, and you have to physically force yourself to put it down.
Smelling his clothes would definitely bring bitterness to your lips now.
The thought makes you realize how much Buckyâs perfume and natural scent have been marked as comfort in your brain. It makes your skin itch thinking of how now, itâll only be the smell connected to memories.
Thatâs what the good sex will be now. Make your peace with it.
Itâs a good way of looking at it.
You two had embarked on this idea together.
Bucky was no womanizer or fuckboy with a twisted sense of right or wrong who put you in this position and now exited through the fire escapeâyou had been there when the decisions were made.
You knew what he had to offer and what he didnât.
The reflection on your bathroomâs foggy mirror says youâre too sad to cry now. Your own face looks back at you with dark circles under your eyes, which has gained a new type of emptiness.
He was right to call it off.
Thatâs what you think inside your bathtub, absently flipping through the pages of Elizabethâs miserable and condemned life. Diving into BrontĂŤâs sad and heart-wrenching romance seemed only fitting as an escape from your failure.
Or, at least, what felt like a failure.
You drop the book by the side of the tub, eventually, and submerge inside the water, trying to see if having a flood surrounding you will lessen the growing tide inside your chest.
Buckyâs words had hit the nail on the head.
You cared for him in more than a friendly way, no matter how well you were doing at separating the sex from the rest. In front of your friends, the flirting never stopped, but there were no lingering touches.
He had found his way into your life through the seams, but Bucky was now everywhere.
He was in your circle of friends, between the cracks of your ribs, on the lines of books youâd never read before, on your carâs sound system and its new playlists, in the places of your brain youâd forgotten about long ago.
You fall asleep with Natasha on the phone, still reading Bronte to you.
She heard about the conversation with thin, unhappy lips, but swiftly morphed her face into something softer to take care of you.
âHe mightâve been rationalizing it right, but it doesnât mean heâs right, lyubov. Anyway. That doesnât matterâif you say itâs better now than later, I believe you. He seemed to be a good friend, at least. Nowâdâyou want me to read to you?â
When times are hard, and she can see the sadness pouring out of you, Natasha always uses her best weapon to soothe your worries: her voice.
She reads until youâre asleep, and when you wake, there are several messages on your phone from her and Yelena talking about their plans and thoughts for the first week of vacation, when theyâll be here, and things will be good.
Itâs almost enough to finally bring the tears clogging the knot in your throat. Almost.
They're attentive and thoughtful friends, but theyâre also far away.
You mightâve learned how to feel your feelings, but letting go and letting it out still requires a safe space.
That, naturally, arrives on Monday morning, in the form of Sarahâs sniper eyes focused on you.
Itâs after a morning of lectures that it all truly settles for you.
As you retell Sarah what happened, her arms wrap around your body and you find solace in her embrace. Sarah offers no words of fake encouragementâshe whispers in your ear that itâs okay, to let the tears out, that sheâs sad it ended like this and not how she had envisioned.
Time slips through your fingers as the tears silently fall from your eyes and you let yourself be truly sad about it, too.
It hurts.
More than anything, it hurts because he was right.
Bucky had said he had nothing to offer and if his detachment and cold, logical thinking of a couple of days ago was anything to go by, heâd been right about his words on New Year.
At least he was honest about it.
You give yourself time to be sad, then time to be mad, then time to will yourself away from giving a single fuck.
There are exams right across the corner, you had a little more than three months of phenomenal sex with a man who, in the end, respects and adores you too much to not be your friend and truly, who can be mad about that for too long?
Certainly not you.
Someone else might hold grudges, but youâre too busy for that.
It takes you almost a week, but finally, youâre out of tears and out of fucks.
Bucky Barnes wants you as a friend? Then heâll have it.
If there had been paths that couldâve led to you falling for him, you manage to lock those away and store them under seven keys. You can be a friend.
Hellâyouâre an amazing friend.
Saying goodbye to the amazing chemistry that seemed to let out sparks anytime you two were in the same vicinity, you finally text him when youâre done grinding all your thoughts over this into dust.
i have a very important question to ask you
The message is sent while you cook dinner and not three seconds later, your phone pings with his reply.
iâm suddenly very happy to be caffeinated
hit me, lady b
Youâre thankful for the old nickname and not âprettyâ, or âdollâ.
Those no longer belong to you and if Bucky was a dick, heâd use them. You donât want to hear them. You want to see him the next time and not stare at his lips.
bronte or austen?
