22đThere is too many beautiful men in the world and not nearly enough content to satisfy me, so i'm gonna make up my own. \\Search MASTERLIST to find it//
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Bucky Barnes x female!reader one-shot
summary: When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.
warnings: angst, smut, profanity, pet names (only sweetheart & baby), mutual pining of sorts, enemies to lovers (kinda), jealous!Bucky, possessive!Bucky, one bed trope, teasing, masturbation (male & female), brief thigh riding, dry humping, nausea/vomiting (not graphically described and not a major part of the story, apologies to my emetophobic girlies), oral sex (female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, MINORS DNI, 18+.
word count: 43.2k
a/n: Thanks again to @littlemiss-yeehaw for reading all of my shit and listening to my unhinged ramblings when I write, and for her amazing artwork. Thanks to @flowersforbucky for also reading my shit and for taking the time to tell me that it isn't as shitty as I think. Without them, this fic would be unreachable in the depths of my laptop's trash bin. Pics included in the title image for this fic are not representative of reader, location, etc.
           Insufferable. Is that really the right word? Can someone be insufferable when all they do is mope around in silence, giving you looks of disdain? Maybe insufferable is a word better suited to describe someone who says more than five words at a time. And yet, you still feel that Bucky Barnes is insufferable.
           Raindrops patter rhythmically against the roof of the car, making the all-too-quiet stakeout a little more bearable. You shift in the passenger seat, letting your eyes fall closed for a moment as you press your head against the leather headrest behind you. Youâve been sitting here for two hours. Thatâs two hours of listening to nothing more than the sound of your own breathing, Buckyâs occasional annoyed sighs, and the shitty audio feed of the abandoned storefront just up the street. Youâre contemplating giving in and taking a nap when you hear the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires somewhere outside of your parked car, and your eyes shoot open. You catch a glimpse of the flashing yellow lights of a security vehicle in the rearview mirror and Bucky groans, quickly powering down the surveillance equipment and dropping it down to the floor at his feet.
           âJust what we needed.â Bucky says sarcastically, with frustration edging his tone as the security guard pulls in closer and closer. Heâs about twenty meters behind the car now, moving slowly. Youâre sure heâs taking down the make and model of the car, the license plate, and noting the fact that itâs currently turned off. It looks suspicious as hell, you have no doubt. Your mind is moving a million miles a minute as you start shrugging your jacket off of your shoulders and mussing up your hair. âWhat are you doing?â Bucky asks, raising a brow in your direction.
           âGetting us out of this.â You mumble, glancing back in the rearview mirror one last time. You see the security vehicle coming to a stop a few meters behind, so you move a little quicker. Youâre climbing over the center console in a flash, placing your knees on either side of Buckyâs hips as you come to straddle his lap. You hover over him, with your ass pressing against the steering wheel so hard that itâs a wonder you arenât honking the horn. âMove your seat back.â You whisper harshly, gripping his shoulders with both hands as you stare down at him. Bucky swallows hard and narrows his eyes at you as if he wants to throw you right back into your own seat, but he reaches down with his vibranium hand and starts sliding the driverâs seat backward.
           Bucky canât stand you. As you lower yourself down to sit on his lap, he keeps his hands stiff, with one resting along the driverâs side door and the other resting over the center console. His hands curl into fists when you lean in and press your lips against his neck. Itâs soft and hesitant at first, as if youâre not really sure that itâs an acceptable thing to do. Buckyâs chin tilts upward and to the side instinctively, giving you more access and a clear go-ahead that has your second kiss coming in a little more desperate and firm against the column of his throat. Bucky tenses beneath you but the barely audible groan that slips past his lips has you wondering if he hates this as much as heâs trying to portray. You glance over his shoulder and see the security guard approaching the car now, his eyes scanning the rear windshield as he speaks lowly into a handheld radio.
           âBarnes, I swear to god if you donât put your hands on me and make this believableâŚâ Your threatening tone has a roguish smile tugging at the corners of Buckyâs mouth, but he refuses to let it take full form. His hands move quickly now, grabbing onto your hips and tugging them downward. He realizes as he basically grinds your clothed center over the semi-hard front of his jeans that he probably shouldnât have done that. When you feel his partial erection pressing against you, you falter for a moment, your lips stilling against his neck and your breath hitching in your throat. âAnd here I thought you couldnât stand me.â You whisper against his skin.
           âI canât.â He responds dryly, sliding his hands up the sides of your waist and letting his fingers splay out over your ribs.
           âAre you sure about that?â You ask teasingly, swirling your hips in a circle as you press down on his lap. He grunts and lets his right hand glide up your back, moving higher and higher until itâs tangled in the hair at the crown of your head.
           âPretty damn sure.â Bucky rasps as he uses his hold on your hair to tug your head back. He takes the opportunity heâs given himself to attach his lips to your neck, sucking a nice little red mark right below your ear before smoothing over it with his tongue. The whimper that leaves your lips at the feel of his tongue against your skin is enough to turn his semi-hard cock into a raging hard-on. The bright ray of a flashlight shining through the driverâs window catches your attention, and you feign surprise as the security guard taps on the window with his knuckles one, two, three times. Buckyâs letting go of your waist and hair and pushing the door open as a sly chuckle climbs up his throat.
           âI told her we shouldnât do this here.â Bucky says smugly, shaking his head as you place your hands on his chest and lean back, glaring down at him. âI canât keep her off of me.â
           âCould you uh, dismount? Maâam?â The officer requests. You turn your head and take in the short, balding man. Blush colors his cheeks a deep shade of red and you wonder if this is the most action heâs seen all year. Moving off of Buckyâs lap, you come to stand just outside of the car, crossing your arms over your chest as the cool night air hits you. You regret taking your jacket off earlier.
           âIâm so sorry.â You say ashamedly, hoping you look as faux-embarrassed as youâve made your voice sound. The man offers you a shy smile, his eyes wrinkling around the corners as Bucky climbs out of the car next. You smirk at the way Bucky tugs his jeans down and adjusts himself, trying his best to disguise the tent beneath the fabric. He glances in your direction, his eyes briefly flitting down to where your arms are crossed over your chest, before shrugging off his leather jacket and tossing it to you. Youâre still for a moment, until you realize that it would probably look questionable if you refused the kind gesture in front of the security guard, so you drape the jacket over shoulders and wrap it around your upper body. Your little act was so believable that Bucky only has to spend about one minute chatting back and forth with the security guard before he lets you both off with a warning. He didnât even ask to see your IDs. Buckyâs pretty good at bullshitting, youâll give him that.
           Infuriating. As Bucky stands beneath the steady stream of hot water, letting it soak his hair and drip over the curves of his shoulders, itâs the only word on his mind. Youâre fucking infuriating. How he continues to end up on missions with you is beyond him. He never thought he would miss the days of having Sam as his partner, but god, he misses them. He might even take Walker on as a partner if it means getting the hell away from you. Actually, heâd rather put up with you than with Walker. But anyone else? Heâd happily work with anyone else out in the field.
            Buckyâs just beginning to rinse the shampoo out of his hair when the sound of his bedroom door flying open registers in his mind. He freezes, both hands hovering at the sides of his head as you angrily rush through his room. The bathroom door is thrown open next, and he feels a whoosh of cold air floating over the top of his glass shower door.
           âA hickey?â Your voice is laced with malice. The fiery rage inside of you is stoked by the sound of Bucky laughing behind the fogged-up glass. âAre you sixteen?â
           âYou made a pretty little sound when I gave it to you.â He points out, continuing to work the shampoo into his brown locks.
           âI was playing the part.â You argue. You take a moment to glance around his bathroom, noting the way it looks exactly like yours except itâs devoid of any personality. He has dark gray rugs on the floor, a matching dark gray towel hanging over the shower door, and even a dark gray toothbrush sitting in a little white cup beside the sink. Is he allergic to every other color?
           âThe security guard couldnât hear anything inside the car, you donât have to lie to me. You liked it.â Bucky says coolly. He rinses the suds out of his hair and even with his eyes closed, heâs sure youâre standing there with your arms crossed. Itâs your signature pose in his presence.
           âI have shit to do tomorrow, Barnes. Now I have to worry about covering this up.â You complain. You snatch his towel off of the shower door and use it to wipe at the fogged-up mirror over the sink. Youâre studying the sizable red mark below your ear in the reflection when Bucky turns off the running water.
           âYou have three seconds to put my towel back before I walk out of here without it.â His voice is low and threatening now. You roll your eyes before tossing the towel back up and over the shower door, he grabs it immediately. When he steps out a moment later, he has the towel wrapped firmly around his waist. As he steps into the view of the mirror, your eyes roam over his wet, toned body in the reflection. Your gaze follows a few drops of water as they drip from his hair and trail down the side of his neck. You stand still in front of the mirror, unmoving as Bucky meets your gaze and narrows his eyes, taking a few steps forward to close the space between you. He comes to a stop with his bare chest nearly brushing against your clothed back, and then he moves his hands to grip the edge of the countertop on either side of your hips. Leaning forward the tiniest bit, his lips graze the shell of your ear and every single muscle in your body tenses up. âWhy cover it? You donât want people to know that you like being marked up?â
           âI canât stand you.â You spit coldly, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring at him in the reflection. Bucky chuckles lowly before letting go of the edge of the countertop and turning away from you, leaving you alone in his steamy bathroom.
           âI canât stand you either.â He calls back to you.
           When you stomp through his bedroom a moment later, he watches out of the corner of his eye as you disappear out into the hall and let his door fall shut behind you. He knows that on some level, youâre both liars. There are so many things that you canât stand about each other, and yet, thereâs an undeniable force that seems to keep you both coming back. You could simply stay away from each other when youâre in the tower. You live across the hall from each other but the place is so damn big that you could easily avoid each other anytime youâre not working together in the field. Heâs sure that somewhere beneath the haze of false hatred and tension, you can feel that incessant pull just as much as he can. Thatâs why he canât stand you. Thatâs precisely the reason why he finds you so infuriating. Because you act like you canât feel it.
           The Howling Commandos files have taken up nearly every waking second of your time for the past three days. Youâve read every word, combed through every grainy black and white picture, and taken enough notes to fill nearly twenty pages of the little notebook that currently sits open in front of you. And yet, you havenât been able to formulate a solid plan. Thatâs why the conference room is packed full of people with varying skillsets and thought processes. Fury sits at the head of the table, leaning back comfortably in his chair as he twirls a black pen in his right. Sam sits to his left, staring down at the same files youâve studied for hours. Beside him is Sharon, who looks equal parts bored and entirely over the situation at hand. Knowing the things that sheâs been up to lately, she probably has more important places to be right now. A few people are littered around the room, leaning against walls and quietly conversing with each other as they try to come up with the best course of action to solve the present issue. Youâre seated at the far end of the table, opposite of Fury, tracing the lines of your left palm with your right thumb.
           Bucky stands near the door, with his back pressed against the smooth wall and his arms crossed over his broad chest. He wouldnât be here if it wasnât labeled a mandatory meeting. Hell, even with it being labeled mandatory, he considered skipping it. He doesnât particularly enjoy watching everyone read up on his past life, even if it was the era that he considers his glory days. Being a part of the Howling Commandos was one of the few good things he ever did, but letting himself think about that time only leads him down a darker path. He thinks about how each Howling Commandos mission that he was a part of brought him closer and closer to getting captured, to losing his arm, to losing himself. Shaking his head, Bucky pushes away from the wall and stands straight, he wonders if anyone will notice him slipping out the door.
           ���I donât like time travel.â Fury says evenly, keeping his eyes on the pen in his hand as he twirls it around just above the surface of the conference room table. Bucky freezes, his eyes narrowing as he looks to Fury. Everyone in the room halts, all eyes moving in the same direction to follow the commanding voice. âI donât like time travel at all. Itâs risky and it tends to fuck things up in the long run.â Fury takes a moment to cast his eyes around the room, taking in each and every person present. After making the first round, he turns his head to the right and focuses on Bucky. âUnfortunately, I think this situation calls for something risky.â
           Goosebumps spread over the surface of your skin and you tense in your seat. You follow Furyâs gaze and your eyes land on Bucky, who stands tall beside the door. His arms hang still at his sides, and for once, his vibranium arm isnât hidden behind a long shirt sleeve or leather jacket. The black and gold glints in the fluorescent lighting of the room, drawing attention like a bright red flower draws bees.
           âThe intel that we need from a currently non-existent HYDRA base doesnât exist. The Howling Commandos werenât tasked with collecting evidence or documenting what they found at each base.â Fury continues. Bucky swallows hard but maintains eye contact. He already doesnât like where this is going. âSo, we send someone back in time to get what we need.â
           As tension rises in the room and the air begins to feel like its crackling with anticipation, Fury lays out the only two potential plans he can think of. The first plan is automatically a no, because of how risky it is to send a full team back in time. The first plan wouldâve been to send someone back in time to infiltrate a specific HYDRA base moments before the Howling Commandos take it out, so the intel can be gathered and brought back to the present. But the second plan is the one that has discussion raging around the conference room.
           âSteve wouldnât trust someone heâs just met, weâd need to get through to Peggy first, then she can sway him and the rest of the Howling Commandos.â Sharon argues, leaning forward and clasping her hands together over the table. Your eyes flit over to her as her blonde hair falls over one shoulder and obscures the side of her face. Sheâs right, 1940s Steve Rogers wouldnât even come close to trusting a new person in the midst of a war, let alone one whoâs so obviously from the wrong time period. You see Sam laughing to himself further down the table and youâre sure heâs remembering the story Steve used to tell of his past self attempting to kick his present selfâs ass during his time travel stint.
           âPeggy wouldnât be wholly trusting either.â Fury points out, barely looking up from the surface of the table before him. âWe need to get Peggy and at least one of the Howling Commandos on our side for this to work. The rest will follow.â
           âWhat if we go at this from a slightly different angle?â Torres asks. He stands a few feet behind your seat, leaning against the wall as his thumbs rapid-fire away at the phone in clutched in his hands. Everyone turns their attention to him and he finally looks up, blinking once before clicking the phone off and sliding it into the back pocket of his jeans.
           âWeâre listening.â Fury says, his interest clearly piqued.
           âWe pick someone that Peggy could relate to, someone she would like, maybe become fast friends with.â He starts slowly, letting his gaze roam over each person in the room as he speaks. His eyes stop when he reaches Bucky, and you donât have to look over your shoulder to know that Buckyâs staring right back at him. âAnd that same person needs to be someone Bucky would like, someone heâd be drawn to. Steve would trust Buckyâs judgement, and at least by choosing to make Bucky the center of this, we have the advantage of having him right here.â
           Itâs silent for a beat as the idea is mulled over. You turn around and look back to Fury, watching as his face shifts from a blank, almost bored expression to a thoughtful one. He nods slowly before tucking the pen heâs been twirling around into the pocket of his jacket.
           âSergeant BarnesâŚâ Furyâs eyes shift to his right, landing on the stiff super soldier who looks like heâd rather be anywhere but here right now. âDoes that sound like a feasible plan?â It feels as though everyone is collectively holding in a breath as Bucky remains silent. You can tell heâs thinking, you can almost see the gears turning behind his blue eyes as he zeroes in on Fury. A small nod from him is all it takes to get the conversation churning around the room again. He's in.
           âI can be in and out and have this whole thing finished within just a few seconds of passing time here, I need maybe two days in the past.â Sharon says calmly, leaning back in her seat as she tucks a stray lock of blonde hair behind one ear. You really donât even know why the discussion is still ongoing at this point. Out of everyone left in the conference room, the majority is most definitely in favor of sending Sharon back in time for the mission. Itâs not like there were many other options. You didnât exactly volunteer yourself and as of right now, you and Sharon are the only women on the team. Sure, Fury couldâve shopped around the agency a bit and found a few other suitable agents to screen for the task at hand, but Sharon seems pretty set on handling it herself.
           âOkay, say you gain Peggyâs trust easily. What about Bucky? Whatâs your plan for getting him on your side?â Sam asks with a raised brow. The room grows quiet and all eyes land on Sharon as she filters through the possible methods she could use. Your eyes flit over to where Bucky is still leaning against the wall by the door, looking slightly less disinterested in the conversation than he was earlier. Heâs studying Sharon with an unreadable expression painted on his face. Instinctively, your hand lifts up to the healing hickey thatâs hidden beneath a layer of concealer and foundation right below your ear. For the briefest moment, he turns his head and tracks your movement, his eyes roaming down to the tips of your fingers as they brush over the skin of your neck. You drop your hand in an instant and his blue eyes meet yours. You can feel the arrogance radiating off of him and you roll your eyes before looking back to Sharon. You swear you hear Bucky chuckle under his breath, but when you glance around the room, no one else seems to have heard a thing.
           âI just put on a pretty outfit and dance with him. It canât be that hard to woo a soldier in his bachelor phase.â Sharon laughs out. A few softer laughs ring out around the table, but Torresâs next question quiets everyone.
           âBucky, what kind of girl would you have asked to dance back in the forties?â
           You think it must be Buckyâs lack of an immediate response that sucks the air out of the room. Itâs so quiet you can hear the sound of your own heart beating in your ears, even though itâs beating at a normal rate and rhythm. You steal a look at Bucky once again, whoâs face is cast downward at the floor. He seems to find his shoes overly interesting all of a sudden. Everyoneâs staring at him.
           Buckyâs mind is churning, running through all of the girls he ever shared a moment with back in his golden days. He has a type in more ways than one. Itâs not just a physical type. Heâs always been drawn to women with certain personality traits, women with certain ways of carrying themselves, certain ways they flirt. One wouldnât think he was picky with the number of girls he found himself in the company of back in the day, but he damn sure was. And he still is. Thatâs why his heart beats a little harder, vibrating against his ribcage as he lets out a deep breath and finally looks up. He can feel everyoneâs eyes on him, but he focuses in on the one person that heâs sure his younger self will trust. Buckyâs staring right at you.
           âIt needs to be you.â He says firmly, fixing his gaze on your face as the color drains from it. If the air hadnât been sucked out of the room when Torres first asked a question, it sure as hell wouldâve been now. Your breath is hitched in your throat and the skin over your hidden hickey suddenly feels like itâs on fire. No, scratch that. Every inch of your skin feels like itâs on fire. Color returns to your cheeks as quickly as it first disappeared, and suddenly, youâre flushed pink.
           âMe?â The word leaves your lips as an unintended whisper, but you canât be bothered to clear your throat and try again. You know he heard you. He nods slightly, looking quite sure of himself, but his expression is still unreadable and itâs driving you mad.
           âHer?â Sharon questions, narrowing her eyes at you and pursing her lips. Sheâs looking at you in disbelief, but not because itâs questionable that youâd be someoneâs type. Sheâs looking at you like that because she knows, like everyone knows, that you and Bucky are at each otherâs throats more often than not. Why would that be any different with a younger version of himself? The last thing the team needs is you getting sent back in time to argue with yet another version of Bucky Barnes.
           âHer.â Bucky shrugs, shooting Sharon a look that easily shuts her up. She leans back in her seat once more and crosses her arms over her chest, indicating that she doesnât like where this is going.
           âAre you sure?â Sam asks with a raised brow, his eyes flitting between you and Bucky. Bucky pushes himself away from the wall and turns to face the door that leads out into the hall. As his flesh hand wraps around the door handle, he finds himself biting down on the inside of his cheek. Heâs sure that his younger self will be drawn to you, that heâll trust you, yeah. Is he sure that this is a good idea? Hell no.
           âItâs her.â Bucky confirms. Then, he walks out of the conference room as if he didnât just drop a fucking bomb in the middle of the goddamn gunmetal table. What the hell does he mean itâs you?
           Your silence is unsettling. Bucky thought you might come storming into the gym during his evening workout, ready to give him a violently worded piece of your mind after he left the conference room earlier, but you never did. Then, while a mix of sweat and suds spilled down the drain of his shower, he listened intently for the sound of his bedroom door flying open, but it never came. He sits on the side of his bed in the dim light of a lamp, thumbing through the little red notebook that once belonged to Steve. He isnât digesting its contents. Really, he isnât even skimming over the words that are written in pencil before him. Heâs zoned out as he strains his ears to listen for you across the hall. He knows youâre in your room. Itâs late, just a bit past midnight now, and youâre always tucked away in there by ten. But youâre not asleep, thatâs for damn certain. He can hear the occasional sound of your footsteps against the soft rug you have spread over your bedroom floor. Every few minutes, he hears an uncharacteristic scuffling sound, following by a thud. What the hell are you doing over there?
           He waits a moment longer before his curiosity and impatience get the best of him, and then heâs tossing the notebook onto his bed and taking long strides toward the hall. If you wonât come to him to argue about todayâs conference room situation, about whatâs now lingering on the horizon, then heâll go to you. Arguing about it will be far better than sitting around while you do whatever the hell sort of noisy thing it is youâre doing over there right now, Bucky thinks.
           In retrospect, he shouldâve knocked. By the time heâs throwing your unlocked door open and taking the first step into your room, heâs already sporting a half-hard cock beneath the all-too-thin fabric of his sweats and boxers. The dog tags hanging against his bare chest give away the increased rate of his breaths as his eyes skate over you. Youâre on your hands and knees in the center of the room, with your cheeks flushed pink and your oversized t-shirt making it look like youâre not wearing anything else. As you stare up at Bucky, both of you frozen in place, youâre acutely aware of the compromising position heâs found you in. You sit back on your knees quickly, dropping the last few stray rings into the small jewelry tray in your left hand.
           âWhat the hell, Bucky?â You look up at him with a mix of confusion and annoyance in your eyes as the rings clink against the ceramic tray. Bucky swallows hard as he stares down at you, trying to figure out what the fuck youâre doing in the middle of the floor. His gaze lands on one single golden ring glinting in the low light of your room and your eyes follow his.
           âYou missed one.â He says lowly. You reach out and pick it up with your thumb and index finger before setting it on the small tray along with the rest. âWhat are you doing?â
           âRearranging.â You respond dryly. You stand carefully, making sure not to dump all of your rings out a second time, before crossing the room and setting the tray on your recently moved vanity. Buckyâs only been in your room once or twice before, but he notices the changes immediately. Youâve moved your vanity from the right side of the room to the left. The chair you used to have sitting near the window now sits in a corner near the bed. A few other small pieces of furniture are strewn about haphazardly, as if you havenât quite decided where you want them yet.
           âAt midnight?â Bucky raises a brow, catching your eyes as you turn to face him once more.
           âWhat are you doing in my room, Bucky?â In his peripheral vision, he sees the slight reflection of light in one last piece of jewelry on the floor. Itâs just a foot in front of him, so he steps further into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him as he bends down and scoops the rose gold ring up in his palm.
           âYou havenât said anything since the team meeting earlier today.â He points out. He studies the small ring in his hand, realizing for the first time just how much smaller your hands are than his. You donât make a move to take it from him, so he continues fiddling with it as he stands in the middle of your room.
           âYou walked out.â You remind him. You turn your back to him and begin straightening up a few things on your vanity. Itâs weird to have him in your room like this. Your skin feels warm while the air in the room feels cold. Your oversized t-shirt feels too small while his presence feels much too large.
           âI didnât have anything else to say.â Bucky takes a few more steps forward and turns, bending at the knees to sit on the foot of your nicely made bed. You watch him in the reflection of your vanity mirror, wondering why the hell he seems so comfortable in your room.
           âAnd I should? What do you want me to say?â
           âAnything.â His single-word response makes the air in the room feel even icier, and suddenly, youâre wishing youâd put on sweats tonight. A deep breath rattles in your chest before you turn around to face him.
           âItâs not me.â You say evenly. You cross your arms over your chest and focus on his face as he stares back at you. Heâs still fiddling with the ring, running the pad of his thumb back and forth over it mindlessly.
           âItâs you.â He sighs. He almost seems tired with the conversation, which is frustrating considering heâs the one who came in here and started it.
           âItâs not, and having me deal with two of you is a recipe for disaster. I can barely handle one Bucky Barnes in this century. Sharonâs the better choice.â
           âItâs not Sharon.â
           âBuckyââ
           âItâs you. I donât know what you need me to say or do to convince you, but itâs you. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can start making a plan and preparing for the mission.â
           His words swirl around in your head, bouncing off of the walls of your mind like itâs a fucking pinball machine. Itâs not you. Youâre pretty damn sure that what 1940s Bucky Barnes needs is anything but you. Maybe Buckyâs so far removed from his younger self that he just doesnât realize how wrong you are for this mission. Heâs gotten too used to working with you in the field lately and he doesnât want to figure things out in the field with a new partner. Whatever his reasoning is, you need him to figure his shit out before youâre sent back in time to fuck up the op.
           âYou canât convince me.â You reply stubbornly, narrowing your eyes at him. âSharon is right for this mission and everyone sees that but you.â When he glances up at you this time, his eyes settle on the light pink mark beneath your ear. His mark.
           âYouâre my type.â The words slip past his lips before he can stop them, and heâs gripping the ring tightly in his flesh fist.
           âWhat?â
           âIâm not saying it again.â He decides, pushing himself up to stand. Youâre frozen in stunned silence, your eyes wide. Youâre sure youâre about to watch him walk out the door after dropping his second bomb of the day, but he turns to face you. Heâs moving forward before you have a chance to do or say a damn thing. Bucky doesnât stop until your arms are dropping down to your sides and his hands are resting on your hips. He walks you backward one, two steps, until your ass hits the edge of the vanity and a gasp parts your lips.
âThere was this bar in London, the Whip and Fiddle. I went there with Steve and the guys a few times.â Bucky starts. His tone is low and gravelly and his lips are so close to yours that they nearly touch with every word he speaks. Heâs looking down into your eyes with an intense look, a look that keeps you firmly in place, along with his hold on your hips and his muscular frame pressed partially against your front. A shiver runs down your spine, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue. Buckyâs right hand glides upward, following the curve of your body until his fingertips are ghosting over the side of your neck. He presses his thumb against your healing hickey lightly, feeling you tense against him at the touch. âIf younger me saw you walk into that bar, even with all of the noise and the low lights, heâd fucking swoon. It would all be over. The chasing girls around, only ever learning first names and hometowns, the bachelor shit. It would be over. Heâd follow you anywhere.â
âBuckyââ
           âItâs you. Not Sharon, not anyone else damn it, itâs you.â His vibranium hand tightens over your hip and his right hand slides further back behind your head. His fingers tangle in your hair but itâs a gentle, careful act. You tilt your head up and take in his serious expression. His brows are furrowed and his gaze heats your face as he stares down at you. He isnât fucking with you. He isnât trying to get in your head or manipulate you into being a part of this mission. He means every word of what heâs saying right now and it scares the shit out of you. You move quick, drawing your arms up between the two of you and pressing your palms flat against his bare chest. You shove him back hard, forcing him to take one big step away from you. He doesnât look surprised at all, and his expression never shifts, the seriousness never leaves his face.
           âYou canât stand me.â You remind him, though the words feel empty as you say them. Youâre questioning the notion, as if he hasnât said those words himself a hundred times before.
           âI canât.â He agrees, nodding slowly. You take a deep, shaky breath in and let it out through your teeth. âBut for some reason, itâs still you.â
           You stand still, with the edge of the vanity still digging into your ass and your chest heaving as Bucky turns his back to you and heads for the foot of your bed. You watch through narrowed eyes as he leans over and scoops up the ring he left sitting there. He straightens up and looks down at the small shiny object held precariously between his thumb and forefinger.
           âDo you know how to dance?â The question rolls off of his tongue so casually that for a moment, you wonder if anything that just happened really happened. Did he not have you pushed up against the vanity only seconds ago? Was he not touching you and leaning in close like you meant something to him after months of acting like youâre nothing more than his shit-giving coworker?
           âWhat?â You nearly choke on the word. Your throat is so dry after seemingly forgetting to swallow at all in his presence.
           âDo you know how to dance?â He repeats, craning his neck to the side to look at you.
           âWhat the hell doesââ
           âHeâs going to ask you to dance, and youâll have to say yes.â Bucky says matter-of-factly. You find it a little odd that he refers to his younger self as if heâs someone else, but you donât comment on it. âI can teach you.â
           âFine.â Bucky freezes at your quick and unexpected caving. He raises an eyebrow at you, still fiddling with the ring between his fingers. âHelp me move my dresser.â Your eyes dart over to the large piece of furniture across the room and Buckyâs gaze follows. He looks at it for a second as the realization dawns that youâre really asking for manual labor in exchange for agreeing to go back in time for this mission. The fact that youâre going to do it, that youâre going to be the one who does this with him, leaves an unfamiliar calmness settling inside of him and he lets out a deep breath.
           The sounds of furniture scuffling around the room and soft thuds carry on for the next half hour as Bucky uses the serum in his veins to set your room up just how you want it. When everything is finished and you seem satisfied, he walks over to your vanity and drops the last ring into the ceramic tray. Your eyes rake over his bare back, taking in the way there isnât even the slightest sheen of sweat present on his smooth skin. You shouldâve asked him to move your furniture two hours ago when you first started doing it yourself. If youâd known it was so damn easy for him, you mightâve even said please.
           âYou should probably lock your door at night.â Bucky says as he heads toward it. He wraps his hand around the door handle and you watch as the muscles of his flesh arm ripple slightly.
           âWhy? Are you going to keep barging in?â
           âYouâve done that a lot more than I have.â He points out, tugging the door open to reveal the darkened hallway beyond.
           âSo, start locking yours then.â You retort. He can hear you rolling your eyes. A small smile plays on his lips as he steps out into the hall and runs a hand through his messy hair, keeping his back to you.
           âMy doorâs always open for you, sweetheart.â
           âFuck you, Barnes.â You say coldly, just as the door clicks shut between the two of you.
           You canât stand him.
           Sam doesnât let things go easily. Sure, if he was really pushing Buckyâs buttons, he might back off a bit, but he hasnât gone too far yet. Yet.
           âI just want to know how you can go from barely getting along with the woman to demanding that sheâs the one for your little forties self.â Sam says through a smirk. He falls into step next to Bucky as the two of them jog through the heavily wooded trails behind the tower.
           âIf youâre going to keep talking about this, you can finish the run alone.â Bucky threatens, shooting Sam a deathly sideways glare.
           âIâve been telling you for months that there was something between the two of you, and you shot it down every time. I donât get to gloat now?â
           âThereâs nothing to gloat about. There isnât anything between us besides this mission. Youâre reading too far into shit, Sam.â
           âThat super soldier serum didnât teach you how to be a convincing liar, huh?â
           âIâll see you back at the tower.â Bucky says flatly, immediately picking up his pace to an ungodly speed and leaving Sam behind in literal dust.
           Buckyâs ears are filled with the sounds of his feet pounding against the dry dirt path below and his own steady, even breaths as he speeds along the trail. The mission is the only thing between you, he tells himself. There isnât anything else. As much as he wants there to be, as much as he feels something there, you fight against the tension like it suffocates you. You fight against it tooth and nail, pushing Bucky away every time you think he might be getting a little closer to you. Is it just him? If it was someone else running dangerous ops with you, saving your ass regularly, and sitting through stake-outs with you late at night, would you push them away just as hard? Or is it just because that guy is Bucky?
           Thunder rumbles in the distance, tearing Bucky away from his troubling train of thought momentarily. He glances up through the crowded tree branches and catches sight of the gray sky above. He can smell rain in the air, so he picks up the pace a little more, intent on beating it.
           He can still feel the curve of your hip against his vibranium hand and the way every muscle in your body tensed up when he pressed his thumb against the mark on your neck last night. Fuck. Bucky feels beads of sweat forming around his hairline, and itâs not from the hellish pace heâs bent on keeping. His mind falls even further back to that last stakeout. The memory of you moving over the center console of the car and seating yourself on his lap so effortlessly plays out in front of him like a movie. He doesnât even realize how fast heâs running until the tower comes into view a whole lot sooner than he expected it to. With sweat dripping down the back of his neck, he tugs his shirt off and scans his palm at the back entrance to the gym.
           He can feel the weight of your body settling over him, feel your thighs pressing against either of his hips as you straddle his lap. Bucky bites down on his bottom lip as he tugs the door open and glances over his shoulder for any sign of Sam. He lets the door fall closed behind him when he realizes that heâs probably still a couple of miles back in the woods. Lifting the t-shirt thatâs hanging from his right hand, Bucky uses it to wipe the sweat from his brow and neck. Fuck you. Fuck you for acting like youâre oblivious to whatever the hell has been brewing between the two of you for months now. Itâs right in front of your face and yet you act like you canât see a damn thing, like you donât feel a damn thing. Fuck you for giving Bucky just enough of you to fantasize about but not enough to feel satisfied. He heads straight for the locker room, shoving the door open hard as he uses one hand to untie the drawstring of his shorts.
