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romanoffjohansson · 1 year ago

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Riding into the night - Biker!Bucky/Reader

✦ Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader ✦ Word count: ~7,8k ✦ Rating: Explicit ✦ Warnings/tags: AU, kind of soft!dark!Bucky, smut, fluff, past asshole partners mentioned, squirting, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spanking, spitting, edging, dirty talk, praise, degradation if you squint, breeding kink if you squint, manhandling, vaginal sex, condom, cum shot, pet names (Fairy). ✦ Summary: One of the bikers caught your attention as they tumbled inside. Tall, broad, covered in tattoos, and wearing a leather vest. Essentially no different from the rest of the gang. But those blue eyes met yours and for a second the world stood still. It was only you and him. ✦ Note: I don't know how to play pool, just go with it! 😂 This is also posted on my AO3

Masterlist | AO3

It was Yelena's bachelorette party and after dinner and clubbing, she insisted you find a less respectable place to round out the night.

That’s how you end up in the sleazy bar at the edge of town that smells of sweat, stale beer, and badly fried food. The drinks are watered down but it doesn't tamper the mood of the party, because they have a few pool tables strewn about, and you never miss an opportunity to crush your friends with a few good games. The only problem is the group of bikers that rolled in fifteen minutes ago, filling up the rather empty bar with their loud voices.

As you're bending over the table to aim you can't shake the feeling of being watched. It throws off your concentration and you don’t hit the ball where you want, making you fail the shot. Righting yourself you sigh with irritation.

"That's not like you," Natasha points out as she gets ready for her turn. With a shrug you say, "Maybe I'd just had too much to drink." Yelena snorts, "I've seen you drunk enough to barely stand and still beat everyone." She waggles her eyebrows, "I think it's a pair of blue eyes that's distracting you."

You give her the finger, but you know exactly what she's talking about. One of the bikers caught your attention as they tumbled inside. Tall, broad, covered in tattoos, and wearing a leather vest. Essentially no different from the rest of the gang. But those blue eyes met yours and for a second the world stood still. It was only you and him. It felt as if diving into a clear blue lake on a hot summer day with not a problem in the world for you to care about. Then you realized you were staring and quickly looked away, breaking the small hypnosis.

Despite having had the most to drink all night, Yelena's observation skills never evade her. She saw what happened and she'd be damned if she let an opportunity to taunt you go to waste.

Quickly shooting a glance at the table, you find the man with the blue eyes. Unabashedly he's staring at you from where he sits. The others around him are talking, laughing, being rowdy, but not him. He takes a drink from his beer in silence, tattooed fingers holding the bottle, and never once does his gaze waver from you. His dark hair is in a ponytail but small strands have broken free to be tucked behind his ears.

You wouldn't say you have a type, but if you did, it wouldn't be him. You like nice guys. So far not anyone you've dated has had a single tattoo. On the other hand, you don't have to date him to fuck him. And that is something you're in desperate need of.

"And now she doesn't even realize it's her turn!" Carol breaks you from your musings and you look at the pool table. Shaking out your shoulders you try to dispel the feeling of eyes boring into your neck. Surveying what you have in front of you, a plan forms in your mind.

"Oh, I know that look!" Natasha shouts unnecessarily loud. She’s had the second most to drink through the night. You and Carol on the other hand are as close to sober as it gets.

Taking a breath, you get into position. In quick succession, you hit three shots dead on and they go right where they should, but when you move to the fourth, Carol is leaning against the edge. "You're in the way," you tell her. "I know!" she smiles. "Can you move?" "No, unfortunately not."

You try to push her off but she's solid muscles. Natasha and Yelena laugh at your failed attempts. "You know I'm going to win this anyway, right?" "I don't have to make it easy for you," she points out.

There is only one other option if you want to make the shot. So you climb up, sitting down on the edge to lean awkwardly past Carol. Just as you move the cue, she taps the edge, causing it to graze the top of the ball and then slide off. "Hey!" Hopping down, you poke her with the stick. "That's cheating!" "It's not like you to miss, are you feeling okay?" she grins. "You're such a sore loser, you know that?" "I have no idea what you're talking about." "My turn!" Natasha yells and shoves you to the side.

You take a few steps back and walk into something solid. Craning your neck to look up over your shoulder you freeze. It's him. The heat from his chest warms you and you're enveloped in his smell of fuel, beer, and cologne that is in no way unpleasant. "How about I buy you a drink as compensation for losing?” his smooth voice asks. That should make you mad because technically you didn't lose, Carol sabotaged you, but it's hard to conjure those feelings when your insides feel as if they’re liquefying. Instead, you nod dumbly before turning to your friends.

"Hey, is it okay-," you start but Yelena won't let you finish. She just waves her hand in a shooing motion and the others don't acknowledge your supposed question. "I'm just going to put this back," you gesture with your cue, but another, equally tall biker comes up beside the man with the blue eyes.

His hair is shorter and blond, cute, but not as drop-dead gorgeous as the other. "I'll take it, play your last rounds," he smiles and grabs the stick, before making his way to your friends.

With a grin, the man with the blue eyes nods his head towards the bar and you follow the short distance. When both of you have taken your places on the high chairs he asks, "What do you want?" "Just a beer's fine," you shrug. He orders from the bartender and then turns to you. "I'm Bucky," he says. After introducing yourself you ask, "Is that your real name or is it your ‘biker-name’?". He chuckles and puts a strand of long hair behind his ear. "It's actually a nickname I've had since I was a kid. And Steve," he gestures to the big guy who took your pool cue earlier, "Has always called me that. My legal name is James."

"But you prefer Bucky?" He shrugs, "I don't think anyone has called me James in a long time." "It's a pretty name, but Bucky sounds cooler. Way more biker!” you smile. That makes him laugh and you find yourself beaming. There is just something about him. He looks tough on the outside but you have a feeling he's a big teddy bear on the inside, and hearing him laugh makes you giddy.

The beer gets lower in your glass as you talk. He buys you another one but is still sipping on his first. "Not a fan of beer?" you ask. "I want to be able to get home in one piece later, and getting drunk is a recipe for crashing." "Have you ever crashed?" "Multiple times, but never anything severe." "What kind of bike do you have?" "I can show you." There is a glint in his eyes that makes your gut clench most pleasantly. "I would love to!"

When you hop off the stool, you lose your balance for a second. Yelena insisted that you all wear heels but you're not used to it in any way. Luckily, Bucky is quick with his arm, putting it around your waist and pulling you into his side to steady you. "Woah there, lightweight. I didn’t know anyone could get drunk off that beer." "I'm not drunk, it's these damn shoes! lost my balance!" "I better keep my arm around you, just to be safe." His smile is warm and playful and it’s as if his touch is burning your skin through your clothes. Your heart speeds up, fingertips tingle. "Yeah, just to be safe," you answer in a low voice.

His eyelids lower, blue eyes turning stormy. Electricity crackles between you and you wonder what he tastes like. But making out in the middle of a bar feels weird so instead you say, "About the bike?" "Yeah, the bike,” he murmurs and it takes a second or two for him to start moving again.

Before you leave, you stop by the pool table where the majority of the bikers have joined the small party. Someone has taken the tiara Yelena previously wore and put it on Steve's head. Another guy is wearing her sash. She's telling them about her wife-to-be, showing them all the cute pictures she's taken of Kate. As you pass Natasha you tell her, "We're just going to look at his bike." She eyes you up and down. "If that is some biker-slang for sex, just say that instead."

Bucky howls with laughter as you punch her in the arm, telling her to fuck off. She brushes her skin. "I think there are mosquitoes in here."

Before you can give her a piece of your mind Bucky drags you outside. It’s a warm evening and you’re glad because you only have a thin blouse on. "You're not a mosquito,” he comforts. “You’re too pretty for that, more like a fairy covered in all that glitter.” Your tummy loops when he calls you pretty and you look down at yourself. At some point, Carol had produced a can of glitter spray to drench all of you in. "I think there is a joke in there about sucking, but I can't find it right now,” you tell him instead, which makes him chuckle before stopping in front of a huge black bike. It's one of those chopper-esc things, not the sporty kind, and in the light from the streets, it looks menacing. "That's a monster," you point out. "It's not that bad." "It's standing still and I'm scared of it."

Bucky moves you from his side to the front of him, making you take a few steps closer. Then he grabs your wrist and puts your hand on the handlebar. "See, it's not so scary," his voice is low, right by your ear, making you shiver. "Yeah, it is," you mumble. "Promise I won't let anything happen to you if you hop on." You look up at him over your shoulder. "You underestimate how clumsy I am. What if it tips over?" "It won't," "Just, don't kill me when it happens, okay?"

What he says next is so faint you almost don't catch it. "There are other punishments I would rather use." Somehow your brain filters that into the purely sexual category and another shiver runs through you. Yeah, Bucky seems like the person who would administer sexual punishments. That is something you've never explored before but it still sends a tingle of excitement down your stomach.

Ignoring it for the moment you swing your leg over the saddle and settle on the seat. The tank in front of you has a huge red star on it and you trace it with your fingertips. "How does that feel?" he smiles down at you. The shadows make him look as menacing as his bike but he feels a lot less scary.

"Okay, I guess," you shrug and try to reach the handlebars but your arms are too short to properly grip them. "How do you even…?" "Scoot over and I'll show you." He gestures and you slide backward before he gets on like he's never done anything else in his life, gripping the handles without a problem.

"Should I start it up?" he asks over his shoulder. You shake your head vigorously, "Absolutely not!" He gets off the bike, just to straddle it the opposite way so he's turned towards you. First, he grabs your legs and puts them over his thighs, then pulls you closer with his hands on your waist. Your breathing gets shallow being so close to him. "Then how am I supposed to take you home, Fairy?" You grab a hold of his vest to steady yourself. "You wanna take me home?" "It's all I've been thinking about since I walked through the door tonight," he confesses.

"Oh," you just answer. His hands are warm through your blouse, the blue eyes piercing despite the low light. There is no denying you want him, you do, but going off with a stranger makes you weary. "Come on Fairy, tell me you don't feel the same?" "Yeah I do, it's just that I don't know you." You brush your hands inside his vest, letting them travel over the broad expanse of his chest, feeling him through his t-shirt.

For a moment you sit quietly and touch each other. Your brain is going a million miles per hour, weighing pros and cons. Bucky doesn’t seem like a psychopath who will rape and murder you. But on the other hand, he might as well be. "Then how about this," he suggests. "I go back in there and let your friends take a pic of me, leave my address and if you don't check in by midnight they can call the police." Your mouth hangs open. "You want to fuck me that bad?"

"I don't think you understand," he seems a little frustrated and his hands harden at your waist even though his voice stays soft. Leaning down, brushing his nose against yours, he explains, "Not only are you the sexiest thing I've seen in a long while. You're gorgeous. On top of that, I've learned in the last hour, that you’re funny and sweet too. So indulge me, let me take you home and show you just how good I can make you feel."

Your mouth is dry as a desert. No one has ever spoken to you like that before. No one has in such a short time made you feel so desired. Finally, you decide to go with your gut, hoping it’s not going to turn out to be a terrible mistake. "Okay, Bucky," you nod.

With a wicked smile, he gets off the bike and walks back to the bar. You take out your phone and quickly write in the group chat, telling them your location is on and sending them a picture of his bike with the red star showing.

It takes longer for Bucky to come back than you thought it would and when he emerges, you notice his vest is gone. "What happened?" "That red-headed friend of yours gave me a stern talking to, and made me leave the vest." "Why?" "She said it seemed important to me, and you're important to her, and if I do something to hurt you she's going to do unspeakable things to the vest and my reputation."

That makes you laugh. Natasha may antagonize you on a regular basis but she's also fiercely protective.