Being friends with him will be enough.
It might take you some time to internalize and believe in that horseshit, but you can do it.
oh shit
iâm not caffeinated enough for THAT
hold on im sending a vn in two minutes
my habds are dirty as fuck
dont go anywhere
Buckyâs worth it.
âŚâłâŚ
For the first week of summer, you, Natasha and Yelena stay in New York City.
Through incessant texting â nagging â Steve had demanded you still spend the summer with the group at his auntâs house and, by extent, invited Nat and Yelena.
âHeâs not even going, Boo. Heâs an idiot and a grump, and heâll spend the whole summer melting away in his damn house. Youâre forbidden from missing it, âcause you promised MJ, and if you donât go, she wonât go and itâll be a whoooole thing. Donât make me beg. Iâll give you puppy eyes and youâll feel bad you made me beg, and honestlyââ
âSteve.â
âYes?â
âIâll go, boo.â
âOh, thank fuck. Dealing with my idiots is so much better with you around. I canât wait to meet your childhood besties. Weâll be waiting for you all, kay?â
A tiny part of you felt bad that Buckyâs closest friends demanded your presence so badly, but that part was microscopic.
They were your friends now, too.
It had been one of the reasons, hadnât it?
âYouâre doing the face again,â says Yelena, typing away on her phone and stealing glances at you. âIf my sister sees it, sheâll go full mom mode on you again.â
The reminder makes you wince, and you lean closer to Yelena, steering yourself away from the thoughts.
The three of you were spending your last day in the city going to a comedy club and right now, you and Yelena were (not so subtly) giving Natasha and Sarah a few moments alone for them to finally talk to each other in person and sort out their âdifferences.â
âDâyou think weâve given them enough time?â You ask, taking out your lip gloss and re-applying it. âIf I go back and either one of them is dead Iâm gonna be very sad all summer.â
Yelena chuckles. âI think that now that Sarah sees my sister loves you as much as a human being can love another one, sheâll back off.â With a pointed look to you, she steals the lip gloss from your hands, smirking. âYou did tell Sarah the whole story. What did you expect?â
Sighing, you have to nod in agreement. âSilly me.â
âSilly you,â Yelena echoes, applying the gloss as well.
Sarahâs âdislikeâ for Natasha came from the same place Natashaâs âdislikeâ for Bucky didâthey were fucking amazing friends and hated knowing someone (especially someone they never met) hurt a person they love.
You recalled the look on Sarahâs face when hearing your complete story with Natasha.
It was a similar one to the face Natasha gave you on the phone while you told her the course of things with Bucky.
Sarahâs opinion of Natasha was, much like Natâs opinion about everyone in your life she hadnât met yet, âon holdâ.
Your only hope is that by the time you and Yelena make your way back, theyâve grown past it.
Yelena caps the gloss and puts it back in your purse, then links her arm with yours, opening her sweet smile. âAlright, they better have utilized this time properly âcause ready or not, here we go.â Her accent had gotten much thicker since moving back to Russia and for some reason, you love it. âIâm starving.â
Mimicking her cool accent very poorly, you agree. âOh, Iâm starving too.â
Yelena laughs at you, nudging her hip on yours. âShut up.â The giggles only get louder when she hears the way the words come out of her mouth, and she points a finger on your face. âIâll tell your mom youâre mocking my linguistic differences if you donât quit it.â
Groaning, you poke a finger into her arm. âWhyâd you always gotta bring our parents into shit, Lena?â
She chuckles proudly at herself, looking forward. âIâll always use myâŚâ her voice trails off as her jaw hangs open, her eyes stuck on something ahead of you two. What the hellâs gotten her attention?
Your eyes quickly travel from her to the direction which has stolen her attention and your jaw finds the same fate as hers.
Ah. This has gotten her attention.
Sitting on the same table you two had left them in, Natasha and Sarah are leaning towards each other with what looks like conspiracy whispers, and their smiles are bright enough to illuminate every dark corner in your mind.
Your wide, open mouth turns into a smile.
âAwn.â Yelena clutches your arm tighter and leans close to you. âYour besties are becoming besties, babe.â
âI know!â
Yelena starts walking you two again, laughing. âYou look so happy.â
âLena, my three favorite people in the world are finally about to get along like Iâve always wanted.â You look at her with a blinding smile. âIâm as happy as a kid on Christmas day.â
âAnd weâre about to watch a comedy show!â She offers giddily. âAnd get drunk!â
Due to the proximity with the table, Sarah and Nat have heard your approach and look up at you two.