           He wonât let himself do what he needs to do. He comes to stand in front of the mirror, placing his hands on the edge of the sink as he drops his head and sucks in a deep breath. He wonât do it. Bucky lifts his head a bit, looking his reflection in the eye for a moment before flicking the faucet on and splashing a handful of cold water against his flushed face.
           Fuck. Heâs going to do it. Heâs rushing for one of the showers within the next second, turning the hot water on just before he shoves his shorts and boxers down. He steps out of them, already mentally chastising himself for what heâs about to do.
           Heâs only been in the shower for a minute when heat begins to spread down his spine, sending a warmth over the surface of his skin and pushing him to lean forward. He rests his forehead against the cold tile wall of the shower, telling himself that this is pathetic. His flesh hand works quickly, moving back and forth while staying wrapped tightly around the shaft of his cock. A shaky breath snakes past his lips as his eyes flutter closed and his hips piston forward once, twice, three times. He fucks his hand roughly, letting out a low groan when the pad of his thumb brushes against the sensitive spot on the underside of the head of his cock. He hates that this is what heâs resorted to. Never once has he left himself do this with you on his mind. It feels shameful, even offensive. Youâd kick his ass if you ever found out, heâs fucking sure of that. Still, he continues on, working himself up until heâs teetering on the edge of bliss. Itâs the memory of you on his lap in that damn care, letting him tug on your hair and tilt your head back so he could suck on your neck, that almost finishes him. His movements grow sloppy and his breaths come out a little more ragged. He replays the sweet little sound you made when he left that hickey on your skin, when he left his mark on you.
           âShit.â Bucky groans, scrunching his eyes shut even tighter and stroking his cock a little harder. A shudder races through him and he bangs his vibranium fist against the shower wall just as his climax hits. He opens his eyes and watches as ropes of cum paint the tiles. The steamy shower water washes it all away and carries it down the drain within seconds. What a waste.
           Youâve been lying on your stomach in bed ever since you woke up, watching every video you can find that depicts anything remotely close to dancing in the forties. Itâs stressing you the hell out. How long do you have to learn this shit? Does Bucky even remember how to do this? You canât picture him doing something soâŚlighthearted.
           You roll over onto your back, tossing your phone to the opposite side of the bed before pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes and letting out a frustrated groan. Why the hell did you agree to this? Oh, right. The memory of last night starts playing in your mind on a loop. Bucky barged into your room like he had every right to. He sat on your bed. He pushed you up against the vanity andâŚand did absolutely nothing. So, why does your heart race merely at the memory? If it was nothing, why did it feel like something? You let out a louder groan and run your hands through your messy hair, tugging at it a little and feeling the slight stretch of your scalp. Youâre thinking about pulling the covers over your face and going back to sleep for the rest of the rainy morning, but your train of thought shifts over to the contents of the communal fridge in the kitchen down the hall.
           Buckyâs chosen to avoid you today. If what he did in the shower half an hour ago is any indication of the dangerous territory that heâs put himself in, he knows he needs to pump the brakes now. So, he stands in the kitchen, leaning against the edge of the countertop as he sips on a glass of orange juice in near-silence. The sounds of rolling thunder and heavy rain are all he can hear as he tries to ignore the guilt eating away at him. He really fucked his hand simply at the memory of being close to you last night. Heâs in way too fucking deep and he needs to get a grip before this mission really starts. Maybe he shouldâve just let it be Sharon. She probably couldâve pulled it off. Younger Bucky wasnât really all that picky if heâd had a few drinks, and Sharon couldâve easily been coached to put on a personality that Bucky wouldâve been drawn to. But no, he had to make sure it was you. God, heâs kicking himself for it all now.
           He stiffens when he hears your door open down the hall, fighting against the urge to make a dash for the elevator just to avoid you. He glances at the time displayed over the stovetop. Itâs still too early to get ready and rush off for his therapy session, but maybe if he drives really slowly Dr. Raynor wonât have to question why heâs there an hour and a half ahead of time. Bucky lets out a heavy sigh as your footsteps patter down the hall in the distance. Heâs being dramatic. He knows that. He had a moment of weakness in the shower this morning and it was his own fault. He shouldnât have let his thoughts carry him that far and he sure as hell shouldnât have been in your room doing and saying the things he did and said last night.
           When you appear in the main living area, youâre still wearing that damn oversized t-shirt and distinct lack of pants that you were last night, and Bucky stifles a frustrated groan. His eyes roam over your body so quickly that you donât even notice the look as you enter the kitchen and give him a small nod. You tug the fridge open and rummage around for a few seconds as your mind races. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, you can feel warmth creeping into your cheeks, coloring them pink. You hate this. Why the hell did he decide to flip a switch this week? You were fine barely getting along, just giving each other shit in the field and then coming home after missions and going your separate ways for the most part. Why did he have to say all of that shit about it being you that his younger self would want?
           Your appetite dissipates more and more with each passing second, until suddenly youâre shutting the fridge and taking a step back. You see Bucky out of the corner of your eye, sipping on an almost empty glass of orange juice as he studies you.
           âYouâre manipulative.â You say lowly, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn to face him. He raises a brow at you and takes another sip from his glass, but says nothing in response. âWhat you did last night wasnât fair.â
           âMoving your furniture around?â He questions, keeping that one brow raised. You can tell by the look in his eyes that heâs being facetious and it pisses you off. Your tongue presses against the inside of your cheek as you look him over. Heâs clearly fresh out of the shower with messy, damp hair. Heâs dressed in dark gray sweats and a navy blue t-shirt that hugs the muscles of his upper body a little too snugly for your liking.
           You could just respond to his question with a verbal answer, you know that. You could just open your mouth and remind him about what it was that he did last night that youâre referring to as being unfair and manipulative. But your feet carry you forward. You move slowly, giving him a multitude of opportunities to step around you and leave the kitchen unscathed. Bucky remains planted there, leaning against the kitchen counter with the glass in his hand. When youâre only a foot away from him, you reach out with your right hand and take hold of the glass. He watches you carefully, with his head slightly cocked to the side as your grip tightens and his loosens. When he lets you fully take the glass from his hand, you lift it to your lips and swallow the last sip of orange juice. Buckyâs cock twitches beneath the fabric of his sweats as he watches your lips retreat from the exact spot that his once pressed against the glass. He bites down on the inside of his cheek in an attempt to dissuade the hardening of his already tired cock.
           âDo you really think Iâm talking about you moving my furniture around?â You ask in a whisper, taking one more step forward until your chest is nearly brushing against his. You reach past him with your right arm and set the glass on the countertop behind him, holding your breath as your bottom lip comes within a centimeter of his chin. You keep your head tilted up, watching his eyes as the distance between you diminishes. âI couldnât possibly be talking about you pushing me up against the vanity and putting your hands on me, right?â His eyes flutter closed and you smirk, feeling satisfied with the effect that youâre clearly having on him. You let both of your hands rest against the edge of the countertop on either side of him and suddenly youâre close enough that when you stop tilting your head upward, the tip of your nose is threatening to brush against the column of his throat.
           âDid that do something for you?â His words come out slightly raspy and it sends an unfamiliar warmth surging low in your stomach. You pull your head back a couple of inches and look up at him through your lashes, tilting your head to the side.
           âNot a damn thing.â You lie. He chuckles darkly and lets out a breath that fans across your face. A smug smile takes over his features and you feel your confidence wavering.
           âRight.â He says absently, as his flesh hand begins to move. You can feel your heart rate doubling as you anticipate his touch, and it infuriates you. Since when does he get this kind of physiological reaction from your body? As his fingertips make light contact with the side of your neck, you inhale sharply and let your eyes fall closed. You want so badly to remain stoic, to look as unbothered as ever as his fingers ghost over the now mostly invisible hickey that he left days ago, but you fail.
           Bucky knows that when he presses his thumb against that spot, just like he did last night, your body will tense up. Even with the alarm bells going off inside his head, with that little voice inside of him screaming for him to run, to do anything but the stupid thing heâs about to do, he canât help himself. His wraps his vibranium around your waist and presses his cool metal palm against the small of your back before tugging you forward. The moment your chest collides with his, he pushes the pad of his thumb against that spot beneath your ear and revels in the feeling of your body tensing against his. Fuck. Heâs in deep, but he wishes he was in so much deeper.
           âNot a damn thing, hm?â He teases, looking down at you as your eyes flutter open.
           âI really canât stand you.â You retort, but you make no move to get out of his hold. Youâre sure that he can feel the dangerously high rate that your heartâs beating at, but still, you stay there against him.
           âI know.â He smirks. He lets his thumb trail down the side of your neck until it reaches your collarbone, and then he moves it right back up to the spot where he first marked you. âBut you agreed to be a part of the mission anyway, so youâre stuck with me for now.â
           âI still think itâs a bad idea.â You point out. Youâre coming to your senses now, realizing just how compromising of a position youâre both in right now and how beyond stupid and careless this is. What are you thinking? You pull your hands up between your two bodies and place your palms against the soft blue fabric of his shirt, getting ready to push yourself away from him. He knows what youâre about to do so he tightens his vibranium arm around your waist and slides his flesh hand back to tangle in your hair.
           âI didnât convince you last night?â He asks roughly, narrowing his eyes at you as if heâs slightly annoyed. You shake your head and push lightly against his chest, not putting any real effort behind your movement. He holds you impossibly tighter against his chest before dipping his head down toward your neck.
           âBucky.â You breathe his name out softly, with no other words coming to your mind.
Heâs feral. Heâs fucking feral. Heâs fighting with every ounce of restraint that he possesses to keep from leaving five more marks on the skin of your neck, just to replace the one thatâs now faded from there. Itâs as if he didnât fuck his hand to completion less than an hour ago, because his cock sure seems to have forgotten. He bites down on his bottom lip before nudging the tip of his nose against the column of your throat. God, he wants to fucking taste you.
âYou know where to find me if you need more convincing.â He says lowly, nipping at your neck one single time before releasing you from his grip and pushing past you. He needs to get the fuck out of here.
           You spend the rest of Saturday morning in bed, just like youâd planned, though you didnât get much sleep. You laid there under the covers, lazily scrolling through your phone, until you heard Buckyâs door opening, closing, and then locking right before he headed for the elevator down the hall. With him out of the tower, you finally felt like you could breathe. So, thatâs what you did. You laid in bed and breathed. You took a nice, deep breath in as you rolled over onto your back and let your hand snake down beneath the waistband of your panties. You let a long breath out as you ran your fingertips through the wetness that had gathered along your folds. Then, you drew a shaky breath in as you circled your middle and ring fingers over your clit, using your own arousal as lube. You donât feel good about what you did to yourself the moment Bucky was out of earshot. You donât feel good about pretending that your hand was really his. You really donât feel good about his name being on the tip of your tongue as an orgasm shook you to your core. But you feel good about the fact that you didnât actually say his name out loud. Thatâs something, right?
           As you put the final finishing touches on your makeup look for the night, you force yourself to push Bucky Barnes far out of reach of your mind. You know that youâll have to deal with him enough come Monday, when thereâs another team meeting about the mission, but for now, you tell yourself that heâs off limits. Heâs off limits and you get to spend the night thinking about anyone and anything else. Maybe thatâs exactly what you should do. Think about anyone else.
           The bar that Sharon chose for tonight is dimly lit and overly full of patrons. You feel like you touch a minimum of three people every time you try to take a step in any direction, so you settle into a cramped booth with your drink and good company, hoping you can get away with sitting there for at least the next hour while the crowd thins out.
           âYou couldâve picked a busier place.â Maria remarks sarcastically, shooting Sharon an annoyed look as they both slide into their seats across from you. You take a long sip of your drink before setting it down on the wooden surface of the table and double-checking that nothing was swiped from your clutch on your way through the bustling bar.
           âYou need to get used to being around normal people, Maria.â Sharon wiggles her eyebrows. âNo gods or mutants or super soldiers, just good old fashioned normal men.â
           âI came here under the impression that this was going to be a girls night.â Maria says as she lifts her drink up to her lips. A mischievous look takes over Sharonâs face and her eyes glimmer as she looks between you both.
           âA girls night where all the girls go home with a plus one.â
           âOh, fuck off, Sharon.â Maria scoffs, shoving her shoulder playfully. Sharon snorts and casts her gaze around the crowded bar, seemingly browsing the vast menu of eligible men. As you follow her line of sight, you notice that there are significantly more men than women here. Including the three of you, you count maybe a total of ten women versus at least fifty men.
           âSharonâŚâ You start, narrowing your eyes as you face her.
           âMaybe I chose a bar thatâs currently having their weekly guys night.â Knowing that both you and Maria are ready to start in on her, Sharon raises a hand and closes her eyes. âBut I did it with a good heart. You both need to get laid.â
           As much as you want to kick her from underneath the table, you know sheâs right. You shake your head as you take another long sip from your drink, and wonder just how many of these you might need before you agree to go home with one of the strangers in this bar.
           âI donât think Iâm the one that needs to get laid tonight.â Maria says quietly, casting a pointed look in your direction. Your eyes widen at her insinuation.
           âWhy are you looking at me when you say that?â
           âYouâre about to spend a whole lot of time with not one, but two Bucky Barnes.â She responds. Sharon nods eagerly, suddenly leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table as she joins Sharon in staring you down.
           âYou need to fuck someone and clear your system before this mission takes off. Make sure youâre going into it with an empty tank, you know?â Youâre sure that Sharonâs mostly joking, but thereâs still an air of seriousness to her words.
           âYou both think that Iâd be tempted by him?â You raise an eyebrow at both of the women before you. They share an indecipherable look between themselves before all eyes are back on you.
           âArenât we all?â
           Bucky doesnât usually pick whiskey. Nowadays heâs more of a beer kind of guy. Especially when he wants to drink a lot and reminisce about the times when he could get drunk. The feel of a cold glass bottle in his hand and the lip of it pressing against his mouth with each sip reminds him of a time when just a few of those would do him in. But tonight, heâs drinking Four Roses.
           As he swirls the amber liquid around in his glass, he scans the packed bar. The crowd is thick, with men heavily outnumbering and swarming the few women that are milling about.
           âI didnât take you three for the guyâs night type.â Mariaâs familiar voice sounds from behind Buckyâs left shoulder. He turns in unison with Sam and Torres. When their backs are to the bar, they all come face to face with Maria Hill. Bucky gives her a subtle up-and-down look, feeling a bit odd seeing her in an outfit that doesnât resemble anything tactical for once.
           âI wouldnât have taken you for the guyâs night type either.â Sam laughs out before taking a sip of his beer.
           âTrust me, Iâm not.â Maria responds with a slight grimace, casting a glance over her shoulder in the general direction of where she came from. Bucky follows her gaze and spots a few booths off to a side wall, but itâs too dim for him to tell which one she might be looking to. He focuses back on her as she pushes between him and Sam to get to the bar. She orders three different drinks in quick succession, but only the last one catches Buckyâs attention. Itâs your drink. âIs that you guys that I feel staring or is it the rest of the sleazy men in this place?â Maria asks jokingly, looking over her shoulder again. Sam and Torres both laugh, but Buckyâs barely paying any attention. Heâs scanning the room again, studying each face with a watchful eye as he searches for you. âTheyâre in the third booth against the far left wall.â Maria says reluctantly, when she catches the look in Buckyâs eye. She may find him attractive as hell, like everyone else does, but she knows heâs essentially off the market. He may hide it well with the constant bickering and brooding façade, but heâs so fucking into you. Maria knows it as well as anybody else. Well, anybody but you. Sometimes she wonders if Bucky himself even knows it.
           Bucky shoots Maria a sideways look and she shakes her head.
           âThey wonât be happy that you guys are crashing girlsâ night.â She clicks her tongue disapprovingly, just as the bartender starts working on her drinks.
           âOh, come on. Theyâll be thrilled.â Sam jokes, immediately heading off in the direction of the booth Maria described. Torres stays with her, but Bucky follows Sam closely. He should be running in the opposite direction. He knows itâd be in his best interest to down the rest of his whiskey and run right out the door. And yet, his feet carry him forward like his entire goal since this morning hasnât been to avoid you.
           You were having a half-decent night before you laid eyes on Bucky Barnes. When he comes into view, wearing one of his signature leather jackets and dark gloves, your heart skips a beat. Youâre sure itâs skipping a beat out of protest rather than anything more meaningful, but still, it skips a damn beat. You donât even hear Samâs initial greeting, or the immediate banter that he and Sharon get into the moment heâs within earshot of the table. In fact, every single sound in the bar seems muffled all of a sudden. Heâs staring at you. Buckyâs looking right into your eyes as he hovers near the end of the table, with his expression as bored and unreadable as ever.
           The intense eye contact is only broken when Maria and Torres appear, and she uses her shoulder to nudge Bucky out of the way so she can set the three drinks down. As soon as she slides the small glass in front of you, the din of the bar is loud again and youâre itching for a higher blood-alcohol level. You down the fresh drink in one long gulp, ignoring the burning in your throat as all eyes fall on you.
           âI think I need something a little stronger.â You say flatly, after clearing your throat and setting your empty glass down on the table. Sharon raises an eyebrow at you but within a second, she re-engages with Sam. Maria and Torres are quick to take your side of the booth the moment you rise to your feet, and Sam slides in next to Sharon. As you saunter off toward the bar, you can hear the sound of Bucky dragging a chair over to the edge of the table to give himself somewhere to sit.
           Bucky canât seem to tear his eyes away from you as you make your way to the bar. Youâre wearing a little black dress that hugs your curves and accentuates every part of you that heâs been trying not to think about all goddamn day. The heels you chose are surely killing your feet with every step you take, but god, they keep drawing his gaze down your legs and then the dress drags him right back up again. The front of Buckyâs jeans have started to feel a bit too tight and his mind is reeling. He wants to pour his glass of whiskey into his eyes. It may be the only way he can stop fucking staring at you.
           Though you feel Buckyâs eyes burning a hole in the back of your head, you refuse to look back. He can stare all he wants, but youâve decided not to give a shit. He messed with your head last night and manipulated you into being a part of next weekâs mission. Then, he messed with your head again this morning, telling you to come find him if you need anymore convincing. What the hell did he mean by that? You swallow hard as you reach the bar, reaching out and grabbing onto the edge of it to steady yourself. Youâre two drinks in now and starting to feel a little buzzed, but you sure as hell wonât be stopping if the guys are sticking around. You order something significantly stronger than your last two drinks and then start fiddling with a stray lock of hair thatâs hanging over your shoulder as you try to look unapproachable. This place feels like a testosterone festival and although Buckyâs stare was the only one you felt at first, youâre acutely aware of quite a few more pairs of eyes on you now.
           Buckyâs aware as well, so fucking aware. He watches with veiled frustration as you become the center of attention over at the bar. He can tell you donât even want the attention simply by your body language, but that doesnât stop men from ogling shamelessly. He knows you can handle yourself, so he bites down on his bottom lip and tries to return his attention to the table, choosing to pick his battles wisely. He tunes into a semi-heated conversation about whoâs worse at holding their liquor amongst everyone at the table, but every now and then, his gaze flits back over to you.
           Two minutes go by before Sam notices the tension seemingly rolling off of Buckyâs broad shoulders. The brooding super soldier sits stiffly in the wooden chair at the end of the table, gripping his whiskey glass so tightly in one gloved hand that Samâs surprised it hasnât shattered under the pressure. When he follows Buckyâs gaze across the room, he finds the source of all of that angsty tension. There you are, looking undeniably gorgeous in that little black dress of yours with a fresh drink in hand as some tall, charismatic guy tries his best to win you over. Sam chuckles under his breath and watches for a moment, noting the way the guy continues getting closer to you every time you lean away from him. He sees the fake smile painted on your face and the way you keep nodding your head in the direction of the table as you speak in short sentences, probably letting the guy know that you have a group waiting for you.
           âGo get your girl, Bucky.â Sam finally says, lifting his half-empty beer bottle in your direction. âHavenât you two been a fake couple at least a hundred times by now? Pretend to be her man and get her out of that.â Bucky winces at the idea. Conversation at the table dies down as everyone starts shifting to get a look at you.
           âWhat do you want me to do?â Bucky asks dryly, taking a long sip of his whiskey as he analyzes Samâs expression over the rim of the glass. âShe can get out of that herself if she wants to.â
           âYeah, or you could make it easy for her.â Sam points out. Bucky turns his head to look at you again and he doesnât like what he sees. The man takes one step closer to you, nearly closing the gap between your bodies entirely. He makes it seem as though he was pushed into you, which you seem to buy given how crowded the bar area still is. You let out a stiff but polite laugh, and then the man rests his right hand on your hip as he leans down and whispers something in your ear. Thatâs enough, Bucky decides. He downs the last of his whiskey before standing up and setting the empty glass on the edge of the table. Heâs moving toward the bar before he has a moment to tell himself to stop. In an instant, his gloves are being tugged off one at a time and shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket.
           Bucky could just shove the guy away from you. He could throw a punch and start a good old-fashioned bar fight, maybe get himself kicked out into the street along the way. He could even waltz up and call you some sweet little pet name, because maybe, just maybe, the guy would be respectful enough to ditch the moment he thinks youâre spoken for.
           But as Buckyâs flesh hand tangles in the hair at the crown of your head and he tugs you back harshly, every other possible way to handle the situation is trampled under his feet. His movements are rough but calculated as he separates you from the guy and places his own body between you. Your lips part and you nearly spill your drink as Bucky uses his hold on your hair to tilt your head up so youâre looking right into his blue eyes.
           âBucky, whatââ The. Fuck.
           With his right hand still fisting your hair and his left moving to wrap around your waist, he pulls you flush against his chest and leans in. You donât realize it, but even in your shocked state, you lean in to meet him. He tilts his head to the side and sucks your bottom lip in between his teeth instantly, barely even kissing you before heâs biting down on it hard enough to draw a gasp from you. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue between your parted lips and taste you. Fuck. He didnât mean to do it. He didnât mean to put his tongue in your mouth, but now that itâs there? Fuck, heâs ruined. Bucky kisses you so intensely, so fucking passionately that for a moment, youâre convinced itâs real. It isnât until his grip on your hip falters and he has to pull back to take a breath that you realize why he did it, that you realize it most definitely wasnât real. Youâre fighting to catch your breath as he lets you go and glances over his shoulder, making sure the guy is gone. When he looks back at you, youâre pressing your fingertips to your lips lightly, while clutching your drink in your other hand. Your eyes are wide and your hair messy from his touch. His eyes skate over your face, taking in the way your cheeks and nose are rosy and your pupils are dilated as you stare at him. Bucky runs a hand through his own hair and bites down on his bottom lip. Wait, is heâŚflustered?
           âStop looking at me like that.â He says lowly. As much as you want to give him hell for that stupid stunt, your brain only seems to be able to focus on one thing.
           âYou taste like honey.â Your voice comes out soft but raspy, and your fingertips still ghost over your lips as you speak. Bucky looks taken aback by your response, and he stills for a moment as he looks down at you, his eyes narrowing.
           âYou taste like strawberries.â His gaze darts down to your lips, but then quickly back up to your eyes. Shaking your head to snap yourself out of whatever trance youâve found yourself in, you brush past Bucky, making a break for the table.
           Bucky needs a fucking minute. With your scent swirling around him and the ghost of your mouth on his, he needs a minute to adjust the raging hard-on heâs sporting and gather himself. What the fuck did he do that for? Heâs gritting his teeth as he turns on his heel and heads for the bathrooms off to the side of the bar. When he steps foot in the menâs room, he scans the floor of each stall quickly, making sure heâs completely alone before locking the door to the entire bathroom and moving to stand in front of the large mirror displayed across the wall of sinks. Strawberries. Bucky stares down at the ceramic sink in front of him as his hands move to grip onto the edge of it. He fights the urge to break it into a million little pieces as he licks his lips, picking up a hint of your taste. Lifting his head and catching his own gaze in his reflection, he bites down on his bottom lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. The twinge of pain is enough to snap him out of whatever the hell kind of haze heâs in, and he flicks the sink on with his flesh hand. After washing his hands, he splashes a bit of cold water on his face before drying up with a few paper towels. He doesnât leave the bathroom without adjusting his cock, tucking the head of it beneath the waistband of his boxers and pants to ensure his unchecked arousal wonât be noticed by anyone.
           With lively conversation passing back and forth across the table, no one seems to notice the thick tension brewing between you and Bucky. You havenât glanced at him once since he came back from the menâs room looking utterly unbothered by the display of public deception that heâd put on just moments earlier.
           Bucky steals looks at you throughout the evening as you go through three of your usual drinks and two shots of vodka with Maria and Sharon. He notices that you smile a lot more when you have some alcohol in your system. You also look at him a hell of a lot less, and he hates that. He canât seem to go more than a minute or two without searching you out, while you donât even seem to notice that heâs still in the bar. He watches with a knotted stomach as two other guys attempt to move in on you when youâre up at the bar with the girls, but the knot unties itself when he sees you quickly turn them both down. Why hadnât you done that with the first guy earlier tonight? A weird sensation bubbles up in his chest as he wonders if maybe youâd actually been attracted to the man you were talking to before Bucky stormed over and stuck his tongue in your mouth. Did you only turn the last two men down because you were worried that Bucky would try to kiss you again?
           As much as you wouldâve liked to avoid looking at Bucky all night, your plan is thwarted when Sharon ends up a little past tipsy and Maria decides to Uber back to her apartment early. Not wanting to wrangle a semi-drunk Sharon in an Uber by yourself, you accept Samâs offer for a ride. With Sam driving and Torres immediately sliding into the passenger seat, you push Sharon into the backseat on the passengerâs side and shut her door. You watch with a small smile playing on your lips as she promptly leans against the door and closes her eyes. Youâre sure sheâll be asleep before Sam ever pulls up to her apartment complex.
           You cross around the backside of the car to find Bucky standing, holding the other back door open for you. You glance inside, noting the small middle seat and shake your head.
           âIâm not sitting in the middle.â You say stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. A small shiver wracks through your body as the chilly night air blows over your exposed skin. Buckyâs shrugging his jacket off before he even realizes it. When he holds it out to you, you look at it warily, but another cold breeze wafts by and you reach out and grab it. Draping it over your shoulders, you narrow your eyes at him. âIâm still not sitting in the middle.â
           âYes, you are.â He responds roughly, resting his left forearm on top of the open door as his right hand moves to rest on his hip.
           âNo, Iâm not.â Youâre aware of the fact that you sound like two children arguing over something so trivial, but still, you maintain your stance. Bucky bites the inside of his cheek before stepping back and pushing the door shut. You hear Sam shout something out of confusion, probably wondering what the hell you two are doing out there in the cold delaying the ride home, but you both ignore him.
           âYou kissed me back.â He says in a low, raspy voice, making sure no one in the car could possibly make out his words. Your eyes widen and you pull his leather jacket tighter around your shoulders, trying to ignore the way his scent is rolling off of it and surrounding you.
           âYou put your tongue in my mouth.â You respond stiffly, glancing over your shoulder at the car.
           âIâd do it again if it would shut you up and make you get in the car.â
           âSounds like youâre looking for an excuse.â You say, letting out a fake laugh. Bucky rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with your accusation.
           âYou really think Iâd look for an excuse to do that again?â Bucky asks, taking a step toward you and reaching past your body for the door handle. When heâs close enough to you that his lips are nearly grazing against the shell of your ear, your eyes flutter closed. âI think we both know I wouldnât need one.â
           Bucky tugs the door open just as you open your eyes and look into his.
           âGet in the damn car.â He says authoritatively, holding the door open as you glare at him. You want to dig in your heels and stand on the curb until the sun rises in the morning, but with how cold you are and how late it is, you know youâre fighting a losing battle. You give Bucky a look that could kill as you slide into the middle seat and let out a frustrated sigh. You use his jacket to cover your legs and maintain what little body heat you have left. When Bucky slides in after you and pulls the door shut, Samâs driving off before either of you have buckled your seatbelts. Bucky fastens his own before noticing that youâre not making a move to buckle yours, so he takes matters into his own hands. He leans over you and grasps the seatbelt in his flesh hand as he brings his lips close to your ear again, lowering his voice to a whisper. âAlways so fucking stubborn.â
           With every little curve and bump in the road, Buckyâs leg brushes against yours and you tense up each time. Youâre always quick to pull your leg away and back toward the middle of the floorboard, until you start to notice that he never pulls his away. You stare out of the windshield ahead as Sam weaves through the city, heading toward Sharonâs downtown apartment. When you turn your head and glance over at her, sheâs sound asleep with her mouth wide open as her head rests against the door beside her. Another bump jostles the car and Buckyâs leg collides with yours, but instead of pulling away this time, you stay still. As the heat of his leg permeates the thick fabric of his jeans and warms your bare knee, you find yourself relaxing a little. It really is way too cold to be wearing such a tiny dress.
           Buckyâs gaze is fixed outside of his window, but he can feel you letting your head fall back to rest against the headrest behind. He tries not to move too much, sensing that youâre somewhat thankful for his body heat warming your leg and side. Itâs cold as shit tonight and you picked what has to be the thinnest dress in your wardrobe. If he didnât love it on you so much, heâd have told you that you were fucking stupid for risking hypothermia by wearing it.
           You let your eyes fall closed as goosebumps prickle across the skin of your arms and you lean back against the headrest. Sharonâs apartment is just another ten minutes away, and then the tower will be an extra thirty on top of that. If you clear your head and pretend like the man beside you is merely a stranger in a shared Uber, and not someone whose tongue was in your mouth only an hour ago, you might be able to get a little sleep before youâre home. But Buckyâs leather jacket sits heavy over your thighs, and his intoxicating scent swirls around the backseat, begging to be inhaled. Heâs not a stranger. Heâs a fucking coworker who left a hickey on your neck and what feels like a black hole in your gut after offering up some kind of half-baked confession of attraction a couple of days ago. Younger me would fucking swoon. Who the hell says something like that to a girl who thought she was the last person heâd ever be into? Does he get off on looks of confusion and bewilderment?
           The car tires screech against asphalt as Sam slams on the brakes and the car struggles to meet his demand. Youâre lurching forward in an instant, the seatbelt pulling coarsely across your chest as it locks and holds you in your seat. But it isnât the sudden unexpected stop that has everything moving in slow motion. Itâs Buckyâs hand gripping your mid-thigh tightly over the fabric of his leather jacket. As your back thumps against the seat and your eyes dart out toward the windshield ahead, you see that Sam narrowly avoided running a red light with a traffic camera posted on the street corner. He mumbles something about refusing to get another citation, but your ears are ringing as you cast your gaze downward. Buckyâs hand is still right there, his knuckles nearly turning white with how hard his fingers are digging into your leg. For a moment, a fleeting moment, you let yourself think about how nice his touch feels. You can feel the warmth of his palm even through the leather jacket covering your legs and the chill in your body begins to dissipate. In reality, heâs only been holding onto your thigh for two seconds, but it feels like itâs been two minutes. You let out a shaky breath as the stoplight turns green and Sam starts driving past it. Buckyâs grip loosens and he starts to withdraw his hand, but something within you stops him. Youâre reaching out and grabbing his hand in yours, tugging it back to your thigh and resting it atop the leather jacket again. Neither one of you turns to look at the other. You both stare straight ahead, silently letting the moment play out.
           It feels as though a fireâs been ignited deep in Buckyâs chest. As you move your hand away from his, he has to turn his head and look out the window to keep from looking down at where heâs touching you. If he gets a glimpse of where his hand is at right now, he wonât be able to scrub the image from his mind no matter how hard he tries. And his hand is only on your damn thigh. He takes even breaths through his nose as he watches the city lights dance around outside. He estimates that Sharonâs apartment complex is less than ten minutes away. What happens after those ten minutes? Will you push his hand away and pretend like the moment never happened?
           Each passing minute feels longer and longer as Buckyâs hand remains heavy on your thigh. Two minutes go by before he starts alternating between squeezing your leg and letting his hand rest loosely atop the jacket across your lap. When you reach the third minute, your cheeks are flushed pink and sparks are igniting throughout your body at the slightest touch. There arenât many thoughts floating around in your head now, which is probably why itâs so easy for you to slide your hand over his and quietly guide it beneath the fabric of the jacket. He doesnât resist. He doesnât pull his hand away or fight your movement, and when you feel the warmth of his palm pressing against the bare skin of your thigh, you withdraw your own hand and cover his with the jacket carefully. Buckyâs clenching his teeth as he grips your leg and scrapes his trimmed, blunt nails along the inside of your thigh. He feels you shudder against his touch, but then you seem to press into him a little closer and he canât fucking breathe. The backseat of this car is suddenly feeling too damn small for either of you, and he wants nothing more than to drag you out at the next red light and find the nearest alley with a brick wall he can back you into.