He snatches a helmet from the bike beside and turns to you. "Ever ridden one of these before?" "Not a motorcycle! I've ridden a regular bike." He huffs at that before listing off some do's and don'ts. "But the most important thing," he finishes. "Is that you hold on to me really tight." He smirks, before putting the helmet on your head, tightening the straps. It's a little big but you don't think it will come off.

Bucky gets on and the bike roars to life. Telling you to hold on to him was unnecessary because the moment the sound and feel of the bike hits you, your arms go around his waist and grab onto his clothes. Your heart is hammering and you feel a nervous sweat run down your neck. He never puts a helmet on and before you know it you're flying down the streets.

You have no idea how much time passes or where you are in the city since you’re devoting all of your concentration to hanging onto him. Finally, he slows down and drives into a parking garage attached to a high-rise building. Cars stand in neat rows and he parks in an unoccupied space before getting off.

With shaky fingers, you try to open the clasp to the helmet but fail three times before he notices and does it for you. "That bad huh?" he asks as he hangs the helmet on the handle. "I don't think I can stand," you confess.

As you get off, Bucky holds you to his chest until the ground stabilizes around you. You take the opportunity to study him. There are crow's feet at the edge of his eyes that tell you he smiles a lot. Above the cleft in his chin is his full lips that you've been eyeing for most of the evening. They look soft and delicious.

Your hands travel up and braid behind his neck. Experimentally you pull, seeing if he'll follow, and he does. "I think a kiss would also help," you hint. "Who am I to say no," he hums in response.

As he bends down, you rise up and your lips meet halfway. At first, it's slow but you're both a bit desperate and it quickly gets heavier. Your finger loosens the hair tie and tangles in his long strands, pulling lightly, drawing a pleased sound from his throat. In response, he cups your ass and lifts you off the ground to pull you closer. A surprised moan leaves you before you wrap your legs around his waist and he starts walking. He breaks away just so he can find the button for the elevator, then he is right back to your lips.

Inside, he presses you up against the wall hard enough to get his hands free. They slide up your sides, in under your blouse, making you sigh into his mouth from contentment, fisting the hair at the nape of his neck harder, pressing him closer. Too quickly, but also not quickly enough the elevator dings with the announcement of its arrival on the floor.

Once again Bucky carries you to the door where he fumbles with the keys before getting it open, never breaking from your mouth.

You don't see much of the inside of his apartment because as soon as the door shuts you start pulling at his clothes, wanting them off, to feel his warm skin. The sheets are blue and the bed soft you notice as he places you down on it. With pants and blouse off, the next thing that goes is your bra and he stops the feverish kissing long enough to take you in.

"Fairy," his voice is grovely. "Fuck!" Is all he says before he gently cups your tits, thumbing your nipples and drawing small pleased sounds from you. The fabric of your panties is soaked and every pass over your sensitive peaks shoots another bolt of desire through you.

"Bucky! Can you… please!" you try. It's hard to form words. In an alarmingly short period, he’s got you unbelievably horny and all you can think about is that you need to be touched, to come!

Still playing with your tits he asks, "What do you need Fairy? Tell me what I can do for you." "Take the rest of your damn clothes off and eat me out, or finger me, or something! I'm dying!" "We don't want that now do we?" he smirks and bends down enough to give each of your nipples a kiss. When the last of his clothes go, you suck in a breath because he looks fucking divine. Just like his arms and fingers, his chest and abdomen are covered in tattoos but it doesn't hide the powerful muscles underneath. “You are… wow…” you tell him and swallow roughly. Before you have time to inspect every swirl of ink, he climbs onto the bed and starts up where he left off. His mouth trailing down from your sternum, over your stomach, dragging his teeth tantalizingly over your hip bones, kissing your mound before carefully ridding you of your underwear.

He spreads you with his thumbs, moaning when he sees how wet you are. "Fairy, I think your cunt likes me," he teases. You're about to grip his head and shove his mouth to where you need it, telling him to shut up and get going, but luckily he doesn’t waste any more time.

The cry of pleasure that leaves your mouth is probably heard by the neighbors. Feeling him work you over sends your head spinning and your body twitching. With his tongue and his lips, he tries different pressures and speeds just to see what makes you moan the loudest. "Fingers, Bucky! I need your fingers!" you tell him and seconds later two thick digits start pumping in and out of you, crooking every now and then to find the right spot.

It builds inside you in no time, the dual sensation making it brilliant. But what you feel as you near the edge makes you put your hands against his forehead, pushing and saying, "Wait! Bucky, stop." Hastily he pulls away, fingers leaving you, eyes wide and confused as he sits up. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"

Panting heavily, trying to get your quivering body under control, you wave your hand. "No, no, it's fine! Don't worry!" Then he dares touch you again. His hands slide up and down your inner thighs in a soothing gesture. "Tell me what's wrong. Do you want to stop?" His voice is as soft as his gaze on you.

"God no, I don't want to stop! It's just, ehm…" you feel the embarrassment in your chest, heating you from the inside in an unpleasant way. "Please tell me, Fairy. We can do whatever you want." You try to explain in as roundabout terms as possible, "Sometimes… when it's really good… I can't control what my body does." If you had been smart you would have had this conversation before getting into bed with him, but you weren’t, so now you have to face the unpleasant consequences. "Fairy, what are you saying?" Burying your face in your hands you continue, "Sometimes it's only a little and sometimes it's a lot, but I don't know beforehand so it's better to stop and let me calm down a bit."

There is a beat of silence before his command cuts through it, "Look at me." Slowly you lower your hands. "Were you about to squirt?" he asks point blank. "I hate that word,” you mutter. "Tell me, Fairy," he commands again. "Yes, I'm sorry. I can't control it, it happens!” You’ve had this conversation before, usually after it was already too late and you know how it goes. Luckily you remembered to stop. You’re not sure you would have been able to live it down if it had happened with Bucky. But he does not look happy at all, his eyes near slits, and you reach out towards him, letting your palms graze along his arms to placate him. “I've calmed down now so we can keep going if you want. It rarely happens when I have sex so we can just do that!"

"No," his cold tone answers and your stomach drops. Before you can crawl off the bed to go home he says, "Turn over, ass up, head down." "Bucky, I can just…" You aim your thumb at the door but he doesn’t acknowledge the gesture, only telling you, "Do it, Fairy."

Confused but also curious you turn over on your stomach and bring your knees in under you, doing as you’re told. His hands start making slow steady circles over your ass, caressing and squeezing. "Have you ever been spanked before?" "What?" "You heard me. Have you?" "No… not really…" "So, because you robbed me of your fountain orgasm I'm going to spank you as a punishment. And then you're going to turn over again and I'm going to make you come until you've ruined the sheets. Are we clear, Fairy?" "But, I just thought-,” you begin but he interrupts you. "Whatever someone has said to you before to make you think that you don't deserve to come as hard as you can, makes me so fucking angry. I want all of your pleasure, Fairy, and you're going to give it to me. Understand?" Once again you’re surprised by his words and you give yourself the benefit of the doubt that he knows what he’s in for. With a soft voice, you tell him, "I understand Bucky," and arch your back, showing him that you're ready. "Fucking beautiful."

The sting to your ass is more pleasure than pain. With every impact from his hand, a jolt goes to your cunt. If you were wet before, you're dripping by the time he declares you're done. Each of your ass cheeks gets a kiss before he pushes at your hip and makes you lay on your back again, the sheets cool against your heated skin. He crawls up over you, giving you a long hard kiss. "How are you feeling?" "Very horny," you confess. "Ready to come for me?" "Absolutely, Bucky!"

In no time, he’s back between your legs and starts as he did before, licking and tasting you until you're begging for his fingers. The combination of your slick and his saliva have wetness running down your ass, making a puddle below you. Since you were already so close before you made him stop, it doesn't take long for the coil to wind tight in your lower belly. It’s the same feeling as earlier and you warn him before it happens. "Bucky, I'm going to come!" For a second he lets up to tell you, "Please do, Fairy, I want every last drop."

Maybe it's because of the unplanned edging together with the spanking or it's because Bucky knows exactly what to do with his hands and mouth, or everything combined, but when you arch off the bed with a mind-boggling orgasm, the sides of your vision go hazy and your legs spasm hard. You think you hear Bucky moan but the blood is rushing in your ears.

Panting worse than before you sink into the bed, body lax with the release and you look down to see the unmistakable sign of your climax. Not only are your thighs wet, but the sheets are a shade or two darker, and Bucky is wiping his smirking face with the edge of the cover.

Biting your lip you try to not feel too much shame, but it's hard after years of being told it's disgusting. Although he said he wanted it, maybe he didn't know what he signed up for. "Sorry," you finally say. "Don't ever say that to me again after coming, Fairy. That was fucking amazing!" "Everything is wet." "Everything can be washed," he reassures you. Then he gets off the bed to rummage through a drawer, pulling out a condom. When he turns to you he says, "Now be a good little Fairy and grab your legs for me so I can fuck that sweet cunt of yours."

You watch with anticipation as he rolls the condom on before you pull your legs up, holding behind your knees. As he gets on the bed again, he takes a second to swipe his cock-head through your slick, lubing himself up, but you're impatient, whining and wiggling to get him inside.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry, you'll get my cock," he’s trying to scold you but it gets lost when he can’t take his eyes away from the view of pressing inside you. The sensation being carried from your cunt throughout your body as he steadily fills you more and more makes your breathing labored and your hands clamping down on your legs harder. "God, that's a pretty fucking pussy taking all my cock," his voice is so low it travels through you like a baseline. Slowly he pulls out and presses in again, mesmerized by what he's seeing, but for you, it's just pure torture.

"Bucky, I need more!" you beg. His answer isn't to fuck you harder or faster like you want. Instead, he spits on your exposed cunt, making you gasp before he presses a thumb against your oversensitive clit. A loud moan rips from your throat and your legs shake. “You get so fucking tight when I touch your clit, feels amazing!”

He keeps the thumb still as he fucks you. Slow, deep thrusts that keep you right on the edge of coming. If he just moved his finger and sped up a little you'd be flying again. But he seems determined to drag this out, his groans and moans are telling you that he's enjoying it very much. Bucky's eyes keep shifting from your face to your chest, down to where you're connected, watching his cock spear you.

Suddenly he removes his hand, but before you can sound a word of protest he's leaned forward, using both his hands to grab the back of your neck. He bends your head down and lifts you from the bed a little until there is no mistake what he wants you to see. “Watch your pussy take all of my cock, Fairy. It belongs there. As if it was fucking made for me. Sucking me right back in every time I pull out.”

Briefly, he lets you have what you need, fucking you faster, slamming into you, making you feel him deep as you watch your body take him over and over again. You understand why he can’t stop watching. It’s filthy at the same time it turns you on more. In desperation, you reach down to touch yourself but he lets you go, making you bounce against the bed slightly before batting your hands away. Then he pulls out and you cry in protest. “No! Bucky! I wanna come! Fuck me!”

Sweat is glistening on his naked chest and his cock stands out from his body, the condom shiny with your slick, but he doesn't acknowledge your plea, only tells you. “On your stomach. Grab a pillow and put it under your hips.”

The pulse in your cunt is uncomfortable, almost unbearable, and you glare at him, having half a mind to just finish off yourself and get some god damned relief. Bucky raises an eyebrow in question as to why you're not doing as he says. With an irritated huff, you turn over, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it under your hips, folding your arms and laying your head on them with a pout, clearly showing him that you're not happy.

The swat to your ass makes you yelp since it's much harder than when he spanked you earlier. It earns him a glare over your shoulder. “Don't be bratty, Fairy,” he reprimands you before his knees push your legs wider and he presses into you swiftly again. He pulls your hands out from under your head, lacing your fingers together before laying down on top of you, kissing your shoulder.