âAh, youâre back,â smiles Nat.
Sarah looks at you, smile just as big as yours. âThat was a perfectly timed strategized exit.â She glances at Nat. âShe ainât on hold, anymore.â
Natasha laughs under her breath while you and Yelena take your seats again.
âShe just forgave me âcause I told her where Bulletâs name comes from,â Nat shrugs in a mock-hurt tone.
Yelena frowns next to her sister, looking between you and Sarah. âShe hadnât told you yet?â She asks Sarah.
Dramatically, Sarah sighs. âNo. I guess she never deemed me important enough to tell me,â her voice drips with irony, and while the two sisters share a laugh, you pretend to pout for Sarahâs forgiveness.
âI thought youâd judge me!â You say, equally as theatrical.
âJudge you, girl?â Sarah asks, returning to her normal tone. âWhen on earth have I ever judged you? And why would I in the first place? I ainât in a position to be judging people.â
âI donât think anyone is,â Nat offers, biting on her appetizer and offering you some.
âHmm. Iâm glad to know you like Bulletâs past,â you smirk, leaning in across the table to grab the buttered bread from Natâs offering fingers.
Sarah laughs beside you. âI canât believe you used to race in the countryside with a bunch of farmerâs kids and their fancy cars.â
âWe used to rip them off so nicely!â Yelena sighs wistfully, ignoring the look her sister sends her.
âTwo reckless teenagers.â Natashaâs dislike for the race might be attached to why you started doing it in the first placeâlashing out at your ex-girlfriend-who-was-never-really-a-girlfriend by racing and winning with her sister as your loyal sidekick was definitely⌠dramatic. âThatâs where my heartâs weakness comes from, you know? All those times praying for gods I donât even believe in to keep you two alive.â
âYouâre so dramatic,â you roll your eyes fondly.
âYeah, and it wasnât even that dangerous,â counters Yelena, pouting. âThe roads in our old city were made for that shit. We just ripped those boys off and skrrrrrrrt, left like it was nothing. Nothing!â She lifts her hand for a high-five that you grant with a big smile. âIâll never forget when Flat Dick Mike wanted to bet a night with me that heâd win from us. I meanâwhat a fucking loser. He asked that shit only because he knew I was ace, and I am so glad every day that you were on a rage rampage and had no fucks to give âcause that punch? Babe. That punch was everything,â she laughs.
The memory awakes in you the sleeping monster of anger that lived and breathed fire all those years ago. âAnd he ate dust,â you add darkly, chuckling bitterly.
Fuck Flat Dick Mike.
Sarah, who was listening to Yelenaâs rant with delight written on her face, exchanges a look of admiration with Natasha. âWhile the habit was dangerous as fuck and probably gave the blondie here minor heart trauma⌠Now I need to know more,â Sarah says.
Never one to say no to your girls, you start talking.
Dinner is eaten over conversations about past memories, and your stomach hurts from all the loud laughter you try to contain so as to not bother the other patrons too much.
You four sip on cocktails and cover from Bulletâs past, to Freud and the latest sexy tv show that hasnât left your mind since youâve seen it.
With the help of Yelena, you and Sarah get a little bit about Wanda of Nat. Knowing your girl, this is definitely the first time someoneâs sparken Natâs interestâWandaâs younger, has a twin whoâs her pair in classes, but from the way Nat speaks, itâs clear sheâll end up dancing in your best friendâs arms sometime soon.
Natâs interest is simmering and shy, like a flower with the potential to bloom.
Summer starts off great.
âŚâłâŚ
Steve is a great host.
Itâs a testament to how good he is at knowing his angles that even in a small lake house like his auntâs, he manages to make everyone feel right at home.
You and Nat share a sleeping mattress because if thereâs one thing that is true, is that intimacy when it reaches certain levels, it never leaves; Yelena sleeps with Sarah and the boys in one of the rooms that are still available when you guys get there and all the others are spread around the house in similar sleeping arrangements.
To your surprise, Gabe and Morita are there, too.
Theyâre the quietest ones of the group, but something about Yelenaâs contagious giddiness and Natashaâs sharp, funny remarks seems to bring out the easy comfort in them within a week.