           Sheâs just cold. Bucky keeps reminding himself that thatâs why youâre letting him do this, that thatâs why youâre encouraging him to touch you this way. But are you really that cold? Your skin feels almost overheated beneath his hand. He grips your leg again and then starts drawing lazy circles with his fingertips along your inner thigh. He never once tries to move his hand any higher or lower than the exact spot that you placed it in. Youâre having a hard time figuring out if that excites you or disappoints you, especially when all you can do is focus on keeping your breathing unnoticeable and eyeing the three other people in the car to make sure no one is the wiser.
           The tension in the backseat of the car is so thick that you could cut it with a knife by the time Samâs pulling into a parking spot in front of Sharonâs building. Buckyâs fingertips dig into the skin of your thigh one last time before he drags his hand out from underneath the jacket and back to his own lap. You start to unbuckle so you can help Sharon out of the car and up to her apartment, but Sam shakes his head at you in the rearview mirror and pushes his own door open quickly.
           âWeâre not going to make you walk her all the way up there when youâre in heels.â Sam tsks, signaling for Torres to hop out as well. âWeâll take her up and get her settled, just stay in the car.â
           âAre you sure? I could do it, she can probably walk fine, sheâs just sleepy.â You say softly, glancing over at Sharon as she begins to stir. She shoots you a sideways smile and starts unbuckling her seatbelt with sloppy movements.
           âDonât say that, let them carry me.â Sharon jokes, slurring nearly every single word she speaks. You laugh lightly before pushing a bit of her blonde hair away from her face and leaning over her to open the door on her side.
           âFine, but donât give them too much trouble.â You concede, watching as Torres takes both of her hands and helps her out of the car. You find your heart racing as she straightens herself up and takes just enough steps forward for Torres to shut the door again, leaving you and Bucky alone in the dark car. You let out a shaky breath as you watch Sam, Torres, and Sharon all move further and further away from the car. You donât move a muscle. You stay seated right there in the middle of the backseat, painfully aware of how your left side is still brushing against Buckyâs right side.
           Buckyâs sitting stiffly in his seat, wondering if you can hear how hard his heart is thumping against his ribcage right now. His eyes flit downward to where his leather jacket has shifted off of your lap a bit and the skin of the thigh that he was just toying with is now exposed. Gritting his teeth, he reaches over slowly and pinches the edge of the jacket with his fingertips before dragging it back up to cover your lap entirely. Your head moves quickly, tilting downward to watch what heâs doing. You swallow thickly as thoughts start swirling around in your head. Itâs a mixture of sane, rational thoughts about thanking him for the jacket and dirty, irrational thoughts about putting his hand back where it was before the car stopped here. Even as your mind is formulating a coherent sentence to spit out, you know you should sit here quietly and act like nothing happened. You know so much better than to speak when tensions are running this high, and yetâŚ
           âI did kiss you back.â The words roll off of your tongue so quietly that you fear Bucky might not even have heard them. But when he stops staring out his window and drops his gaze down to where his hands rest in his lap, you know he heard you.
           âYou did.â He says just as quietly, shifting in his seat a bit. You let out a soft sigh and glance over at the empty seat beside you. You know itâll look a bit odd to Sam and Torres when they get back to the car and see you still sitting in the middle of the backseat. Youâre thinking about sliding over and buckling yourself in when movement catches your eye. Buckyâs flesh hand reaches over slowly, and his fingertips take hold of the edge of his jacket just like they did a moment ago, but instead of making sure the fabric covers your thighs, his moves it further down your legs this time. Your breath hitches in your throat as he pushes it down just an inch, revealing the hem of your short dress and the tiniest bit of skin across the tops of your thighs. Goosebumps prickle across your skin, but it has little to do with the fact that youâre still a bit cold. âI put my tongue in your mouth.â He rasps. Youâre frozen in place as he starts tracing the hem of your dress with the tip of his index finger. His words hang in the air, swirling around with the thick tension like a heavy fog early in the morning. Bucky leans in as you stare down at his hand. He leans in until his forehead is nearly touching the side of your face and his lips are ghosting around the shell of your ear. âWould I need an excuse to do it again?â
           As your eyes flutter closed and you suck in a deep breath, Bucky can only think of one thing. He can only think about how fucking perfect it felt to have you kissing him back, to push his tongue past your lips and really taste you for the first time. Of all the times heâs kissed you for undercover missions, it was never like that. He never dared to let his tongue get involved, not until tonight. Now he fears he might be ruined.
           Youâre thinking about the same damn thing. Youâre thinking about how he tasted like honey and citrus and vanilla all jumbled together. Youâre replaying the feeling of him fisting his hand in your hair and pulling you toward him in a way that shouldâve done nothing other than piss you off.
           Neither of you realizes that youâre both glancing toward the apartment building entrance at the same time, both checking to see if Sam and Torres are anywhere nearby. Are you really about to do this? You finally turn your head to face Bucky, and find him already staring at you intensely. His blue eyes reflect the tiniest bit of light from a street lamp in the distance, and you swear you can see something akin to flames dancing around in his gaze. He stares back at you for one, two, three seconds before the tension hanging in the air between you both shatters. In a flash, youâre shoving the leather jacket onto the floor and moving toward Bucky just as heâs grabbing you by the waist and tugging you toward him. Your lips meet before your bodies do and youâre kissing him so desperately that you almost feel a bit of shame. Youâre acting like a horny teenager having her first bit of alone time with a guy on prom night, but as your dress hikes even higher up your hips and Bucky settles you not over his lap, but over his right thigh, every trace of shame disappears. Youâre straddling the toned muscles of his thigh as he curls his fingertips against your scalp and takes a handful of your hair in his fist.
           âYou like when I do this, donât you?â He asks lowly, nipping at your jawline as he pulls on your hair just enough to tilt your head back. A soft whimper escapes you and you grind down on his thigh, feeling just the right amount of friction as the fabric of your panties meets his jeans. He falters for a second and looks down, his grip on your hair loosening as you grind against his leg again. âFuck, donât do that.â He growls, squeezing your hip with his vibranium hand to make sure youâll be still.
           âBut it feels so fucking good.â You whisper, fighting against his vibranium hand and dragging your clothed cunt against his thigh again. A guttural sound crawls up his throat and he pulls you in for a kiss, sliding his tongue past your lips instantly. Thereâs that honey taste again. He doesnât try to stop you this time when you grind down, so you keep doing it over and over again for a few seconds, giving your clit exactly enough friction to elicit a sense of pleasure. If his side of the backseat was bigger, youâd settle yourself over his lap and grind on the bulge that you know is hiding behind the zipper of his jeans, but youâll take what you can get.
           âIs that enough for you?â Bucky asks roughly, the second he pulls away from your lips and glances down at where youâre grinding on his thigh once again.
           âTheyâll be back any minute.â You whisper. You place your hands on his shoulders as you crane your neck to glance back at the apartment building again, ensuring Sam and Torres are still out of sight.
           âSay it isnât enough.â
           âBuckyââ Both of his hands move down your back and he cups your bare ass beneath the fabric of your dress, squeezing hard enough to leave red fingerprints in your skin. He leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your neck before dragging the tip of his tongue up toward your ear and biting down on your earlobe softly. âIt isnât enough.â You moan out as your back arches and your chest presses against his. Bucky lets out a groan before reaching down with one hand and unbuckling his seatbelt. The thin strap moves between your two bodies quickly before clicking against the door, and then Buckyâs wrapping one arm around your lower back and moving to lay you down in the backseat. He hovers over you as your legs spread a bit to accommodate him, and then he sinks down on top of you. Thereâs something about feeling the full weight of a man over you that makes it hard to think rationally. Thatâs why when you feel the outline of his hard cock press against your damp panties, your back arches and his name leaves your lips in such a desperate, sultry moan. Thatâs why you let him grind and rut against you relentlessly for at least thirty seconds, listening to the sounds of his grunts and heavy breaths as he buries his face in your neck and moves his hips rhythmically. Thatâs why you let yourself get so dangerously close to an orgasm that youâre circling your own hips against his. Itâs because youâre not thinking rationally, not one tiny bit.
           You donât hear it, but Bucky does. He hears the distant click as the door to Sharonâs apartment building swings open. He knows he only has a few seconds left before Sam and Torres will be close enough to see the car, so he presses his hips into you one last time, making sure you feel the entirety of his hard length against your clothed cunt before he looks down into your eyes and memorizes the look of pleasure on your face. He kisses you one last time, savoring the taste of your lips and letting his tongue dance with yours for one fleeting moment. Then, heâs pulling himself away from you and grabbing your hands to pull you back into a sitting position beside him. Youâre in a daze as he leans down and scoops his leather jacket up off of the floor. The sound of Sam and Torresâ voices ring out in the distance and you move yourself to the seat Sharon had previously occupied, quickly smoothing out your dress and hair before buckling yourself in. Bucky holds the jacket out to you just as Sam and Torres are nearing the car, and you take it, draping it over your lap carefully.
           Sam and Torresâ incessant small talk is the only sound to be heard as the car carries you all back to the compound. Youâre keeping your legs tightly crossed and your hands folded neatly in your lap as you stare out your window and try to avoid thinking about what just happened. Adrenaline is still surging through your veins, almost cancelling out the alcohol in your system. On top of that, the sexual frustration that you feel from having not finished what you and Bucky so recklessly started in the backseat is giving you a bit of an attitude. You chew on the inside of your cheek as the damp panties trapped between your thighs begin to feel uncomfortable and the gravity of what you just did, what you wouldâve done if Sam and Torres hadnât showed up when they did, begins to set in.  Youâre compromising not just the upcoming mission, but your entire working relationship with a damn good partner. And for what? Not even an orgasm. He didnât even give you that. You have no doubt that he would have if youâd had the time for it. Hell, you were pretty damn close to one with him grinding against you like that and those sounds he was making. Your mind starts to float back into dangerous territory and you bite the inside of your cheek a little harder, nearly drawing blood. You shudder at the sensation of pain, but continue staring out the window, wishing Sam would drive just a little bit faster.
           He could cum right now. Bucky could actually cum in his jeans right now, and itâs been a solid ten minutes since he even looked in your direction. His cock is still painfully hard and fighting against the front of his jeans, threatening to pop the zipper if he doesnât free it soon. He glances around Samâs headrest to see that heâs already doing five over the speed limit. Still, itâs not fast enough. Not when you just did what you did, and youâre sitting only a foot away with Buckyâs scent all over you. Actually, thatâs not even the worst of it. The worst of it all is the fact that you left wet spots on his thigh and over the crotch of his jeans, both of which hold the scent of your arousal. Bucky lets out a heavy sigh and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting the seatbelt over his lap so it wonât restrict his cock any more than it needs to. He catches you turning your head in his direction out of the corner of his eye, but he doesnât dare look back at you. Screwing his eyes shut, he pinches the bridge of his nose with his flesh index finger and thumb as he presses his head back against the headrest. He can survive the last twenty minutes left in this car ride, but as soon as the car pulls up to the tower, heâs getting the fuck out of here.
           Sam, ever the courteous and thoughtful designated driver, let you, Bucky, and Torres all out of the car right at the front entrance to the tower before heading off to park the car in the underground garage. Bucky almost decided to stay in the car and take the ride down to the garage with Sam, just to keep from being stuck in the elevator with you. However, it turns out that Torres is pretty damn good at icing over the fiery tension in a small space. Bucky is leaned against the back wall of the elevator, staring at the leather jacket hanging off of your shoulders as you stand a few feet in front of him. Youâre so close to the metal doors that if you stuck your tongue out, youâd probably be licking them. Torres stands oblivious off to one side, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly as the elevator carries the three of you closer and closer to the main living quarters.
           âHave you two gotten started on the dancing lessons yet?â He asks casually, without looking up from his phone. You say nothing. You stay still, staring at the metal in front of your face as the elevator continues on. Bucky clears his throat lightly and you hear him shift somewhere behind you.
           âTomorrow.â Bucky replies stiffly, offering no more than that single word. You turn your head the tiniest bit to see Torres nod, still looking down at the device in his hands.
           âSaving it for the last minute?â He jokes. Your eyes dart upward and you see that youâre only a few floors away from the living quarters. âFury wants you guys back in the past within the next two days.â You swallow hard at the reminder as an uneasy feeling settles in your gut.
           âThere isnât going to be much to teach.â Buckyâs tone is flat, but still somewhat polite. You see Torres nod in your peripheral vision, and then the elevator is dinging and itâs slowing to a stop. Youâre hurrying out the second the doors begin sliding open. You hear Torresâ phone ring and he mumbles something about taking the call down in the conference room, but youâre already halfway through the main living area. Your heels click against the hard floor as you make your way toward the dark hall, refusing to look back at the super soldier who can only be a few yards behind you.
           âYou donât have to walk so damn fast.â Bucky mutters, watching you storm ahead. Youâre still about ten feet from your door when you slow down and turn on your heel. Now youâre standing there looking at him as he continues walking toward his own door at a normal pace. You stand there and stare at the man you didnât want to look at for another second tonight. Heâs nothing but danger and bad decisions and youâre learning not to trust yourself around him anywhere but in the field.
           âMy feet hurt.â You say matter-of-factly, narrowing your eyes at him. You watch as he comes within a couple of feet of you and turns left to face his door thatâs right across from yours. âI want to take off these heels and this dress and shower and justâŚâ Your voice trails off and you catch Bucky looking over his shoulder at you with a raised brow. âAnd just sleep this off.â You finish, making it clear that youâre talking about whatever it is thatâs between you right now. He turns to face you right as youâre turning your back to him and reaching for your own door handle.
           âSleep it off, huh?â He scoffs, noting that youâre still keeping his leather jacket draped over your shoulders. âWhatever this is, itâll just be gone in the morning?â You keep your hand on the downturned door handle but you pause, not yet pushing the door open fully. You shrug your shoulders and Bucky watches as his jacket moves up and down once around your frame. âKinda hard to forget what happened tonight if you wake up and see my leather jacket beside your bed in the morning.â  You snort out an amused laugh before casting a glare at Bucky over your shoulder.
           âMaybe you should take your jacket back then.â You respond calmly. As youâre facing your door, letting your head turn forward once again, you hear Bucky shuffling behind you slowly. A chill spreads beneath the surface of your skin as he grows closer and closer, until his body heat is enveloping you and his proximity has your hand faltering on the door handle. When he comes to a stop right behind you, so close that one deep breath from you would have your back pressing against his chest, he braces himself against your doorframe. Both of his arms are outstretched, his hands grasping the doorframe on either side of you as he leans in close to your ear, just as heâs done so many times tonight.
           âBut it looks so damn good on you.â He coos, taking a chance to inhale your sweet scent after he speaks. His breath tickles the side of your face as the wetness in your panties suddenly feels a little less uncomfortable and a little more exciting. Youâd like to say your body is beyond your control when you draw in a deep breath and let go of the door handle. When you let your palms glide over the surface of your door and arch your back just enough to push your ass against the front of Buckyâs jeans. Youâre met with the same hard-on he was rubbing all over your clothed cunt in the car just a little while ago and warmth pools low in your stomach. Buckyâs hips lean in, pressing himself against your ass a little harder as his flesh knuckles turn white and his vibranium hand whirs with exertion against the doorframe. He gives you a chance to open the door and disappear for the rest of the night, but when you circle your hips back against him a second time, his hands quickly move down to your hips and he pushes your front into the door firmly. He crowds in behind you, dragging his lips over the skin of your neck as you tilt your head to the side. He makes sure your bodies never part as he kisses down the column of your throat and bites down lightly on your collarbone. You grind your ass into him one more time and his control starts slipping.
           âKeep that up and Iâll fuck you against this goddamn door.â Bucky rasps against your neck, tightening his hold on your hips to keep you from grinding anymore. You wriggle in his grasp, but he only curls his fingers against your dress even more, before dragging his lips back up toward your ear. âYouâll wake up tomorrow wondering why the fuck you canât walk.â
           âIâd blame the heels.â You whisper, surprising yourself at the fact that youâre going along with this. But everything heâs saying, everything heâs doing makes it hard for you to think straight. Bucky lets out a surprisingly gentle, genuine laugh before letting go of your hips and tugging his jacket off of your shoulders. He steps back suddenly, leaving you a bit cold and wanting for his touch. You turn around to watch as he walks over to his own door and pushes it open. âThatâs it? You just walk away after that?â
           âYou canât stand me, remember?â He replies. You can hear his smirk showing through his tone. âShould be easy for you to sleep it off.â
           With that last line, Buckyâs shutting his door and youâre left in the dark hallway alone. You have half a mind to kick his door in and ruin your pretty heels, but the other half of you knows heâs doing the right thing. What did you really want him to do? If youâd invited him in and spent the night with him, you have no doubt that your professional life wouldâve gone to shit before the end of the week. If heâd invited you in, or even worse, fucked you against right there in the hall like heâd said, the outcome wouldâve been the same. You canât mix work and play. You know that all too well. But why is it turning out to be so damn fun to blur the lines with him?          Â
           You take your time peeling off your dress and heels, soaking in a long, hot shower, and then getting ready for bed. By the time youâre flicking off the bathroom lights and pulling back the plush covers on your bed, itâs already a bit past one in the morning and the aching between your legs hasnât ceased. You refuse to indulge your fantasies after having already made yourself orgasm once within the last twenty-four hours at the mere thought of the man across the hall. Twice would be too much, way too much when youâre actively trying to tell yourself that you need to start keeping things strictly professional with him. You choose to lie in bed and scroll through your phone for a bit, but still, Bucky remains at the forefront of your mind.
           Bucky vows not to touch his cock in the shower ever again. Tonight was the last time. As he towels himself dry and avoids looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, heâs surprised at the fact that he doesnât feel so much shame this time. He has a feeling you mightâve even been flattered by just how much cum ended up being washed down the drain after he thought of nothing but you as he stroked himself. Okay, maybe thatâs wishful thinking. But seriously, with the things you did to himâŚwith him tonight, he knows that you wouldnât have kicked his ass for what he had to do in the shower. He has a feeling you mightâve even been tempted to do something like that for yourself after you parted ways.
           One text. Thatâs all you need to send to give yourself a little peace of mind and maybe set things back on the right track with Bucky. Itâs why youâre staring at the typed out message on your phone screen and your thumb is hovering over the send button. Itâs late. Maybe too late to be sending him a text. But you feel like you have to do it. Youâll clear things up now and tomorrow everything will go back to normal, or as normal as things can be before a mission like this. When you hit send, let out a deep breath and let your head fall back on your pillow a bit dramatically.
           When Buckyâs phone vibrates on his nightstand, heâs rolling over and grasping it in one hand almost instantly. Holding it over his face and quickly dimming the brightness of his lock screen, he sees your name at the top of the notification and he narrows his eyes. How many times have you texted him since youâve started working together? Once? Maybe twice? His heart thumps a little harder than it previously had been as he unlocks his phone and reads your message. You donât need any more convincing? His tongue darts out and wets his lips as he sends his overly simple response through.
           Two question marks. Thatâs all you see as you stare at his text. Heaving a sigh, you type out a slightly longer message, making sure youâre abundantly clear. You need to make sure that he knows he doesnât have to keep going with whatever act this is that heâs been putting on the last couple of days. If heâs only been fucking around with you to convince you that youâre the one his 40s self would approach in a bar, he doesnât have to keep doing it. Youâre thoroughly convinced. Itâs only a few seconds after youâve sent your message that you see the little gray typing bubbles pop up on his end of the message window.
           You watch those three little dots with bated breath as your thumbs hover over your phone screen. When his final text comes through, your heart rate nearly doubles and warmth rushes up to color your cheeks a soft shade of pink.
           Shit. You exhale noisily, before clicking your phone off and setting it on your nightstand. Your mind starts rushing back to all of the missions youâve worked together, all of the times you bantered back and forth or argued and yet, every mission was carried out seamlessly. Was the tension between you two something that youâve been misreading up until now? Had you been mistaking it for the type of tension felt between two people who donât really get along, when all of this time it was that kind of thick, suffocating tension that you only find between two people who are oblivious as to how right for each other they really are?
           You wrap yourself up in your bedsheets and let the darkness of your room envelope you. No fucking way. You do not have feelings for James Bucky Barnes. And even more than that, he most definitely does not have feelings for you. Thereâs simply no way.
           When you finally drift off to sleep, what happened in the car on the way back from the bar replays in your dreams on a loop, growing slightly filthier with each rerun. You wake up three hours in with a pillow wedged between your legs and your hips instinctively grinding down into it in search of friction. You wake up a second time just before sunrise and you almost canât take the ache between your legs.
           If you really couldnât stand him, if this was really nothing, you wouldâve been able to sleep it off. And that scares the shit out of you.
           Glimmers of early morning sunlight peek through your curtains, casting your room in a hazy yellow glow. Stretching out your legs beneath the covers, you rub the sleep from your eyes and blink a few times. Your gaze settles on the white ceiling above and you notice a slight twinge of pain behind your eyes as a headache begins to set in.
           The night before replays in your mind, almost like a highlight reel, as you push the covers back and move to sit up on the side of your bed. You see yourself being pulled away from that stranger in the bar, being pulled to Buckyâs chest as he kissed you like you belonged to him and no one else. You squeeze your eyes shut and massage your temples with the middle and index fingers of your right hand. You see Buckyâs hand on your thigh in the car, and then him lying you down in the back seat before crawling on top of you andâŚfuck.
           Tonight had nothing to do with convincing you. His last text to you from just a few hours ago is displayed across a billboard in the forefront of your mind. You rush through pulling on an outfit for the gym, settling on a lazy hairstyle and light makeup to hide the dark circles under your eyes from the poor sleep you got last night. It might be Sunday and you might not have much to do today, but you know good and well that sitting here in your room is only going to send you straight into a spiral of thoughts you donât need to be dwelling on right now.
           You listen carefully through your door, straining to detect any sounds that might let you know someone else is up and about this early. When youâre sure the coast is clear, you make a dash for the elevator and ride it all the way down to the gym.
           Samâs sitting in the conference room with Fury and a very hungover Sharon just a little past eight. Heâd probably be laughing if she didnât look so miserable. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail and the dark circles under her eyes are aging her by about five years. He can tell her head must be throbbing by the way she keeps squinting at the bright lights overhead and glancing over at the light switch across the room. Maybe he shouldâve made an effort to end the fun a little earlier last night, but in his defense, none of you really made an effort to do that. Besides, he had no idea Fury would want to see them first thing on a Sunday morning.
           âWeâll be sending you in tomorrow to bring Peggy Carter up to speed and establish a safehouse for the mission.â Fury explains slowly, eyeing Sharon as he speaks. She nods along, keeping her hands folded in her lap beneath the table. âYouâll have one day to get it done.â
           âIt wonât be a problem.â Sharon affirms confidently, letting her eyes shift between Fury and Sam. âOne day is plenty of time. What stipulations do you have for the safehouse?â
           âAs long as they have a place to sleep and a door to lock at night, I donât care. Whatever Peggy can help you find is going to have to do. Theyâll only be there for two nights.â Fury responds. His phone chimes and he quickly stands up from the table, pushing his chair in gently. He casts Sam and sideways glance as he heads for the door.
           âMaybe donât take her out drinking tonight.â Fury advises, letting out a half-hearted laugh as he reaches for the door handle. âAnd let me know how those dance lessons go later. If those two canât get along long enough to make it through one song, I have half a mind to scrap the whole damn mission.â
           âThey got along pretty well last night.â Sam snorts, remembering the way Bucky kissed you in the bar. Sure, he was the one that encouraged him to do it, but Sam knows for damn certain that it was anything but fake. He wonders for a moment just how complicated this mission might end up being with the two of you being thrust into the past without backup readily available. Youâve always worked well on missions before, but this is so different. This is the kind of mission thatâll make or break a partnership, and heâs very much aware that your partnership is somewhere on a tightrope between being rock solid and completely falling apart at the seams. If he had to place a bet, heâd say neither of you come back from this one the same as when you went in. Somethingâs going to change.
           It doesnât feel real. As you stand on a platform that looks like something straight out of a sci-fi movie, wearing a quantum suit in the darkest shade of black youâve ever seen, you feel a bit like an imposter. It should be Sharon in your position right now. You know she was just in this same spot yesterday, heading back in time to establish a safehouse and make the first contact with Peggy Carter, but still. Who the hell decided that youâre qualified not only to run ops in this century, but to send you back to the last one to run an op as well?
           âHey.â Bucky says quietly, drawing you out of your spiraling thoughts. You turn your head to the right and take in the sight of him as he takes the few steps up onto the platform. He moves to stand directly in front of you, taking in the apprehension written all over your face. You tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear and let out a shaky breath as you meet his gaze. âJust another mission.â He assures you, keeping his voice low so only you can hear it. You nod, but youâre sorely unconvinced. This is not just another mission. You know it and he knows it.
           âIt shouldâve been Sharon.â You mumble, averting your gaze and choosing to watch Bruce, Scott, and Torres as they work seamlessly behind a table of screens and electronic devices. Bucky shakes his head and narrows his eyes at you, but you refuse to look at him again.
           âOkay, let me hit a few main points before we do this.â Bruce says suddenly, clapping his oversized, green hands together as he approaches the edge of the platform. âYou have one roundtrip each, please make every effort to come back from this together. You can come back earlier if you have to but for the love of all things scientific, donât come back later than planned. What feels like five minutes to you might be fifteen years here.â
           âBucky, youâll keep your watch on at all times in the past. Take that thing off and lose it and youâre stuck in the forties, which I get might not be all that unappealing to a man whoâs over a hundred years old, but stillâŚkeep it on.â Scott says pointedly. You glance down at your own time-space GPS device. While Buckyâs does resemble a normal wrist watch, yours was made to look more like an inconspicuous necklace so you could continue wearing it in the forties and still be dressed for the time period. âDonât let anyone take that off of you.â Scott directs his warning at you. You nod curtly, reaching up and running your fingers along the dainty device lightly.
           âTry not to go changing the past.â Bruce takes over again, but heâs backing away from the platform now and moving back toward the table of screens and devices. âStick to the mission. Get in with the Howling Commandos, get what you need from the HYDRA base, and then get the hell out of there on time. Are we all on the same page?â Both you and Bucky nod in unison, and you finally face forward to meet his piercing stare.
           âIt could only be you.â Bucky whispers across the short distance between the two of you. Warmth floods your chest and you barely hear the sound of Bruce beginning to count backwards from twenty.
           âI told you I didnât need any more convincing.â You remind him, matching his low volume. âIâm here, Iâm doing this. I just think Sharon wouldâve been the smarter choice.â Bucky shakes his head at you almost disappointingly as Bruce reaches the ten second mark. You see something flash in Buckyâs eyes, something passionate and intense as you ready yourself to activate the helmet and face mask on your suit. When Bruce calls out eight seconds left, Bucky rushes forward, taking two steps before grasping the sides of your face firmly in his hands.
           His lips are soft and gentle when they meet yours, but in less than a second heâs kissing you like itâs the last time heâll ever get the chance to. It sucks the air right out of your lungs and sets a fluttering sensation off deep in your stomach, but then heâs pulling away and stepping back. You activate your helmets and face masks at the same time, right as Bruce is nearing the end of his count.
           âThree, two, oneâŚâ
           With a flash of light and an unusual feeling that the gravity beneath your feet has just increased by a hundred-fold, youâre being dragged through time and space, hurtling toward a period of time that youâre sure you donât belong in.
            Rain pours down heavily on the roof of the car as Peggy drums her fingertips along the top of the steering wheel. She glances down at the coordinates scrawled on a small scrap of paper for the fifth time, even though she knows sheâs exactly where sheâs supposed to be. She canât help but feel a little on edge. The street light perched above her car gives off just enough light for her to lean over in front of the rearview mirror and reapply her red lipstick one last time. Itâs a bit of a nervous habit really, because itâs not like she has much reason for her makeup to look perfect with the role sheâs about to play. A glorified cab driver. Thatâs what she is tonight. A flash of light in the distance catches her attention, and it isnât lightning. She turns the key in the ignition and watches as her headlights suddenly illuminate the alley ahead.
           She isnât quite sure what she expected the two of you to look like. She shouldâve assumed that Sergeant Barnes would age well, but the fact that heâs barely aged has her raising a brow as she studies him from a distance. She notes the fact that he seems taller and much more muscular than the Sergeant Barnes sheâs come to know through Steve and the Howling Commandos.
           âWelcome to London.â Bucky mutters under his breath, as he raises a hand to shield his eyes from the bright headlights ahead. He squints slightly and catches sight of Peggyâs characteristic red lip and brown curls through the windshield of a dark Morris eight. You cut your eyes to the side and take in the sight of him, with his hair already soaked through and rainwater dripping down the side of his face. Before you have a chance to say anything back, heâs moving to stand behind you and placing a hand against the middle of your back, lightly guiding you toward the car.
           The rain sends a chill racing from your head to your toes as Bucky reaches past you, tugs the front passenger door open and ushers you into the seat. He leans down before closing the door, letting his scent invade your space as he looks past you to Peggy.
           âPeggy Carter.â He says with a soft smile, looking at her as if heâs seeing an old friend after so long apart. Youâre stuck staring at him. Youâve never seen this look on his face before and it lets you see him in a slightly different light.
           âSergeant Barnes.â Peggyâs British accent is almost musical in a way. You finally turn your head and get a good look at her. She looks perfectly put together and polished with her bright red lipstick, styled hair, and navy blue pantsuit. âIf youâd like to hop in and allow your partner here to close her door, we just might make it to your safehouse before youâre both thoroughly soaked.â A laugh slips past Buckyâs lips, but he listens to her and steps away from the door, closing it for you gently. Once heâs settled in the backseat, Peggy shoots a sideways smile in your direction before putting the car into reverse. âDoes he always listen that well?â
           âNot at all.â You respond honestly.
           Peggy guides the car backwards out of the alley and onto the very sleepy, rainy streets of London. Itâs an odd feeling to be in such a major city but see so little traffic or nightlife. Youâre taking everything in with widened eyes, noting all of the little differences between the forties and the time period that you come from. Buckyâs soaking it in as well, but instead of exciting him, it relaxes him. He sinks into the backseat and lets out a deep breath, watching as the old buildings and signs roll past his window. He almost feels at home here.
           The drive to the safehouse on the outskirts of the city doesnât take anywhere near as long as it wouldâve taken in the modern world. When Peggy turns into the long driveway of one of Howard Starkâs many homes, youâre starting to feel the effects of time travel. Your head feels a little fuzzy and you have a sensation almost similar to that of motion sickness. Peggy says something about the house being a bit small for two people, mentioning it being one of Starkâs occasional residences for when he travels alone.
           âEverything you need will be inside. Clothes, food, a few choice weapons for the mission at hand. Please let me know if I missed anything, but I think I was rather thorough.â Peggy says cordially as she leads the way up the paved driveway toward the front door. You take a few steps away from the car but stop short, scrunching your eyes shut as a heavy wave of nausea hits. Buckyâs behind you in an instant, letting his palm press against your lower back as he stands at your side and leans over to look at your face.
           âWhatâs going on?â He asks in a hushed tone with concern lacing his words.
           âIâm good, itâs just the time travel thing.â Bruce made you both read an obscene amount of research on the potential physiological effects of time travel, but assured you that you probably wouldnât experience any of them. Yet, here you are, experiencing a bout of time sickness before youâve even made it into the safehouse. Bucky scrutinizes your expression, searching your eyes for any sign that youâre downplaying whateverâs going on with you. You wave a dismissive hand at him as rain begins to come down a little heavier.
           âAre you two coming?â Peggy asks from the door up ahead, looking at you both with a raised brow. Bucky turns his head for a second to glance at her, but quickly looks back at you as his hand falls away from your back. He watches you carefully as you put on an unbothered expression and take a couple of steps forward. Shit. The nausea increases ten-fold and suddenly youâre rushing over to the edge of the driveway and leaning over with your hands on the knees of your quantum suit, losing the contents of your stomach all in one go. Buckyâs beside you within a second, gathering your hair up in both of his hands and holding it back behind your shoulders.
           âDonât say it.â Bucky warns as you turn your head to look up at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
           âIt shouldâve been Sharon.â You groan, straightening up and tugging your hair away from his grasp. He shakes his head at you and you can already see an argument gearing up in his head, so you brush past him, feeling significantly better now that youâre completely empty.
           Peggy canât seem to stop herself from reading into the way you and Bucky interact. When she met Sharon just yesterday, it was made abundantly clear that you and Sergeant Barnes are partners but donât always play nice with each other. From what sheâs seeing now, Bucky wants nothing more than to play nice with you. She has to wonder if the bickering and constant tension that Sharon talked about is a façade, a thick wool blanket over whatâs really at the core of your partnership.