“We were having such a good time,” he says as he starts fucking you again. The new angle makes his dick press right against your g-spot, forcing a whine out of you. Even though you don’t want to give him the satisfaction you can’t help to push your ass against him. With all his weight on top of you, it's hard to move, but your body craves him. “But now you're mad at me, Fairy. What can I do to make it better?” Rutting harder he sends white-hot pleasure through you. You've never been able to come from penetration alone, but the way your body feels makes you think that this might do the trick. “I want to come!” you almost sob.

“Yeah, I know Fairy. Don't forget that I can feel every little pulse of your cunt around me.” There is no comfort to be found in his tone. “Why are you being so mean?!” you cry. That makes him laugh into your neck. “Oh little Fairy. This is not me being mean. This is me wanting to give you the pleasure of your life.” He nips at your skin. “We could have been done a long while ago. You feel so good I could come any second. But I don't want that.” His hands squeeze yours. “I want you to always remember this. No matter what happens after, it'll be seared into your memories. Every time you're with someone else you'll wish it was me fucking you.”

The little show of possession makes your heart beat double and you're about to tell him you don't want to be with anyone else ever again, but that's crazy, so instead you respond with what you hope will get you what you need. “Then fuck me like you fucking mean it because right now your performance is mediocre at its best,” trying and failing to sound unaffected. This time his laugh is tinged with something cruel and you have a second to wonder what the hell you've let loose before he raises himself, pressing your joint hands into the bed to keep his weight on, and then starting to fuck you in earnest.

A sharp cry is forced from you by the brutal thrusts. The angle is much better and your body starts burning from the inside. Screams, moans, and pleas all tumble together from your lips.

Every time you think you might be close to coming he slows down, just enough to keep you from reaching any kind of high. That makes you livid and when you curse him out, he releases your hands, instead placing them between your shoulder blades, pressing you down hard into the mattress, before starting up again.

“I wish I had a vibrator to shove between your legs. Put it on the highest setting and force you to come over and over again. You'd be begging me to stop instead, trying to run away, crying. I bet you'd look real pretty sobbing.”

Your cunt clenches hard at the mental image he's presenting. You can't decide if that would be worse than this. Your body feels like a livewire, ready to release all the pent-up pleasure that has accumulated in your body. All it needs is the right touch at the right place.

One moment you’re on your front, and in the next, he’s flipped you over on your back again. You don’t even have the presence of mind to be surprised because he’s instantly inside you, your legs over his shoulders and his hands gripping your head, kissing you fiercely. It’s teeth and tongue and lips in a jumble. With his pelvis pressing against your clit it drives you fast towards the edge. “I need to see your face when you lose it on my cock,” he rests his forehead on yours. Despite his words, he slows down when it starts to climb inside you. You groan, almost in pain, the edging is making you feel crazy. Over and over again he refuses you the release you’re so desperately after.

A little too late you realize that maybe there is something you can do, instead of begging, that will get you what you want. “I wish you could come inside me,” you whisper, looking right into his eyes, clenching around him when you speak. When he groans you know you’ve hit the spot, but you press down the grin. “You want to fill me up with your cum, Bucky?” you ask before you give him a ruthless kiss. “Yeah fuck, Fairy!” He thrusts hard in response. “Better fuck me good then, and maybe I'll come back and let you do it.”

“Oh Fairy,” he growls and moves one hand to the headboard, gripping it, the other grasping the base of your skull. “You’ll come back. I'll have you outside my door, on your knees, begging for my cock.” The pace he sets has the bed creaking disconcertingly. “Maybe I'll even let you in, crawling on all fours.”

As his voice paints the picture of your submission, the climax mounts in you. Bucking up against him, you try to get more when he’s already giving you everything. All thoughts about teasing him are forgotten with the immediate pleasure. “Don't stop-don't stop-don't stop!” You chant. “Never, Fairy. Come on my dick. Let me see you.”

Your vision goes spotty when the orgasm hits, your throat screaming his name, body convulsing in a way you’ve never experienced before. Afterward, your body goes limp, twitching with aftershocks as Bucky seeks his own release. Maybe you can't have him come inside you, but you want something more. “Come on me,” you tell him in a hoarse voice. “Fuck! What?” He’s so beautiful above you with his hair hanging down in his face, sweat making his skin shine, the clear desperation and shock on his face. “Paint me with your cum, please Bucky,” you say once again. “God dammit, Fairy! Fuck!” He sits back and rips the condom off. A few swipes are all it takes and he's shooting ropes up your stomach and chest, blue eyes wide and staring as if he can't believe it, moaning your name loudly in his deep voice. It makes you grin like the Cheshire cat, knowing you can affect him just as much as he does you.

He sags down beside you, panting heavily. You never want to move but as the sweat and cum start to cool, your heart calms down, and you start feeling something else.

“Oh, I think I…” you mumble, looking down between your legs. “When I came I…” “You squirted?” Bucky chuckles at your unwillingness to say the word. “Yeah. That usually doesn't happen with sex.” “It did. You almost pushed my dick out when you came too.” He kisses your shoulder and up your neck. You turn your head to meet him in a soft kiss. “You also called me James,” he smiles against your lips.

You stare at him in horror as your mind catches up with what he’s saying and you realize you did in fact do that. “Oh god,” You wish you could sink through the bed and continue into the earth's core. “I don't know why I did that!” He kisses you again. “Don't worry, I liked it,” he reassures you.

After some more kissing, the various bodily fluids on your skin compel you to get up and head for the bathroom to clean yourself up. When you're done you study yourself for a moment in the mirror, thinking that you’ll see something different after you've just been fucked within an inch of your sanity, but you look just the same.

When you get back to the bedroom, Bucky has stripped the bed and is in the process of putting new sheets on. After you help him, you start looking for your clothes, thinking you'll take a cab home, but Bucky stops you by pulling you into a warm embrace. “You need to text your friends. I prefer my vest and my reputation untarnished.”

With a laugh you move to find your phone and when you do you notice you have a bunch of notifications. It's well past midnight.

It seems as if he doesn't want to be far away from you because as you’re writing a reply, he comes up behind you and hugs you close. Suddenly you have a better idea and stop what you’re doing, instead, you take a picture of the two of you, aiming it to just show your bare upper shoulders and your faces. The flash goes off in the dim room and when you see the picture you giggle. What you couldn't tell in the mirror, the picture clearly shows. Two fucked out people. You send it with just a short line about being alive.

When you're done you turn in Bucky's arms. “Satisfied?” “In more ways than one,” he smiles cheekily before kissing you. After a lazy make-out session standing naked in the middle of the room, you begin to pull away. “I need to-” “Stay,” Bucky finishes for you, tightening his arms. “Stay?” “Yeah, I'll make you breakfast tomorrow and then take you home.” “You don't have to,” you tell him. “Indulge me?” “Fine,” you sigh as if it’s a great burden. “I guess I could stay, but if you don't cuddle me, I'm leaving.” He pinches your ass in reprimand, making you jump. “You have no idea what you've signed up for, Fairy.”

True to his words Bucky hardly lets you out of bed, even in the morning when you need to use the bathroom. When you come back he holds up the cover and pats the mattress. As soon as you're beside him he pulls you in closer, putting his face in the crook of your neck and mouthing at your skin. A pleasurable sigh leaves you as you snuggle in closer to his warm body. Although the both of you were naked together the night before you never had time to explore his body, so now you let your hands roam everywhere they can reach.

Bucky lets his own hands travel over your skin, but those touches don’t stay innocent long and soon his erection is pressed into your stomach. Taking pity on him you spit in your palm and grab him, making him hiss at the contact before you lazily start pumping him. When he tries to reach between your legs you push his hand away. “No, let me take care of you,” you say sternly. “Whatever you say, Fairy,” he groans and thrusts into your palm.

There is no finesse to it all, just a quick morning hand job. He comes between your bodies, dirtying the sheets. When you see his eyelids starting to close again you poke him and they fly open. “You promised me breakfast!” “You just missed it,” he winks. In response, you roll your eyes before getting up. “Men!”

Instead of pulling on your jeans and the blouse drenched in glitter from the night before you snag the t-shirt he was wearing and find your discarded panties. The t-shirt barely covers your ass but at least you're semi-dressed as you go out into the kitchen to find something to eat.

Muttering under his breath about you being a stubborn woman he follows you in sweatpants and a fresh henly. Before you can find the coffee he hauls you up and puts you on the kitchen island, boxing you in with his arms on either side, lowering himself to glare at you. “Instead of opening every cupboard in the whole damn kitchen, tell me what you want and I'll make it.” “Coffee, with milk and sugar.” “And to eat?” “What do you usually make for the women you bring home?” you tease.

That makes him rise to his full height, looking down at you, and crossing his arms. “You think I have a habit of bringing women home and fucking them like I did you last night?” “You didn't get that good by theorizing,” you point out. “There hasn't been anyone, in a long time, Fairy,” his voice is suddenly soft as he cups your cheeks. You have another teasing comment on your lips but think better of it when you see his guarded look.

Instead, you put your arms around his waist and pull him in between your legs, resting your chin against his sternum to look up at him. “Then you make me whatever you want. But I don't like fish.” With a smile, he asks, “How about scones?” “Sounds perfect.”

When you’re done with breakfast he puts you on the table, insisting that he needs dessert and showing a much gentler side than the night before as he strums your body until you tell him you can't come anymore. Then he carries you to the couch and puts on a random channel. Together you watch reruns until you slide down his body to give him some of his own medicine. No matter how much he begs, you take your sweet time tasting him and when he comes it’s with a roar of your name. After some more cuddles and a nap, you convince him that you actually need to go home.

Just as you're about to head out there is a knock on the door and Bucky opens it to find Steve outside, holding his vest. Earlier he explained that Steve lives a few apartments down the hall. “I was told to give this to you.” Bucky takes it and inspects it quickly before hanging it up. To you, it seems untarnished.

“Hope Nat didn't give you too hard a time,” you smile. Assuming they'd stayed late at the bar and when she'd seen your text she'd given it to Steve. His eyes quickly flick away and there is a blush on his cheek. “No, no, it was fine.” You narrow your eyes and study him, noticing a small red bite mark on his neck. “Oh my god!” you exclaim and start laughing. Steve blushes even more. Bucky looks confused between the two of you. “What?” In a very loud whisper, you tell him, “I think Nat is at Steve's place.” Bucky's eyes glimmer with mirth and he looks at him. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Steve waves and heads back down the hall. Just as he pulls the door open you yell. “Tell her I said hi!”

Fortunately, Bucky also has a car, and as he drives you home, he keeps his hand on your thigh the entire time. Outside your apartment, he turns to you. “I want to see you again,” he says. “Okay.” You want that too. So much! “When?” “Tomorrow ideally but if that doesn't work, how about a date on Friday?” You could do tomorrow but you feel yourself already falling for him. Some distance would do you good, so you say, “Friday sounds great! Give me your phone.” You type in your number and save it under the fairy emoji before sending yourself a text. Then you save him under a motorcycle emoji.

Before you can get out he pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. “Now go before I kidnap you and keep you warm in my bed all week.” “Don't tempt me with a good time,” you wink and give him one last peck before getting out. In an act of pure self-preservation, you don't look back.