âYou have a really nice taste in friends, you know that Lady B?â Gabe whispers to you while sunbathing one of the days. He pulls his sunglasses down on his nose a few inches and smiles. âTheyâre great ladies,â he adds with a better imitation of their Russian accents than you can dream of.
ââCourse she knows that,â Steve huffed, sitting in front of you. âSheâs our friend, isnât she?â He looked up at you and raised his glass. âMojito?â
Those were the moments you lived for.
Moments where you saw all your friends swimming in a lake, laughing like there were no worries in the world and no reason to be sad.
Around them, that was true.
Things are so good that when Nat asks how your page is going, your first thought is an old one, but you voice it without fear. âWanna take some pics with me?â You ask, wiggling your eyebrows.
Natashaâs devious smile is enough of an answer.
With the help of Yelena and Sarah, your phone slowly gets filled with shots of you two holding each other in numerous sensual poses, in a few different locations.
Walking in lingerie in the field or taking sex-painted pictures with your bodies wet from the lake while your best friends laugh in the background is, perhaps, one of the best summer memories youâve ever had.
No one in the house blinks an eye to you four when you come back, giggling, drenched and half-naked.
Itâs summer. Everyoneâs half-naked and no one knows Lena and Sarah just captured you and Natasha posing as if you were long-lost lovers.
You save the images for when you feel like posting them, and forget about them for a few more days.
Itâs only when Bucky texts you about an Impala in his shop that you notice an entire month has passed by, and even without him, youâre as happy as you can be.
Messaging him gets easier, too.
Through texts, there were no hiccups; his eyes were hidden from you like that, and you appreciated the practice for when you had to go back to see him.
You just didnât expect it to happen when it does.
As usual, you wake up earlier than most people in the house and silently make your way to the kitchen to brew your first cup of coffee. Some days, Steveâs awake too and you both engage in whispered conversations about anything that comes to mind, which often end in you laughing too loud and waking up MJ and Peter who are sleeping in the living room.
Morita and Gabe sleep like the dead, so youâre mostly fine.
Today, Steveâs still asleep, and you get to breathe in the humid, fresh air of the country while coffee brews and the rest of the house is still vibrating in the lowest frequency, everyone lost in their own dreamlands.
Summer rain had poured the whole night yesterday, lasting all the way until early morning. You had all watched the sky finally go pitch black after days of intense heat and almost no rain; youâd seen the clouds accumulating and the storm brewing, using that time to take everything to the inside of the house.
The rain had a certain power over peopleâit calmed down not only the temperature for a few hours, but also your chaotic and talkative group.
You guys had been drinking every day, played games and sports together, rotated between teams and different groups until everyone had spent some time with each other, but as soon as the rain started, everyone huddled with their closest people.
MJ who was getting along great with all your girls now â âitâs good to have you guys aroundâ â stole Peter first, then Gabe and Morita went to smoke their cigars alone, Sam and Steve had disappeared to their room leaving Sarah, you, Yelena and Natasha to make hot chocolates with scotch and get drunk and silly together.
When you finally laid in bed cuddled with Natasha at the end of the day, water was still ricocheting against the window.
Youâd fallen asleep late, too busy talking on your phone with some other photographers who were complimenting and commenting on your latest postâa picture of you and Natasha.
Her blonde hair and fair skin looked spectacular against the dark red linen sheet, and no one would know how much you two had laughed before, during and after taking that picture.
It wasnât the first time she helped you with the page or showed up on it; there were other pictures of you two from the other times when sheâs visited you, but this one might be the best one.
Yelena had also taken some with you, just because she wanted to try it this time. Youâre thinking about how much your friends trusted you and how happy that made you when the water is done boiling.
You make yourself a cup of coffee, grab the mug and go sit on the back porch outside to enjoy one of your favorite smellsâthe one of grass after heavy rain.
Itâs that picture that brought all your noisy online friends back in your DMS that youâre looking at when you hear the faint noise of what sounds like a bike.
Brows furrowing, you lean over to the side, trying to get a look at the front of the house. Did someone leave and you hadnât noticed? Gabe drove a bike. Nat had also rented one back in New York, but that one, just like some of the boys, slept like the dead.
She had also stayed up until pretty late talking to Wanda, showing the girl â who you got a chance to talk through in a voice call last night â the best pictures you guys had taken and some screenshots of the best things people were saying about it.