           You feel fine just long enough to run your fingertips over the green and cream floral wallpaper that covers the kitchen walls and admire the pristine white oven that anyoneâs great grandmother would love. But the moment you turn your attention to the living area just a few steps outside of the kitchen, a fresh wave of nausea begins taking up residence in the pit of your stomach and you breathe in deeply through your nose. Bucky watches you apprehensively from the foyer, waiting to see what youâll do. He can tell you feel miserable. He can tell you want to get a good look at the safehouse and settle yourself in, but youâre looking a little green and fatigued as you move toward a large dark green couch in the living room.
           You sink into the couch and let your head fall back against the cushion behind you. As you reach up and wrap your fingers around your necklace, your quantum suit deactivates and youâre left in leggings and a black pull-over. Bucky glances around the house, noting the short hallway that leads to the master bedroom and what looks to be French doors leading to a study off to one side. He takes a few steps forward until heâs moving around the couch, and then seats himself in a dainty looking floral-patterned lounge chair thatâs angled toward you across from a coffee table.
           âIs this really just a time travel thing?â Bucky finally speaks. Your eyes flutter open and you take in the sight of him in that lounge chair. If you didnât feel so shitty you might laugh at how out of place he looks in such a pretty little chair.
           âWhat else would it be?â You ask. Bucky watches closely as you run your fingers through your damp hair and stare right back at him. He narrows his eyes at you and cocks his head to the side and you immediately know what heâs thinking. What is it with men always thinking that a woman is pregnant if she pukes? You just fucking time traveled and he still feels the need to rule it out?
           âIâm not pregnant.â You sigh, letting your eyes fall closed again as you kick your shoes off and draw your knees up toward your chest. âI canât be.â
           âCanât be?â
           âI havenât done the thing that you need to do in order to be pregnant in a long time.â Bucky finds relief in your words. He didnât really think you were pregnant, but he sure as hell likes knowing that you havenât slept with anyone recently. He leans back in his chair and lets his gaze float around the comfortable space. The homey kitchen makes him think of his mom. The wooden floor boards make him think of how carefully heâd have to tiptoe around his childhood home to keep from letting his parents know that he was awake past his bedtime. The slight chill in the air guides his eyes over to the fireplace that spreads across one wall of the living room. If it gets any colder heâll have to start a fire.
           âI kissed you.â He says evenly, turning his head back to you. You open your eyes and give him a hard stare, trying to read his indecipherable expression as his blue eyes zero in on your face.
           âYeah, you keep doing that.â Your nausea worsens and you draw your knees up even tighter against your chest before dropping your head down to rest on them. Bucky pushes himself out of his chair and heads for the kitchen. You listen as he opens and closes a few drawers, rummaging around for something. A few seconds later you hear the kitchen sink running and then it cuts off. Bucky stands there, wringing out a wet cloth as he purses his lips.
           âYou havenât stopped me.â He points out. He turns on his heel and carries the wet cloth in your direction. When you feel his weight sink into the couch cushion beside you, you lift your head from your knees and find yourself face to face with him. He lifts the wet cloth to the side of your neck and dabs at it gently, watching as your eyes close and you take a deep breath in.
           âIâll make sure it doesnât happen again.â Sarcasm drips from every word. Bucky slides the cloth to the back of your neck and holds it there for a moment.
           âHeâs going to try to kiss you tomorrow.â Bucky seems almost annoyed with his own statement and you steal a sideways glance at him as he moves the wet cloth to your forehead. He seems to almost resent the way his younger self behaved.
           âHe moves that fast?â Bucky nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he contemplates how much to tell you.
           âYouâll meet and heâll ask you to dance. Youâll dance and heâll ask if you want to leave the bar. Heâll take you out into the city, try to show you a good time.â Bucky slides the wet cloth down the side of your face until itâs right below your chin. You look into his eyes, watching as his gaze darts down to your lips for the most fleeting moment. âHe moves fast.â
           âI can handle it.â You assure him, but your words come out a lot quieter than you intended. Bucky pulls his hand and the cloth away from your chin and dabs your neck with it again.
           âI know.â
           âThen why does it seem like youâre worried?â Bucky shrugs his shoulders as he focuses in on the skin of your neck. Heâs staring at the spot he once marked with his own lips, dragging the cool cloth over it slowly.
           âI donât like the thought of him touching you.â
           âBuckyâŚâ Your stomach churns violently and youâre rushing off of the couch at lightning speed. Your feet carry you down the hall, into the master bedroom, and into the bathroom quickly. Youâre lucky you make it in time to drop to your knees in front of the toilet before the last remnants inside of you start to come out. You hear Bucky step into the bathroom only a second later and heâs tugging your hair back just like he did in the driveway earlier. âDonât say shit like that.â You groan, grasping the wet cloth that Buckyâs holding out beside your head. You wipe at your lips and reach up to flush the toilet as you stay in place, not trusting that your gut is finished betraying you.
           âLike what?â
           âYou shouldnât care if someone else touches me. Weâre partners. We canât keep blurring the lines like this.â You explain. Buckyâs hands stay firmly in your hair as he waits to see if youâll get sick a third time.
           âThe lines have been blurred for a long time.â
           âDoesnât mean we should keep blurring them.â You assert. Though you donât peer over your shoulder to look at Bucky, you can sense the look of frustration thatâs written all over his face. He lets out a weighted sigh before moving away from you and reaching over to turn on the shower. As the sound of running water fills the room, you gauge the heaviness in your stomach and decide that you definitely feel better. You remember Bruceâs little pamphlets saying that the first hour after moving through timelines is when you experience the most side effects, and youâre nearing the forty-five-minute mark now. You lean away from the toilet and drop the lid down before pushing yourself up to stand. Though you feel a tiny bit wobbly on your feet, the nausea is mostly gone and the steam from the shower is making you feel a little less chilly.
           âIâll go grab you some clothes.â Bucky says quietly as he brushes past you and heads back into the bedroom. You take the free moment to search the contents of the bathroom drawers until you find a new toothbrush and some toothpaste. Bucky comes back in when youâre brushing your teeth in front of the fogged-up mirror. âI get the feeling you arenât going to wear these.â He says with a smirk, dropping a deep red set of folded pajamas beside the sink. You give him a wary side-eye, tucking the toothbrush into the side of your cheek before reaching for the pile of fabric. As soon as you unfold the top, you realize itâs a long sleeve button down shirt with matching pants. It looks like the kind of pajamas you see families wear on Christmas day in lifestyle magazines. Shaking your head, you fold the top and set it back on the countertop. Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe as you bend over the sink and spit out a mouthful of water and toothpaste.
           âThatâs all there is?â You rinse off the toothbrush and set it along the side of the sink before reaching down and gripping the bottom of your shirt. You already have it pulled over your head by the time you realize what youâre doing. Bucky stands frozen in the doorway, staring at you with narrowed eyes as you drop the shirt to the floor at your feet. He tilts his head to the side, never letting his eyes stray from your face even as you stand before him in a bra.
           âHow is this not blurring the lines?â He questions, jutting his chin out at you. You narrow your eyes back at him and cross your arms over your chest, matching his stance. Thereâs a palpable heat in the air, and itâs not just from the steamy shower. As you and Bucky stand there staring each other down, each of you refusing to break first, tensions soar and you find yourself itching to push him out of the bathroom and shut the door. He can see the idea forming in your head so he speaks up before you actually have a chance to go through with it. âThere was a floor-length nightgown if youâd rather wear that.â He says with another signature smirk. You shake your head firmly.
           âWere t-shirts not a thing in the forties?â
           âYouâre going to wear a t-shirt when thereâs only one bed?â Bucky asks, raising a brow. A genuine laugh erupts from your chest as you uncross your arms and run your fingers through your damp hair.
           âThe bedâs all yours, Bucky.â You say, raising your hands up in a gesture that makes it clear you donât want the bed for yourself. âIâm taking the couch.â Bucky scoffs as he reaches over for the folded pajamas beside the sink. As he steps out of the bathroom, he gives you a look you canât quite read. Itâs something between longing and frustration and it makes your cheeks feel warm. He pulls the door shut behind him, leaving you alone in the steamy bathroom. As you strip your clothes off and step under the stream of water, so many things are stuck in your head. The way Bucky rushed over and held your hair back not only the first time you puked, but the second time as well. He cares. You know he cares. He cares and it scares the shit out of you. The way he pressed a wet cloth to your neck and sat with you on the couch, even if he was using the moment to warn you about his younger self and reveal a little hint of how he feels about you. I donât like the thought of him touching you. Buckyâs confession may not have surprised you, but it wasnât what you were expecting him to say. What did he think was going to happen when he insisted you be a part of this mission? He couldâve let Sharon handle it and he never wouldâve had to deal with the jealousy or possessiveness or whatever it is thatâs coursing through him right now. But no, it had to be you. It could only be you. As you scrub a sweet-smelling soap into your skin, your mind wanders back to that moment on the platform earlier today. He kissed you. He kissed you in front of some of your coworkers without a care in the world. The lines are so fucking blurred that you wonder if he even knows where they are anymore, or if he cares. You look down as soapy suds circle around the drain near your feet. Do you know where they are? Do you care?
           Bucky rummages around in the bedroom until he finds a plain white t-shirt that heâs sure Peggy meant to be for him. It looks like itâll probably be a bit oversized on you, so he tosses it onto the bed and stands still for a moment, listening to the sound of the shower running through the wall. He knows you feel the same thing he feels. Every time heâs kissed you, heâs reminded that you feel it. Do you try to deny it because you donât want to feel it? Sometimes he just wants to grab you and ask what it is that keeps you from being real with him.
           Bucky shakes his head, trying his best to clear all thoughts of you from his mind, before tugging his shirt over his head and dropping it on the bed. He leaves his tactical pants on as he moves through the house, searching for an extra pillow and blanket. He sure as hell isnât going to let you take the couch, especially not a couch made eighty years before the couches youâre used to sitting on. Youâll wake up in the morning with a stiff neck and aching back. Heâll take the couch and leave you the bed.
           Itâs just a few minutes later that youâre stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped tightly in a towel as you pad across the bedroom floor quietly. You glance around but see no sign of Bucky. Eyeing the crisp white t-shirt on the bed, you can tell he left it for you. You run your fingers over it while clutching the towel around your chest with one hand.
           âIs that what you wanted?â Buckyâs voice is low and gravelly as he speaks from the bedroom doorway behind you. Clutching the towel a little tighter, you turn to face him with the white shirt fisted in one hand. Your eyes roam over the expanse of his bare chest, coasting down to the ripples of his abs and the v-line that so prominently drags your gaze even further down to the front of his tactical pants. He smirks at the way youâre ogling him, but he doesnât mention it. When you finally tear your eyes away from him, the dresser beside the doorway catches your eye. You move closer to it and rummage around in one of the top drawers until you find a pair of simple black panties. Buckyâs eyes follow your movements carefully. He leans against the doorframe just like he did in the bathroom earlier, keeping his gaze trained on your face as you lean over and guide the panties up your legs beneath the towel. Youâre just careful enough to make sure not to flash Bucky, but you wonder if his eyes would even stray from your face if you flashed him.
           âItâs fine.â You say, referring to the t-shirt. âAre you gonna shower?â You ask, trying to keep your gaze from drifting down his torso again. You turn away from the dresser and head back for the foot of the bed, dropping the shirt onto the mattress before peeling the towel away from your body.
           Bucky stiffens in the doorway as you let your towel fall to your feet. Heâs never seen you this way. As you stand there with your back exposed, wearing nothing but a pair of black panties, he has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from saying something stupid. Whoâs blurring the lines now? He wants to point out your hypocrisy, to make it blatantly obvious, but he stays quiet as you tug the t-shirt over your head and slide your arms through the short sleeves.
           âDid you want to keep staring or were you going to shower?â Your voice rings out playfully as you cut your eyes at Bucky over your shoulder. He tamps down a groan at the way you look at him through your lashes, but then heâs moving toward the bathroom door.
           âIf I find you on the couch when I get out, Iâm moving you myself.â He threatens, not daring to steal another look at you as he nears the bathroom.
           âI already called it.â You shrug, bending over to scoop your damp towel off the floor.      Â
           âTake the bed, unless you want me joining you on that damn couch and blurring the lines even more.â
           As you settle into the bed, letting go of your signature stubborn nature for the time being, Buckyâs all you can think about. Itâs not the fact that he looked undeniably attractive standing there in the doorway without a shirt on. Itâs not the fact that he insisted you take the bed and leave him with the surely uncomfortable couch. Itâs every little thing heâs said and done in between that has your heart racing and your mind reeling. What if, just this once, you let yourself explore the tension? What if instead of waiting for the tension to snap like a twig, instead of waiting for him to lay you down in the backseat of someone elseâs car in the heat of the moment, you took the initiative and tried to figure out what the hell this is between the two of you? He was right when he said that the lines have been blurred for a long time. Maybe instead of trying to tiptoe around and avoid blurring them, you should just shift them. Shift the lines and see if things end up crashing down in flames. If everything goes horribly, itâs not like you had anything to lose. But if things go well? A shiver runs down your spine and you tuck yourself in underneath the covers of the oversized bed. You sink into the pillow behind your head and let your eyes fall closed as you imagine a moment where your field partner becomes something more. You imagine a moment where all the stolen kisses and touches lately stop being so stolen, and instead are given and taken freely. You imagine what it might feel like to stop running and fighting against this thing that you feel so strongly. Warmth spreads through your body and you relax against the mattress.
           When Bucky steps out of the bathroom a few minutes later and catches sight of you curled up in bed with your eyes closed and the covers pulled up to your shoulders, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. He really thought youâd try to tough it out and sleep on the couch. He stands in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom, fiddling with the dog tags around his neck and wondering if he should look for some pajamas of his own instead of crashing on the couch in just a pair of black boxers. When he glances over at you again and sees the peaceful look on your face, he canât bring himself to go digging through the dresser or closet and risk waking you. Though itâs chilly in the house, he could make it through the night just fine by starting a fire in the living room fireplace and using the spare blanket he set out on the couch while you showered. As he starts moving forward, his dog tags clink against his bare chest and the wooden floor creaks under his feet on the second step. He stills and holds his breath, not even moving to look over his shoulder and see if heâs woken you with those little sounds. After waiting a second, takes another cautious step forward and the floor creaks a little louder. Fuck it. He makes it to the door quickly, with only a few more creaks of wood beneath his feet, but as he exits the doorway into the hall, he hears you stir behind him.
           âBucky?â Your soft sleepy voice stops him in his tracks. He exhales deeply, feeling a bit guilty about waking you but loving the way you sound when youâve just woken up. He turns around in the doorway and faces you. Youâre propped up on one elbow, squinting at him through the dark room.
           âIf I knew the floors were so loud I wouldâve just slept in the shower.â He says halfheartedly, speaking quietly to match the sleepy mood of the house.
           âI wasnât really asleep.â You whisper back. Your eyes follow the curve of his vibranium arm down until youâre studying the black and gold fingertips that hang at his side. Bucky raises a brow at you.
           âYou were asleep.â He murmurs, cocking his head to the right. He glances over at the empty side of the bed, noting how little space you take up even when you have your legs stretched out.
           âI was just thinking.â
           âAbout what?â Bucky wonders aloud. He takes a step forward and leans against the doorframe like heâs done multiple times tonight. He crosses his arms over his chest as you let your head fall away from your hand and lay back on your pillow again. You stare up at the ceiling as nervousness begins to swell up in your chest. You bite down on your bottom lip and screw your eyes shut, holding your breath for a second before deciding to speak again.
           âBlurring the lines.â As you lay there in the dark, refusing to prop yourself back up to look at Bucky, your heart starts beating wildly against your ribcage. Heâs silent for a second too long and it has you regretting opening your mouth. When you hear the wood floor creak, you force yourself to open your eyes. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you see Bucky moving toward the bed slowly. His dog tags swing with each step, clanging against his chest a couple of times before he reaches your side of the bed. You watch with bated breath as he nudges your legs through the covers. Getting the hint, you sit up and pull your legs in closer, drawing your knees to your chest. Bucky sits down on the side of the bed but keeps his face cast downward at the floor.
           âThat night you tried to sleep it offâŚâ His voice trails off as he leans over and rests his elbows on his knees. He looks down at his hands as he presses his palms together. âDid it work?â You swallow hard but donât hesitate to shake your head. You know he catches the act in his peripheral vision, so you donât say a word. Bucky nods slowly, studying his hands as if heâs memorizing every detail of them. Your eyes drift to his shoulders as he takes steady, even breaths. They rise and fall rhythmically as moonlight from the window across the room filters in through the curtains and highlights them.
           Bucky wants to say more, to ask you more. He can tell that youâre open to talking right now, probably more open than youâve ever been before, but he has this sinking feeling that youâll say something thatâll break him. He doesnât know if he can handle hearing you say out loud just how one-sided you think this thing between you really is. Even though heâs sure itâs not actually one-sided, hearing you say that it is might really break him. He wonât give you the chance to do that yet. He wants to hold out hope a little longer. So, Bucky rises from the side of the bed and exhales deeply. When he turns to head for the door again, intent on settling into that stiff green couch in the living room for the night, every sensory receptor in his body fires at once at the feeling of your hand reaching out and grasping his flesh one. He drops his gaze quickly and sees exactly what he feels: your palm sliding against his and your fingers intertwining with his softly. His throat feels dry and every thought leaves his mind as you tighten your grasp and tug on his hand slightly.
           âLay with me.â You whisper. Your tone is so meek that he can tell exactly whatâs going through your mind right now. Youâre afraid heâll say no. Youâre afraid that heâll reject you and continue on to sleep on the couch, leaving you here alone, feeling vulnerable and stunted. The tone of your whisper puts the tiniest crack in his hard exterior.
           Buckyâs silent as you drop his hand and scoot closer to the middle of the bed, pulling back the covers for him. He moves slow as he settles into the warm spot youâd been occupying, inhaling your sweet scent as he pulls the covers over his body and rolls onto his side to face you. Youâre just a few inches away, lying on your folded arm since he moved the second pillow to the couch earlier. He could get up and go grab the pillow. Heâd only be gone for a few seconds. But he fears the moment he leaves your sight, youâll change your mind about having him here and heâll have ruined everything. Thatâs why he tugs the pillow out from under his head and moves it toward you, watching with a softened gaze as you accept it and slide it beneath your own head.
           Youâre falling asleep right in front of his eyes a few minutes later, when suddenly your eyes flutter open and you reach out for him beneath the covers. Your warm palm lands on his side, skating around to his back before you pull him toward you. He moves in carefully, apprehensively, until his chest is nearly pressed against yours. He watches as you drag the pillow until itâs in the shared space between you and both of your heads fall to rest on it evenly. With Buckyâs body heat keeping you warm and the light patter of rain on the bedroom window lulling you to sleep, your eyes are closed only a few minutes later and Bucky finds himself missing the heat of your stare until he too drifts off into an unusually peaceful slumber.
           You awake in a tangle of limbs with lightning flashing through the curtains and illuminating the room with a ghostly glow.  Everything looks a little scarier in an antique house at three in the morning. Thunder rumbles loudly just above the house, shaking the roof and rattling the glass window. As you fully come to your senses, you figure out just where your limbs are in relation to Buckyâs and your heart rate picks up quickly. Heâs asleep directly in front of you, with his face looking more relaxed than youâve ever seen it. But his legs and armsâŚ
           A shaky breath flows out through your nose as you close your eyes and try not to move. Bucky has one thigh wedged snugly between yours and an arm thrown lazily over your waist. You can tell that your t-shirt has ridden up above your hips and ass, with his forearm resting against the hem of it on your waist. Blurred lines. So fucking blurred.
           You close your eyes tightly as a loud crack of thunder reverberates through the house. Buckyâs instantly awoken as the thunder rolls and you tense up against him. He focuses on your face, on your tightly closed eyes and the way youâre holding your breath. He moves the arm thatâs draped over your waist slowly until his hand is ghosting over your hip. His fingertips just barely graze the hem of your t-shirt as thunder sounds again. You look into his eyes right as you move your left hand to clamp down over his, forcing his palm to press flat against your hip and his fingers to curl against your skin. As you stare into each otherâs eyes and the storm rages on just outside, the tension rising between you feels just like it did in the car outside of Sharonâs apartment that night.
           âI donât want to keep blurring the lines.â Bucky rasps as he squeezes your hip once. Your eyes trail down to his lips as he speaks only inches from your face. He leans in slowly until heâs so close that one little shift of your head would have you kissing him. He lets the tip of his nose brush against yours gently before moving down and pressing his lips to your jawline. He leaves kisses in a row all the way back to your ear, moving at a torturously slow pace until heâs nipping at your neck in that way that always drives you crazy.
           âThen what do you want?â You ask breathlessly. Bucky pushes the knee thatâs trapped between your legs upward until heâs applying the tiniest bit of pressure against your clothed cunt. A soft moan escapes your lips as you squeeze your thighs around his and focus on the feel of skin against skin.
           âI want to cross them.â He whispers against your neck. You tilt your head back to give him more access as his tongue swirls against the column of your throat. âI want to lay you down on the line and justâŚâ Bucky tugs the neck of your shirt to the side and bites down on your collarbone lightly. âFuck you on it.â
           âBuckyâŚâ His name is a whimper that floats from your lips and fills the space around you both. Moving his hand back down to your hip, Bucky curls his fingertips into it and pulls you down, making your grind against the firm muscle of his thigh. This time a sultry moan slips out and your back arches slightly, causing your chest to press against his.
           âHow am I supposed to keep my hands off of you when you say my name like that?â Wetness pools between your thighs and begins to dampen the fabric of your panties as he pushes his thigh upward again, at the same time that he pulls your hip down and applies pressure to your clit just right. You know you should have better sense than to lay here and let him do unspeakable things to you. You should remind him that youâre partners, that youâd be risking things professionally if you let things go on this way. You should remind him that youâre technically on a mission right now, but his name just falls from your lips again. Youâre actively emptying your mind of any thought that would have you push him away when he attaches his lips to your neck again and pulls you in against his chest. You try to push his shoulders and force him onto his back so you can move on top of him, but he fights against you, rolling on top of you instead. He pins your arms down on either side of your head and lets his nose brush against yours a second time. He lowers his hips down slowly as your legs spread on their own accord, giving him the space to press his clothed erection against your wet panties.
           âHow do we keep ending up like this?â You whisper against his lips, staring up into his blue eyes as your question hangs in the air. Bucky presses his lips to yours in a short, shallow kiss. âI keep telling myself this canât happen and we keep ending up here.â
           âLet me have you.â He begs, dropping his forehead to yours. You look at him through your lashes as your breath hitches in your throat. âLet me have you just this once.â
           âJust this once? Thatâs all youâre asking for?â The words come out airy and light as you struggle to take in a full breath. Bucky grinds against you, circling his hips slowly while he keeps your arms pinned to the mattress.
           âIâd ask you for a lifetime if I didnât think it would scare the shit out of you.â Goosebumps prickle across your skin and you bite down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
           âWe canât fuck.â You say decidedly. The surety of your voice surprises you, with how malleable you feel having Bucky grind against you like this. You fear that if he really asked you for something specific, youâd say yes in a heartbeat. He circles his hips into yours impossibly harder and shakes his head above you.
           âI wasnât asking if I could fuck you.â Bucky takes in the confused look on your face and he canât help but to lean in and kiss you. He envisions what he really wants to do to you. He pictures the way he wants to push your legs apart and eat you out like your pussy is his last meal. Then he kisses you like thatâs exactly what heâs doing. His tongue delves into your mouth relentlessly, leaving you gasping for air when he finally pulls back. He lets go of your forearms and pushes the covers away from his back as he shimmies down. He kisses your neck, then your chest through the t-shirt. He leaves soft, gentle kisses all the way down until heâs settling himself between your legs and pressing his lips against the waistband of your panties. You look down at him through your lashes, wanting nothing more than to tangle your fingers in his hair and pull his face closer to where you need it. âI was asking if I could taste you.â
           âYou say you want to lay me down on the metaphorical line and fuck me, and then you get between my legs and ask if you can just taste me?â
           âIâm not fucking you until I know I can do it without you running off and pretending like it meant nothing to you.â He plants an open-mouthed kiss right over your clothed clit. The warmth of his tongue seeps through the fabric, sending a jolt of pleasure dancing up your spine and a knot tightening low in your stomach. âWhen I fuck you, youâre not going to get all in your head about how you shouldnât have let it happen. Youâre not going to have regrets and feel like we ruined everything we had.â Bucky hooks a finger in your panties and gently pulls them to the side, but he never looks down. He maintains eye contact as he starts pressing the pad of his thumb against your now exposed clit. Him finding your clit instantly without even looking, without having your anatomy perfectly memorized, almost ruins you. âWhen I fuck you, youâre going to realize that you were just delaying the inevitable.â
           âYou keep saying when.â You point out between heavy pants. You canât resist the urge to tangle your fingers in his hair any longer, not when heâs toying with your clit this way and looking at you so intensely. You reach down with both hands, carding your fingers through his hair and tugging on it lightly.
           âInevitable, sweetheart. Tell me what that word means.â He finally lets his eyes angle downward and settle on your wet cunt. You watch as his pupils dilate and his tongue darts out to dampen his lips as he admires you from just a couple of inches away. He starts circling your clit with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to have your back arching off of the bed and your fingers curling in his brown hair. Bucky inches closer to your pussy and you feel his tongue press against your entrance firmly, before heâs dragging it upwards and using it to replace his thumb. He pulls back abruptly, leaving you whining out in frustration. âIf somethingâs inevitable, itâs certain. Itâs unavoidable, it was bound to happen.â His warm breath fans over your pussy as he speaks in a low voice. Bucky sucks on your clit roughly before pulling back again. âWhen I fuck you, when the inevitable happens, you wonât be able to pretend like thereâs nothing between us anymore.â
           Youâre torn between wanting to argue with him and wanting to clamp your thighs around his head and grind against his tongue. Bucky smirks up at you and you tug on his hair a little harder out of spite.
           âItâs already happening, isnât it?â He asks just before flattening his tongue against your clit and letting your circle your hips against him. Your eyes flutter closed as that knot in your stomach tightens more and more. âItâs getting harder to pretend.â
           âFuck you.â You moan out the insult, but itâs useless as he slides down and pushes his tongue inside of you. His thumb takes over stimulating your clit once again as he starts eating you out like heâs dreamt of doing it since heâs known you. His tongue works you up higher and higher, closer and closer to the edge of the cliff as a sweat breaks out across your forehead and you struggle to keep your ass on the bed.
           âYouâre getting close.â He groans against you. You whimper as he drags his thumb away from your clit and switches to rubbing it with his middle and ring fingers. He moves slow now, sliding those fingertips away from your clit and toward your entrance.
           âBuckyâŚâ You say his name in warning. You know what heâs about to do. He plunges both fingers into you, stopping when theyâre halfway in and your back is arched inches off of the bed. Your fingertips scrape against his scalp as you hold in a moan that wouldâve been damn near pornographic if youâd let it out. Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh before dragging his fingers out and then pushing them back in all the way. As he holds them inside of you knuckle-deep, you cry out loudly. Itâs been so long since youâve let anyone do something like this to you and he isnât giving you much time to adjust, but god, it feels so fucking good.
           âBreathe, baby.â He says as he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. He starts fucking you with his fingers slowly, almost gently. In and out they go, first just halfway each time, but then he starts thrusting them deeper and going a little faster with it. âI wouldâve gone a little easier on you if you hadnât held in that pretty little sound.â
           âJustâŚfuck, Bucky.â You moan, hooking your legs over his shoulders as a loud crack of thunder sends the window rattling again. âIâm close.â
           âTrust me, I know.â He groans, pressing a sloppier kiss to the inside of your thigh as he curls his fingers inside of you. You cry out again, but this time your hands leave his hair and go to grip the sheets on either side of your head. âAre you going to imagine youâre cumming on my cock when this orgasm hits?â
           âNo.â You say defiantly, shaking your head as he curls his fingers again. He laughs darkly, clearly calling your bluff.
           âYou know you squeeze the hell out of my fingers when you lie?â
           âI do not.â
           âThatâs it, baby.â Bucky coos. He positions himself to attach his lips to your clit as he continues his ministrations with his hand. âKeep tightening around my fingers until you fucking cum.â
           Some part of you wants to keep defying him. You want to be stubborn and refuse to give him this piece of you, refuse to give him one of your orgasms. It feels like if you let go and give it to him, youâre going to tumble right over the edge of a cliff and into the unknown. But why does it feel so damn good as you stand on the edge of that cliff? When you stop resisting and let your orgasm wash over you, when Bucky watches as your face contorts with bliss and your knuckles turn white against the bed sheets, heâs just as far gone as you are. Youâre cumming around his fingers while he laps at your clit, and heâs cumming in his boxers without even having realized just how close he was to doing it.
           Thereâs an odd feeling brewing in his chest as he puts your panties back in place and collapses beside you in bed. He canât quite figure out what it is. When you catch your breath and look over at him, taking in the sight of Bucky Barnes with your arousal painted over his lips and chin, you feel your heart skip a beat. Bucky looks back at you, but he only gets a second to see your dilated pupils and flushed cheeks before youâre leaning in and swiping your tongue across his bottom lip.
           As your lips move against his in a gentle, familiar way, his lungs burn and his heart is pounding in his ears. Because he knows what this is. He knows what that unusual feeling in his chest really is. Love. Heâs in love with the girl who lives to ignore her feelings.
           Youâre in too deep. You canât even try to reason with yourself. As you lie in a tangle of sheets, listening to the mixed water sounds of Bucky showering and rain falling lightly just outside the bedroom window, you feel utterly fucked. And not just because Bucky fucked you with his mouth last night. You let out a frustrated groan before rolling onto your back and fisting your hands in your messy hair. You canât tell yourself to be professional because youâre so far past professional now that itâd be insulting to you both if you tried to revert. You canât tell yourself to stop crossing lines with him because you know just how good it feels every time you do it. Bucky was onto something last night when he asked you if it was getting harder for you to pretend that thereâs nothing between the two of you.
           Your eyes float over to the partially closed bathroom door and you watch for a moment as steam floats through the space between it and the doorframe. Is it steam from the hot shower or is it just radiating off of the man that said your pussy gets tighter when you lie? Blush creeps into your cheeks at the memory of him saying such a filthy thing while his fingers were inside of you.
           Bucky tenses up in the shower when he hears the bathroom door creak open the tiniest bit. When your bare feet lightly tap along the cold floor and he hears them stop in front of the sink, a small smile plays on his lips.
           âYouâre not coming in?â Buckyâs smirk is evident in his tone and youâre biting on the inside of your cheek as you reach for your toothbrush.
           âYou remember me saying we canât fuck, right?â You ask, though even as you say it, it feels like a weak statement.
           âDo you remember me saying itâs inevitable?â He retorts playfully. You should tell him to fuck off, but you only find yourself tempted to actually join him in the shower. As you spread a bit of toothpaste along the bristles of your toothbrush, you shake your head to yourself.
           âIâm brushing my teeth in the kitchen.â
           âThatâs fine.â Bucky replies nonchalantly, seemingly unfazed by your slight rejection. He spends the next ten minutes lathering and rinsing for the second time in less than twelve hours. He isnât normally someone who takes a shower both in the morning and at night, but after he came in his boxers last night, he fell asleep next to you and didnât take the time to clean himself up. He woke up feeling like heâd had a wet dream.
           Peggy sits on the foot of the bed, waiting patiently as you try on a third dress.
           âAre you alright in there?â Peggy calls out politely, uncrossing her legs and readying to rise from the bed if need be. You laugh softly from inside the walk-in closet before pulling the door open and revealing the deep blue dress she picked for you to try a few minutes ago. It has cap sleeves, a high neckline, and an A-line style skirt.  âI think that one looks wonderful on you, donât you like it?â She asks, pushing herself up and coming to stand in front of you. She catches the pinched look on your face before youâve even formulated a response. You didnât quite like the first two dresses either, and at this point there are only a handful left to try. She has to wonder if maybe itâs the dissonance between forties-style dresses and modern dresses thatâs throwing you off. âSergeant Barnes.â Peggy calls for him loudly.
           Buckyâs rising from the couch and heading down the hall as soon as heâs been invited into the bedroom. He was kicked out pretty much the moment he finished up his morning shower, with Peggy showing up and saying she just had to get started on your look for tonight. He was a bit skeptical about how much time itâd really take, but after hearing you try on three dresses and dislike every single one, he sees why she came so early.
           âWhat do we need him for?â Confusion is written all over your face as you smooth down the blue dress and raise a brow at Peggy.
           âHeâs the one that needs to like the dress, isnât he?â She questions, motioning for Bucky to come in. He takes a few steps into the room and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as his eyes coast over the dress. Itâs pretty, itâs definitely very forties-esque, but itâs not you. Itâs not you and itâs definitely not for him. âHelp her pick a dress for tonight.â Bucky stares at her for a long moment before she starts moving toward the door. She pats his shoulder as she passes him, leaning in to whisper in his ear just as youâre disappearing back into the closet. âShe needs you for this.â
           You feel Buckyâs presence in the closet without having to turn around and look at him. He stops just a few inches behind you, looking over your shoulder at the row of dresses that you have to choose from.