After a long shower, and checking your phone a million times throughout the evening to see if he’s texted, you come to the realization that you will never make it to Friday. You: [If I told you that I’ve changed my mind and want to see you tomorrow, would that make me seem desperate?] The response is quick. Bucky: {No more than I feel right now. I’ll pick you up after work. When do you get off?} Refusing to let an opportunity like that go to waste, you reply. [Preferably quicker than last night. I’m not sure I’m a fan of edging ;)] {Fairy, don’t make me spank you again. Off of work.} [I’ve told you not to tempt me with a good time ;) I get off at four]

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romanoffjohansson · 1 year ago

Text

halloween is the perfect time for tricks—and treats

pairing: soft!dark friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: steve rogers is tired of being stuck in the friendzone and when he overhears you planning to pick up a one night stand at your mutual friend's halloween party, he decides to play a little trick on you—one where you'll both be getting a treat.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, dubcon (because steve's wearing a mask), piv sex, unprotected sex, pervy behavior (both steve and reader are huge pervs tbh), BDSM themes, masturbation (m), dirty dancing/dry humping, ass play, fingering (f receiving, vaginal and anal), finger sucking, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, filming/recording/taking photos during sex, exhibitionism, breeding kink, super possessive behavior, talk of branding, talk of being friendzoned (even tho the friendzone is not fucking real), hair-pulling, aftercare, pet names (angel) — let me know if i missed something!!

word count: 19.4k

a/n: i think this remains the longest one shot i've written, even a year later, which is kind of wild!! this one really did get away from me. but man oh man does it have everything i love, most especially golden boy steve rogers who's actually, secretly, a filthy perv. god this might be one of my most favorite steve fics i've written. so i hope y'all enjoy it too!! ♡ (also again the friendzone is bullshit and not real and don't ever let a man tell you otherwise!!!)

halloween fics masterlist

“God, I need to get fucked,” you groaned in a hushed voice in the living room of your friend’s apartment. The quiet that followed indicated you were talking on the phone, the soft tinny sound of someone else speaking reaching even to the hallway.

At your words, the apartment’s owner, Steve Rogers, paused just out of sight in the hallway, shamelessly listening in on your conversation, his dick twitching in his pants at the desperate need in your voice. He’d been friends with you for a couple years and, almost the entire time, he’d been trying to figure out how to make a move on you without being creepy.

Steve liked you—a lot. He liked spending time with you, he liked listening to you laugh and he liked how you seemed to feel safe with him. But he wanted more, and the things he wanted to do to you…He thought you’d shy away if he said any of them out loud in your presence. The problem was, he couldn’t tell if you liked him the way he liked you, or if you thought of him as just a friend. You’d never told him you didn’t have feelings for him, but you’d never hinted at wanting more either. And you’d dated other guys, but you’d never dated him.

No, Steve thought, you just tortured him and played innocent. You cuddled up to him on his couch, acting all innocent as you pressed your tits into his side and rested your head on his chest while you watched movies together. You’d ask him to spoon you sometimes, your soft ass pressing against his lap, just laying there while Steve’s cock would get hard for you. He’d lay there until you fell asleep, your sweet breaths puffing out against his bicep, then shove his hand in his pants and tug on his cock, thinking about slipping his fingers between your legs to find you wet and willing for him. He’d imagine fucking you in your sleep, sliding into your warm, wet hole and filling you up with his cock. Sometimes he’d picture coming deep inside your pussy without you waking up, claiming you while you were none the wiser, and other times he’d imagine you waking up and the look on your face when you realized your friend was fucking you. He’d come in his boxers like a fucking teenager with you sleeping in his arms completely unaware.

Steve’s friends had tried to help him get out of the friendzone—Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson had plenty of suggestions for how to see if you’d ever think of Steve as more than just a friend. But Steve knew he had to play his hand exactly right or he’d risk coming off like a creep, and girls like you didn’t date creeps. So he’d bided his time, he’d kept his need on a tight leash, taking what he could get when what he really wanted was to pound into you with his cock. But he was getting frustrated and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back, not when he knew you were lounging on his couch talking about how much you needed to get fucked.

“I mean, Steve’s hot as fuck and all…” you trailed off in the other room and Steve perked up at the sound of his name.

Sure, you’d complimented him before. When he’d taken you as his date to his boss’s wedding, you’d told him how handsome he’d looked in a suit while you smoothed your hands over his chest. It had taken all his self control not to yank you against him so you could feel how hard you made him from just those small touches. Instead, he’d thanked you politely and offered his arm, like the gentleman he’d convinced you he was.

But, Steve realized, you’d never called him hot before. He’d never known you thought about him like that and pride bloomed in his chest at the compliment. At the same time, something warned him he wasn’t going to like how you finished your sentence. He was right.

“I just—I don’t know if he can really fuck me, y’know?” you muttered into your phone, clearly trying to keep your voice down so he wouldn’t hear. He was meant to be grabbing some snacks for your movie night, and they shook in Steve’s hand as he got more and more irritated by your words. “He’s a gentleman, he doesn’t exactly give off ‘I’ll fuck you like a slut’ energy.”

Frustration blinded Steve’s vision for a moment. That was why you’d never given him a chance? You thought he couldn’t fuck you properly? You thought he was too much of a gentleman to treat you like a slut? He’d never known about this side of you. Even with how close you’d become as friends, you’d kept it carefully hidden from Steve. And he’d kept his own dark desires hidden as well, too worried they’d scare you off before he had a chance to show you how good you could be together. But you were just as depraved as he was.

Frustration morphed into relief and then elation. If you wanted to be treated like a filthy slut, Steve thought, then he’d show you exactly what he was capable of. Having made up his mind to prove you wrong, he almost stormed into the living room and ripped the phone from your hands to bend you over and fuck you into the couch, but your next words stopped him.

“Sam’s Halloween party it is, then,” you said, finality in your voice like you’d come to a decision. Steve already knew it didn’t have anything to do with him. You’d written him off as an unacceptable partner, but he’d show you how wrong you were, making a decision of his own. “Yeah I’ll send you pics of my costume—it’s so slutty, it’ll be perfect.” You giggled, the sound shooting straight to Steve’s cock.

He gripped his hardening dick through his pants, stroking himself idly to the sound of your voice while a plan formed in his head. It hadn’t taken him long to piece together your idea to pick up some guy at Sam’s Halloween party, and Steve decided he could use that to his advantage. Besides, he wanted to see exactly how slutty your Halloween costume was—and he wanted to see just how much of a pathetic, needy little slut you could be under the right circumstances. Steve let go of his dick, using his hand to get his phone out and order the perfect mask for his plan.

After all, what kind of friend would he be if he let you fuck some random guy? You could pick up someone who was dangerous, who didn’t respect your boundaries—or worse, someone who couldn’t satisfy you. Steve knew he could satisfy you, he reasoned, slipping his phone back in his pocket and returning his hand to his dick. He jerked his cock harder in the hallway outside his living room, listening to you laugh on the other side of the wall.

Really, he thought, it was his responsibility as your friend to make sure you were safe, to make sure you were fucked by someone you could trust. Who could you trust better than your good friend Steve Rogers? He stroked his cock harder to the sound of your voice, imagining you on your knees and staring up at him with your eyes wide while you sucked his length into your throat. He came to the thought of coating your pretty face with his come, your giggles echoing in his ears as he spilled himself inside his jeans.

As he turned away and silently padded back down the hallway, heading toward his room to change, Steve only grew more confident in his plan. He knew he could satisfy the filthy little slut in you and then, if you let him, he’d finally have an answer to how you felt about him. So what if he had to trick you into it? It was Halloween, the perfect time for tricks—and treats.

-~-~-

You walked into Sam Wilson’s wild Halloween party on a mission, determination in your strut and conviction in the tilt of your chin. Ever since telling your best friends Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop about your need to get fucked and all three of you deciding Sam’s Halloween party was the best place to find a guy to satisfy you, it was all you could think about.

After talking to them on the phone while you were at your friend Steve Rogers’ place for a movie night—and waiting for him to come back with snacks, which took forever—you were worried you’d leave a wet spot on his couch from thinking about being bent over and railed in the woods behind Sam’s house. You didn’t, thankfully, since you weren’t sure how Steve would’ve reacted. He was such a polite gentleman, he probably would’ve pretended he didn’t see it. You couldn’t imagine your blond-haired and blue-eyed golden boy of a friend shoving your face in the wet spot and fucking you hard enough to hurt as punishment for getting his couch messy.

Well, you could imagine it, and the thought made you wet as fuck, but the problem was you didn’t think he’d ever actually do it. And that was exactly why you weren’t looking to your best guy friend to satisfy your need to get fucked. Steve seemed like he would be a little too vanilla in bed for your tastes and you didn’t have the energy to spend weeks and months introducing him to what you liked, what you needed. Better to find some random guy who’d fuck you filthy and then fuck off in the morning.

Pushing aside thoughts of Steve and how you wished he was just as wickedly depraved as you, you refocused on Sam’s Halloween party. Your eyes scanned what you could see of the first floor of the house from just inside the front door, looking for someone to catch your eye. The foyer opened up into a large living room where all the furniture had been pushed against the walls, making room for a DJ table blasting loud music and a big dance floor that was already crowded with people dressed in all kinds of costumes.

There were some fun creative ones, playing on the year’s biggest memes, then there were the guys who put in barely any effort, dressing like a lumberjack or just getting a mask from a Halloween store. And, of course, there were plenty of girls dressed in all manner of slutty costumes. Not that you were judging anyone for dressing slutty—your costume was literally lingerie.

You wore a little white silk cami dress you’d found in the lingerie section of an online shop, the neckline dipped low and the bottom hem barely covered your ass. To turn it into an angel costume, you’d paired it with white patent leather mary jane heels, some small fluffy white wings strapped to your shoulders and a headband lifting a feathery halo above your head. Both Yelena and Kate had wolf-whistled when you’d finished getting ready, assuring you it would be easy to pick up a guy at Sam’s party.

Before you’d found anyone in the living room that you thought might do the trick, Yelena and Kate each looped an arm through yours and led you down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. It was crowded, but not nearly as bad as the living room. You and your friends made a beeline for the host, who was dressed like a king—complete with crown and scepter—and holding court like one in front of a group of girls dressed like slutty nurses and sailors.

Sam greeted you and your friends warmly, kissing each of you on the cheek as he hugged you. After you’d hugged Sam, you turned to Bucky—taking a short moment to appreciate the way he filled out his army costume—hugging and kissing him on the cheek as well.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, half-shouting in Bucky’s ear to be heard over the thumping music in the living room. You had to brace a hand on his shoulder, going up on tiptoes to make sure he heard you.

Bucky smirked as you leaned in close, giving him a perfect view down your dress, and he wasn’t above sneaking a peek. “He’s running a little late, but he’ll be here soon, doll,” Bucky answered, turning his head so his stubbled jaw rubbed against the soft skin of your cheek, all the while eying your tits without being too obvious about it.

You shivered at the bristly feel of Bucky’s rough stubble against your skin, ignoring the rushing thrill it sent through your body to pull away and pout up at him. “But then who’s going to hold my phone while I dance?” you asked in a teasing voice, holding up your phone and gesturing at your dress to show you had no where to put it.

Heat flamed in Bucky’s eyes as his gaze raked down your body, taking in your skimpy dress that clung to all your curves and left your legs bare from thigh to ankle. But when he looked back up at you, it was gone so fast you weren’t sure if you’d seen it or not. Before you could decide if Bucky had really been checking you out, he snagged your phone and slipped it into the pocket of his army pants. “I’ve got it, doll, I’ll give it to Steve when he gets here,” he said, giving you a charming smile.

“Thank you!” you half-yelled, going up on tiptoe again to plant another kiss on Bucky’s rugged cheek, pressing your hand on his firm chest to keep your balance. For a moment, you lingered. Bucky smelled like fresh winter air and beer, the scent enticing on his skin. Your nipple grazed against his arm, sending a little shiver down your spine as you pulled away sharply.

When you caught Bucky’s eye, his blue gaze burned with heat that made you feel hot and flustered. “Don’t mention it, doll,” Bucky said, a smirk curving his full lips. His tongue poked out and traced his lower lip and you didn’t realize you were so focused on the movement until one of your best friends wrenched your attention away.