If Nat had left, youâd know it.
Youâre still looking over to see if you catch a glimpse of any more noise when you hear steps on your right, and as soon as you look to the side, your heart stops on your throat.
Buckyâs walking up the steps with his hands inside his pockets, but he stops dead on his tracks when his eyes catch you sitting in there.
Itâs him and heâs here and oh god, I canât do this.
Your first thought is that you canât do thisâyou canât look at Bucky and not want him. Will you ever not want him?
You could try.
Physically shaking yourself out of your stupor, you try opening a smile. âAt least you didnât scare the crap out of me this time,â you joke.
Itâs strange how you can feel your insides come alive at the sight of him, but sound so natural when talking. Thereâs something to be said about your ability to keep it cool nowadays, something past you never thought to be possible.
When Bucky steps closer, what you see makes your smile falter a little.
He looks tired.
Bucky looks⌠well, not like himself. At least, not the Bucky you saw a little more than a month ago.
Even when he was busy as hell with the shop or problems to solve, youâd never seen him with this look. These sad eyes seemed to carry many sleepless nights.
âAt least,â he finally says, clearing his throat and putting on a smile too. He points to the mug of coffee in your hand. âYou wouldâve dropped that and youâre not that nice without it.â
The joke makes your worry ease a littleâhe might look tired, but he sounds okay.
He sounds perfect, you think, âcause Bucky always did. His sweet voice that you could listen to for hours. âNot in the mornings, Iâm not,â you agree.
Bucky looks around the porch, and when the silence around you two settles, you can hear the same peace and quiet that was there before he arrived.
Youâd think being around Bucky would be strange now, but his presence remains the same. âNo oneâs awake yet?â He asks, walking to the other chair and grabbing it.
You shake your head, watching him place the chair in front of yours and sit down. âNope.â You drink your first sip of coffee, starting to feel like youâll need it. âWe went to bed pretty late.â
Bucky hums, nodding in agreement. âIt rained there, too.â
âDid it?â
âYeah.â He looks at you and the coffee in your hand, and you hate yourself for knowing what he wants. You extend the mug towards him and Bucky lifts one eyebrow at the offer, too surprised at the easy gesture to hide it. He looks from the cup to you, then accepts it with a nod and a smile. âThanks.â
Sniff, then sip.
Bucky always smells his drinks before he has them.
You scrunch your nose, looking away from him and your stupid pieces of knowledge of his habits. âSure.â Pulling both of your legs up, you hug them close to your chest, and you look back at him when you talk. âThe gangâs gonna be happy you dropped by.â A genuine smile grows on your face at the thought of Steve and the others seeing him here. âI heard from Steve you came here the first week for a couple of days and Morita, like, cried when you left,â you say dramatically.
Bucky laughs behind the cup, then sips it while shaking his head. He returns the mug to you after it and says, âI donât think that was Morita. Pretty sure it was Peter,â he muses out loud, pretending to think about it.
You accept the mug, hating him a little for how easy it is to fall on these silly banters. âAh, my bad.â You drink more coffee, and then breathe in deep. âAre you staying? âCause that might get an emotional tear even outta Sam.â
âThat man will never cry for me,â Bucky rolls his eyes, smiling sideways. âBut Iâve made my peace with it.â
âAre you allergic to answering questions?â You ask, scoffing. Bucky laughs at that. ââCause I swear you might be.â
A ghost of something passes on his face, but Buckyâs glee remains the same. âYou know what? I think I might be.â He pins his eyes on you. âIâll get it checked, donât worry.â
âCool, cool.â You smile as you sip again, and you wonder if Bucky isnât staying because of you. âSteve and I can take turns taking you to the treatment, donât worry. You wonât be alone in this,â you add seriously.
At that, Bucky laughs even more, ducking his head down. When he looks up again, he reaches out his left hand in a silent request for more coffee.
âTo answer your question,â he starts in a âI am truly serious nowâ tone. You giggle, then pass him the mug. âI am staying, yeah.â He glances inside the house. âIâll sleep⌠on the roof. Wellâmaybe not today âcause itâs still wet. Iâll sleep on the kitchen counter, and tomorrow Iâll hook up the roof for me,â says Bucky.
Itâs your turn to laugh nowâitâs a joke, but also a serious statement about the lengths a group of people will go to just to sleep under the same roof.