           âItâs a little different than your closet back home.â He says softly, watching as your fingertips dance across the fabric of each hanging dress.
           âYou havenât seen my closet back home.â You point out, tugging on the side of a dark navy dress. As soon as you see the front of it, you let it go. Your fingers continue on, looking for another dark fabric.
           âIf youâre looking for something like that little black dress you wore last weekend, you wonât find it in here.â Bucky replies. Thinking about that little black dress sends your mind back to the night in the bar, when Bucky kissed you in front of everyone. Then your mind wanders to what happened in the car after, and you have to shake the thought of it from your head. Your fingers brush along a bright red dress and you donât even consider checking it out. Bucky steps up close behind you, so close that you feel his body heat permeating your skin through the blue dress youâre wearing. He reaches around you with his right arm and grasps the edge of the only black fabric amongst all of the dresses hanging there.
           âPeggy said something colorful would be best.â You murmur as he removes the dress from the hanging rack and holds it out in front of you both.
           âHe wonât be paying much attention to the dress.â Bucky assures you. He leans in close to your ear before whispering his next words. âAnd you look good in black.â  A chill runs through you but you reach out and grasp the hanger quickly before turning around and pressing a hand against Buckyâs chest.
           âLet me change.â You push against his chest gently and he takes a few steps backward until heâs out of the closet. As he moves across the room to sit on the foot of the bed where Peggy previously was, he hears the sound of your blue dress unzipping but not the sound of the closet door closing. He takes a cautious look as he sinks down onto the edge of the mattress. There you are, slipping out of that deep blue fabric while giving Bucky an almost clear view of you in forties-style black lingerie. His cock is awake instantly and is hardening within the already sort of tight-fitting sweats he took from Starkâs dresser earlier this morning. Bucky leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees as he drops his line of sight to the floor.
           You walk out only a moment later in the dress he chose. Itâs all black, with off the shoulder sleeves and a fairly low-cut neckline. It hugs your body tightly. Itâs quite similar to the shape of the red dress that Peggy wore when he first saw her in the Whip and Fiddle.
           âDonât look at me like that.â You say lightly, watching as Buckyâs eyes glide up and down your figure multiple times. He clears his throat and sits up straight before motioning with his flesh hand for you to come closer. You move forward until youâre a couple of feet in front of him, but then your eyes drop to his lap and you see his erection pressed against his sweats. Confidence rolls off of you in waves as you stop thinking and take a few more steps toward him. You donât stop until youâre standing between his legs and heâs looking up at you. You let your hands rest on his shoulders as his move to ghost along the outsides of your thighs.
           âDonât go too far with him tonight.â Buckyâs tone is almost pleading as he searches your eyes, but his expression is unreadable.
           âHow far is too far?â You swallow thickly after asking your question. Bucky curls his fingers into your hips and draws in a deep breath.
           âI donât know.â He admits, but he does know. He knows that he doesnât even want you to let this younger version of himself dance with you. He doesnât want to let him lean in and whisper in your ear, he doesnât want him to even get the chance to consider kissing you.
           âYou told me he moves fast, and we need him and Steve to be on board for this mission tomorrow. I canât reject him.â You explain quietly, glancing over your shoulder to make sure Peggyâs still in the living room. When you turn your head forward again and look down at Bucky, heâs leaning in closer to you. You watch with your breath hitched in your throat as he lets the tip of his nose brush against your dress, just below your breasts. He moves slow, dragging his nose upward and letting his lips follow in their wake until heâs halfway up your chest. Your hands slide up the sides of his neck and tangle in his hair, tugging him back to look at you again.
           âWhy did you ask me to lay with you last night?â Bucky finally asks the question thatâs been on his mind since he woke up this morning. You exhale slowly, absentmindedly massaging your fingers into his scalp while his thumbs rub circles against the front of your hips. He watches as you chew on the inside of your cheek, trying your best to come up with a safe answer.
           âI wanted to know what it would feel likeâŚto stop pretending.â You whisper.
           âHow did it feel?â His eyes stray from your face, taking in the swell of your breasts over the low neckline of the dress. Filthy memories of last night flood your brain and you clench your thighs together slightly. It wasnât slightly enough, because Bucky catches on instantly and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. While youâre remembering the feel of his kisses against your inner thigh and his tongue on your clit, heâs remembering the sweet taste of your cunt and the pretty sounds you made just for him.
           âGood.â Your whisper is even quieter now, and your nerves are rising knowing Peggyâs just down the hall in the living room.
           âJust good?â Bucky fishes for more. He tests the waters, letting his hands slide down your thighs, closer to the hem of the dress. You donât move away, you donât swat at his hands or tell him to stop.
           âJust good, Bucky.â You answer. But as his fingers hook beneath the hem of your dress and he starts guiding it higher and higher up your legs, you know your resolve and will to pretend is crumbling.
           âI think youâre lying.â He says calmly, staring up at you with those blue eyes as the hem of the dress nears the middle of your thighs. You squeeze his shoulders as he lets his flesh thumb graze the lace edge of your panties, close to where your thigh meets your center.
           âPeggyâs here.â You whisper the reminder, but make no effort to break away from him. In fact, you find yourself leaning into his touch. Buckyâs quick as he slips one finger into your panties and drags it along the length of your folds, gathering the slick arousal thatâs started collecting between them.
           âShh, I just want to see if youâre lying to me.â Bucky hushes you just as his gaze is dropping to your lower body and heâs nudging your feet apart with his right foot. You donât stop him. You donât do anything but close your eyes and dig your fingertips into his shoulders as he dips a finger inside of you. Your mouth falls open and you inhale sharply as he curls it against your walls. âHow did it feel last night? To stop pretending for a little while?â He gazes up at you with what you think is a look of lust, but he knows is all fucking love. âJust good?â
           âBuckyâŚfuck.â He pulls his finger out before plunging it in deeper than before, and then he curls it again.
           âThatâs not an answer.â
           âIt felt goodâŚit felt, shit, Bucky.â He starts thrusting his finger in and out of you at a medium pace as you try to piece together your answer. âIt felt right.â He slows to a stop as you say that last word. Though youâre tight as fuck, just like you were last night, he doesnât feel that characteristic clenching when you give your answer. Youâre telling the truth. Maybe thatâs a stupid way to interrogate you, but his theory is proving true so far. He pulls his finger out of you and brings it to his lips, sucking it into his mouth and savoring your taste. You look down just as he's pulling it away from his lips and tugging your dress back into place.
           âBlack heels.â He says lightly, patting the side of your thigh as you step away from him. He rises in front of you and moves a stray lock of hair behind your ear with the same finger that was just inside you. âThe third ones from the closet door.â
           Buckyâs waltzing out of the room, tucking his hard-on into the waistband of his sweats as youâre left standing there dazed. Dazed and beyond aroused. Part of you wants to grab him by the back of his shirt and drag him back into the room, telling him to finish what he started. The other part of you knows better than to give him the satisfaction. So, you grab that pair of black heels from the closet and keep your mouth shut.
           You feel uncharacteristically nervous for what should just be another mission on your long list of undercover ops. Maybe itâs because you have one version of Bucky Barnes listening through the in-ear monitor youâre sporting, while youâre moments away from meeting another version of the same man. Or maybe itâs because youâre trying to walk the very fine line between hating Bucky Barnes and loving him. Whatever it is, youâre nervous and itâs showing.
           Peggy walks close to your side, leading the way down the busy street in her red dress and matching heels. You can hear the watch on her left wrist ticking away as you approach the Whip and Fiddle.
           âYou seem worried.â Peggy voices her observation softly as she slows her pace a bit and casts you a sideways glance. You let out a stiff laugh before pushing a curl over your shoulder. She did your hair and makeup in a way that has you feeling like something fresh out of a forties fashion catalog. âIs it the mission itself or the man involved?â You swallow thickly, knowing Bucky can hear the entire conversation through your in-ear monitor. You could reach up and turn it off, have a quick girls chat with Peggy while leaving Bucky in the dark. But youâre sure Peggy would instantly realize that youâre on comms and you donât know how sheâd feel about not being let in on it sooner.
           âIâm fine, just not used to life in the forties I guess.â You respond curtly.
           âWell, that wasnât very convincing.â She huffs. When she slows to a stop beside you, you know itâs futile to keep walking toward the bar, so you stop and turn to face her. âHe looks at you like he wouldâve given you the world and his last name in any timeline.â
           âPeggyââ
           âNow you have to spend an evening flirting with a younger version of him when you donât even know how you feel about your version of him. You donât have to lie to me just because heâs listening in, he knows that youâre conflicted.â Your eyes widen as she lets you in on exactly how perceptive she is. You hear Bucky clear his throat through your ear piece and pink begins to color your cheeks, youâre sure itâs even showing through the blush Peggy applied for you earlier.
           âIâll be fine.â You assure her, though the words donât come out sounding quite as convincing as youâd hoped.
           âIâm sure you will be. Sergeant Barnes will show you an exceptionally great time tonight, but it wonât make your problem any easier to figure out.â
           âMy problem?â
           âYouâre in love with your partner and you donât know how to handle it.â
           âYou just met us last night and youâve already decided that?â You ask incredulously, crossing your arms over your chest as Peggy glances over at the door to the Whip and Fiddle. You see a few soldiers spilling out of the place with varying degrees of unstable gaits and boisterous laughs. You donât recognize any of them as Steve or Bucky, so you turn your attention back to her.
           âIt doesnât matter when I met you, I look at you and I see me.â Thatâs how Peggy sees your situation so clearly. Sheâs in the same one. Sheâs in love with Steve Rogers and she doesnât know what to do about it. She doesnât know how to handle it yet. You let out a deep sigh and let your arms fall to your sides. Buckyâs staying quiet on the other end of comms, so quiet that you canât even hear him breathe. âI want to ask you how things end for me in the futureâŚhow things end for us, but I wonât.â You know that sheâs referring to herself and Steve and your heart breaks a little for her. âDonât let fear get in the way of the rest of your life. You could live a wonderful life with a man that feels what he feels for you, but you can lose it all by being too afraid to give him a chance.â
           Your black heels are frozen to the sidewalk as Peggyâs words echo in your mind. When she turns and starts heading for the entrance to the bar, you stay still and quiet.
           âThey end up together.â Buckyâs voice plays in your ear so quietly that you think youâve made it up for a moment.
           âHow do you know?â You finally ask, speaking under your breath as you start moving in Peggyâs direction slowly. Bucky lets out a long sigh, like heâs dwelling on a memory.
           âItâs the only reason Steve wouldâve stayed behind like he did.â Bucky listens to the slow, steady clicking of your heels against the pavement as he grows closer and closer to losing you to his younger self. He wants to say so much more. He wants to point out that you didnât deny it when Peggy said you were in love with him. He wants to ask if youâre really afraid, if she was right about that. But itâs not the time. Itâll probably never be the time.
           He leans back into the couch as he listens to the distant din of the Whip and Fiddle. The in-ear monitor wonât pick up much background noise, but he hears the sound of a bell chiming as the door opens for you and the sound of way too many soldiers clamoring around the space that youâre in. His eyes scrunch closed and his vibranium arm whirs as he curls his hand into a fist.
           âCaptain.â Peggyâs accent carries the title with an air of class as she approaches a man seated at the bar. You recognize the back of his head instantly. Steve Rogers. He turns around quickly, coming to stand only two feet in front of Peggy as his eyes quickly, and quite respectably, roam over her figure.  The room slows and everything starts sounding muffled when the man seated next to Steve turns around and his eyes meet yours. Bucky. You stare at each other for a few long seconds, neither of you saying anything.
           âAgent Carter.â Steve addresses her, breaking you out of your trance. You look over at the tall super soldier with his perfectly styled blonde hair and dress uniform, noting the way his eyes never leave Peggy.
           âHoward has some equipment for you to try.â Peggyâs mouth is speaking business, but her eyes are saying something else entirely as they lock onto Steveâs and refuse to stray. You can feel Buckyâs eyes studying you intensely over Peggyâs shoulder as you avoid his gaze and watch the exchange thatâs happening in front of you instead. âMaybe after tomorrowâs mission?â
           âSounds good.â Steve keeps his replies short, but every word is thick with tension. Peggy leans back a bit and glances across the bar, noting a particularly lively table of men. They lean into each other as they sing along to a tune someoneâs banging out on a beat up piano in the corner of the bar.              Â
           âI see your top squad is prepping for duty.â She says facetiously.
           âYou donât like music?â Bucky asks, tilting his head to the side and cocking a brow at her. Her gaze remains fixed on Steve as Bucky steps to the side to get a better look at you.
           âI do, actually. I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.â
           âAnd you?â Bucky directs his question at you now, nodding his head in your direction as Peggy steps to the side and gives you space to join the conversation. âDo you dance?â
           âWith the right partner.â You reply softly, trying hard not to get lost in his blue eyes. Though heâs younger and so much more naĂŻve, you see the Bucky you know all over the man in front of you. You see him in every artistic feature of his face, you see him in the way he cocks his head to the side and flashes a smirk at you.
           âThen what are we waiting for?â He asks playfully, nodding his head toward the more open part of the bar. You donât rush to take his outstretched hand, but once your palm is against his, you get the same feeling that youâve felt every time your version of Bucky has ever touched you. It feels electric. It feels like every nerve ending beneath your skin is on fire. It feels like youâre on the edge of a cliff and a strong wind is about to blow through and send you spiraling down.
           Back at the safehouse, Buckyâs stomach is twisting into knots as he pictures you wrapped up in the arms of anyone but him. He knows itâs stupid. He knows that this guy, in some way, really is him. But it still feels wrong. He listens reluctantly as this younger, more charismatic version of himself flirts and banters with you through multiple dances. He listens as the young soldier leans in close to your ear and tells you how you took the breath out of his lungs the moment you walked into the bar. He starts to feel a little nauseas and wonders if heâs finally heading into his own bout with time sickness when he hears the sound of a genuine laugh slipping past your lips at whatever it was that the young soldier said to you.
           It isnât long before Buckyâs ripping the in-ear monitor out and tossing it on the kitchen table. He paces back and forth, focusing on the sound of his feet thudding against the wooden floorboards. Donât go too far with him tonight. Bucky can still hear the way he pleaded with you earlier today. It was pathetic, but it was heartfelt. This younger version of himself would be completely on board with your mission even if youâd just flashed him a smile. Fuck. He runs his hands through his hair and curls his fingers into the soft brown locks, tugging them away from his scalp as he stops pacing. What the hell is he doing? You invited him into bed last night. You slept next to him. You let him slip between your legs and eat you out so thoroughly that he swears he can still taste you now. You let him finger your pussy just so he could find out if you were lying or not. Youâre not going to let this younger version of him take things too far after all of that, right?
           Bucky exhales through his nose as he sinks back into one of the kitchen chairs and stares down at the earpiece on the table. He takes it in his flesh hand and rolls it between his middle and index finger for a moment, knowing he has to put it back in. When did he turn into such a jealous guy?
           The young Sergeant Barnes is captivated by you. He watches from the bar as you breeze through casual conversation with Peggy. You have a way of seeming so genuinely interested in anything that anyone says to you. You wholeheartedly hang on every word spoken and you get this look in your eye like nothing is more important to you than whateverâs being said. You seemed every bit as invested in Buckyâs spiel about Ferris wheels as you were when he leaned into your ear and told you about his family back home.
           âSheâs a lady, Buck.â Steve says lightly, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a short sip. Bucky swirls amber colored whiskey around in the bottom of his glass as his blue eyes glimmer in the low lights of the bar. âDonât get any ideas, she works with Peggy.â
           âYou work with Peggy.â Bucky points out, casting him a disapproving glance before zeroing in on you again. âAnd you have ideas.â
           âI have ideas.â Steve mumbles, nodding curtly in surrender. He canât lie to Bucky.
           âYou donât want to take your ideas over there and ask her to dance?â Bucky shifts his gaze to Peggy. He can almost imagine her proper accent as he watches her lips move in conversation with you. He has no doubt, just from the little interaction between Steve and Peggy when you girls first arrived at the bar, that Steveâs head over heels. Not only Steve, but Peggyâs envisioning a life with him too.
           âItâs not the right time.â Steve replies, setting his mug down on the bar and turning to face the same direction as Bucky. Â
           âIf you keep waiting, youâll miss the time entirely.â
           âCan you miss fate?â Steve asks thoughtfully. Peggy lifts her gaze and turns her head slightly to the side, meeting his gaze across the bar for a fleeting second.
           âIâm not going to wait around here with you and find out.â Buckyâs downing the last of his whiskey and heading for you just as Peggyâs heading for Steve. His eyes are all over you as he approaches, sending your confidence soaring and your nerves stirring in the pit of your stomach. When he steps in close and wraps an arm around your waist, letting his right hand rest on the small of your back, you melt into his touch.
           âHow much of London have you seen?â He whispers the question in your ear, letting his lips ghost so close to your ear that a shiver rolls through you.
           âNot enough.â You admit, biting down on your bottom lip as he curls his fingertips against the back of your dress.
           âLet me show you?â Itâs a request. But when he pulls back and looks into your eyes, thereâs no way you could deny him.
           No. Buckyâs clenching his fists atop the safehouse kitchen table as he listens to the sound of his younger self pushing open some creaky door. The din of the bar fades into the background as your heels click against pavement. Youâre outside of the bar now. Youâre not going to see London, thatâs for fucking sure. Bucky grits his teeth as his own voice plays through the earpiece. Heâs never wanted to wring his own neck so damn bad.
           âThere are a lot of parts of the city that arenât safe with the war going on, but if you work with Peggy, Iâm guessing youâre used to that.â You stand still at the side exit of the bar, watching as Bucky carefully places his army uniform hat over his head. Somehow, the dark brick walls of the alley make his eyes seem more blue. Â
           âAre we going somewhere dangerous, Sergeant Barnes?â You ask softly, looking up at him through your lashes as he straightens up his uniform jacket. You let your eyes coast down, taking in the sight of him in full uniform. Why donât they still dress men this way?
           âSergeant Barnes, hm?â He repeats the name slowly, taking two steps toward you as you take one step back toward the brick side wall of the Whip and Fiddle.
           âThatâs your name, isnât it?â
           âYou donât like calling me Bucky?â Another step forward and the fabric of his jacket is brushing against the fabric of your dress as your back meets the brick wall. He leans in and raises his arms, letting his palms rest against the brick on either side of your head as he cages you in. Truthfully, you donât like calling him Bucky. Youâve avoided saying his name all night. It feels weird, it feels wrong. Just last night you were moaning that name with a slightly different man between your legs. By calling this one something different, you can at least separate the two a tiny bit.
           âYou donât like when I call you Sergeant Barnes?â You skirt around his question with one of your own. He chuckles as a smug look spreads over his features. He drops his head lower and lower until his lips are a mere inch away from yours and his blue eyes are staring so far into you that youâre sure he can see every thought in your spiraling mind.
           âYou can call me anything you want and Iâm damn sure Iâll love it.â He whispers. Your eyes track the movement of his tongue as it darts out and wets his lips.
           Your world shifts when you grab the front of his jacket and pull him in. His lips are soft as they part against yours and move in the way that only men named Bucky Barnes seem to move their lips. He kisses you like heâs done it countless times in every timeline that exists. Even as rain begins pattering down, soaking his uniform and your dress, you only tug on his jacket a little harder and angle your head to the side. As his tongue dances along your bottom lip, you hesitate for the shortest second. You can hear a voice echoing in your head, asking you not to go too far tonight, but his tongue is in your mouth and your guilt only multiplies when the taste of honey-tinged whiskey soaks into your taste buds.
           You taste like honey.
           You remember the first time your version of Bucky slipped his tongue into your mouth as the rain begins to pour down. You donât mean to be so rash, but youâre loosening your grip on the uniform jacket and pressing your palms flat against his chest in an instant.
           âWhat were you drinking tonight?â You ask in a raspy whisper. You let Bucky stay close enough that your foreheads are nearly touching as he sucks in a deep breath and bites his bottom lip. Shaking his head like youâve just asked him the most out of pocket question heâs ever heard, he releases his bottom lip slowly.
           âFour Roses.â He answers just as quietly. You nod to yourself as you commit the name to memory. He lets his left hand trail down the wet brick wall, moving it closer and closer to your face until you feel his warm palm press against your cheek. The fact that his palm isnât a cool vibranium metal one contrasting with your heated skin makes you draw in a sharp breath and close your eyes. Why the fuck are you having so much trouble with this? You should be able to make out with the guy and put on a convincing act for five minutes. But no, he tastes like honey and youâre done for. Youâre suddenly acutely aware of just how long itâs been since you heard even the tiniest noise through your earpiece, and your guilt increases tenfold. As if the man before you can read your mind, he lets his hand fall away from your face. âYouâre not mine to kiss like this, are you?â
           âThatâs the problem.â You whisper shakily, curling your fingers into the coarse fabric of his jacket lapels one more time. Your eyes float upward and meet his as you fight the urge to swallow the words youâre about to speak. âI think I am, and that scares the hell out of me.â
           Something changed for you at the Whip and Fiddle tonight. Peggy isnât quite sure what it is, but she senses it. She senses it in the air in the same way she senses the coming rain. Even if she couldnât see the dark clouds gathering along the edge of the city, if she couldnât smell the rain in the air, she could feel the atmosphere changing as the storm approaches. Everything is set for tomorrow. The Howling Commandos are going to take down yet another HYDRA base, and now that you have an in with the fortyâs version of Bucky, it shouldnât be all too hard to use the connection to your advantage and slip inside of the base yourself. As far as he knows, you work with Peggy and you can hold your own pretty damn well. So, as you sit in the passenger seat of Peggyâs car staring straight ahead, why do you seem so off? If everything is going according to plan so far, whatâs wrong with you?
           âSergeant Barnes seemed quite taken with you.â Peggy comments as she guides the car away from the city. Youâre not really paying much attention to her words, not when youâre still mulling over the realization you came to when you kissed the young sergeant in the alley earlier tonight. You couldnât stand the fact that his left hand was his own, or that he was missing that characteristic darkness around him. It was Bucky, of course, but it wasnât really Bucky. It wasnât the Bucky you know. Sure, when you kissed him he tasted the same, he even smelled the same. But you were kissing a version of Bucky that hasnât yet experienced any of the things that made the man you slept next to last night. You feel like youâve been carrying around a perfectly crafted piece of pottery, neatly sculpted and fired in a kiln. Itâs been hardened and glazed with dark earthy tones, completely finished. Then, someone shoved that piece of pottery into the back of a kitchen cabinet and handed you a wet mound of clay. You donât want the soft, unmolded version of Bucky. You want the hardened, finished version.
           âHe still drinks the same whiskey.â You donât know why youâre dwelling on that little detail. You reach up with one hand and press your fingers against your lips, feeling a frustrating warmth awaken low in your stomach. Peggy looks over at you briefly, not letting her gaze linger for long before her eyes are back on the road ahead.     Â
           âSteve and IâŚwe wait until itâs too late, donât we?â Peggyâs question snaps you out of your thoughts and your hand drops to your lap quickly. You turn your head and stare at her, but she remains focused on the dark street that the car is rolling down.
           âWhat makes you ask that?â
           âI have a feeling.â She sighs heavily, pursing her red lips at the end of her sentence. âI have a feeling that we donât allow ourselves that happiness in this lifetime, and youâre not allowing it for yourself either.â
           âItâs different for me.â
           âHow so?â She asks softly, taking a right turn. The car begins coasting down a street you recognize and you know the safehouse is just a couple of minutes away now.
           âItâs just different. I canât just give in and see if things turn out okay. We work together, we live across the hall from each other.â Youâre grasping for excuses.
           âYou trust the man with your life but you donât want to trust him with your heart?â
           Peggy has a way with words. You donât have a response for her as she slows down and turns into the driveway of Howard Starkâs house a couple of minutes later. As the car idles in front of the house, you feel a heavy weight settling on your shoulders.
           When you reach the front door, you find that Buckyâs left it unlocked for you. You slip in quietly, leaning against the wall of the foyer for a second to gather your thoughts. The house is mostly dark except for a small light glowing in the kitchen. Your stomach is churning as you tiptoe through the foyer and peer into the kitchen, careful not to let your heels tap on the floor. You see no sign of Bucky there. When you turn your eyes to the dark living room, you see him sitting in the middle of couch with his back to you.
           âThe mission is set for tomorrow.â Your words come out sounding meek and uneasy as you stare at the back of Buckyâs head. Heâs leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees like heâs lost in thought. He doesnât even move at the sound of your voice and nervousness starts to bubble up inside of you. âBucky?â He visibly tenses at the sound of his name rolling off of your tongue.
           âI stopped listening when you kissed him.â Bucky rubs his palms together slowly as he stares down at the living room carpet. He doesnât move from the couch, and he can tell by the silence behind him that youâre not moving either. âHonestly, I didnât think it would bother me that much.â Bucky lies, tracing the lines of his vibranium hand with his flesh index finger. Itâs dark, but he has the golden crevices memorized.
           âBullshit.â You say flatly, crossing your arms over your chest. âYou knew it would bother you, but you swore I was the right person for this op anyway.â Youâre not going to let him act like you did something wrong, when youâre doing exactly what you were brought here to do. You watch the back of Buckyâs head as he nods slowly.
           âOkay, that was bullshit.â Bucky agrees. Rain begins to patter against the roof, starting out slow and soft but quickly picking up until the sound of it is filling the house. âI knew it would bother me. I guess I just didnât expect you to let him take things so far.â
           âHow far do you think he took things?â You ask incredulously, with offense evident in your tone. If Bucky stopped listening when the kiss first started in the alley of the bar, then he didnât hear a damn thing. He didnât hear the brevity of the kiss or the way you pushed back and stopped it. He didnât hear you coming to the realization that you already belong to him. He didnât hear shit.
           âPretty damn far, if heâs me.â You scoff at his answer and run a hand through your hair, leaving it looking a little tousled and messy.
           âItâs 1943. If pretty damn far means we kissed and went back inside then sure, he went pretty damn far.â
           âThatâs it?â Bucky asks, pushing himself up to stand and turning around to face you. The couch and a few feet of distance stand between the two of you as Bucky raises a brow. He doesnât believe you.
           âHeâs not like this modern version of you.â You say defensively, gesturing at him as you speak. âHe didnât want anything more than a kiss from me.â You know your words arenât necessarily true, but you say them anyway. Bucky shoots you a pointed look before shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest.
           âYeah, he did."
           âNo, he didnât.â You argue childishly, narrowing your eyes at him. âHe was sweet and kind and we had innocent fun.â
           âInnocent?â Bucky repeats the word and narrows his eyes at you in return. You bend one knee and lift your ankle up toward your ass as you start undoing your heels.
           âThatâs what I said.â You huff as your heels clatter to the floor and you push them over to the nearest wall with your foot.
           âI was anything but innocent in the forties.â Bucky says lowly. When your eyes land on him, heâs approaching you slowly, moving around the couch but keeping his gaze trained on you. Something about the way heâs looking at you is dark, making your skin feel warm and your muscles tense up. Bucky runs a hand through his messy hair as he continues taking slow steps in your direction. âYouâre really telling me he didnât have you pushed up against a brick wall in some dark alley tonight?â
           You swallow hard, feeling like a kid caught in a lie. Of course he knows exactly what happened. He doesnât need comms or a surveillance team to know what he himself wouldâve done with a pretty girl on a night out. You say nothing as Bucky moves around the couch and comes to stand right in front of you. You take a small step back as he invades your space, but he doesnât stop. He presses forward until heâs backing you against the living room wall.
           Buckyâs fighting to keep up the charade. He wants nothing more than to just be honest and tell you that heâs jealous. He wants to tell you that even though it was only another version of himself that you went out with tonight, he couldnât fucking stand it. He needs you to know that he sat here for hours, thinking about nothing but you. He watches you with an intense gaze as your back collides with the wall and you look up at him through your lashes. Heâs so close that he can see the wispy black mascara tinting them. It isnât smudged in the slightest bit and that, at the very least, calms him a little. Buckyâs hands find your hips and he holds you still against the wall as he leans in and nudges the curve of your jaw with the tip of his nose.
           âHe didnât touch you like this?â Bucky whispers against your neck, as his flesh hand glides around to your ass. He grabs a handful and curls his fingertips against the soft fabric of your dress. You offer no response, because although you didnât let him touch you like that, you know Bucky wonât believe you now. Bucky groans as he nips at the column of your throat, taking your silence as confirmation. He kisses his way up to your lips and then drags his tongue up your chin until heâs letting it delve into your mouth. You tilt your head as he kisses you, feeling a burn in your chest from the lack of air. He pulls back suddenly, and cradles the back of your head with the same hand that was just grabbing your ass. âHe didnât kiss you like that?â He questions, already assuming the answer. You whimper as Bucky tugs on your hair lightly and moves his lips down to your neck again. Instead of simply kissing your skin this time, he sucks on it and scrapes his teeth down toward your collarbone. When he lets go of your hair and slides his hand down your thigh, your back arches off the wall and you swear you feel him smile before he pulls back and smirks down at you coldly. Curling his fingers behind your thigh, he hitches your leg up around his hip and uses his body to push you further into the wall. âHe didnât pull your leg up like this?â
           Itâs as if Buckyâs following a script. He knows himself so well that heâs able to carry out every single move his younger self would have made on you if youâd let things continue in the alley earlier. Bucky leans in and presses one last chaste kiss to your lips before he steps away from you entirely, leaving you struggling to catch your breath as he turns on his heel. You watch, thoroughly flustered, as he heads right back to the living room and takes a seat on the center cushion of that ugly vintage couch.
           âThatâs what I thought.â He says lowly, causing a pang of guilt to bubble up inside of you. You let out an exaggerated sigh before reaching behind yourself and undoing the back of your dress. Bucky listens as you let the dress slip off of your frame and fall to the floor. Heâs still for a moment, refusing to look back as you stand there in nothing more than a lacy black bra and matching panties. You glare at the back of his head for a second too long before stalking off to find a t-shirt and some sweats to put on before you continue the conversation at hand.
           âYou donât get to judge me for what he did tonight, for what you think he did.â You say coldly as you emerge from the bedroom a few seconds later. Buckyâs still sitting on the couch, now with both of his arms outstretched along the back cushions and an almost bored expression on his face. âYou told me that your younger self would swoon and thatâs exactly what happened. You knew what you were sending me into, you knew heâd want to do all of those things. So, if you want to be pissed, be pissed at yourself. Your current self or your former self, I donât care. But stop being pissed at me.â Your feet thud against the hard floor, overtaking the sound of rain pouring down on the roof as you come to stand in front of the couch, facing Bucky.
           âIâm not pissed at you.â He says plainly, cocking his head to one side as he studies you. Youâre wearing an oversized white t-shirt that he assumes you pulled from his side of the closet, rather than picking any of the forties-style pajamas from your own side.
           âThen why make me feel like I did something wrong? I did exactly what I was supposed to do on this mission.â
           âIâm jealous.â His confession sucks the air out of your lungs and leaves you stunned.
           âWhat?â
           âIâm jealous.â He repeats calmly, looking you right in the eyes. âIt took everything I had not to stop you from leaving earlier. I knew what heâd do. I knew that heâd kiss you, that heâd take every inch you gave him and ask for a mile more.â The fact that Buckyâs so calm and stoic as he confesses all of this has you shaken to your core.
           âNo, you donât get to do this.â You say angrily, running both hands through your hair as you turn away from him. Heâs sitting there with his arms outstretched along the back of the couch and his expression as unreadable as ever and itâs only making you more mad. âYou donât get to say shit like that to me. You donât get to be jealous. You sent me into that situation even after I made it abundantly clear that I didnât think I was the right person for this mission.â You turn back around and look at Bucky with a fiery rage burning in your eyes, but then your gaze settles on his calm, almost serene expression. He cocks his head to the side as you study him, with whatever angry words you were about to spit at him temporarily on hold. Your eyes float down his chest, passing over the dark t-shirt heâs sporting. With the way his arms are outstretched along the back of the couch, you can see the outline of his abs clearly through his thin shirt. When your eyes land on the front of his sweats, you notice two things. The first is that he's sitting with his legs spread in a way that tells you heâs comfortable as hell on that ugly couch. The second is that his cock is semi-hard and pressing against the fabric of those sweats shamelessly.
           You want to leave. You want to head for the front door and run out into the rain, losing yourself somewhere in this city that you donât know and this timeline that you donât belong in. You donât want to be in this house with Bucky for another minute. You canât think straight when youâre around him. Here you are, angry as hell over something you canât even recall in this exact moment, because when you look at him and he looks at you this wayâŚyouâre torn between wanting to run and wanting to straddle him right there on the couch. Bucky can tell exactly whatâs on your mind when your eyes zero in on his lap. Even though the anger hasnât dissipated from your features, he can tell itâs sitting on the edge of an abyss, ready to fall in and disappear if he says the right thing.