Yelena tugged on your arm, yelling, “SHOTS!” in your face as she pulled you away from Bucky. You laughed, joining your friends at the kitchen island. Sam had poured each of you a shot of tequila and you happily reached for one of the little plastic shot glasses.

Bucky pressed against your back, much closer than was technically appropriate between friends—close enough you could feel a bulge in the front of his pants—and reached around you to grab a shot of his own. You shivered, feeling the heat and hardness of your friend’s body through the thin satin of your dress and wondered if you should abandon your plan to find some random guy and fuck Bucky instead. He had an edge to him Steve didn’t and you wondered if that translated to him being able to give you what you needed.

But then Sam was raising his shot glass, everyone else following his lead, and you looked around at your group of friends. You realized if you fucked Bucky, there may have been a better chance of you getting the type of sex you wanted, but it would impact the rest of your friend group and you weren’t willing to risk it. You weren’t even sure Bucky could fuck you like that—maybe he was even more vanilla than Steve. Those were good enough reasons not to press back into Bucky, but if you were honest with yourself, the real reason was that deep down you knew if you fucked either Bucky or Sam, it’d ruin your chances with Steve forever, and you didn’t want that. But you didn’t have time to unpack that thought when you were surrounded by friends at a Halloween party.

Your attention refocused on your friends just in time for Sam to finish whatever toast he’d been giving, “Let’s party hard, fuck hard and have a happy Halloween!” Everyone laughed and you clinked glasses with Yelena and Kate before downing your shot. You’d already started pre-gaming back at your own apartment with your friends, so the tequila went down easily, settling deep in your stomach and spreading warmth through your limbs.

“Another!” Thor Odinson yelled, joining your group and snatching the bottle of tequila from Sam before pouring more shots.

You held out your cup for more alongside Kate and Yelena, and you all downed that round together without waiting for another toast. Thor and Sam cheered you three on, then threw back their own shots. The alcohol created a happy glow in your chest that had your limbs loosening, but when you held your cup out for another, a warm palm slid around your side to your stomach, pulling you back against a broad body, your angel wings crushing against a hard chest, and out of reach of Thor’s pouring.

“Don’t you think you should take it easy, doll?” Bucky asked in a low voice next to your ear so only you could hear. “You just got here.” He reached around you with his other arm, plucking your shot glass out of your fingers and tossing it down on the island.

Frowning while your friends did a third shot, you turned in Bucky’s arms, purposefully brushing your ass against the bulge in his pants to torture him for taking your cup away. You pouted up at him. “I’m just having fun!” you insisted, leaning further into his chest and giving him your best wide-eyed puppy dog look. Your hands landed on Bucky’s shoulders and you couldn’t help but notice how broad and strong they felt under your fingers.

Bucky grinned as you pressed up against him. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting, but he wasn’t going to complain when you pressed your soft tits against his hard chest. His arm had settled around your lower back, just above the swell of your ass and he wondered if he could get away with a little grope before Steve showed up. He was still debating it when he ducked his head so he could speak into your ear. “I’m just looking out for you, doll,” he said, innocence in his voice. “Don’t want you to be a drunk, sloppy mess before Steve even gets here.”

Your friend’s deep voice rumbling through your chest and the feel of his breath on your neck sent electricity shooting down your spine, settling deep in your core. You knew you’d already decided not to fuck Bucky, but you couldn’t help yourself from melting against him—he just felt so good. Too distracted by dragging your palms down from his shoulders to his arms, practically feeling him up through his army costume, you didn’t even wonder why Bucky wouldn’t want you getting too drunk before Steve showed up.

A sharp smack on your ass shocked you out of your lust-drunk—and a little bit real-drunk—stupor. With a gasp, you looked up at Bucky in surprise. He wore a smug grin, no hint of remorse in his shining blue eyes for spanking you. And, if you were honest with yourself, you liked it. You wondered if you should reconsider Bucky as a potential one night stand or fuck buddy. Maybe it’d be worth it…

Before you could come to a decision, Bucky eased you away from his body. “Go dance, doll,” he ordered in a quiet, commanding tone that had heat gathering between your legs.

Tongue-tied by your reaction to your friend, you nodded dumbly and turned back to your friends. You swallowed hard as you tugged on their arms. “Time to dance!” you yelled over the music, proud of yourself when your voice came out loud and strong. Yelena and Kate both screamed happily, waving to Sam, Thor and Bucky before winding through the crowd to the living room.

You shook off your attraction to Bucky, reminding yourself he was off limits unless you wanted Steve to be furious with you. And you didn’t want that. Probably. Unless that was the key to getting what you wanted from him… You pushed that thought aside as you linked hands with your friends, dancing in a circle on the edge of the crowd. All the while, you kept an eye out to see if there was anyone at the party who looked like they could fuck you the way you needed.

-~-~-

Back in the kitchen, Bucky watched you dance until Steve walked in through the back door of Sam’s house. The brown-haired man dragged his eyes from your ass and looked to his best friend, easily recognizing the costume he’d helped Steve assemble. Steve lifted the mask of his costume up, setting it on top of his head as he beelined through the kitchen to Bucky.

“Your girl’s already here,” Bucky said by way of a greeting, nodding to the living room where you were dancing to the thumping beat with your friends. You, Yelena and Kate were still on the edge of the crowd, in full view of the kitchen. Your hips swayed rhythmically to the beat as both men watched.

You hadn’t been kidding that night in his apartment, Steve realized, your costume was slutty. The way the bottom hem of your dress fluttered while you danced, revealing glimpses of your plush ass, had his cock thickening in his pants. He wanted to bend you over where you stood and shove his cock deep in your pussy, claiming you for everyone to see while you squealed and squirmed under him. See if you call him a gentleman after that.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Steve turned back to his best friend, who held out a phone for him. “She gave me this to hold on to,” Bucky explained and for a moment, jealousy flared hot in Steve’s chest at the thought of you letting anyone but him hold onto your phone. Bucky must’ve sensed the shift in Steve because he was quick to explain. “Don’t worry, man, I told her I’d give it to you as soon as I saw you.”

That helped to soothe the jealousy a bit, along with the knowledge that Bucky knew better than to make a move on you. Steve wasn’t oblivious, he’d seen the way his best friend looked at you sometimes, and he’d wanted to get to the party before you to ensure you didn’t get any ideas about Bucky. But he knew his best friend wouldn’t encourage or take you up on any offer that might piss off Steve. Bucky was a bit bigger, but Steve was tenacious in a fight and he knew he could beat his friend’s ass if he needed to prove a point—the point being that you belonged to him.

“Thanks man,” Steve muttered to his friend, his eyes finding you again in the crowd. As you spun slowly where you danced, he got a better look at your angel costume—if it could even be called that. The soft shiny material of your dress clung to your waist and the curves of your tits, barely covering your ass, making your legs look long and leaving them on display for everyone to see.

When you twirled again, he watched your tits jiggle in the top and bit back a groan at the realization you weren’t wearing a bra. Were you wearing panties under that little dress, he wondered, or were you dancing on the edge of flashing your pussy to every guy in the room with each twist of your hips? What a fucking slut, Steve thought, sexual frustration and affection creating an intoxicating haze in his mind. The urge to make you his slut was almost overwhelming.

Steve was dragged out of his possessive thoughts by Bucky pressing a beer into his hand. The blond grunted a thanks to his best friend as he continued watching you dance until your friends dragged you deeper into the crowd and you disappeared from view. When he turned to Bucky, he found his best friend’s eyes following you through the throng of dancers. Steve knocked his shoulder against his friend to get Bucky’s attention.

The brunet shrugged unapologetically, taking a swig from his own beer before speaking low so only Steve could hear. “She’s needy tonight, Stevie,” he said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening to their conversation before going on. “Practically humped my leg when I took her drink away—for you, mind you, so she wouldn’t be too drunk,” he added quickly before Steve could jump to the wrong conclusion that Bucky was trying to make a move on you. Bucky pointed a finger at his best friend and raised his eyebrows. “You sure you’re gonna be able to handle her?”

Steve smirked, not letting himself be anything less than self-assured that you’d end the night begging him to let you out of the friendzone. He couldn’t wait to watch you come apart on his cock, bent over with your face down and ass up while he pounded your pussy until you were crying through your release. Although he’d clued Bucky in on his plan to fuck you, he hadn’t told the brunet everything he had in mind for you, so he could understand his friend’s concern to a certain extent, but that didn’t stop Steve from snorting derisively.

“I can handle her,” he answered confidently, flicking his gaze to his best friend’s. “Why, you want a piece of her?” Steve had never confronted Bucky with the way his friend looked at you, and he was curious to see what Bucky would say when presented with the option.

Bucky gave his friend a long look, trying to work out if the question was a trap, but after a moment he threw back the rest of his beer and shrugged, deciding he didn’t give a fuck either way. “Yeah, man, you know I’d be more than happy to volunteer if all she’s looking for is some easy, no strings attached dick,” he answered honestly. “But I know she’s yours—but you gotta take what’s yours first, before you go around offering to share, Stevie,” Bucky shot a meaningful look at Steve before he slapped his blond friend on the shoulder and stepped away to grab another beer.

Steve absorbed what his friend had said while he watched the crowd of dancers, catching sight of your halo and angel wings between the shifting bodies. He made a mental note that Bucky was interested in you and he didn’t seem to mind sharing as long as he had Steve’s blessing. The blond was in the middle of figuring out what he could do with that information when he caught sight of you in the mass of people on the dance floor.

You were dancing with some guy dressed as a devil, grinding your ass back against his lap, arms looped around his neck in a way that pushed your tits out obscenely, your nipples peaked and poking through the shimmery white dress you wore. Angel wings hung from your shoulders in direct contrast to the filthy way you moved. As Steve watched, the guy slid his hands from your hips down to your thighs and Steve growled at seeing someone—some random stranger—touching what was his without permission.

Steve finished his beer and fixed his Halloween costume mask back over his face before pushing off the kitchen counter he’d been leaning against. He stalked through the crowded kitchen with a purposeful stride, diving into the crush of bodies in the living room. With relentless intent, he moved toward you with the singular focus of getting to you and stealing you away from that fucking devil guy.

-~-~-

Your pussy throbbed to the beat of the pounding music and your arousal was slicking your thighs as you moved in the arms of a guy dressed like a devil, your wetness having already soaked through your tiny little thong. You were horny, needy, desperate, and the feel of grinding on a guy on the dance floor was only making you hotter. His hands were sliding down from your waist to your thighs, teasing the bottom of your dress, and you moaned softly, pressing your ass back into the hardness in his pants.

He didn’t seem that big by your judgement, but you were hoping you were wrong—though you still hadn’t decided whether to risk it and find a dark corner to get better acquainted with what he was working with. Yet. But then he had to go and kill your mood.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, baby?” the devil asked in your ear.

Something about the guy’s voice gave you an immediate ick and your face screwed up in a disgusted look as you shuddered, feeling like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over your desire. You didn’t even realize you had such a thing for voices until this guy’s completely turned you off. It didn’t help that he’d chosen probably the most cliched pickup line he possibly could’ve—zero points for matching it to your costume.

When you looked around, ignoring the question and looking for your friends to have them help you escape, your gaze landed on a man off to the side. He stood still in the throng of dancers, standing out in the crowd like a lighthouse standing sentry amidst a thrashing storm. Even though you couldn’t see the man’s eyes, you could feel his intent gaze on your body.