âIâd offer a place under my bed or the other side of my couch, but unfortunately Iâm sharing my royal sleeping chambers with a Russian lady who is actually allergic to men, so youâre alone on this one, Iâm afraid.â
âAh! Right. The infamous Natasha is here,â says Bucky, looking at you. His posture changes just a fraction, but you feel the curiosity and something else you canât put your finger on resting on his shoulders. âAnd her sister, of course,â he adds in a softer tone.
âYup.â Your smile softens. âNat and Sarah are besties now.â
âAre they?â Bucky questions, looking almost as happy as you.
He knows how much them getting along means to you.
âYeah,â you silently ask for your mug back, and Bucky hands it to you. âThey bonded over my tragic past and their love for creepy horror cinema, apparently.â
âI find it hard to imagine them bonding over your tragedies,â Bucky muses.
âIt was more like stories of Bulletâs name and embarrassing things I used to do?â You clarify with a sheepish tone. âIâm the one who thinks these are tragic.â
âI never heard the story of Bulletâs name,â says Bucky, tilting his head to the side.
His puppy pose works on you just as well as ever. âYou never asked for it,â you say, just to tease.
He nods at you, pointing a finger. âAnd thatâs on me.â
âItâs not even that cool of a story, anyway,â you shrug your shoulders. âI used to race.â
Buckyâs smile freezes, and he looks comic with his deer-caught-under-the-headlights eyes. His jaw falls open a little bit and youâre starting to brace yourself for another lecture â the one from Sarah had been effective enough â on what on earth were you thinking, but as he swallows down and his throat bobs, your brain goesâah.
That look youâve seen before.
âYou used to race?â
The almost breathless tone in which he asks is sharper than a winterâs breeze.
It seizes up your chest and makes you stand up a little straighter, with some of the lightness gone from your thoughts. That look is not fair.
âYeah,â you chuckle weakly, looking away from him.
Buckyâs silence lasts so long that even your slow sips of the remains of the coffee leave you two still bathing in the morning chirp of cicadas.
You look back at him, but Buckyâs looking away too, his eyes lost between the trees and his face more somber than before.
âI used to race, too,â he says finally.
Oh. âReally?â
âYeah.â Bucky remains quiet for another heartbeat, and you feel a weight on your chest from something that wasnât there before. His agreement seems laced in ghosts, tied to chains of the past that carry a lot of weight. âIt was my way of letting out all the stupid and reckless shit inside of me.â With those words, Bucky looks back at you. âThe rage.â
Two words and Buckyâs reached inside of you again.
Heâs sitting a couple of feet apart, but his hands are inside the cave of your chest and he knows you, he sees you, and itâs infuriating.
Heâs looking at you, and his expression is more open than itâs ever been.
He knows he has you at that moment.
Buckyâs aware that his hands know the path inside your ribcages and that he sees you with terrifying ease only one person mastered before.
âThat was the reason I began,â you find yourself saying.
Keeping your mouth shut around him was never an option, anyway.
âYeah?â He asks, prompting you for more.
You nod. âLashing out at Nat,â you confess, looking between Bucky and the green of the trees to see if you can stay hooked at the moment and not in the deep of his ocean eyes. âWhen she and I⌠broke up, I guess.â
You chuckle at yourself, thinking back on how much you felt at that time, and the place you are at right now. Speaking of this so calmly, with your first love sleeping inside a new friendâs house and dreaming of another woman, while you share your past with a man who could break your heart as easily as she did, and you canât even bring yourself to care.
âShe was furious,â you laugh.
âSo it worked,â Bucky reasons.
You nod, proudly. âFuck yes, it did.â You let out a shaky breath. âIt was mean of me, I guess, but I really wanted it to hurt for her too.â
âI think you did more than just that,â Bucky says, surprisingly soft.
You look at him, frowning. âI know.â Being reminded of that was not your favorite thing. âBut anyway⌠What about you?â You ask, sounding bolder than you feel. âWhat were you angry about?â
Buckyâs smile turns sour. Sad.
âLosing a great kid.â He lifts his left arm and wiggles his fingers, then says. âThis. Coming back and feeling like the world had fucked me over beyond repair.â Bucky looks away from you, and breathes in deep, too. âKnowing how fucked up humanity can get takes⌠a while to come back from.â He looks back at you. âTook me a few to realize I didnât need repairing. Just some therapy.â He makes a funny face. âA lot of therapy.â
The joke makes you both laugh nervously, and you miss the mug you were holding because you suddenly realize that Bucky didnât come here to spend a nice summer with his friend.