           âGo ahead.â Bucky says firmly, narrowing his eyes at you.
           âWhat?â You cross your arms over your chest like heâs seen you do a thousand times before as you stand in front of him. You watch as Bucky looks down at his lap for a moment, letting his gaze linger on his thighs before he lifts his head up and stares into your soul. Your heart begins to race as he tilts his head to the side slowly, the expression on his face never changing.
           âSit.â
           The three seconds that you stare back at Bucky with your arms crossed over your chest feel like three hours to him. When you finally do take a step forward and let your arms reach out to him, heâs fighting to hold in a sigh of relief. You move slowly, lifting your right knee up to the edge of the couch first and letting it touch the outside of his left thigh. When your left knee lands on the couch beside his right leg, you carefully position yourself over his lap as your hands come to rest on his shoulders. Buckyâs fingertips curl into the fabric of the couch as he wills himself to keep his arms along the back of it, refusing to grab your hips and guide you to sit on his lap himself. Youâre apprehensive as you stare down into his blue eyes and sink onto his lap at a painstakingly snail-like pace. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel the outline of his erection pressing against the black lace panties you have on underneath the white t-shirt, but you donât stop. You seat yourself firmly on his lap, with your knees bent on either side of his hips and your palms pressed against his opposing warm and cool shoulders. It bothers you that he doesnât move his arms, that he doesnât try to touch you. It really bothers you that his expression is still unreadable, as if having you on his lap doesnât do a damn thing to him. If his cock wasnât hardening more and more with each passing second, youâd truly believe that you werenât having any sort of effect on him right now.
           âYou donât get to be jealous.â You whisper, shaking your head just barely as Bucky studies your face.    Â
           âWhy not?â
           âBecause this is justâŚâ Your eyes flit down to where your legs are spread over Buckyâs lap, but his never leave your face. He knows what youâre about to say and heâs already wishing you wouldnât. This is exactly what heâs been trying to avoid. âThis isnât real.â It feels every bit as shitty as he thought it would, hearing you say it out loud. The muscle along the side of his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth together. âItâs just tension. We let it build up too much and then we donât know how to handle it, and we think itâs something more butâ"
           âBut it isnât.â Bucky finishes your sentence stiffly. You nod, but your eyes are searching his. You want him to convince you, you want him to tell you that youâre wrong like he has before. You need him to tell you that this isnât just tension. But he stays quiet, staring at you like he doesnât really give a shit what you need right now. So, you ramble on.
           âMaybe if we take a break from being partners after this mission is over. We could let things cool off and give each other space.â The words tumble out of your mouth quickly, but they leave a bad taste. âBut itâs hard to give each other space when we live across the hall from each other.â Bucky nods along, cocking his head to the side as he watches you scramble for other options. He doesnât know why youâre still sitting on his lap if this is the direction youâre taking things, but he isnât ready to push you off and end this just yet. Not if it might be the last time you let him get this close to you.
           âDo you want space?â He asks lowly. You struggle to find a reasonable answer when his tongue darts out to wet his lips. You watch as it slides across his bottom lip slowly before disappearing into his mouth. He shifts his legs beneath you slightly and it causes his hard cock to press against your barely clothed cunt just a little more firmly than before and you inhale sharply, curling your fingertips into his shoulders as he stills once again.
           âI want to stop thinking about you the way that Iâve been thinking about you.â Buckyâs heartbeat is rising steadily as your words sink in. Youâve been thinking about him. God, he wants to tangle his hands in your hair and pull you in closer, refusing to let go of you until you admit that you fucking want him. âI want to go back to when we had a normal, uncomplicated partnership in the field.â He wants to say fuck normal and uncomplicated and have his way with you, but he stays still. âI want to fuck.â
           Buckyâs stunned. He blinks twice before squinting his eyes at you and letting out a long, slow breath.
           âYou want to fuck.â Bucky repeats under his breath, seeming like he doesnât think heâs heard you right. You nod, coming to the realization that thatâs exactly what you want.
           âMaybe if we fuck, it would all just go away.â Bucky scoffs as soon as youâve said it. Heâs never felt as frustrated as he is right now. It isnât just emotional frustration, but sexual as well. Youâre fucking tormenting him. While you sit on his lap actively denying the fact that this thing between you is real, youâre simultaneously telling him you want to have sex with him. You tried sleeping it off once before and it didnât work out for you, so now you want to fuck the feelings away. Heâs pissed honestly. As he sits there, with his arms outstretched along the back of the couch and the girl heâs in love with on his lap, heâs pissed.
           âGo ahead then.â He says roughly, jutting his chin out at you as his eyes flit down to where your legs are spread over him. âGo ahead and see if you can fuck it all away. Itâll work about as well as when you tried to sleep it off, but Iâm willing to let you give it a shot.â
           Thunder rumbles in the distance and rain patters against the windows as tensions rise all around you. It feels like the thunderstorm outside has somehow shifted through the walls and lightning could strike you at any given moment. Though your heart is racing and your breaths are coming in quicker than before, you donât back down. You maintain eye contact as you lift your ass up slightly and then grind back down, dragging the fabric of your lace panties along the front of Buckyâs sweats. You feel his cock twitch in its confines, but his face never changes. Fuck him and his perpetually cold expression. You grind down again, harder this time, and watch as his hands curl into fists at the ends of his outstretched arms. What do you have to do to get him to put those hands on you?
           Lightning strikes somewhere outside as you lean in and dip your head down, pressing your lips to the side of Buckyâs neck in an open-mouthed kiss. You feel his pulse thumping in his carotid artery as your tongue swipes over it. If youâre going to get this out of your system, you canât take your time. You need this to be quick and dirty. Bucky senses that and isnât surprised at all when your right hand starts tugging at the waistband of his sweats.
           âI said go ahead.â He rasps, tilting his head to the side to give you more access to his neck. âTake what you want.â You take the encouragement and run with it, slipping your hand into the waistband of his sweats and boxers, quickly finding his length and wrapping your hand around it. He lets out a shaky but controlled breath as you start stroking his cock. He has to bite down on his bottom lip when you tighten your grip around the head and he feels his precum wet your palm. This is going to haunt him forever. He wants this, you, so fucking bad that heâs willing to take whatever he can get. And this is the most he can get. Your hand is around his cock with the sole intention of fucking around with him until you forget your feelings. He should feel used. He does feel used, but if youâre only okay with using him, then heâs fine with it. Heâs fine with it because he fucking loves you.
           You feel Buckyâs chest rise and fall at a quicker pace against your own as his cock twitches in your hand. Thunder shakes the house again and a tear slips down your cheek. It feels clinical when you push Buckyâs waistband down further and drag your lips along the curve of his jaw.
           âHe kissed me outside of the bar.â You whisper against the column of Buckyâs throat, hating the way he tenses up underneath you. You let your hand fall away from his cock and shift it between your legs, tugging your lace panties to the side beneath the oversized t-shirt. âAnd I couldnât fucking stand it.â Your voice breaks and Bucky curls his fingers into the couch cushions so hard that he mightâve heard them rip if the storm raging outside wasnât so loud. âYou werenât listening, so you didnât hear me stop him.â Another tear falls as you rise up on your knees and guide the head of Buckyâs length to where it belongs. âBut I stopped him.â Lightning strikes and you swear it nearly hits the house as you let out a shaky breath and start lowering yourself down. The sheer size of him makes your thighs ache and the walls of your cunt burn with the stretch. âI stopped him and he knew, before I said anything, that I wasnât his to kiss.â Bracing your hands back on Buckyâs shoulders, you sink down onto him one slow inch at a time as he stares up at you. His expression isnât so unreadable now. Itâs showcasing the torment he feels, the torture youâre putting him throughâŚthe torture heâs enduring just because he loves you.
           âWhose are you then?â He asks, his voice tense and strained as you seat yourself entirely on his cock. He can tell by the look in your eyes that youâre not going to answer his question. You know the answer, the tears rimming your pretty eyes and the pleading look taking over your face tell him that much. But you just canât bring yourself to say it out loud. Youâre his.
           You didnât give yourself any time to adjust to his size and youâre paying for it as you start riding him. You move slow at first, lost in the way heâs looking at you, wondering why the hell he wonât touch you. But as the storm picks up outside, so does your pace. Faster and faster you lift and lower your hips until it couldnât possibly be more obvious that youâre trying to fuck your feelings away. Buckyâs pushing past the obscene sounds of skin against skin, past the rumbling thunder and heavy rain on the rooftop, until all he can hear is your heartbeat. You donât even realize youâre doing it, but youâre timing each bounce of your hips with the steady beat of your heart. He focuses in on that when the walls of your pussy begin fluttering violently around his shaft, because if he lets himself focus on anything else, heâll fall over the edge with you and he refuses to let it happen this way. Your goal isnât to get him off, itâs to get something out of your system.
           Bucky clenches his teeth when you start coming undone around him, he clenches his teeth and his vibranium arm whirs loudly along the back of the couch as you grip his shoulders and ride out your orgasm. Itâs only a few seconds later when you blink your eyes open and let a few tears fall onto the fabric of his shirt.
           âDid it work?â Bucky asks breathlessly, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around you and pull you against his chest.
           âWhat?â
           âDid you fuck it out of your system?â He narrows his eyes at you. Heâs sure the answer is no, but he isnât so sure that youâll admit it. As you stare back into his blue eyes, he can tell youâre giving up and something akin to hope stirs in his chest. You shake your head gently, loosening your grip on his shoulders as the weight of your silent confession settles over you both. âOkay, letâs try again.â
           Bucky doesnât give you a chance to full catch your breath before heâs slipping his flesh arm around your back and rising from the couch, keeping his cock buried inside of you.
           âBuckyââ
           âYou want it out of your system, donât you?â He asks roughly, carrying you away from the couch and toward the kitchen table. You swallow hard as he skillfully uses his vibranium hand to shove a kitchen chair to the side before laying you down on the table. Still, his cock never leaves your pussy. âIf we go at it from another angleâŚâ Buckyâs voice trails off as he pulls his hips backward slowly until only the tip of his cock is left inside of you. You whimper at the loss of his length, hating the way your pussy fights to grip onto what heâs left you with. Bucky pushes your white t-shirt up until itâs sitting just below your bra. Though he doesnât let himself get a glimpse of your chest, he has no problem with sliding his hands beneath the shirt and running his palms over your breasts. You arch into his touch and another whimper leaves your lips. âThis might be the right angle.â He whispers, dragging his hands down until his fingers are curling into your hips roughly. You see stars when he pistons his hips forward so hard that the table shakes beneath the force and you feel him brushing against your cervix.
           âFuck.â You moan the word out as your tears begin to dry. Your hands circle around Buckyâs wrists as he holds your hips in place and starts fucking you relentlessly. Your mascara is smudged beneath your eyes but you still look so pretty that it hurts him to look at you. You wrap your legs around him as his head falls back a little and a guttural groan escapes him. It feels so damn good, you feel so damn good, but this isnât how he wants you. Your whimpers and occasional swears turn into uninhibited, borderline pornographic moans as he fucks you until youâre lost in the bliss of it all.
           âIf you cum on my cock a second time, is it going to be enough?â He wonders aloud, slowing the pace of his thrusts and simultaneously deepening them as much as he possibly can. His balls press against your ass as a loud clap of thunder leaves the lights flickering. Youâre shaking your head before your brain has a chance to reason with your heart. It wonât be enough. âYou donât think so? You seemed pretty damn sure of yourself when you said that this isnât real. Cumming on my cock this time should be enough for you.â
           âShit, Bucky.â You let out a frustrated moan as he pulls his hips back slowly and starts giving your cunt the most shallow thrusts yet.
           âThis is so fucking real to me that Iâd let you do it a thousand times if thatâs what it takes to make you realize youâre wrong.â Bucky snaps his hips forward and hits your cervix again, admiring the way your body reacts to him as your back arches off of the table and your t-shirt rides up a little more. A tiny bit of the black lace of your bra peeks out beneath your shirt and Bucky lets out another groan before thrusting hard again. He wanted to slow down and make you feel even just a shred of the torment heâs been feeling tonight, he wanted to give you shallow, unrhythmic thrusts and delay your orgasm, but heâs already fucking his cock into you at an unforgiving pace and depth. His name falls from your lips in a breathless moan as your fingernails leave little crescent-shaped indents in the skin of his wrists and your pussy tightens around his shaft all over again. He has to bite down on the inside of his cheek, nearly drawing blood, just to keep from cumming with you. His own level of restraint is surprising himself. He hasnât done something like this in decades and yet, heâs holding himself together pretty damn well.
           âBucky.â You gasp as your orgasm washes over you and he continues to pump his cock into you. He lets his thrusts slow more and more with each passing second until heâs just lazily circling his hips, giving you the faintest sensation of pleasure mixed with overstimulation.
           âDid it work that time?â He asks between pants. He lets go of your hips as his eyes scan over the expanse of your skin where he had gripped you so tightly before, checking for marks. He can see his own handprints on each hip, but they arenât red enough that he thinks heâs left bruises. You stare up at him as a sigh of relief slips past his lips. When his eyes finally meet yours, you know heâs waiting for an answer.
           âIt didnât.â You admit. The lights flicker again, going out for a few seconds before coming back on. âIâm sorry Iââ
           âI donât want to hear you say sorry.â God, thatâs not at all what he wants to hear you say. He wants to hear you say you were wrong or that you were lying and this is as real to you as it is to him. He wants to hear you say that no matter how many times his cock slides into your pussy, the feelings arenât going anywhere. As his hands find yours and your fingers intertwine, he tugs you up into a sitting position on the edge of the table and then slips his palms around to cup your ass as he lifts you once more. âWeâre going to try this one more time and if it doesnât work, if you canât fuck the feelings awayâŚâ His voice trails off as the lights flicker one final time before shutting off completely. Bucky carries you down the hall and through the bedroom door in near total darkness. Every few seconds, lightning flashes and illuminates the house through the windows and sheer curtains, and you get a glimpse of Buckyâs serious face. âIf this doesnât work, you have to say it.â Keeping his flesh arm around your lower back, he lowers you onto the bed, hovering over you as his still-hard cock slips out of your sore cunt. You prop yourself up on your elbows as he stands at the foot of the bed and reaches back over his shoulders, grasping the fabric of his t-shirt and tugging it over his head in one smooth move. Lighting strikes again and you watch, with warmth pooling low in your stomach, as Bucky pushes his sweats and boxers down to the floor.
           âI have to say what?â You ask, fighting hard to keep the stutter out of your question. Bucky wraps his right hand around the base of his cock tightly, but he doesnât dare stroke it. He gives it a quick squeeze before moving that same hand down and palming his balls in an effort to slow himself down.
           âYou have to say that youâre mine.â He has no idea that youâve already said it once tonight. He took his earpiece out, thinking you were having a heated moment with another man, when you were really telling that man exactly what Bucky wanted to hear.
           âThatâs how this works? You fuck me a few times and then Iâm yours?â
           Bucky canât stop the dark, hair-raising chuckle that tumbles past his lips when you tilt your head to the side and narrow your eyes at him. He moves toward the bed slowly, placing one knee on the end of the mattress and leaning forward until both of his palms are flat on the bed. Heâs hovering over you, his face only a few inches from yours when a burst of thunder rings out.
           âYouâve been mine since the day we met, sweetheart. I just let you run around and deny it for too damn long.â Your breath hitches in your throat as he angles his chin toward the headboard, silently letting you know that he wants you to move further up on the bed. You scoot backward, keeping your eyes on him as the room grows impossibly warmer and goosebumps prickle over your skin. When your back lands flat on the bed and your head is laid comfortably on the only pillow there, Buckyâs over you in an instant, nudging your legs apart with his knee as he settles between them. The head of his cock, still dripping with precum, presses against the lace of your panties and he hisses at the contact. He hasnât let himself cum yet and heâs dangerously close to losing control over his impending orgasm.
           âSince the day we met?â You ask, scrunching up your face in confusion as you think of all of the missions youâve been on, all of the senseless arguments and shit-giving. Did it all have a deeper meaning for him? Bucky nods as he stills above you and braces himself with his arms next to either side of your head. When he looks into your eyes you can tell that heâs straining to maintain his composure and it almost makes you feel guilty. Here you are two orgasms in and heâs hanging on by a fucking thread. You slide your hand down between your bodies, wrapping it around his length and giving it a few long, slow pumps as his eyes flutter closed and his head falls to your shoulder.
           âI canât stand you.â You say evenly, as he starts rutting into your hand carelessly. His small thrusts are sloppy and restrained, but he continues on as you stroke his cock and smear his precum around the length of it. He groans in response and bites down on your shoulder hard enough to make you inhale sharply. âI canât stand the way you slept so close to me last night, because the next time I sleep alone, Iâll feel like somethingâs missing.â Bucky freezes, but you continue your ministrations with your right hand. He doesnât lift his head, fearing that if he so much as moves an inch youâll stop talking. âI canât stand the way you say my name, because when anyone else says it, it doesnât sound as good.â He lets out a shaky breath as he builds up the courage to move. Snaking his vibranium hand down between your legs, he starts tugging your panties to the side just like he did earlier. You move in tandem with him, guiding the head of his cock to your entrance as he clears the way. âAnd I really canât stand the way you kiss me, because if I ever let anyone else kiss me, Iâll only ever be disappointed.â
           Bucky pulls his head back and stares down at you with a furrowed brow, looking as though heâs thinking hard. The head of his cock notches into your pussy and he pushes his hips forward just enough to sink the first couple of inches inside of you, watching as your mouth falls open and your eyes close tightly. Heâs staring at you with such an intense focus in his blue eyes that when you finally look back up at him, you feel like his gaze alone is burning a hole through your head. You spread your legs a little, bending your knees slightly to give him a better angle as he pulls his hips back slowly. When only the head of his cock is sheathed inside of you, he licks his bottom lip before snapping his hips forward and delivering one hard, deep thrust that forces the headboard to slam against the wall.
           âI love you.â Bucky says the three words with conviction, with a confidence youâve never heard before. You wait a few seconds, trying to recover from the earth-shattering sensations of your pussy being destroyed and actual bliss. His words sink into your skin and melt into your soul with an unexpected warmth as he drags his cock out of you and then pushes back in again. He loves you.
           âYou canât stand me.â You correct, not even trying to hide the smile thatâs beginning to spread across your lips as Bucky starts setting a rhythmic pace. He laughs, but then groans as you scrape your nails down his back roughly.
           âI canât, but stillâŚâ
           âYou love me.â You repeat smugly, finishing his sentence. He doesnât need you to say it back yet. Just the fact that you didnât shove him away and flee the house when he said it is enough for him right now. A few sultry moans play in his ears and he pushes himself up to sit on his knees, moving your legs so that one is over each of his shoulders before he starts fucking you so hard that he thinks Howard Stark might need to buy a new mattress, new headboard, and maybe even have the damn wall re-plastered.
           The next few minutes consist of nothing more than filthy, pornographic sounds. With skin slapping against skin, the headboard snapping against the wall, your moans, and Buckyâs strained groans, neither of you can really hear the storm raging outside anymore. You focus in on Bucky as much as you can, watching as his abs ripple and the muscles of his flesh arm flex repeatedly. He catches you staring at him as he fucks you and he holds eye contact, letting his mouth fall open and his eyelids drop down halfway as he watches you watch him. Filthy. Itâs filthy the way he's fucking his cock into you in someone elseâs bed. You moan his name out in a raspy tone and it sends him over the edge. He guides your legs down, setting them back on the bed before crawling over you and fucking you missionary while he swallows every moan you let out. His lips brush against yours over and over again, but you donât kiss. You breathe each other in until you feel his cock twitch and his thrusts grow sloppy.
           âFuck, Iâm gonna cum.â Bucky groans, thrusting a little harder and deeper as he nears his release. You grip his sides and bend your knees as your own orgasm looms. âYouâre so fucking tight andâŚ.fuck, youâre justâŚshit, baby.â
           âBucky, I love you.â
           He loses every last remnant of control when you finally admit it. He canât stop the flood of cum that starts spilling out of his cock and into you. Truthfully, he wouldnât want to stop it. He thrusts as deep as he can and grinds his hips into you, watching your eyes scrunch closed and your mouth fall open as you take every last drop of his cum. Itâs everything to him. Not you taking his cum this way, not you letting him have you like this, but you telling him the one thing he never thought you would. You love him.
           His post-orgasm haze should last longer than yours. He should be collapsed next to you on the bed right now, but as you lay beneath him trying to catch your breath, heâs staring down at you with perfect clarity.
           âIf you go back to pretending you donât feel anything after thisâŚâ Buckyâs voice trails off as he feels a good bit of his cum dripping out of you and back onto his shaft. He moves in a little closer and pushes his cock the rest of the way inside you as gently as possible, earning himself a whimper from your pretty lips.
           âYouâll what? Fuck me on another table?â You tease, smiling up at him. He shakes his head and bites down on his bottom lip in an attempt to hide his own smile, but you catch it anyway.
           âWhy would I do that when there are so many other surfaces we havenât tried out yet?â
           âI hate you.â You retort playfully, sliding your hands up his chest and preparing to push him off of you. His cock hasnât softened in the slightest bit yet and you donât know if you can take another round tonight. His small smile turns into a hearty grin as his cock twitches again.
           âThatâs a lie.â He smirks, dragging his tongue along his teeth after speaking. You narrow your eyes at him as you realize heâs still leaning on his ridiculous theory that your pussy clenches down when you lie. âYou love me.â He says slowly, dropping his head down and pressing his lips against yours. He kisses you gently at first, pecking your lips twice before going in for a longer one. After a few seconds, he slips his tongue into your mouth and the longer he kisses you, the more weight you feel lifting from your shoulders. You didnât realize how exhausting it was to deny this for so long. But now that youâre here, letting it happen, you canât stop the tear that starts rolling down your cheek. Bucky pulls back as soon as he feels it, searching your eyes to see whatâs wrong. âWhat did I do?â He asks quickly, preparing to separate himself from you. You stop him, sliding your hands down his sides and curling your fingers against his skin to hold him in place.
           âNothing.â You answer honestly, smiling up at his look of concern even as that tear continues to roll down your cheek. âPeggy has a feeling that she and Steve wait too late in this lifetime, that they donât let themselves have this kind of happiness.â
           âI told you they end up together.â Bucky says gently, using the pad of his thumb to wipe the tear from your cheek.
           âI know. I wonder if this is how they felt when they finally made it back to each other.â Bucky takes a moment, really thinking about it before he moves a stray lock of hair away from your face and lets out a deep breath.
           âHow do you feel?â He asks, speaking with a soft tone as he eyes you closely.
           âLike if you asked me for a lifetime, it wouldnât scare the shit out of me.â
           As Bucky stares down at you, you can see that all of those times you thought his expression was so unreadable were because you didnât really want to read what was there. All you see in his eyes is love. Love and probably some kind of half-assed plan to ask you for a lifetime while his dick is inside you, just so he can see if youâre lying or not.
tag list
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Barry is so aware of how big he isâŚhe slouches or bends his chin down to make eye contact with someone. He could easily be terrifying or unapproachable but he makes himself exactly the opposite.
And THEN there are scenes when he is acting and he makes himself intimidating. And god it works.
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the following content contains spoilers for tv shows barry sloane has been in as well as all Modern Warfare games. content with spoilers are marked accordingly with contains spoilers. proceed with awareness and enjoy! :)
Character Analysis:
Contains spoilers:
Captain John Price COD
Captain Price VS Philip Graves COD
Sergeant Kyle Gaz Garrick COD
Ser Jorah Mormont GOT
Scene Analysis:
Captain John Price Missile scene COD
Captain John Price reacting to Farah possibly being involved with sketchy stuff COD
Moments after Captain Price threatens General Shepard COD
Captain Price interacting with Shepard at the end of MW 3 (contains spoilers) COD
Soap and his strong emotions toward the enemy COD
141s Dynamic COD
Alejandros' emotion is outside of his usual temperament COD
Valeria mocking others tones COD
Alejandro and Valeria and good storytelling COD
Video Sets:
All below content contains spoilers
Father Price and Daughter Farah videos 1-12
Captain Price and Commander Farah Karim interacting with some analysis
#1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12
Barry Sloane Making Out Clips:
Scenes from tv shows where his character is kissing girls passionately with some analysis. (He picks up like 4/5 of them which I still cannot get over.)
A mini explanation/rant about intimacy and acting.
Edit of barry picking up girls while kissing them
Edit of Barryâs make out scenes
Kissing wife in a stressful situation. SIX
Kissing stranger from bar while having an affair with wife (18+) SIX
Bonus: Wife jerking him off at a fertility clinic (very PG 13 scene) SIX
First kiss and hot damn REVENGE
Sweet couple kiss but god his hand is huge REVENGE
Transition from strangers to lovers kiss REVENGE
Barrys character getting pushed up against a wall for your viewing pleasure. REVENGE
Analysis and first kiss between characters. Sweet and hot LONGMIRE
Goodbye kiss between characters LONGMIRE
The above but only the kiss LONGMIRE
Bonus after sex scene LONGMIRE
A sweet first kiss scene (im like 99% sure) THE WHISPERS
Sneaking moment alone as parents THE BAY
Same day meeting make out SHAMELESS
Barry Sloane Television Show Scenes
Just for fun because I really love the way he portrays emotion as an actor. Some analysis included.
The Whispers
Main character finding his wife dead
SIX:
Joe Graves grounding himself before a mission
Joe Graves arguing and giving Cap Price vibes
Shameless:
Ryan Networking
Ryan being a good listener
Ryan being a good businessman
Longmire:
Zach gifting something while being cute
Zach shirtless with cereal
Zach upset at himself
Zach as a private investigator
Revenge:
Aiden captured
Aiden chasing down a bad guy
Aiden comforting main character. Mainly being sweet.
Aiden seducing a housekeeper shirtless
The Company You Keep:
Connor intro scene
Connors Dad gets out of jail
Connors Daddy issues
Connor slapping a bitch
Connor meeting his half sister
Connor being a badass
The Bay
Arguing with his girlfriend as he peels potatoes
Comforting his girlfriend
Awkward moment #1 with girlfriends ex-husband
Awkward moment #2 with girlfriends ex husband
Being a girl dad
Failing to comfort gfs daughter
Gift giving the locket
Chris being heartbroken as he finds his gift in a drawer
Dinner argument
Convo about gf moving out after arguing
L.As Finest:
Dante talking to his cbf
Danteâs muscled back fighting and daddy (real) energy
Dante showing up where he shouldnât be
Dante is like wtf
Dante being a daddy (real)
Dante being grossed out and sad
Dante being a confused bad ass
Dante being a cbf
Daddy being a DADDY
Dante being a 6ft 3 200 pound bad ass bitch
Dante making some..decisions.
Some Writings:
Longer:
COD 750 Mud Bath 500 word challenge reader!mystery 141 member. No warnings. You get muddy after a tackle while youâre training a group. Who was it that tackled you do you think?
COD 1.6k You Were The Best Of Us. Johnny Soap MacTavish, John Price. Mentions of Kate Laswell & Unnamed female character. angst, main character death, grief, mentions of pregnancy, healing, angst with a happy ending in the sense of closure.âJohn Price sat alone on the Scottish cliffside as the months of guilt and sorrow built up in his chest released in waves.â
COD 1.2k Thatâs My Girl. Captain John Price. Unnamed female character/Reader. brief mentions of grandfathers, stepfathers, and biological fathers passing away by heart attacks and suicide. No graphic descriptions of any. She had lost every father figure in her life, so what was she supposed to do when her Captain rumbled praises to her which simultaneously broke and healed her wounded heart. And what is she supposed to do when he takes a bullet in his shoulder?
Headcanons:
The 141 and a chore list COD
141 coffee orders COD
Price Vaping? COD
Incorrect COD Quotes:
141 in trouble COD
141 in trouble..again COD
Reader has soap in eye COD
Soap karaoke choice song 1 Carrie Underwood COD
Soap karaoke choice song 2 Kesha COD
Soap karaoke choice song 3 Nickleback COD
Soap karaoke choice song 4 Rihanna COD
Some Video Edits & Compilations:
Compilation of Kyle Gaz Garrick being sassy and sweet COD
A depressing Ghost and Soap edit COD
Pitbull sexy Ghost and Soap COD
Pit bull sexy 141 exhausted blogger version COD
Combined scenes of Price and Laswell with the missile launch. COD
Barry Sloane heartbreak scenes from the show The Bay
Iâve got you Brother. Captain Price edit
Some Photo Edits:
Ghost and Soap sad 1 COD
Ghost and Soap sad 2 COD
Ghost and Soap sad 3 COD
Soap flirting with Ghost via playlist COD
Jorah Mormont fuck therapy GOT
If you believe that I have claimed another's work as my own please know it was unintentional and inform me immediately so I can correct it. I work hard to credit and not claim others' work as my own. I have found my niche in videos and analysis which I seek out and write on my own. If someone shares with me a clip I credit them on any post I make. I apologize for the miscommunication and please know that I have worked to correct my mistakes and be a better supporter and creator. Thank you <3
-staytrueblue
dividers by @thyming (bees) @rookthornesartistry (red plain) @cafekitsune (masterlist)
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barry sloane picking up girls to kiss them đ
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The Roommate Series
Pairing: Simon âGhostâ Riley x f!reader
This is an (18+) story which means if you are a minor, you are not allowed to come onto my page and read this story. Smut will have a * in the link to the part
This series is complete
Synopsis: Three years ago you decided to go to college after being out of high school for so long but the only problem was that you needed a place to stay. You found an ad about someone needing a roommate for their apartment and ended up becoming roommates with a man named Simon Riley.
Now you've become best friends with Simon even when he disappears to work for months on end and shows back up randomly while never telling you what he does. As your relationship with Simon begins to change, you wonder if maybe his secrets were meant to stay hidden.
Heaven Help a Fool Who Falls in Love
My Heart is Yours
It was Only a Kiss
The Only Exception*
I Missed You, I'm Sorry
Home is Whenever I'm With You*
Lover Boy
So This Is Love*
I Surrender Who I've Been, For Who You Are*
Summertime Sadness*
Ptolemaea
In My Time of Dying
Aren't We Just Terrified?
Bury Me in Your Kiss*
Epilogue*
The Roommate Series on AO3
Extras
Why did Ghost fall in love with you
Dream
Flowers
Future
Argument
Sick
Nightmare
Zombie/Roommate!Simon 1
Zombie/Roommate!Simon 2
The tag list is closed!! I am so happy that so many of you want to be tagged for this story but I will not be accepting anymore requests to tag people in this series since this list has gotten long and it's hard to keep track of how many I have to add! Sorry for the inconvenience!
I donât own these characters, Call of duty, or any of the Modern Warfare titles. You do not have permission to sell this work. (2/27/2024)
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my baby swinginâ â simon (ghost) riley
biker!simon (ghost) riley x fem reader
> a bunch of snapshots of simon and his pretty little sweetheartâs adventures.
!! suggestive - minors dni; canon divergence; no chronological order (basically a bunch of loosely-tied worldbuilding); subtle and hinted age difference; reader gets princess treatment because she deserves it so!!
: im the one whoâs the most confused as to how my obsession with biker!simon started but im stringing u along anyway so pls have fun!! my inbox is open for brainworms <33
for all posts, pls click on biker!simon tag <33
part 01 - intro post; headcanons
part 02 - simon canât wait to come home to you
part 03 - getting over your fear of riding a bike
part 04 - lap sitting (a visual); ask
part 05 - simon and your first meeting; ask // extra 01
part 06 - little donuts at the park <;33
part 07 - simonâs instagram account (includes visuals); ask
part 08 - teasinâ each other on their way home; ask; suggestive
part 09 - body worship (a visual); ask; suggestive
part 10 - getting over your fear of riding a bike sequel! (a visual); ask
part 11 - mutual desperation spilling over; smut
part 12 - burning from all these messages; smut
part 13 - scary mask!! (a visual); ask
part 14 - of prince charming and care packages
part 15 - scary ghost? yes. protective ghost? yes <;33; ask
part 16 - safe drive!; ask
part 17 - simon and your first meeting cont.; ask; smut
part 18 - fun times on his bike; ask; smut
-
extra 02 - your nephewâs new favourite adult (a visual); ask
extra 03 - biker!konig makes an appearance!!! (a visual); ask
extra 04 - smack! smack! smack! (a visual); ask
extra 05 - picking up the backpack (a visual); ask
extra 06 - you donât use it, you lose it; ask
extra 07 - price on a harley; ask
extra 08 - helmet kiss (a visual); ask
extra 09 - âgirls cum firstâ sweater (a visual); ask; smut
extra 10 - tf141 and their shared backpack princess; ask
extra 11 - period cramps and cuddling; ask
extra 12 - of checkpoint videos & dashing men (a visual); ask
extra 13 - no backpacks allowed (a visual); ask
extra 14 - he slipped!! (a visual); ask
extra 15 - her famous luvr; ask (a visual)
extra 16 - keys and kisses; ask
extra 17 - simon announcing his girl (includes visual!); ask
extra 18 - careful now (a visual); ask
extra 19 - theyâre friends??
extra 20 - pretty blue lace; ask; smut
extra 21 - dad!simon (a visual); ask
extra 22 - lil smut (a visual); ask
extra 23 - riding on the rain (a visual); ask
extra 24 - girl dad simon; ask
extra 25 - gorgeous and protective (a visual); ask | recent!