The man was tall and dressed like Ghostface from Scream, but instead of the cheap black robe most guys wore with the hooded mask, he donned a black t-shirt that pulled deliciously tight over a broad chest and shoulders, the sleeves stretched to the point of nearly ripping across his bulging biceps. Your eyes trailed down, finding his t-shirt was tucked into black jeans slung low on a trim waist, the bottom of his pants disappearing into black combat boots. His arms were bare up to the wrist, showing off muscular forearms that were dusted with light brown hair, wearing what looked like black latex gloves on his hands. The overall effect had heat singing through your body, settling deep in your core and making you wet all over again.

The devil at your back either didn’t care or didn’t notice you hadn’t responded to him, and his hands started to inch higher on your thighs, slipping under the hem of your dress and making you shudder in revulsion, an outraged frown marring your face. You were about to turn around and push the devil guy off you, but Ghostface was quicker, grabbing your hand and pulling you into his chest while he pressed his palm against the devil’s face and shoved him away from you.

“What the fuck!” the devil shouted indignantly.

You couldn’t be bothered to even look back at the guy, too busy plastering yourself against Ghostface, your front flush against his strong chest, your nipples rubbing the inside of your satin dress teasingly. You shivered and pressed yourself harder against him, your arms winding around his neck and clinging to him while your hips swayed to the beat of the music.

Ghostface made a shooing gesture at the devil and the other guy stalked off in a huff, disappearing in the crowd. You barely noticed him leave, especially as the feel of Ghostface’s gloved hands smoothing down your lower back to your ass lit a fire beneath your skin. He shoved his knee between your thighs and hiked you up on his leg until you were grinding your wet pussy down on his muscular thigh. He bent his knees, working his hips in slow rolls to the thumping bass.

You let him manhandle you onto his leg and then leaned on him, draping your body over his and grinding to the beat. Pressing your face into his shoulder, you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent—woodsy and earthy. Something about it seemed familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Ignoring why it smelled familiar, you let Ghostface’s scent lull you into a sense of safety you didn’t quite understand.

All around you, other people danced, but Ghostface worked your bodies to the music in a way that felt more like fucking than dancing. In no time at all, you were breathless and panting with need, clinging to his shoulders as your knees wobbled and slick covered your thighs, no doubt soaking into his pants. But though you wanted to spread your legs wider and grind harder until you came all over this stranger’s thigh, you forced yourself to hold back that slutty impulse. Instead, you made yourself spin around in his arms until your ass settled against his lap so you could get a hint at what he was working with and whether it’d be worth it to choose him to fuck you.

A sharp gasp caught in your throat as you felt Ghostface’s massive bulge twitch against your ass. He didn’t even feel fully hard and he was bigger than any other guy you’d fucked. He felt like he was almost as big as Steve—not that you knew how big your friend’s cock was. But he’d get hard while you spooned sometimes. You’d lay in his arms, silently praying he’d make a move, but he never did, and you’d fall asleep wet and frustrated, feeling Steve’s cock pressing against your ass. The feel of it was burned into your memory.

If Ghostface was anywhere near as big as your friend, you just had to fuck him. Before you’d even fully made your decision, your ass was grinding back against him indecently. You moaned softly and lifted your arms up to wrap around the back of his neck, fingers digging into the cheap fabric of the mask’s hood. Your back arched in a perfect curve, your angel wings crushed against his chest, your tits thrust forward, nipples poking through your thin dress.

Ghostface’s gloved hands gripped your hips roughly, fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to make you gasp again. The dull pain of his grip was quickly overshadowed by the heat of your arousal as he rubbed his thick bulge against your ass. “Like what you feel, angel?” the man asked, his voice low and rough in your ear.

Again, something about the man’s voice sparked a sense of familiarity deep in your brain, but you brushed it off as simple chemistry. You were so turned on by the stranger, you were imagining things that weren’t there, wanting him to be someone he wasn’t. Still, he had you so hot and bothered you’d be an idiot not to choose him to be the one to fuck you—so you made your decision.

Tilting your head back against his shoulder so your mouth was closer to his ear, you let out a low, wanton moan. “I like it a lot, Mr. Ghostface,” you rasped in a husky, needy tone, grinding your ass harder against his bulge. You could hear him breathing harshly through the mask and it only turned you on more.

“Fuck,” he grunted, voice distorted through the mask but deliciously deep, sending a shiver down your spine to settle heavily in your core. “You’re a dirty fucking slut, aren’tcha, angel?” he asked, sliding his gloved hands down from your hips to your thighs. When you nodded against his shoulder, he groped your soft flesh in an almost punishing grip, fingers teasing the insides of your thighs. “Are you wearing any panties under this slutty little dress?” he asked, his hands sliding up under the hem until the tips of his gloved fingers were mere centimeters away from your dripping slit. “Or were you planning on flashing this pussy to all the men here until one snapped and bent you over, fucking you in the middle of the room for the whole party to see?”

His filthy words were like electric currents shooting straight to your throbbing core, your clit pulsing with need as he spoke to you with such vulgar language in that deep, degrading tone. Ghostface was exactly what you’d wanted to find at Sam’s Halloween party, a man who would fuck you like a slut, and you were almost giddy enough to turn around and jump him in the middle of the dance floor. You managed to hold yourself back, turning around in his arms until you were facing him again. “Why don’t you take me upstairs and find out for yourself,” you challenged, a smirk curling the edge of your mouth.

Through the black mesh of the Ghostface mask’s eyes, you could see the man’s gaze sparkle with hunger and though you couldn’t be sure since his face was hidden, you felt certain he was grinning. He ducked his head so he could speak next to your ear. “I have a better idea, angel,” he growled, sending more shivers skating down your spine.

Before you could ask what he meant, Ghostface grabbed your hand, threading his fingers through yours and tugging you toward the sliding door that lead to the house’s back deck. It was a warm night for October, but there was still a chill in the air and your outfit was incredibly skimpy, so when you stepped outside, a shudder wracked your body. You clung to Ghostface’s hand, winding yourself around his arm to try to steal some of his warmth.

He glanced down at you and you thought you caught a glimpse of his eyes shining happily at the sight of you clinging to him, but he looked away to navigate through the crowd on the deck. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone, just tugged you along with him as he walked to the edge, then down the stairs to the yard. There were fewer people milling about, but some were circled around a fire pit. Ghostface ignored them, leading you down the sloping grass hill, holding your hand firmly so you didn’t slip on the damp grass. The sounds of the party, the thumping bass from inside and the chatter of people by the fire pit, grew more distant the farther you got away from the house.

When he walked to the edge of the tree line where Sam’s property ended and the woods began, you dug your heels into the soft earth beneath your feet and pulled the stranger to a stop. Even with how horny you were for this man, you had some sense of self-preservation and it was telling you not to walk into the woods with a complete stranger whose face you hadn’t even seen. “Where are we going?” you asked, a little bit of fear leaking through your voice.

Ghostface glanced back at the house and when you followed his gaze, you saw Bucky standing on the back deck, leaning on the wooden railing, smoking a cigarette. Though it was too far away to really tell, you had the feeling Bucky was watching you and the man. If you screamed for help, you were sure he’d come running, but you hadn’t decided if that was necessary just yet. Tingles of desire were mixing with the little shivers of fear and creating an intoxicating mix in your body that you didn’t want to give up unless you had to.

“Before we get started,” Ghostface began in a low, rumbling voice. “Do you want a safe word?”

His words drew your attention back to the man in the Ghostface mask, and you couldn’t help but notice he didn’t answer your question. His voice distracted you, though. Without the loud music and crush of bodies, that sense of familiarity sparked stronger at the sound, just like when you’d heard his voice inside and when you’d smelled him. You tilted your head to the side as you considered him.

When you didn’t answer, his shoulders stiffened like he was afraid he was losing you. “Pick a safe word, angel, and I’ll stop whatever we’re doing if you use it,” he urged, a thread of desperation in his tone.

His voice niggled at your brain. You knew you recognized it, you just weren’t sure who it belonged to. But your curiosity was piqued and you were still so fucking horny, so you threw caution to the wind. Even if he didn’t respect your safe word, Bucky was within earshot if you screamed. So you gave him a word. “Sidney,” you said, lips quirking at your cleverness while you stared at the Ghostface mask.

His shoulders relaxed and you could hear the grin in his voice as he responded, “Sidney, it is.” He held his black gloved hand out to you.

For a moment, you just looked at it. Your eyes trailed up his muscled arm to the Ghostface mask and then over his shoulder to the pitch black woods beyond. You weren’t sure what he had planned for you, but the way your slit leaked at the thought of being fucked in the woods had you making a decision. With one last glance over your shoulder, finding Bucky still standing on the deck, you slid your fingers into his hand and let him tug you into the deep, dark shadows of the trees.

It was even colder in the woods, and you pressed close to Ghostface’s muscled arm as he tromped through the fallen leaves and underbrush. He didn’t make you walk far, maybe a minute or two, until he came to a stop in a little clearing, the trees overhead thinned enough for the full moon to shine down on the forest floor. Laid out over the ground was a thick blanket, or maybe a couple of layered blankets, and they looked clean, like they’d only been put there earlier that day.

When you looked up at Ghostface, you caught that look in his eye through the mesh, like he was grinning beneath the mask. “We’ll have more privacy out here, angel,” he said, his voice low and rumbly and a little muffled. “So you can scream as loud as you want.”

Maybe you should’ve been scared, maybe you should’ve used your safe word or tried to run back to the party, but at his sinful words, you pressed closer. “You gonna fuck me hard enough to scream, Mr. Ghostface?” you asked in a teasing voice, your lips plumped up in a pout.

“Oh, angel,” he growled, tugging you around to his front. He walked you back until you were pressed up against the thick trunk of a tree, your fluffy feathered angel wings protecting your shoulders from the bark. With a rough grip on your thigh, he lifted one of your legs up to hook around his waist, stepping in between and pinning you to the tree, the massive bulge in his pants pressed to your dripping core. You shivered at the feel of him, wondering for the first time whether it would fit. “I’m gonna fuck you until you scream yourself raw.”

With that sinful promise hanging in the air and stealing all clever comebacks from your lips, Ghostface reached down and shoved your dress up around your hips until your tiny white thong was on display. The meager scrap of cloth was the only thing protecting your wet little slit from his eyes. He let out a deep, guttural groan at the sight. “Fuck, angel, I don’t think you could even count these as panties,” he muttered, his black gloved fingers tracing the side of the garment. In a quick movement, he twisted his fingers around the thin fabric and, with a sharp yank, he easily ripped the thong away from your body.

A harsh gasp was pulled from your lips and you jerked in Ghostface’s arms at the feel of your panties being ripped off you. No one had ever done that to you before and it drove you a little wild, seeing the way this man’s muscles had bulged in his arm as he tore through your panties. More desire leaked from your slit and slid down to your ass. As Ghostface pulled your ruined panties away from your body, the fabric clinging obscenely to your soaking wet folds, it was replaced with the cold air of the night. Goosebumps raised all over your body as the October chill caressed your drenched pussy and slick thighs, highlighting exactly how messy you were already.

But a moment later, you couldn’t care less about the cold because Ghostface was pressing his gloved fingers between your folds, sliding them against your slippery skin and circling your clit. Your hips bucked against his hand, trying to take his fingers inside your grasping channel. You were so wet and needy and you felt pathetically empty, every cell in your body demanding you be filled and fucked, but the man just tsked at you.

“Such a needy fucking slut,” he gritted out like he was clenching his teeth while he played with your pussy. His head was tilted down like he couldn’t get enough of the sight of his fingers sliding between your folds, and the way your body responded to his touch. “So fucking wet and warm—this cunt is begging for cock, isn’t it angel?”

“God, yes,” you answered on an exhale, your voice breathless with need. “Need your cock.” You tried to reach between your bodies and tug on his belt to slide it open, but Ghostface batted your hands away.