He looks at you, swallowing down his nerves and rubbing his right hand against his jeans and you know.
Bucky came here for you.
âYouâre not a car,â you whisper to him, smiling through the sadness. âYou definitely donât need repairing.â
Bucky nods slowly. âYeah.â He lets out a breath. âAnd yet, I still need some⌠face-slapping every now and then. Lots of it, from the looks of it.â Bucky lifts his hands and rubs it over his face. âGod, I canât believe I had to hear advice from Samuel âItâs Not Like Thatâ Wilson.â
The words only confuse you further, and your heart misses the memo that Buckyâs frustration doesnât equal to yours because it starts speeding up.
âDid you?â
âYeah.â Bucky pushes his hair back, and scratches his nape. Some things never change. âI did come here to stay, butâI also came here to tell you somethinâ. And to ask you a question.â Bucky says that looking you dead in the eye, and thereâs no amount of green that could save you from being caught when he looks at you like that.
Youâre glad to still have your legs to hug, because that way you can trace patterns into your skin and avoid biting all your fingers out. âIâm all ears,â you say.
âIâm just gonna tell you a story, and feel free to interrupt me at any time, kay? I just wanna tell you all of it so you can⌠understand.â Bucky waits for you to nod in understanding, then he looks at his hands and starts. âSome years ago, Steve and I were away on one of our first tours in a city I canât even remember the name of, and itâs crazy âcause in there⌠we had one of the most important conversations of my life.â Bucky looks up at you and heâs smiling, as soft as a cherry blossom. âHe was drinking his weight in alcohol, like a big boy, for the first time in fuckingâforever, I guess. There was somethinâ eating him up and I knew that, âcause I know Stevie, and I was just waitinâ for him to tell me what was up. He and I were basically the only ones in there, Morita and Gabe were asleep faces down on those disgusting tables,â Bucky laughs, and you have a hard time keeping yourself from smiling back at him. âAnd Steve just blurts out of nowhereââyou know why he pisses me off? you canât be that nice and that hot. thatâs just not how shit works!â and I knew that motherfucker was in love.â
You burst out laughing.
âI did! I knew it. Thatâs how he used to complain about me to Jessie and the other girls when he thought I wasnât listening. Except he complained I was hot and annoying, but thatâs just Steve-code for âthey keep me in lineâ.â
You can see the scene perfectly. You can see young Steve Rogers rolling his eyes at Bucky while the latter bats his pretty eyelashes and slings an arm over the blonde boyâs shoulder.
Oh, Steve had no chance.
That poor, bisexual baby. No chance.
âAt that bar, he swore up and down he wasnât in love with Sam. Cue four years later, around the same time he said that in that bar, Steve was telling me about how no award would make up for the things he couldnât haveâthat no life the military could give him would be the same as what he wanted.â Bucky sighs. âHe asked me if I knew what being in love was like, and if I understood him when he said heâd do anything for Sam, whether that meant staying in the military or leaving it. And I⌠I couldnât. Y/n, after the things weâd been through in those deserts, I could never imagine myself going back there even if someone asked me. Someone I loved. I know thatâs an exaggeration, but the question made me think about what Stevie and I had when we were really young and I noticedâIâd never been in love,â when Bucky finishes, itâs barely a whisper.
He licks his lips, and your eyes track the movement involuntarily.
âMaybe thatâs⌠sad. Or some people might think it is, but. Thatâs not me saying I had a sad, miserable life. I was never unhappy without romance in my life, because honestly, despite the shit and the pain, I was definitely blessed with love in my life. You know? Family, and friends, and my passions. Iâve never been loveless. But whenever someone caught my attention for a while, it faded quickly when we started spendinâ more time together. People most of the time are just not worth all the trouble,â he shrugs his shoulders.
Bucky pauses for a moment, but your voice is nowhere to be found.
Youâre listening patiently and waiting to understand if this is all just a fever dream, or if Buckyâs truly saying what you think you read between the lines.
âYou really screwed that up for me, didnât you, doll?â
The breath you didnât know you were holding comes out, and you have to look away from him for a second.
You rest your head on your knees, then look up at him.