-
dear john - dbf!simon
âł for all toxic/dbf simon pls click on dbf!simon tag!!
toxic dadâs best friend biker!simon au; ask; angst + smut
âdear johnâ: cont. of toxic dadâs best friend biker!simon au; ask; angst + suggestive
mini cont of dear john; ask
dear john (but itâs john price); ask
dear john (how he fucks); smut
dear john (as illicit affairs); ask; angst + smut
dear john (illicit affairs origin); angst + smut
dear john (illicit affairs origins but as reader); ask; angst + suggestive
dear john (reader moving on); ask | recent!
-
subset 01 - best friend n biker!simon au; ask
subset 02 - best friend n biker!simon au cont.
subset 03 - bimbo!reader
unofficial extra - baker!simon
-
i have a short taglist so pls lmk if you would like to be tagged too ^v^ no more taglist
(updated: 28 april 2024)
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thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.
when youâre in the shower, heâs sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.
when youâre at your desk, working from home or studying, heâs just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. heâs dead quiet when youâre on a call, just happy to be around.
when youâre doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.
âsorry, loveâ
he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.
when youâre both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.
when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when youâll stop walking.
when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when youâve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, heâs immediately in a panic calling your name.
âin here, my loveâ
as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. youâre taking a wee, youâll be back in a minute.
that doesnât stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.
even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like youâre leading the way.
minute youâre both on the mattress, youâre being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like youâre made for him.
(and you are)
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Save a Horse
Pairings: cowboy!bucky x f!reader
NSFW/MDNI
Masterlist
Summary: Its girls night out, but when you see a handsome cowboy, you have no other option than to take him for a ride.
Word count: 3.3k
Warnings: fluff, Pet names (girl, ma'am, doll, sugar (once), darling), slight praise, body worship, cowgirl, pinv sex, southern Bucky, cockwarming, creampie, sundress kink.
AN: I lied, I was so excited to write cowboy!bucky so I posted it first.
The sounds of heels hitting pavement surrounded me as I held the door to the bar open, letting my girls pass me. We were out for our typical ladies night.
We sound like a gaggle of hens as we enter, giggling and gossiping as were already a bit drunk from dinner. The sound of music and crowded voices fill the gloomy, yet cozy lit bar.
Our group steps up to the counter, placing our orders when one of the girls nudges me, 'Honey, be descreet ok? That stud over there.' She says quietly, nodding her head to the right of us, 'Hes totally checking you out.'
I furrow my brows, doubting her words and all girls turn their heads at the same time, checking out this supposed stud.
And boy, was she right.
Sat by his lonesome, brooding and hunched over his drink, his gaze was observing me from under his hat. When he notices us all staring he chuckles and smirks, nodding to the empty seat next to him. The girls whisper to me in various terms of encouragement and surprise like 'Holy shit!' And 'Go get him, girl.'
I shake my head and laugh, mouthing "Later" to him. 'Lets just get a table.' I tell the girls with a bright smile.
The night goes on, but unable to keep my eyes to myself. They drift toward the handsome cowboy by the bar and more often than not, I find him already looking.
'Girl, if you dont want him, we'll take him.' They say, all agreeing with the statement.
I look at them with round eyes 'Oh my god, fine.' I snicker.
'Hurry!' They shout as I stand up.
'Im going, im going!' I assure them, and make my way to the bar. I look behind me, to find the girls giving me thumbs up and waving their hands in shooing motions.
I hear a low whistle coming from the pool table nearby, and turn to see a man looking at me up and down. Staring at my bare legs and slightly seathrough dress, it was the middle of summer after all.
I wink at him in good spirits as I turn back and saunter toward the bar, sidling up to the handsome cowboy. He observes his whiskey glas and says 'I was startin' to think you'd never come.' A charming smile on his lips.
I sat down, 'You doubtin' your abilities?'
He shook his head and met my eyes, 'No, ma'am. I just dont like being presumtious.'
'Confident, not boastful. I like that.' I told him truthfully.
'I was hopin' so.' He said, that charming smile making its way back to his lips, 'You seem to be a popular girl.' Eyeing the man who whistled at you.
I wave the bartender down, 'That bother you?' I ask, and give the bartender my order.
The cowboys eyes drift over my body, admiring what he sees. Nothing the way my leg is poking out of the slit in my sundress. 'No ma'am.' He jerks his head, then says under his breath, 'I can see why.' And smiles to himself.
'What was that?' I asked, the sound of a crowded bar dulling my hearing.
He points at the bartender, 'Told him to put it on my tab.' He lazily excuses. The bartenders nods hesitantly, looking at me for confirmation.
I hummed in agreeing, a smile tugging on my lips, 'I can pay for myself y'know.'
'I never doubted.' He said with a genuine smile, 'Please, let me be a gentleman miss.'
I put my hads up, 'Well, alright.'
He tipped his hat to me in gratitude. I observed his features as he did the same, 'You never told me your name.' I tilted my head to the side, looking deeply into his eyes as if I could tell the name from the hue of blue alone.
'My real names James, but they call me Buck out here.' a gleam of mischief appearing in his eyes. Making me eager to know why, I already had a few guesses. 'And yours, miss. . .?'
I shook my head, looking at him through my lashes in challenge 'Now, that. . . You'll have to earn.'
He nodded and pursed his lips, my answer seemed to humour him, 'Thats a challenge im willin' to accept.' He told me.
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping our drinks. The tension hung in the air around us, and so did the origin of his name, acuriosity eventually got the better of me.
'So, why do they call you Buck anyway. If I may ask that is.'
He laid one arm on the bar, holding his glass and leaning against it for support 'You may guess, I'll tell you if its right. Scouts honor..' He answered, his voice cheeky.
I rolled my eyes, but a smile threatened my lips, 'S'pouse thats fair.' I studied him, his clothes were well worn, nicely fitted but roughed up and dirty. 'Farmer maybe-' I began and he was about to cut in, to answer for me, but I stopped him, 'Hold on, thats not my final guess.'
I reached for his hands, opening them to look at their state. Big and calloused, 'Hard worker, it seems. Your hands are at the very least.' I pointed out and met his eyes, looking at him through my lashes.
'Thats a promise darlin'.' He said earnestly, but with a hint mischief in his tone. And supposedly nothing ulterior behind his words. I took his chin between my fingers, moving his head so I could get a good look at his face. A few scrapes, same with his hat.
'Can I look at your hat?' I asked, and he obliged, taking it off of him.
He leaned forward, his eyes ruefull 'You can try it on if you want.' He said in a low voice, ment for my ears only.
'Is that right?' I teased, pleased expression on on face.
'I think it'd suit you.' He told me, shrugging.
'Could you roll your sleeves up for me?' I asked him, ignoring the latter. Nothing ulteiror behind my words either, supposedly.
But man, as he rolled them up and I saw those strong veiny arms? Something definitley set aflame inside me. But I also noticed a big bruise under his forearm, leading up to his elbow, as if he'd fallen on it.
'It wouldnt be my first time wearin' a cowboys hat, boy. Not my first rodeo either.' I said. A smile spreading across his face as he nodded, approvingly. 'Speaking of, you do rodeo dont you?'
'Yes, ma'am.' He said, impressed by my deduction.
'You strong in the saddle, that why they call you Buck?'
'I stay on, most of the time.' He admitted.
I hummed, 'Theres something more to it though, isnt there?' I asked, and he nodded. 'You got a reputiation for bucking cowgirls out of the saddle?' I joked.
He laughs, but doesnt deny it.
The bartender cuts in, 'Indeed, he does.' And winks at me, I return a flattered smile. He leans toward me, resning his forearms on the counter 'Next drink 's on the house, little lady.' He whispered, a flirtatious smile on his lips.
'Why, thank you.' I said politley, ignoring the bad flirting.
The cowboy looked between the two of you, chuckled, then settled his gaze on the bartender.
'Careful there Chief, I already had my eyes on this one.' He said and nodded his head in my direction.
The bartender, whos aparent name is Chief, smiled at Buck, 'Yeah well, you cant have em' all.' Chief said in a gruff voice and gave me a quick look, smiling confidently. When he looked back, the cowboy had raised his eyebrows in question, wordlessly comunicating something along the lines of "You sure you wanna do this?"
The bartender licked his lips, thoughts of regret circling his head.
'Boys, boys. . .' I tried, a bad attempt at calming them.
The bartender closed the distance between him and Buck in long pompous strides, leaning over the bar slowly, settled his head next to him in a calm and collected motion, then kept his voice low but hasty 'C'mon Buck, you can get any girl you want. Let me have this one, please.' He begged, his voice betraying him as its high-pitched nature shone through.
His bad attempt at a whisper made me giggle, and earned me a smirk from Buck.
'I believe that fine lady over there can hear just fine, bud.' He whispered back, making the bartender look at me in horror. Quickly rebuilding the facade of confidence over his face and the flirtatious smile to go with it. However, nervousity was making it crack. 'Besides.' Buck continued, 'Nothing says she'll chose either of us.'
I looked between the men, it was an obvious choice. 'Reputation or not, I'll accept that challenge.'
He met my eyes with a grin, grabbing the top of his hat and placed it on my head. He pulled my hair back from my face and laid it behind my shoulder so he could see my face better. I could hear chearing from our left, we both looked and saw the girls whooping and clapping.
The bartender backed off in defeat, but a smile clad his face.
'So you were a scout?' I teased, a humored expression on my face.
'Yes, ma'am.' He nodded, forgetting he didnt have his hat to tip. So I did it for him.
I laid my hand on the nape of his neck, burrying my hand in his hair, 'So, how about it cowboy. Wanna take me for a ride?'
He smiled and bit his lip, 'I thought you'd never ask.'
He took my hand and led me to his car in a hurry, we ran through the dim, rainy night and next thing I know im sitting on top of him in the backseat of his truck.
I kiss him fiercly, eager to taste him. Hes trying to slow me down, but im aching for more him. 'Girl.' He says, trying to grab my attention as I kiss his jaw. And when I dont stop, he cups my face and pushes me backward so that he can get a look at me, 'Slow down.' He whispers, stroking a strand of hair behind my ear as he studies my face. 'Theres no hurry. I want all of ya', not a second.' He says and smiles.
I wasnt used to this, I had one-night stands before for sure. But they we're always in a hurry, using me for my body and nothing else. Bucks comment made me blush, suddenly shy. I had to turn my face the other way as I realised that he was actually paying attention to me, and not just chasing his own pleasures. 'Sorry.' I said under my breath.
'No need to apologize girl.' He assured, hand reaching for my chin. Gently taking it between his fingers and turning my head to face him.
'Youre a real gentleman, arent you?' My smile was faint, as I thought about previous encounters. Memories making me appreciate his soft touch.
'I try.' He grins, not in an egotistical way, but rather proudly. 'Thats how I was raised.' He nodded, stroking a line over my lips with his thumb, 'Just, beautiful. . .' He mumbles, as his eyes follow his thumb, observing the movement of my lips.
'They did one hell of a job.' I say, kissing his cheek.
'They'd appreciate that, I was one hell of a gangster growing up.' He chuckled as his hands fell to my shoulders, and continued sliding down my arms, taking both straps of my dress with him.
'A gangster with manners, who treat women right.' I pointed out, a sigh leaving me as his touch aling with the cool air prickled my skin.
'Well.' He paused, his eyes flickering over my exposed skin as he squeezed his way down my arm in massaging motions. 'I would be nothing without the women in my life.' He says, kissing my shoulder 'Men would be nothing without women, to put it simply.'
His words caused me to bite my lip, a pulse settling deep in my uterus. I lean into him, unbuttoning his shirt and slide my hands underneath. Feeling his warm skin and strong muscles under my fingertips. His shirt catches on my wrists and I slide it off of his shoulders, then drape my arms around him and nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. 'Just when I thought you couldnt turn me on more.' I whisper and kiss him gently.
He grunts appreciatively, 'Oh how you'll take those words back when youre screamin' my name sugar.' He says and kisses his way along my neck. Stirring the butterflies in my stumache.
I kiss along his jaw as his lips reach my cheekbone and eventually we meet lip to lip, ghosting eachother as he leans his forehead against mine. 'You're perfect doll.' He says under his breath, his air alone tasting divine. I blush and close the final distance between us, kissing his lips.
Heat builds within us as our movements grow hungry. His hands roam my body, rubbing my thighs and grabbing my waist. 'Can I look at ya'?' He asks, desperation in his voice. Whimpering almost, but not quite.
'Mhmm.' I hum, and slide the straps down my arms. The dress falls down my torso and bunches at my hips. A sharp intake of breath comes from him as his eyes study me, the curve of my breasts, waist, and everything else. This time, however, I dont turn shy. Because I know that there is nothing but admiration behind his gaze, his eyes basically turning heart-shaped.
'May I?' He looks at me, pleading, begging.
'Yes, please.' I Whimper.
And in the flash of a second, hes on me. Hunching down to take my breasts into his mouth, hungerly sucking. I moan, my breaths heavy as the smacking and slurping sound of his mouth on my flesh symphonises. The windows begin fogging up, clouding the view of the parking lot, hiding our identities but showing our intentions.
His hands slide over my thighs and under my dress, toying with the hem of my panties. Pulling on them and then letting go, making them snap back and sting my skin. I yelp from the sudden sensation, he let's out a muffled laugh against my skin. I bite my lip and burry my hands in his hair to gently pull at my pleasure.
His hands move under my panties, holding my hips in place. I grind down on his lap and immidietly, my core touches his erection. We both freeze, he let's go of my breasts and pull back to look at me. Our eyes meet, gazes flickering between eachothers eyes in silent communication. Eventually, we both agree.
Under the sound of rain hitting the truck, we clash together in a feverish kiss as I unbuckle his belt and zipp down his jeans, he rips my panties apart and pulls his member out. Our movements are hasty and filled with want, needing the other so incredibly bad. I sit up as Buck lines himself up with my entrance, we lock eyes and I slide down onto him, his size filling me perfectly.
We gasp in unisome as the sensation sinks in, smiles chasing our lips.
I start moving and he grips my hips to help my movements. Soon, we have set a needy rhythm, both chasing our highs. He leans back to take in the sight, my breasts bouncing along with the rest of my body. I move my hands to take his hat off, but he shakes his head. 'That hat shows your mine, girl.' He says between the smacking of our skin, luring a smile onto my lips, 'And Id like to keep it that way.' Panting, a grin spreading over his face.
My knees grow weak as pressure builds within me and my movements grow irregular, a whimper manifesting in my throat. Buck circles his arms around me, pulling me close to him and suspends me above his lap as he begins thrusting into me roughly. 'I got ya', such a good girl.' He whispers, doing the all the work for me.
My stumache flitters from his words, 'Fuck.' I moan, 'Just like that, Buck.' My breathing becomes ragged as his strong arms hold me.
I rest my head on his shoulder, his thrusts rocking my body entire body. My gaze drifts to the condensation on the windows, observing how the water droplets bunch and grow bigger as they slide down the glas. My vision blurring, 'Im close, Buck.' I whisper, 'Fuck me.'
He lets out a breathy chuckle, 'Thats what I've been doin'.' I adjust my hips, so that I can grind my clit against his abdomen. I shut my eyes hard as I'm tipping over the edge.
'Let me hear you doll.' He moans.
I moan a string of curses, screaming his name as I topple over the edge. He's thrusts falter and he grunts as his own orgasm arrives right after mine. He comes deep inside of me and let's up on his hold around me. He moves his hand to my back, gently massaging circles while the other stokes hair from my sweaty forhead. I slide down onto his lap, member still inside me as we exchange exhausted breaths.
Suddnely-
A knock sounds on one of the windows, startling me terribly. I yelp, 'Holy shit!' pushing myself closer to Bucks chest in an attempt to cover some of my naked body.
'Sorry!' The man said, 'Didnt mean to scare ya' lady.' hastily turning his face away, profile cloudy through the window. He cleared his throat and continued, 'It's getting rowdy in there Buck, I could really use some backup.' His voice reminding me of the bartender.
'Fuck. . .' Buck sighs, 'I'll be right there chief.' And the bartender leaves. Hastily, but not rushing, he helps me dress, pulling up my dress straps and reaching into the passenger seat for his worker-jacket to wrap around my shoulders.
I smile, 'Thank you.' And pull my arms through the sleeves, 'You really don't have though.'
His eyebrows furrow, 'Of course I do.' He says matter of factly, sounding very confused.
'But you'll need your jacket.' I protest.
He grins, 'So? You'll be returnin' it tomorrow.' He grabs my waist and lifts me off of him, the sound of his member sliding out of me making a sick suctioning sound and he tucks himself away.
I tilt my head in question, my turn to be confused. 'Tomorrow?' I ask, as he opens the truck door and steps out, holding his hand out for me to take and looking at me expectantly. I give him a slanted smile, his kindness making me feel undeserving, I forget his earlier statement. I slide my hand into his and shake my head, almost in disbelief. 'You're too kind.'
'I'm not, and you'll learn that you're worth it.' He says, meeting my eyes and shutting the door behind me. I blush, and look away. But he grabs my face and turns me to face him, he smiles and strokes my cheek with his thumb. 'I was hoping you'd stay over, I'll take my jacket tomorrow when it's warmer.'
Warmth spreads inside me, partly because of Bucks seed still in me. I clamp my walls shut to avoid it leaking out while I'm standing. 'I'd love to cowboy, but I gotta tell my friends, and use the bathroom. . .'
He raises an eyebrow in confusion, then it hits him, 'Oh right.' He chuckles, grabbig his hat to ruffle my hair with it. 'Yes ma'am, of course.' He says and kisses my temple, then laces his fingers together with mine and lead me back towards the bar.
'Hey.' He says, stopping in his tracks 'Have I earned your name yet?' He gently yanks me back, snaking his arms around me.
'I'd say so.' I chuckle, standing on my tiptoes and leaning closer, whispering my name into his ear. Then stand back.
Buck grins, 'Just as beautiful as the rest of ya' he says, and pulls me into a kiss.
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ŕźâ§âËâ§
â cough medicine & kisses â
pairing : sick!simon riley x fem!reader
tags : NSFW, Undefined relationship. (Unprotected p in v, mentions of overstimulation.)
Synop : sub!simon who isn't actually a sub, but just so overworked he wants to fuck himself dumb.
w/c 3.8k
Sick. Itâs a word you never thought youâd hear from your Captainâs mouth. âSick?â You repeat, like a broken record. It only earns a small nod from Price, followed by a short breath of annoyance. Yeah, Okay. You can practically read the older man's mind, âGo check on him yourself if youâre so worried.â Is what he would say if he had any less humanity in him. But, he saves you the hit to your already fragile ego. Did you even want to see Simon? The feeling of seeing him in a state any less of⌠cold? makes your stomach churn in an uncomfortable turmoil.Â
Softly knocking on the door to his barrack, peeling your knuckles away from the cold wood frame. Noise within his barrack ceases, only for a few seconds before you hear a groan. Followed by a cough. Maybe two, or three more. Simon opens the door. He's still sporting his usual balaclava - But, his eyes are deep, darker and glossy. Dark circles line the bottom of his lids, similar to that of a raccoon. Blonde hair slightly tufted up, messily sprawled over his head. Sure enough, he looks sick as a dog.Â
"What do you want?" He asks, his voice an octave lower than it usually is. Still dark, gravelly, but it has more ache to it. The way his voice strains almost sends you to your knees. Vulnerable. Itâs the only word that comes to mind as you look at him right now. Would he tear the limbs from your body if he knew you thought of him this way? Absolutely. But, as much as the big brute tries⌠you care for him nonetheless. âIâm here to check up on you.â You state, voice coming out a little bit more weakly than anticipated. Nice one. You try to recover, eyes briefly flicking somewhere else in the dimly lit hallway to escape his unrelenting gaze down. âYou havenât come out of your room in two days,â You add with a small tut of your lips, breaking the silence that seems to only make you uncomfortable. âHave you been eating?â
âI donât need a nurse.â He states, flatly. His eyes languidly trail against your body, as if sucking up every detail, and then spitting it back out. Simon has taken a comfortable position in his doorway, his arm hiked up above himself to lean against the frame of the door. He has a fever. In fact, you know he has a fever. Tiny sweat beads forming above his brow, barley in sight from the way his balaclava is messily dragged across his face. He heaves for a second, as if trying to conceal a cough. Then, he spits it out - Coughing again, throat dry and raw. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, blinking away the blur that choked itself into his vision. âAnd, I eat when I feel like it.â Despite the sickness, he doesn't step down from his authoritative role. Big fuckinâ baby.Â
âI can practically feel your fever from here.â You huff, a quick folding of your arms to defend yourself from his princess attitude. âHave you taken medicine?â You continue, feeling the urge to take care of him swirl in your gut. No, you werenât a mommy to the men of the taskforce, but more often than not, you found yourself stirring up a pot of soup to soothe their aching throats. Or placing a cold cloth on their foreheads when they ignored the chill in their bones. As much as you loved to tease them about their uselessness when it came to taking care of their bodies, part of you actually enjoyed the play. Okay, maybe you were mommy.Â
âI can take care of myself, thank you.â He chuffs, a small wheeze from his constricting lungs. You can feel the heat radiate from his body. The smell radiating from the inside of his barrack is deep, and musky. A mixture of his sweat and natural scent. Something about it makes your skin rise, and your heart scutter. You remind yourself that heâs sick, and probably wouldnât take too kindly to the thought of getting you sick either. The sound of him clearing the phlegm from his throat quickly pulls you from your thoughts - now, no longer turned on. . . just a little more empathetic, you sigh. Itâs like the man can feel your persistence from where you stand in the doorway. You just wonât back down. His head slightly lowers, eyes shutting for a second before they reopen and stare back at you. âNo.â He says, flatly. All you do is quirk an eyebrow in wake of his question, and heâs shifting in front of you. Clearly his sickness is wearing down his resolve, and heâs almost submitting to your obvious request to take care of him. It's like a cowboy stand-off. Two idiots staring each other down, too stubborn to admit they just want to cuddle.Â
The stare is only broken as he wheezes out a choked out cough, eyes fluttering shut against the tears that build against his lid. âFine,â Another cough, âYou win.â He slides his arm down from the frame of the doorway, fingers flexing for a moment before resting at his sides, now unmoving. A single stare, until he crosses the room to his bed, sitting on the edge - almost robotically. Clearly heâs uncomfortable with your presence. Clearly heâs uncomfortable even having someone in his room.Â
You step into the room, eyes taking in the unfamiliar sight. A sight youâve honestly been dreaming of. Itâs a larger room, one that comes from the privilege of being Lieutenant. There arenât really any decorations, perhaps a plant or two. Mixtures of grays and blacks littering the color scheme of his room. From there, your eyes drift to his bedside table - a tiny bite of what seems to be four crackers on a paper plate, an empty glass of water, and a multitude of used tissues. Not the⌠good kind of used. Nonetheless, your brain wracks with the sudden realization. Heâs sick. Not just, sniffly, but genuinely sick.Â
âGo on,â You prompt, a soft wave of your hand, âLay down.â Heâs quick to obey you, though, not without protest. He grumbles to himself, incoherent sick whining. Eyebrows furrowed, and an ached whine as he slides himself into bed. âIâm not tired.â He chuffs, but even he knows thatâs bullshit. His eyes are barely opened, glassy, and the dark circles that line them almost look painful. âYouâre tired.â You reply, knowingly. Itâs a quick walk across the room, opening his bathroom door and searching for a washcloth. Once found, you wet the rag, wringing it from excess water and then trotting back over to the side of his bed. Eyes falling down on his sicken frame, you see the way his muscles contract with every labored breath. Simon seems in pain. His scowl visibly softens, his eyes flicking between the soft hold you have on the rag, and your face. A quick quirk of your eyebrow, as if saying, are you going to let me do this? His eyes lower, and a pained chuff emits itself from his scratchy throat. Youâre already at the side of his bed, thereâs no stopping you now. âIâm not a child.â He reminds you, though, itâs clear he could use the coddling. âYes,â You begin, leaning over and lowering the cloth to his forehead, âSuch a big boy.â Tone lacking malice, and only harboring love for the sick man. He's stubborn - even as sick as he is, Simon doesn't want to be babied, even if he knows he desperately needs it. He keeps his lips clamped tight, trying to stay stoic. Stilling even when he feels the cool washcloth press to his forehead, when his skin is flushed and on fire. It takes a great deal of willpower to stay quiet when the cool cloth soothes his aching body. He's breathing deep, and slow now. It doesn't matter how he feels about you, his body needs the rest.Â
Heâs out like a light. Unmoving, and slow breathing. Broad shoulders, and firm chest rising with every sickly breath he inhales and exhales. A quick glance around the room, and you plan your next attack. Simply cleaning up his barrack, and preparing him a small meal. Though, the tasks do take awhile, having thoroughly cleaned the place. Itâs the least you could do. Right?Â
It wasn't until he stirred in bed that you finally approached him again, a small groaning emitting from his lips as he stretched the sleep from his aching muscles. âHey..â You cooed, fingers haunting the area of his forehead to check his temperature. He was still quite warm, definitely entering the cusp of breaking the fever, but still quite sick. His eyes take a moment to register your presence, glossed honeyed gaze rising up and taking in your concerned gaze.Â
âYou stayed?â The words were like a knife to your gut, twisting, sinking, and ripping it out. Stayed? Why the hell wouldnât you stay? The realization hits you even harder, a freight train dragging your body the whole span of the track. âOf course,â You sigh, your hand softly trailing down his face, thumb grazing in wake of his jawline, âWhy would I leave?â The touch brings him peace. A wake of molten arising on his very skin, eyes clamping shut. Your touch - It's a gentle, comforting gesture, one you seldom see in your line of work. âI donât know.â He croaks out after a moment, eyes only opening enough to watch as your thumb ghosts the fabric of his balaclava. He wants to respond, he can feel the words forming at the tip of his tongue. But, they're caught when she drags her thumb down his chin again. He swallows hard, looking around for a way to avoid a response, but finds none. âShut up,â You interrupt before he can grasp on to the feeling in his chest, âTake this.âÂ
Youâre quick to reach over to the bedside table, handing him one or two pills from the bottle, and holding the glass of ice water in your other hand. He looks at it, awkwardly before taking the medication from your palm. His hand raises to his balaclava, hooking a thumb underneath and raising it up just enough to place the pills on his tongue. You try not to look. Keyword, try. Soft stubble from days of not shaving, sharp jawline, and lips full enough to lay claim against. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Eyes flicking down your face, then down to the glass of water. Simon takes hold of it, his fingers grazing against your own as he slips the glass into his own hand. The contact sends shivers down your body, now aching from the servitude youâve dove into. Itâs like fucking shell-shock, the way his touch rattles up and down your nervous system, until the only thing you can think about is pushing him against the bed, and stuffing down on his cock so- âAre ya gonna give me the glass?â He mutters, a slight pressure as he tries to take the glass. You sputter, only for a moment, before letting him take it. Simon makes quick work to the glass, putting it to his now, unclothed lips, and taking a few swigs - soft drops of water forming against lips. Lips so soft you can almost feel the sensation. Lips so soft you can hear the demons in your head screaming to roll it between your teeth.Â
You avert your gaze, hushing the demons that claw themselves from the pit of your stomach. It was like something in your body shifted - a sense of you shouldnât be here eating up your consciousness. Quickly, you stand up, eyes flicking over only to catch the clink of Simon setting down the glass. âWhere are you off too?â His words are thin, and hoarse, as if he can barely speak against the sickness building inside of him. You actually had no clue where you were going, only crossing over to the kitchen to make yourself look busy. Being away from him was helping, though, the butterflies in your stomach pitter pattering against gummy insides. âJust gonna do some of your dishes, no big deal.â You chide, the heat you once felt on your back from his stare very quickly becomes real heat. âWhy are you acting weird?â Simon asks, placing a hand down on the countertop beside you, his body loosely caging your presence. You could walk away, simply move from the spot youâre in, and heâs giving you that option. But you donât. âYouâre sick, go lay down.â You usher, trying to get him to back up. Hand slipping to push on his waist, only a little, fingers barely grazing the fabric of his tight gray t-shirt. Heâs quick with his movement, a single hand snapping up to grab hold of your wrist - the same wrist linked to a hand pressed a little higher than his hip. âI thought you were nursing me back to health, yeah?â He chuffs, the reverberating ache in his throat causing his usual tone to deepen by an entire octave. So, there he is, caging you to the kitchen countertop. A hand on your wrist, and the other placed against the granite, fingers visibly curling. I might just take him on this countertop, you think to yourself, the demons practically chewing on the bars of your brain. Deep in thought, he takes a small movement in your daze, his hand cascading up from your wrist to your shoulder - a soft grip, but one that still drips of possession. âI asked you a question.â He asks, head dipping down to meet your height. Dilated pupils, a small form of sweat against his brow, and the remaining flush of his fever. His jaw is clenched so tight you swear itâll stay locked like that forever. Itâs really the only tell that heâs affected by the sight of you. The warmth dripping from his body is scorching. Tickling down your entire body, as he inches and inches closer itâs like molten lava clawing at your very flesh. But, there isnât a single syllable youâre able to utter in response. You donât know why you react this way when heâs close. You donât know why you feel your heart slam against your ribcage when you make eye contact. You donât know why you wish to map out the entirety of his back and use your hands as the ink that cascades down on paper. âI donât know.â A simple, and blunt answer falling from your still parted lips.Â
âWell, figure it out, yeah?â Simon chuffs, before leaning back. The sudden loss of heat is what gets you, knees practically buckling from the cool air kissing at your skin. His eyes drift down, still glassy, and far - but, looking at you, nonetheless. âSi,â You utter, softly. Itâs like the gods got tired of looking at the way you pathetically stare at him - deciding, hey, give this one a little push. He tenses, an almost growl as he glances down at you. Fuck, that nickname. âYouâre right,â You murmured, feeding into his words, hand sinking back down against his hip, âLet me take care of you.âÂ
It was like an apparition entered his fucking body. In seconds, hands your wrist, backing you up into the countertop. He falters for a moment, head dipping down to your shoulder - an almost soft inhale of the shampoo you use. The smell alone is practically creating a tent against his sweatpants. Finger curling against your wrists. You glance up at him, only seconds as you catch those dangerous honey-like irises inspecting you. Dilation. Quick to hike up his mask, he kisses you. Itâs messy, desperate, and almost clumsy. Giving in, you part your lips - an immediate attack of his teeth drawing in your bottom lip, biting down with a force. Groaning into the kiss, he pushes his hips against yours - the cold granite of the countertop pressing into your lower back. A desperate, âFuck..â as he flattens his tongue against your teeth. Being sick has obviously caused something in his brain to rewire, something to calm the constant ache in his head - or the warmth your body projects feels like healing.Â
His hands cascade up to your hips, a tight grip as he lifts you - almost effortlessly even in contrast to his sicken state. Almost delirious, setting you down on the bed - hands attacking the hem of your own sweatpants. âLovie,â Simon exhales through a tight groan, fingers shimmying down the fabric to your ankles, âneed this⌠âso fuckin bad.â Maybe itâs the cough medicine rewiring his brain, but heâs practically whimpering for your touch. You feed into his head, hand lazily dragging down the fabric of both his sweatpants, and boxers. Obviously, heâs not going to go for any sort of foreplay. Heâs too fucked dumb, eyes desperately searching your gaze as you realize just how drunk he wants to get off of your pussy. His hand slides up to the valley between your breasts, pushing down until your back hits the soft plush of the mattress. âso âfuckin pretty.â A tightening of his hands against your hips. His eyes flick down, simply just staring at the state of that pretty fucking pussy. A bite to his bottom lip, before placing himself against you. Still watching you closely, he drags the crown of his cock up and down in slow lines - shuddering against the slickness that oats your entrance.Â
The sight continues to make him whine. Heâs practically teasing himself at this point, only using your body as a means to soothe the sick ache in his head and push his cum so deep into your cunt that heâs the only thing youâll think of for weeks. You stare up at him, hips circling slowly to further the teasing he plants upon himself. The hand not placed against his cock is quick to snap against your stomach, pushing down until you reside still on the bed. Oh. The crown of his cock latches against your entrance, a shudder from his flesh as he pushes his hips against yours. The motion is slow, sensual and you can practically feel the air leaving your body against the fit. Tight. âfuck, lovie.. âso good.. âso fuckin good..â Simon whines, his head tipping back from where he stands. The build up is astronomical, in and in, and.. In, until you almost canât believe heâs not even halfway fucked into you. The tight fit sends electricity to every nerve in your body, gummy walls barely able to clamp together as they get filled. âFuck, Si-â You choke out in hesitance, only for it to be met with another whine from his throat. Somewhere between a cry, and a whine, he lowers his torso down to meet yours - within seconds heâs buried fully inside of you.Â
Heâs plunging into you like a man starved. Back, and forth - creating his own whimpers. He likes to drag it out, pulling his cock all the way out, leaving only the tip - stirring there for a moment until his own body constricts, and then slamming in as hard as possible. Hands vice gripped around your thighs, bringing you to and from him like a pocket pussy. âfuck, such a good girl.. Oh my god..â Simon whines, his face burying itself deep into your locks, inhaling deeply to consume every last fiber of your scent. Lazily gasping between every fluid motion of his hips, clumsiness peeking around the corners as he fucks into you. âoh, lovie.. jusâ what I need.. âso fuckin good.â He whines again, his hand curling into a fistful of your hair just to stop himself from jerking about. Simon constricts for a moment, pulling out, and then circling his tip at your entrance - his body twitches, and convulses as if overstimulating himself on purpose. Pussy sloppy around him, already drenching the area between you two - wet squishing noises as he drags back the mixture of pre and slick, just to bury it back inside of you. âsweet girl, oh fuck.. fuck..â He sputters out again, another whine into the crook of your neck as he clumsily slams his hips down against yours. What the fuck was in this cough medicine. Lifting himself up, a hand placed at the side of your head, fingers curling into the sheets. His eyes trail down to your connection, and now youâre painfully aware of just how pussydrunk heâs become. Bottom lip taken between his teeth, glossy eyes staring down at the sight of his cock sliding in and out. âUp.â He shudders out, his other hand slipping from the sheets and placing itself behind your lower back, holding you up against the edge of the bed. His knee sinks up onto the comforter, and now heâs plunging into you even deeper. Fucking the same spot, over and over again - abusing the gummy wall he seems to be intent on murdering. âsweet girl,â He practically wheezes, the reminiscent of his sore throat, âjust like that âyeah.. milk my âfuckin cock.â Youâre too busy blissfully indulging in the art piece in front of you. A man, who is usually cold and stoic, so pussy drunk heâs whining.Â
The feeling is quick, sweeping, and hits like a freight train. Your insides curl into a tight coil, and release like the snap of a rubber band. A simple, âS-Si!â Sputters from your mouth, earning a jagged groan from his throat. Simonâs fucking into you like an animal, rutting in and out to ride out the way you clamp down on him. Practically whining, and crying - every time he pulls out, it earns a quick, âHnng-â from his tickled throat. âfuck, please.. right there, oh fuck, lovie..â He practically cries out, hips clumsily and weakly slipping against your wet meeting point. A continuation of the rutting, followed by a small cry of relief. He cums, and a lot. So hot and filling it practically burns. Simon continues his sloppy pushes in, and out - using the cum to push deeper, and deeper. Heâs a writhing mess on top of you, his muscles twitching and contorting as he grinds out the sensitivity. âHa- Ha.. fuck, lovie.â A quick sputtering, until his face is once again buried into your shoulder. Simon doesnât bother pulling out, instead basking in the heat. Soft, and absentminded twitching of his tight muscles - whimpers still slipping from his mouth as he rests against you. Vulnerable.