He gripped your face in his free hand while the other teased your pussy, bringing his masked face close to yours like he was getting an up close look at your expression. “Hmm, no,” he murmured, pinning you against the tree with his hand on your face. “You don’t sound nearly desperate enough just yet, angel,” he said and you could hear the evil smirk in his voice.

Your protest died on your lips as he let go of your face, shifting your leg up his waist so he could dig something out of his pocket. “I think we should record this, don’t you?” he asked, but your pleasure-soaked brain was taking too long to understand his meaning. He pulled out a phone and opened the camera, flicking the flash on. The bright light shone in your eyes for a second before he moved it down your body to where his glove-covered fingers were still teasing your pussy.

Awareness prickled across your skin at the realization he was taking a video of what he was doing to you. It occurred to you that you could use your safe word, but when you looked down, you could see his fingers playing with your pussy on the screen and it looked hot, the sight making your clit throb in pleasure. You liked being recorded, liked the way it made you feel desired and on display. Rolling your hips against Ghostface’s fingers, you watched the motion on the camera and groaned, head thrown back against the tree.

After teasing you for what felt like forever, Ghostface finally slid one of his thick fingers into your tight hole, making you moan loudly. Your fingers scrabbled at the tree, trying to cling to something while he finally pressed inside your pussy. “You’re gonna beg so sweetly for my cock, angel,” he promised in a harsh, almost distracted voice as he stared down at the camera, watching his finger slide in and out of your channel on the phone. “And I want to save it so we can rewatch it over and over and over again.” He punctuated his words with short, quick thrusts of his finger, making you cry out.

“Please,” you begged, needing more than one finger, wanting to feel stretched out by his cock, but unable to form the words as he fucked you. It was so good but not nearly enough, and yet, you could feel an orgasm building slowly in your core.

“Fuck, you’re soaked, angel,” Ghostface groaned, fucking you harder with his finger. “Can you hear the sounds your pussy is making for me while I fingerfuck your sloppy wet cunt?”

Of course you could hear it. “Yes,” you groaned, a little humiliation mixing with the ruthless pleasure he was giving you as your body told him exactly how turned on you were. Even with your heart pounding in your chest and Ghostface’s harsh breathing in his mask, you could hear the lewd sounds of his finger pumping in and out of your dripping hole. He fucked you faster, and the sounds only grew louder, his palm slapping against your wet folds, the heel of his hand striking your clit with sharp little smacks. “More, please,” you begged on a strangled sob.

“Mmm, that’s it angel, beg for me,” he urged, shoving a second finger in your pussy, drawing a ragged moan from you. Your head thrashed side to side against the tree trunk at your back, your hips writhing against his fingers.

“Please, please, please,” you chanted in rhythm with his thrusts, his two fingers almost enough but not quite. You could feel yourself hurtling toward the edge, you just needed a little more.

Ghostface seemed to know exactly what you needed and when he stuffed a third finger in your tight hole, making you stretch around him, your back arched and the most debauched sound you’d ever heard left your own lips. He made a pleased sound.

“Good girl, angel, take my fingers,” he praised, his voice raspy and muffled through the Ghostface mask. “Need to stretch you out so you’re ready for my cock,” he continued, almost as if to himself. When you glanced at him, his face was pointed down, like his eyes were transfixed on the sight of his three fingers pumping in and out of your tight channel on the phone screen. “Don’t wanna hurt my pretty little fucktoy before I’ve even had a chance to use her properly.”

“Oh god, fuck,” you groaned at his filthy words and the way he was so consumed with your body. Your desire flared hot at the way he talked about you like you weren’t even there. Something about being so thoroughly used hit you with a staggering wave of pleasure. All of a sudden, you were on the precipice of your release. “Gonna come,” you murmured. Through slitted eyes, you tracked the movement of the cell phone flash panning up your body to your face. You let your need shine through your expression, eyes looking into the light as you begged, “Please make me come.”

“That’s my girl, begging like such a good fucking slut,” he praised, fucking you harder with his fingers and drawing more moans from your lips, one tumbling after the other. “Come all over this stranger’s fingers like the filthy fucking slut you are.”

Something about the way he said the word ‘stranger’ had alarm bells going off in your head, but they were distant with your mind too consumed by the pleasure he was giving you. You were too focused on chasing your release, a whine rising in your throat as your arms braced against the tree and you fucked yourself on his fingers. You were so close.

“Take my mask off,” Ghostface grunted, but you couldn’t hear him over your moaning and panting. So he tried again, his voice louder and firmer with the command. “Take my mask off, angel—I want you to know exactly whose fingers you’re coming on."

The alarm bells were louder now, trying to warn you about something, but you still couldn’t be bothered to care too much. With fumbling, eager hands, you curled your fingers around the edges of the Ghostface mask. You pulled the mask and hood off, letting it drop to the forest floor with a muffled thud. A loud, sharp gasp left your lips before it even landed on the ground.

“STEVE!?” you cried in confusion, only vaguely aware of the camera recording your reaction. You were shocked by the sight of your friend’s handsome face, his blue eyes shining bright and wild in the moonlight, his full lips twisted up into a smug smirk. His usually neat blond hair was messy from the mask, and for some reason, that was the detail you focused on. You’d never seen him without perfectly combed and styled hair. To see him so disheveled sent heat and desire curling through your body, your pussy clamping down on his fingers like you didn’t want to let him go.

Steve only allowed you a moment to absorb the information it was him who’d lured you into the woods to fingerfuck you against a tree. In the next heartbeat, your friend shoved his three fingers ruthlessly into your cunt, his thumb circling your clit. A feral grin pulled across his face as he watched you come apart.

It was all too much. You’d already been dangling on the brink of your release and the shock of finding your friend beneath the Ghostface mask mixed with the pleasure he mercilessly delivered to your body, sent you flying over the edge. Your head thumped against the tree and your lips opened wide on a scream as you came all over Steve’s fingers.

“Good girl, being so fucking good for me, angel,” Steve murmured as he fucked you through your orgasm, stretching his arm holding the phone so the camera could capture both your face and his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. He widened his fingers even as your walls clamped down on him, making you stretch around him. “Your pussy feels so fucking good coming all over my fingers—never felt anything so fucking sweet.”

Lost to the feeling of your ebbing orgasm, all you could do was moan for Steve, his praising words sparking a new kind of heat, this one in your chest as your heart squeezed. You didn’t know if you liked his dirty talk or his sweet words better and a small part of you worried he was going to ruin you for all other men if he kept treating you like the most precious thing in the world and a filthy slut. “Steve,” you murmured, hands finding his chest and sliding up to wrap around his shoulders. You wanted him closer, needed him closer.

Steve must’ve understood what you meant because the bright light from the flash disappeared and in the next moment he was dropping your leg to the ground and gathering you up against his chest. He held you tight, easing you away from the tree and further into the clearing. With gentle but firm hands, Steve sat you down on the blankets on the ground, helping you take off your angel wings so you could lay down. He covered your body with his, holding you while you caught your breath.

Though your breathing was evening out, your mind was racing, processing the fact that your friend—polite, golden boy Steve Rogers—had been the man under the Ghostface mask. It didn’t seem possible. You’d known Steve for years. You’d given him sign after sign after sign you wanted more from him, all of which he’d completely ignored.

When he’d taken you as his date to his boss’s wedding, and you’d seen how deliciously hot he’d looked in his suit, you’d practically thrown yourself into his arms, feeling up his hard chest through his shirt and jacket. The whole night, you’d dropped every hint you could think of, short of trying to grab his cock through his dress pants. He’d still escorted you home and dropped you off at your door with a respectful kiss on your cheek. The fact that he’d fingerfucked you up against a tree in the woods behind Sam’s Halloween party just didn’t make sense.

“Steve?” you whispered his name, confusion coloring your tone. You pushed against your friend’s chest until he rolled to the side, stretching out next to you on the blankets.

His face was guarded, lips pressed into an impassive line and blue eyes wary as he watched your expression. But there was a wildness in his features you’d never seen before. Something he must’ve kept on a tight leash and buried so you’d never see it. All of a sudden, you were angry. You were furious that he’d kept this side of himself from you. All you could think about were all the orgasms you’d missed out on while he’d been busy pretending to be the golden boy gentleman.

“What the fuck was that, Steve?” you demanded, sitting up and pushing at his chest when he tried to rise up next to you, forcing him back on his elbows. “What the fuck was that, huh? Huh?” You punctuated your angry questions with more shoves to Steve’s chest.

With ease, he caught your wrists in one of his hands, holding you captive so he was able to finally sit up. Your friend loomed over you, blocking out the full moon in the sky. His blue eyes raked over your expression, and you squirmed beneath his stare, heat flooding your core. Steve’s gaze dropped down, catching the little wiggle of your hips and a dangerous grin spread slowly across his face.

“Oh, angel,” Steve murmured in a low, sinful voice as he dragged his eyes back up your body, lingering on the way your thin white dress clung to the curves of your tits. “That was just the beginning.” His blue gaze pierced your own, and you swore could feel the promise in his answer shoot directly to your clit, making it pulse with need.

You didn’t have time to ponder how your friend was able to make your pussy throb with some innocuous words and a look because in the next breath, Steve pushed you back down into the blankets, pinning your hands above your head while he groped your tits roughly with his free hand.

“God, your fucking tits, angel,” Steve groaned. He ducked his head down to suck your nipple into his mouth through your dress, getting the fabric wet so that when he moved to the other, it was left tortured by the combination of the damp satin and the cool night air. He did the same to your other nipple, every bite and lick and pull of his lips on your sensitive peaks shooting straight down to your clit. “So soft and perfect,” he murmured against your skin like he was talking to himself.

Your hips bucked in the air against nothing, seeking the friction your body so desperately craved. A whine wrenched free from your lips. You couldn’t believe how needy you were already, after the knee-shaking orgasm Steve had already given you, but you felt insatiable with your friend’s hands on your body. “Steve, please,” you begged, unsure what you were even pleading for.

Steve grinned against your chest, looking up at you from under thick, dark lashes. “You’re getting the hang of that, angel,” he commented in a casual voice. At your look of confusion, his grin broadened. “Begging.”

Rising up, Steve held you pinned to the blankets with his hand and his gaze as he reached his other hand up to his mouth. His caught the edge of his glove between his teeth and pulled it off, the sight of it making you pant with need. It shouldn’t have been so hot to watch your friend take his glove off, but it was. Then he was sliding his bare hand down your body and under your dress, finding you drenched again—with your first release and your renewed desire.

You squirmed, your pussy still sensitive even as your body begged for more. When Steve dragged the rough pad of his finger over your clit, all you could do was let out a gasping moan. Your hands tugged against his grip, instinctively wanting to push him away from your oversensitive bud.

For his part, Steve seemed to be barely paying you any mind, his warm fingers sliding against your swollen flesh slowly like he was taking his time to explore you. “Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this pussy for years, angel,” Steve admitted, his gaze fixed wholly on the juncture of your thighs. “I’d lay awake and jerk off to you when you were sleeping right next to me, thinking about what it would feel like to sink my cock into this sweet cunt.” Possessiveness shone bright in Steve’s eyes in the moonlight, making you shiver. “Used to fuck my hand while you were right there, thinking about how wet you’d be for me—and look at you now, angel, fucking soaking my fingers like a good little slut.”

Anger swirled in your chest, battling the pleasure consuming your core, and eventually won out, driving you to speak. “Why didn’t you fuck me then?” you demanded in the same harsh tone you’d used before. That finally pulled Steve’s attention away from your pussy. “I was wet and willing and right fucking there, Steve, why didn’t you fuck me?”

His fingers paused as he stared at you like he’d been struck dumb, but the expression was quickly washed away, frustration replacing it. “I didn’t want to be a creep,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “I didn’t know you wanted me to fuck you.”