âI meanâthe picture wouldâve done it already if Samâs call hadnât come through.â Bucky shrugs again, breathing out and relaxing completely like a weightâs been lifted off his shoulders. His legs slouch a little in front of him, and thereâs the hint of a smile on the right corner. âBut Iâm glad he did.â
WaitââWhat picture?â
Bucky lifts one eyebrow again, and takes his phone out of his pocket without a word. He unlocks it and types in it for a moment, then turns the screen at you.
You reach out and take his phone.
Ah.
Your picture with Natasha.
You bite your lip, suddenly feeling caught for a crime you never committed. Feeling⌠cheeky.
Buckyâs followed your account.
He followed âTessâ, and you wondered if he thought the picture was aimed at him.
âOh.â Grinning, you give the phone back. âSheâs helped me on the page before. You know I didnât do this to poke at you or anythinâ, right?â
It was true. You and the girls had been laughing loudly while taking those, Natasha was singing âRick and Mortyâ underneath you and making you snort in laughter.
Bucky laughs at that, and it sounds pleased. âOh, trust me, I know.â It sounded like that made it worse, and his smile indicated he knew you were aware of it, too.
âAnd Sam called with wisdom of what, exactly?â
Bucky grinned. âHe thought you and her had gotten back together, which Steve guaranteed me heâd know if it was the case because youâreââ
âBesties.â
ââbesties, yes, I know. And Samuel was apologizing for texting me that âmisinformationâ and almost causing me to lose a finger inside a BMW. But thatâs on me. But the wisdom came after, when he was just about to hang up, and said âjust donât actually lose a finger when she does go out with someone and you realize itâs too late to have even triedâ.â He pauses, allowing you to take it in. Your eyes widen, and Bucky chuckles, entirely amused. âOh. I know. The guy was on some yoda frequency last night. Dunno if it was the rain, or what, but that hit like a brick to the face, so I guess I have to thank him later or whatever.â
âLike children,â you mutter, happily.
âI know,â he agrees quietly. Bucky takes a deep breath. âSo my question.â
âYes?â
âIs it too late to ask you on a date?â Buckyâs cheeks gain a slight color at the question, and it says enough about how you feel about this man that him blushing would have almost the same effect on you as him coming undone inside of you. ââCause I am willing to do my best damn at giving you anything you want, Y/n. It had been easy as fucking breathinâ before I opened my stupid mouth, but I can learn on how to do not do that.â His smile seems to undo the spell on you. âThe way you make me feel might terrify the hell out of me, but I never thought being scared could feel this good, so,â instead of finishing, Bucky shrugs his shoulders again, flushed and shyly smiling at you.
You get up on a shaky leg and gravitate towards his lips.
With one hand cupping his jaw, you press the softest kiss you can manage to those pretty lips, and feel Bucky sighing against you.
When you pull back a few inches, his eyes are closed and his mouth is as pink as his cheeks.
For good measure, you press another kiss, and licks his bottom lip, sucking it between yours deliberately slow. âDoes this answer your question?â You whisper.
Bucky pulls you to his lap in a swift move, and you shriek. âThank fucking god,â he kisses you, shutting down your laughter.
His kisses are soft, and close-lipped, but persistent. Itâs hard to kiss in any other way when youâre both smiling.
You pull back and run the tip of your fingers over his face. âI missed your pretty face.â Youâre paid in pink cheeks and more laughter, and you hate how he shakes his head, so you add. âI did. I missed your pretty face, Sarge.â With a kiss on each of his cheeks, you get up from his lap before you start making a fool of yourself.
Itâs too early in the morning to be drunk on Bucky Barnes.
âYou should bring your stuff inside. Youâve got besties to meet,â you smile, loving the hummingbird that lives inside your chest now.
SUMMARY: When your best friend Sarah recommends a mechanic of her brotherâs trust, all you can think about and pray is that he doesnât rip you off. Your car is your prized possession, and amidst all the worry and concern of your medical studies, drowning in even more debt sounds as suffocating as it would be.
Of course, you never thought of the possibility of the mechanic being the problem. A hot, polite, gentle, and silent type of problem.
Drowning in debt would be easier to navigate than the blue of Bucky Barnesâs eyes.
WORD COUNT: 70k; Completed.
A/N & WARNINGS: As I write the sequel to one of my favorite stories, I'm editing and sharing again the first part here. This is an Alternate Universe. Earth -1999. Mature content ahead, so minors DNI.