âYaâ tired?â You ask softly, eyes flicking down to see his head still buried in the depths of your hair. A few seconds of silence, before youâre met with a small hum of acknowledgement.
âAlright, big guy, letâs get you a nice shower, yeah?â You chide, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his jawline, fingers making their way down his spine - slight tickling of your nails against the aching muscles.
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Sweet Jesus
Happy Valentines Day from Captain Price
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FIC FINDING!!
I canât remember the name of the fic or the author or if itâs a multipart fic but I do remember a few things;
Steve is an escort of some kind? They live in the same neighbourhood
Reader has a husband? Or some kind of commitment
She and Steve are friends to begin with
They go for ice cream
And thatâs about all I remember
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this is so "caught you trying to sneak out after a one night stand and just grumbled at you to get back in bed before he has to get up and make you" đ
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The Other Man
Okay, here's my FIRST FIC in ages. I wrote it in a very specific style bc of the ~vibe~
Hope you like it!
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Wife!Reader
Words: 3k
Warnings: smut, established relationship, (idk if there's more pls tell me?)
The love story of Mr. and Mrs. OâHara
OR
Youâre Gabriellaâs mother and Miguelâs wife. A few weeks ago, things were a little off with your husband; you wrote it off until nowâŚ
Your heart pounded in your chest as you set a timer on your phone and waited. You thought of your darling daughter, and her bubbly, beautiful personality. You thought of your family, and how arguably perfect your life was thanks to your husbandâs dedication and tenacity.Â
You were panicking, on the verge of tears as the timer silently counted down on your phone screen. You thought of your husband. Your real husband.Â
13yearsago
Miguel was the first person youâd met at your college orientation. A tall lanky kid who stepped onto the campus tour bus at the last minute and had nowhere to sit but next to you. You felt yourself fall for him instantly when his eyes met your own.Â
You both chatted awkwardly like teenagers do; you mentioned your majors (he was genetics and you were communications), you talked about your high schools, your friends, and anything else your distracted minds could come up with.Â
You mentioned that science wasnât your strong suit, and Miguel suggested taking a science class together so he could be your lab partner. You settled on chemistry, and looked forward to starting classes in the fall.Â
You exchanged numbers and texted through the rest of the summer. By the time the semester started, you were attached at the hip.Â
The week that you moved into the dorms, he brought you a bouquet of carnations (you were allergic to roses) and asked you to be his girlfriend right in front of everyone. You said yes with bright pink cheeks.Â
That night, when all the new freshmen were out enjoying welcoming activities, you and Miguel lost your virginities to each other with soft music playing in the background. Youâd heard from your friends that the first time was awful, but you two were slow with each other. You knew youâd chosen the right guy, and you couldnât imagine sharing the experience with anyone else.
It rained on the first day of classes. Torrential downpour, and you walked into the library together soaked and giggling to take a picture in front of your schoolâs âWelcome Freshmen!â backdrop.Â
That photo was framed and hanging above your bed like many others youâd taken over the years.Â
The chemistry class was hard. Your hardest class by far, but Miguel was there with you every week. He came over to your dorm after the lab to explain everything in detail as many times as you needed. Heâd stay late and youâd share cheap pizza and watch movies.Â
Your friends started calling you Mrs. OâHara long before you were actually married. You two were the one constant couple among them. You and Miguel would go for ice cream with them after every fresh heartbreak. You reminded them that love exists because you two had it. Theyâd always lick their wounds and get back out there, thanking you both for your encouragement.Â
When sophomore year rolled around, your parents offered to rent you an apartment. You begged for them to let Miguel live with you (they loved him of course), and, to your surprise, they said yes.
In between classes, you and Miguel lived in domestic bliss. You had no idea that building furniture, grocery shopping late at night, and decorating could be so fun. He made it so much more enjoyable.Â
You learned so much about him, sometimes swearing that you knew him better than you knew yourself. You loved how his brow twitched in his sleep, and you loved how he was considerate enough to cover your face with the blanket before he turned on the bedroom light. He made your heart melt every single day, and you couldnât imagine loving someone more.Â
You stayed up late on Sundays with him and proofread his papers. He was brilliant, but he couldnât string together a sentence on paper to save his life.Â
âDo you even know what a comma is!?â Youâd asked as you aggressively hit the backspace button on his laptop.Â
âDo you know what an autosome is?â He replied in a sarcastic voice, ruffling your hair. (he always ruffled your hair.)Â
You rolled your eyes and finished proofreading his paper. After he submitted it, he closed both of your laptops and bent you over the table. Your pajama pants were around your ankles as you moaned into the cheap veneer.Â
Miguel fucked you on every surface in that apartment: the shower, bent over the counters and the table, against the wall, on the floor. It was your space together, and he was ready to claim the 600 sqft and your body for himself.Â
God, you missed that apartment.Â
A year later, you took your first vacation alone together to Mexico. Youâd never been, but heâd gone a few times when he was younger. You felt secure with him as he easily switched between English and Spanish, and you listened intently as he showed you the places that he remembered visiting years prior.Â
You walked along the beach, hand in hand watching the sunset. He was explaining something about the tides, and you smiled wide at him and then looked at the pinky-purple sky.Â
When you looked back, he was on one knee with a ring box. You swear your heart stopped for a moment.Â
âYes! Are you kidding me!? Yes!â you nearly screeched at the top of your lungs. He swung you around and dipped you into a kiss. It felt like a scene from a movie. (The only thing he hadnât thought of was a photographer, but some passersby took a few candid photos and sent them to you.)Â
A year later, you graduated in May and had your wedding in June. The wedding felt like something out of a fairytale.Â
Your mother had been insistent on every last detail being perfect, and you were so grateful for her meticulousness as you walked down the aisle. The sun was beginning to set as you said your vows, and you nearly died of embarrassment when he tore your garter off with his teeth in front of everyone.Â
Now, Miguel was your husband.
Your husband whose eyes were brimming with tears as you walked down the aisle.
Your husband who hugged your parents as if they were his own.Â
Your husband who looked at you as if you hung the moon.Â
Your husband.
A few months later, you started your first job and Miguel started grad school.Â
Youâd come home in your blazers and slacks and heels, and heâd give you a particular look.Â
âWhat are you looking at?â You asked one day while making dinner.Â
âNothing, I just think itâs hot that Iâm married to a sexy businesswoman,â he grinned.Â
He especially loved when you wore tights and that little black dress. (He usually tore them off of you when you got home and promised to buy you new ones.)Â
Six months into your new job, you called in sick.Â
âAre you alright?â he sat on your side of the bed and pet your hair gently.Â
âI just feel so nauseous. It must be something I ate. Do you feel nauseous?âÂ
He shook his head. âDo you want me to get you anything? I could stay home from classes to take care of you.âÂ
âNo, school is first. Iâll be okay.â you squeezed his hand.Â
He kissed you on the forehead and left you a glass of water on your nightstand.Â
After throwing up the contents of your stomach twice over, a thought crossed your mind.Â
You ran to the store and picked up two pregnancy tests.Â
You practically ripped them out of their boxes in your bathroom.Â
You sat and waited, worrying about what your husband would say.Â
In both of your minds, kids were still years away.Â
The pink plus signs on both tests brought you to the harsh reality that those plans were no longer relevant.Â
Your mind flooded with worry. You were a newbie at your job, you hadnât even been married for a year, Miguel had so much school left.Â
You spent the afternoon drowning in your anxiety.Â
âAmor, I brought you that soup that you like.â Miguel called from the living room. He found you in your bedroom with a tear-stained, puffy face. âHey, whatâs wrong?âÂ
You turned around and showed him the tests. âWhat are we going to do?!â you cried. You searched his face, waiting to see his brow crease with worry just like yours.Â
Instead, he beamed. His face lit up brighter than the sun, and you felt every awful scenario that youâd tortured yourself with melt away at his excitement. He hugged you without saying a word, one of his amazing bear hugs that he knew always made you feel better. You petted his hair, and you knew everything was going to be just fine.Â
He pulled back from you and you saw tears sliding down his face. âThis is amazing,â he whispered.Â
You kissed his cheek and hugged him again.Â
âYeah, it really is, huh?â you whispered back.Â
There was no better word for your pregnancy than miserable. Your morning sickness lasted longer than the first trimester, and despite being young, you experienced health issue after health issue.Â
You were bedridden for the last few months of pregnancy, but your husband made it all better.Â
Your husband who somehow had boundless energy when you had none. Your husband who nearly tripled his class load to graduate early.Â
Your husband who held your hair back as you emptied the breakfast he made you into the toilet.Â
Your husband who put on over 100 pounds of muscle so he could âbe strong enough for the baby.âÂ
Your husband whom you somehow fell even more in love with, which you didnât even think was possible.Â
He received his masterâs degree in May. You felt enormous, but you begged him to let you take him out to celebrate.Â
Your water broke in the restaurant.Â
He rushed you out, youâre not even sure if you paid for the food. He drove you to the hospital as you squeezed his hand with all your might and swore at him.Â
After making it to the hospital in record time, your doctors looked at you sympathetically.Â
Of course, after an extremely rough pregnancy, you were going to have a rough delivery too.Â
Hours and hours of labor and deliberating. Hours of worry and discontentment. Hours of pain and exhaustion.Â
Everyone eventually decided that a c-section was the way to go. You stared up at the ceiling as your body was being sliced and poked and prodded, and your husband held your hand and gave you words of encouragement.Â
A loud cry broke through your anxious thoughts. The entire world stopped.
âCongratulations Mr. and Mrs. OâHara, itâs a girl; 10 fingers and 10 toes and a great head of hair!â the doctor plopped her on your chest.Â
In that moment, you three were the only ones in the entire universe. Your baby, your husband, and you. Nothing had ever been more perfect.Â
Hours later, after youâd gotten some much needed rest and food, you both gazed down at her sleeping face. âWe never even had time to talk about names,â Miguel whispered. He ran a gentle finger over her tiny little hand. Your heart swelled for him even more.Â
âI was thinkingâŚâ you started, âMaybe we could name her Gabriella, after your brother?âÂ
You heard him gasp quietly. You began to open your mouth to suggest something else. âItâs perfect. She looks like a Gabriella, donât you think?â he never took his eyes off of her.Â
âShe looks like an OâHara,â you chuckled. âOf course, she lived in my body for 9 months and came out looking like you.âÂ
Despite all the trouble she gave you during your pregnancy, Gabriella was such an easy baby. She slept through the night, she was easy to feed, and she was always content to sit with you.Â
Those first few weeks of parenthood were surreal. You and Miguel would simply stare at her for hours, unsure how you made such a precious, perfect thing. She mesmerized the both of you.Â
One evening, you were making dinner while Miguel fed her. His phone rang, and you overheard him in the living room.Â
âYes, Iâd be happy to accept the offer! You have no idea what this means for my family, thank you so much.âÂ
Heâd gotten a job at Alchemax. A fancy, well-paying job in his field.Â
âYou know, Iâll be making enough that you can stay home with Gabi if you want,â he said after youâd put her to bed.Â
âAre you sure youâre okay with that? I can go back to work when my maternity leave is up - my parents offered to watch her during the day.âÂ
He pulled you close, âI want you to get to spend time with our daughter. I want you to raise her, no offense to your parents.âÂ
And so you did.Â
The time flew by. You two bought a house close to your parents, he bought you a new car for your birthday, and all of the sudden, your daughter was turning one.Â
Your house was filled with friends from college (many now with their own spouses), relatives, and friends from Miguelâs new job and your old one.Â
You all watched as Gabriella smashed a white cupcake straight into her thick black hair. You and your husband sat together with your bubbly baby girl and opened present after present, making a mess of the wrapping paper.Â
Suddenly, time was moving even faster. Preschool, kindergarten, soccer practice, family vacations. Miguel had the biggest soft spot for your daughter.Â
Watching him be a parent made your heart grow ten times bigger. He woke up before the sun rose every day so he could be home to put her to bed every night.Â
He read to her, he answered every question she had and never discounted her curiosity.Â
He made it to every practice and soccer game, and took the whole team out for ice cream periodically.Â
He let you sleep in late on Sundays and made pancakes and coffee.Â
He was perfect. There was no other way to describe it.Â
Suddenly, your daughter was 8 years old. She was constantly outgrowing her clothes, reading voraciously, and performing well in school. Her teachers and coaches praised your parenting to no end. You and Miguel smiled, âSheâs just the most amazing kid.âÂ
You felt on top of the moon. You couldnât believe that youâd stressed so much all those years ago in that little apartment when youâd seen the positive pregnancy test.Â
Everything seemed right with the world. At least until a few weeks ago.Â
Your husband wasnât home yet. You checked your phone incessantly, but you never received a call or text. Â
You got through bedtime with your daughter. She asked three different times where her father was.Â
After she was sound asleep, you began to get worried. You called his phone again and he didnât answer.Â
A sickly feeling bubbled in your gut. Not the churning anxiety that youâd felt so many times before, this was different. This felt like intuition. Something was terribly wrong.Â
You texted everyone you knew asking if they had heard from him. You called the businesses that you thought he could be at. No one. It was like he had fallen off the face of the Earth.Â
Just after 2am, you considered calling the police. As you began to dial, you heard a key turn in the lock.Â
He walked in looking disheveled. You ran over to him and jumped into his arms.Â
âI was so worried! Where were you!?â you squeezed him tight around his neck.Â
âIâm sorry, we got caught up in a chem testing sequence. Iâm not supposed to tell anyone about the project, so thatâs why they said I wasnât there.â He kissed your cheek and squeezed you.Â
âYou smell weird,â you said. He had such a distinct smell, a combination of the laundry detergent you used, his cologne, and his deodorant. He smelled all wrong for some reason.Â
He looked you in the eyes and smiled. Youâd never noticed how his smile was just the slightest bit crooked.Â
âLetâs take a shower, amor.â He set you back on your feet. âI want to go take a peek at Gabriella, though. Iâll meet you in the bathroom,â he kissed you on the forehead and made his way to her room.Â
You couldnât put your finger on it, but something was off about your husband that evening. At first, you blamed his late night. He claimed that his workload in the lab was increasing, but something still didnât sit quite right with you.Â
Youâd stare at him out of the corner of your eye, not sure what you were hoping to see.Â
Heâd found a new interest in your sex life, as well. He pawed at you in your sleep and pressed your cheek up against the shower door late at night. He seemed like he was learning your body all over again.Â
In some ways, he was the man you married. He still threw himself into parenting your daughter. He still made it to every soccer practice and game, still read to her every night.Â
But you knew something was wrong.Â
Your best guess was that he was cheating, but it seemed so out of character for him. Still, you had nothing else.Â
He came home late again and found you sitting in the bedroom with your bedside lamp on. âYouâre still up?â he asked.Â
âWhat the hell is going on with you?â You demanded.
His brows knitted together in a confused look, âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âAre you cheating on me, Miguel?âÂ
âAmor, I would ne-â
âThen what is it?â Your voice was low with suspicion.Â
âI donât know what you mean.â He sat next to you and leaned in close.Â
âI donât know what it is, Miguel. But somethingâs not right. I know you, and I know thereâs something youâre not telling me.â You flipped the light off and pulled the covers up.Â
âI love you, honey. Nothingâs wrong, I promise,â he said in the darkness.Â
âWhatever, Miguel. Iâm going to sleep,â you turned away from him and shut your eyes.Â
The timer on your phone went off.Â
You thought again about your husband.Â
Your husband who brought you roses yesterday.Â
Your husband who couldnât remember what size jersey your daughter wears.Â
Your husband whoâd had a vasectomy 5 years ago.Â
You stared at the positive pregnancy test and sobbed.Â
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I ainât losing this one! Canât wait for pt 3
Come Back to Me
Stay Away From Him pt. 2
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader
Prompt: Miguel has been away on a mission for too long and he comes back different.
A/N: I LOVE YOU GUYS! I am so happy that you guys loved part 1 so much that I knew I had to write some more. 99.99% of everyone asked for fluff, but unfortunately for everyone, I excel in tension and dramatic ass scenes. This scenario literally came to me in my dreams so I had to write it. I'm tagging everyone that left me a message or mentioned they would like a part 2. I hope you guys like it and don't hate me if you don't!
For new readers, welcome! You do not need to read part 1 to understand this part. If you guys hate this part, I will write more and I'll write some fluff to make up for it lol
Part 1
Taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh, you roll your shoulders and stretch out your muscles. You were inside Miguelâs chamber at your desk where you work. It was quiet there, only a few people were working about but none were talking above hushed whispers. Looking over the top of your monitor to see who was around, you notice that a few people were already looking at you before their glances shot away when you made eye contact with them. You think it was strange but you have been catching weird glances from people for a few weeks now.Â
 Looking over at the empty dais, your heart pangs a little when you are reminded that Miguel isnât there. Itâs been about a month since your incident with Miguel. And every day since then, things have been awkward. Miguel was sending you off to help other people and giving you work that would keep you away for days at a time. He barely said a few words to you and looked at you even less.Â
A week after the incident happened, a mission came up and Miguel went to handle it. That was 2 weeks ago. Itâs been radio silent since then. Jessica assures you that Miguel is checking in with her and everything is fine. She says that sheâs been in contact with him and helping him through his mission, but still, that didnât reassure you. Miguel always went over every mission with you. You always assisted him through every trip. You were his eyes and ears then all of a sudden he doesnât even want to tell you heâs leaving or where he was going?Â
You were tempted to ask him not to go but you held your tongue. Ever since Miguel left, you had a bad feeling in your gut but you ignored it. Maybe he just doesnât want to talk to me. Thatâs fine! If he wants to get all moody and dramatic then fine. He can check in with Jessica then. Have her run around for him. Huffing out a breath again, you refocus on the task you were working on.
You were pulled out of your focus when you heard in the distance, âEveryone, we are going into a soft lockdown. I repeat, soft lockdown. Gwen and Hobie meet up in Room 5. Keep it quiet. Y/N is still in the dark. Letâs keep it that way.â It sounded like Jessicaâs voice coming through someoneâs personal intercom. Picking up your own device, you check if you had accidentally turned it off since it didnât go through yours, but itâs on. This means that Jessica purposefully sent out the message to everyone else, except for you. Y/N is still in the dark?
Pretending to stretch and yawn, you sneak a glance around the room again. The few people that were left in the room were huddled together, a few were walking out of the room urgently. But what made a shiver run up your spine was that everyone was looking at you. Everyone is hiding something from you. That is clear now. You werenât sure what they were hiding but something in your gut is telling you it was bad. And itâs something to do with Miguel.
Room 5. She said they were meeting in Room 5. Not really sure where that is or whatâs in there but it has got to explain why everyone has been acting so strangely. Standing up from your desk, the conversations in the room immediately stop and itâs utterly silent. Trying to act as normal as possible, you slowly walk out of the room.Â
After what felt like hours with your heart beating out of your chest, you finally found âRoom 5â. Slowly creeping into the room, you can see that it is empty except for a giant cage in the middle of the room. The room is dark and there seems to be only one light directly above the cage. Surrounding the cage were Jessica, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker, and inside the cage ⌠was Miguel.Â
Except, it wasnât Miguel. The Miguel in the cage was feral and animalistic. He was hunched over and crouched down low as if he was ready to attack. His arms are held out low to his side and his claws are extended. Though Miguel is already a naturally large guy, his tensed and flexed muscles seem to be bulging out more, giving him that beast-like appearance. His hair was a completely tangled mess, wild and unkempt. His breathing is frantic and unstable. Though he looks a mess, he is standing utterly still.Â
This isnât Miguel. This isnât your Miguel. Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong.
Sneaking into the room and sticking to the shadows, no one in the room senses that youâre there. Everyone except for Miguel. As you slip into the room, he turns his head and watches you from over his shoulder but doesnât make any other movements. Seeing him now, you could see that his lips are pulled back so that his fangs are out and on display. His eyes are wild and bloodshot red, though when he sees you, his eyes focus on you as if youâre prey. He doesnât move and doesnât make any sounds at you so you remain hidden from everyone else.
Everyone is oblivious to your presence and their conversation continues. Gwen is arguing with Jessica and it looks as though Peter is trying to keep the peace, though heâs not doing a good job. Hobie is casually leaning against the wall nearby giving off a nonchalant appearance but the look on his face indicates that he is upset.
âYou canât do this, Jessica! It could kill him!â
âWhat choice do we have? The next time he escapes, who knows what could happen. If the antidote doesnât kill him then the poison thatâs already in him will!â
âWe still have time to find another way. Maybe he just needs more time and itâll wear off.â
âGwen, he doesnât eat, he doesnât sleep. He doesnât even talk! All he does is growl and attack anyone that gets too close. This is getting out of hand!â
âWhy donât we tell, Y/N? Y/N should know about this. And you know as well as anyone else, he has a soft spot for her. Maybe she can help!â
âHeâs been back for two weeks and he hasnât gotten better. If he was going to get better he would have shown signs of it by now. If Y/N knows and he doesnât snap out of it, how do you think Y/N would take it?â
âWhy donât you ask me?â You finally had enough and decided to make yourself known. Everyone turns abruptly as you step forward further into the room to be seen under the light.Â
âTwo weeks?â You whisper as you look each one of them in the eyes and feeling betrayed, âHeâs been back for two weeks and no one told me? None of you told me.â
Inside the cage, Miguel turns his body completely to be fully facing you now. The entire time, his eyes never leave you. Finally having the time to look him over completely, what you saw broke your heart. He looked tired but also on high alert to attack. There were dark bags under his eyes and his face seems sunken in. His eyes seem to soften slightly as he looks back at you but his face is still grimacing. While you were too busy watching him, what you didnât see was all the knowing looks that everyone else was passing to each other.Â
âNot only did you keep this from me, but now I learn that you want to kill him?!â Instead of feeling hurt, now your adrenaline is kicking in. Youâre feeling angry and upset and ⌠panicked. Your mind feels like itâs on a high and youâre acting without thinking.
âNo, Y/N, we arenât killing him. We managed to create an antidote but it only has a small chance of working ⌠and a big chance of killing him. But itâs the only choice we got!â Jessica tries to reason with you.
âAnd you would take that chance?â How could they even consider this an option? I have to do something and do it quick.
âWe donât have another choice.â Peter jumps in now, speaking in a calm tone.
âLetâs think about it some more.â Gwen is speaking to Jessica now and their original argument from when you first entered the room resumes. The three go back to arguing with one another and Hobie still stays on the sidelines. Except this time, heâs not watching them. Heâs watching you. Heâs giving you an intense look as if he was trying to tell you a message.Â
Slowly but pointedly, he looks at the door of the cage. Following his line of sight, you look back at the cage. The cage is locked but the key is a fingerprint pad. Which means that anyone who has clearance can open it. And you have clearance. Being Miguelâs assistant, you are allowed clearance to nearly everything he is. Looking back at Hobie, he inclines his head slightly to the cage and gives you one firm nod of confirmation.
Throwing a quick glance at the arguing three to confirm that they are preoccupied, without giving it a second thought, you take off running for the cage. Before anyone could react, you slam your hand down onto the pad. Less than a second later, you are throwing the door to the cage open and slamming it shut behind you. âAre you out of your mind?!â You hear Gwen yell at you and the others are yelling too but youâre not listening.
Now youâre staring face-to-face with a feral Miguel. Miguel has crouched low at your sudden entrance and his claws and fangs are fully on display, though he doesnât move close to you. Heâs standing still and watching you for your move. The world seems to fade away and your sole focus is on him but you could feel the flurry going on outside of the cage. But you donât look, you keep your attention strictly on his face.Â
Half expecting to be mauled to death the instant you got inside the cage, you are happily surprised that Miguel seems more cautious of you at the moment. Testing your luck, you hold out both hands in front of you and take a hesitant step forward. Again to your surprise, Miguel inches back. Testing it again, you take a full step this time, and again he backs away from you.
âCareful, now.â Hobie sounds close. Turning to look over your shoulder, you see that Hobie is walking closer to the cage. Miguel lets out a low growl and your eyes shoot back to him. But looking back at him, his stance is different. He looks like heâs ready to pounce. His expression has also turned more deadly and angry. But rather than looking at you like you expected, heâs staring over your shoulder. Heâs watching Hobie.
You can hear Hobieâs steps getting closer and the closer he comes, the more agitated Miguel gets. Miguel is starting to walk closer to you now but his eyes are still fixed on Hobie. Seeing that Miguel is moving towards you, Hobie says. âY/N, I think itâs time to go. Letâs not push our luck, yeah?â Hobie is speaking in a serious tone, heâs not asking.
Without warning, Hobie shoots out his web onto your back and pulls you back towards the door. Your body is jerked back but you donât get far because suddenly Miguel is there. He jumps forward and wraps one arm around your body and his other arm shoots to your back and slashes the web off of you. The web breaks easily under his claws and he is pulling you back further into the cage. He stops in the middle of the cage where he abruptly lays you down on the floor.Â
Thinking that heâs attacking you, your hands shoot up to your face but when nothing hits you, you peek through your fingers and look up at him. Miguel is crouching on all fours atop of you as youâre laid out completely on your back. His knees are straddling your thighs and his hands are on either side of your head. He is hunched low as if he was protecting your body. His face is looking up, you assume itâs towards Hobie still.
âHey.â You whisper. He only shoots you a quick look but his head jerks back up again. Finding the courage, you try again, âHey.â Except this time, you gingerly bring your hand up and let your fingers touch his cheek. He jerks at the touch and turns his head to look down at you. That motion puts his face firmly in your hand and now youâre cupping his face.
âHey there, big guy.â Heâs leaning into your touch and his body falls even lower. Your other hand comes up and it rests on his chest and you could feel his heart beating as if he just ran a marathon. All he does is just stare at you. You were waiting for something to happen. Maybe heâll snap out of it and become normal again. Maybe he will just snap your neck and be done with it. But no. He doesnât move. Just looks at you.
âY/N, can you get out?â Jessica asks from somewhere in the room.
âIâm not going anywhere. Heâs fine. Keep working on an antidote that will actually help him. Iâll keep him calm.â No one responds back to you but you can hear footsteps receding and you know that you two are now alone in the room. A few beats go by in the silence before Miguel starts showing signs of relaxing.Â
His lower body lowers and is laying on top of you. Miguel falls down to his elbows and it brings his face even closer to yours. He nuzzles the top of your head and you could feel the tip of his nose run through your hair as he travels down your body. Your hand that was resting on his cheek travels down his neck and lands against his chest. Your close your eyes and will yourself to keep a clear head.
The tip of his nose runs down to your cheek and he stills for just one moment when his lips graze yours. âWhat happened to you? Iâm scared. Come back to me.â You whisper against his lips. You suck in a breath when his tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip but he doesnât respond. One of his hands comes up to cup one side of your neck, keeping you still. His hand tightens ever so slightly there, not hard but putting enough pressure to make your heart skip.Â
He continues his exploration of you with the tip of his nose. His nose drags along your jawline which makes you tint your head up in response to give him more access. Taking it as an invitation, Miguel continues and comes up to your ear, and gives you a little nibble there. You notice that your breathing has turned to panting. He continues to play with your ear by tracing with his lips. Goosebumps appear on your skin as your body grows warmer and warmer. Your head feels intoxicated and no thoughts filter into your head, only your senses are alive.
You let out a loud gasp when Miguel suddenly nuzzles into your exposed neck and you could feel him smiling against your skin. His hand around your neck tightens some more and it pulls you closer. He runs his lips softly over your skin, feathering light kisses wherever he pleases. To your surprise, you feel a nick of pain on your neck and you realize that he gave you a bite with his fangs. You feel his tongue come out again and lick up the bit of blood that escapes. A shiver of excitement travels down your body and you have to mentally shake yourself. This feels wrong but you donât have the heart to tell him to stop.Â
âCome back to me.â You whisper again almost like a prayer this time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Itâs many hours later, well into the night, and Jessica and Hobie came back to check on you. Theyâre standing side by side outside of the cage staring at the spectacle thatâs in front of them. Jessica with her arms crossed in front of her chest and Hobie with his hands on his hips. âHuh. Ainât that something?â Hobie asks.
In the middle of the cage are you and Miguel, sleeping soundly. You are curled into his front and he is curled around you like his limbs are vines. An arm is under your head, keeping you off the hard concrete floor, the other arm curled around you and wrapping up your back. His lower body is curled up tight against you. His body acting like a shield. You two fit perfectly together. Your hair was a mess and even from across the room, they could tell that your clothes were all rumpled.
âYou think those two ever going figure it out?â Jessica asks.
âWeâll they havenât so far. They wouldnât be able to see whatâs right in front of them even if a bus hit âem.â
She lets out a scoff of amusement, âI know. Remember when Y/N snapped at him and he was mopey for a whole week? God that was hell."
"Yeah? You shoulda seen how this one was sighing around while he was 'away'." Hobie shoots back at her with a chuckle.
"Anywho, I didnât think the poison wouldâve been that strong though. I was hoping to have this done in less than a week.â
âEh, I might have given him a little more than we planned.â âOf course you did,â she lets out a sigh, âGuess that explains why it took him so long to calm down. It should be wearing off soon right?â
âYeah, day or so.â
âGood. Letâs see them try to deny their feelings after this.â
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