“God, Steve, why did you think I asked you to cuddle with me?” your voice was rising as your frustration matched his, all the time you’d lost to Steve being unable to read a simple signal pressing down on your chest, your heart beating for all the time you’d lost with him. “I shoved my ass against your cock how many times, hoping you’d take a fucking hint—but you never did!”

A growling roar ripped free from Steve, the sound barely human, before he dove on top of you, his arms digging under your back to hold you so tight, it forced the breath from your lungs. In the next instant, your friend’s lips crashed against yours. The kiss wasn’t sweet or gentle, it was rough and dirty as Steve poured all his months and years of frustration into you, shoving his tongue into your mouth and taking possession. But you met him with all your own frustration, your freed hands digging into his messy blond hair and clinging to the soft strands like only god himself would be able to make you let him go.

Steve trailed his lips down your jaw, then your neck, licking and sucking on your skin hard enough you knew he was going to leave marks, but you didn’t care. You twisted your fingers in his hair and clutched him close to your body, not wanting to let him get too far away. But you needed more, you needed all of him, you needed him to fill you up until he was buried deep inside you. “Steve, please—please,” you begged in a ragged whisper.

Instead of responding with words, though, Steve growled and yanked the front of your dress down to expose your tits, the force of his hand too much for the thin straps and they tore easily. A shocked gasp fell from your lips as your nipples were exposed to the night air, but you couldn’t care less about your cheap dress when Steve descended on your tits, sucking and biting your nipples until you were writhing beneath him, feeling every sting of his teeth like a pulse in your clit.

Frustrated by his lack of attention to your pussy, you snaked a hand down between your legs, managing to circle your poor neglected clit once before Steve’s hand closed around your wrist and he pulled you away with an angry growl. You whimpered as your pussy throbbed with need, looking up at Steve with pleading eyes as he shifted to kneel between your spread thighs. He dropped your hand at your side as if it offended him and you fisted your hands in the blankets to stop yourself from reaching for your needy clit again.

“Let’s get one thing straight, angel,” he said, before tugging his other glove off with his teeth so his bare hand could slip down between your legs, shoving three fingers into your tight hole without preamble. Your back arched up off the blankets and a desperate cry fell from your mouth. “This pussy might be between your legs,” he started, hooking his fingers inside you and pressing against a spot that had you seeing stars behind your eyelids. “But it belongs to me.” He growled, widening his fingers and forcing you to stretch around him, your eyes popping open and going wide as you stared up at him. “Do you understand?” His blue eyes were wild in the moonlight as he stared down at you.

Nodding your head quickly, you had to swallow to get your tongue to work again. “Yes, Steve,” you answered, gasping for air while he stretched you out around his fingers. The stretch stung a little but it felt good to be filled up, even if what you really wanted was his cock. “My pussy belongs to you.”

An evil smile tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips as he stared down at you, squirming under his hands. He shook his head slowly and for a moment you were confused. “Don’t say ‘my’ when it’s not yours, angel,” Steve corrected you.

At your enthusiastic nod, he grinned and bent down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, like a reward for being good for him. When he sat back up, his free hand held the phone he’d used to record you up against the tree. Your pussy clenched at the thought of being recorded again, splayed out on the blankets in the middle of the woods, your dress torn to reveal your tits and the bottom scrunched up around your waist. Though you couldn’t see it, you were sure your hair was a mess and you could feel your headband and the halo askew on your head. Altogether, you knew you looked like a slut and the thought of having it documented for Steve to look at later made your skin tingle and heat all over.

He swiped the camera open and the flash went on, making you wince at the bright light in the darkness. “I want to hear you say it for the camera, angel,” Steve said as he held the phone close to his chest, angling it so he was able to get your face and pussy in the shot. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

With the knowledge that Steve would be watching this later, you were struck with the impulse to perform for the camera. So you stared up into the lens with hooded eyes and you let pleasure soak your voice as you spoke. “This pussy belongs to Steven Grant Rogers,” you declared, spreading your thighs even wider for both Steve and the camera.

“Good girl,” Steve praised, making you smile dreamily. Your hips wriggled, trying to urge his fingers to move and give you some of the friction you desperately needed. But Steve had other ideas. He rotated his hand, his fingers still stuffed deep in your channel and making you cry out at the sensation. He pressed his thumb against the rosebud of your ass. “And who does this ass belong to?” he asked, blue eyes glittering with desire behind the glare of the flash.

Your chest heaved as you panted. For how much of a slut you liked to be, planning to pick up a guy at your friend’s Halloween party, you’d never taken anyone in your ass before. You’d never even really explored it much, except an experimental finger once by yourself, finding it to be weird, thought not entirely unpleasant. But as your hands clawed at the blankets with need and Steve pressed against your tight little hole, sending pulses of delicious pleasure through your body, you thought you might just let your friend be the first to fuck your ass.

“Steve,” you gasped out, your brain shorting out a little bit at the feel of his fingers buried inside your pussy and nudging against your rosebud. “This ass belongs to Steve Rogers.” You looked him dead in the eye when you spoke your next words. “All these holes belong to Steve Rogers.”

“Fuck,” Steve grunted, giving you a couple sloppy thrusts of his fingers in reward, dragging a rough moan from your lips. He watched you squirm on the phone screen, reveling in the way you responded to his touch. “Beg for my cock, angel, beg and I’ll give it to you,” he promised in a low, alluring voice. The permission in his command, like he was offering you an outlet for the desire that was building up inside you. It was all you needed to loosen your tongue.

“God, Steve, I need your cock, need you to fuck me, please,” you begged, staring up into the camera as your hands fisted in the blankets, the heels of your mary janes digging into the ground so you could lift your hips and fuck yourself on his fingers. Your lust only grew, gathering in your body like an impending storm, and your voice turned pleading with a whine as you got needier. “Please fuck this pussy with your huge cock, pound into this tight little hole until I’m screaming for you, Steve, please—please!”

“That’s my girl, that’s my fucking girl,” Steve praised, pulling his fingers from your sopping wet pussy. He shoved them in your mouth and you sucked greedily, eyes slipping closed as you delighted in the taste of your arousal on his hand. You licked them clean under the bright light of the camera’s flash and once you were done, Steve bent down to kiss you fiercely. His tongue swept into your mouth to taste you on your lips, groaning into you. Your fingers dug into his hair to hold him close, but he wrenched himself away, grinning cheekily down at you as he sat up.

Steve reached down to the belt buckle at the front of his dark jeans, pulling his belt free with a rasping sound that had you trying to clench your thighs closed to relieve the ache in your clit. But Steve shook his head. He pulled his zipper down slowly, teasingly, and you were practically vibrating with anticipation. When you tried to reach down and help him, he growled a soft, “No,” shaking his head again. Finally, he reached into his jeans and pulled his cock free.

A gasp escaped your lips and your jaw went slack at the sight of your friend’s cock. You knew he was big, you’d felt him harden against your ass enough times on his couch to know that much, but seeing him in all his glory was another thing entirely. Steve’s cock was thick, his own fingers barely meeting as he fisted his dick and stroked up the length. You could feel your pussy gush with even more wetness as you stared at Steve’s cock, eying the veins running up the length to a wide mushroom tip. Almost dazedly, you reached down, wanting to see how big he looked with your smaller hand wrapped around his girth.

Steve batted your hand away before fisting his dick again and pressing the tip to your tiny hole. With his other hand, he held the phone closer to where your bodies met, getting a closer shot of his cock resting on your pussy. He looked so fucking big, you didn’t know how he could possibly fit, but in the same breath you wanted him to make it fit inside your tight channel. You wanted him to fuck you hard and rough until you were screaming yourself raw like he’d promised.

You wanted him to put it in already, but he didn’t, just held your wriggling hips down while he slid his hard length against your drenched folds, getting the full length soaked in your arousal before settling his dick between your spread thighs. He paused, gritting his teeth, and you watched his jaw tic as he stared at the phone screen, transfixed by the sight of his big cock against your pussy. He stopped recording and pressed his fists into the blanket on either side of your shoulders as he leaned over you, looking down into your face.

“If you want me to wear a condom, you better tell me now,” he bit out through barely leashed need. When his blue eyes met yours, they were practically wild with desire.

It stole your breath, the way Steve stared at you like you were his entire world. But you shook your head as you looked up at him. “I don’t have one,” you murmured. You hadn’t had anywhere to keep it in your dress, so you’d given it to Kate to hold in her pocket, planning to snag it from her once you’d found a guy to take upstairs. But, of course, Steve had taken you outside and you’d been too curious and turned on by the stranger in the Ghostface mask to stop him so you could track down your friend.

Steve’s blue eyes flared with hunger and a little big of anger—but the anger seemed to win out. “What were you gonna do if the guy you picked up didn’t have one, angel?” he demanded, in a harsh voice. “You were gonna let some random stranger fuck you with his bare cock?” he asked, leaning over you so his face was hovering above yours. Anger and a little bit of fear swirled in his bright blue eyes. “You were gonna let some fucking guy raw you—you were gonna risk him knocking you up?”

The way he spoke to you, the way he was looking at you, all you could think was that Steve was glorious with fury contorting his handsome face into something feral. It occurred to you that you should be scared, that you could use your safe word—or you could explain that Kate had the protection you’d brought to the party—but all you felt was need. It was almost overwhelming how much you wanted Steve in that moment, your pussy flooding, your desire for him consuming you and holding your tongue. All you could do was stare up at your friend with a dazed look on your face.

When you didn’t respond or defend yourself, Steve tsked at you, shaking his head. He wrangled his anger under control with some visible effort, shoving a hand through his hair, making the blond strands even messier. “So fucking irresponsible, angel,” he admonished, his breathing heavy. Even at those chastising words, your need only flared hotter. “Well if you were happy to let a random stranger fuck you raw then you won’t mind if I do, huh?” he asked, his intense gaze reading your expression as he spoke, gauging your reaction to his words. “If you’re gonna get knocked up tonight, it’s gonna be by me.”

A jolt of need pulsed through your body straight to your core, your inner walls clenching pathetically around nothing, begging to be filled. You moaned loudly at Steve’s words and their effect on you. You wanted him so badly you finally remembered how to speak. “Please Steve, fuck me bare,” you begged. “Knock me up, I don’t care, just fuck me—please!” You were so desperate, tears were stinging your eyes and your hips were bucking up in the air, pussy sliding against his cock.

For a moment, Steve just stared at you, his hard jaw slack and his blue eyes dazed in the moonlight as if he were shocked by how much you seemed to want him and the filthy things he said. Then he seemed to snap out of whatever trance your words had put him in and he tilted his head back, squeezing his eyes closed while his hands gripped your thighs hard. He groaned up into the sky, sounding almost tortured.

“Fuck, angel,” he grunted, dragging his head up so he could stare down at you. “Such a filthy fucking slut begging me to knock you up—then you’d really be mine, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice so fucking eager. Your heart beat wildly, matching his enthusiasm.

Steve fisted his cock in one hand, lining it up at your entrance and teasing you by pushing the rounded tip against your little hole. “Is that what you want, want to be all fucking mine?” he asked, a feral grin curling the edges of his mouth as he caught your eye. “Want me to tattoo ‘Property of Steve Rogers’ over this cunt?” Still holding your gaze captive with his own, he brought his thick cock down on your clit, giving it a hard smack and making you jerk as pleasure and a tiny bit of pain surged through you.

He chuckled darkly at your reaction, then refocused on where his cock pressed against your hole. He pushed until the broad head slipped inside your dripping pussy, your walls stretching and enveloping him, drawing ragged moans from both of you. “Let’s see you try to pick up other guys with my name branded on your skin,” he muttered almost as if to himself, gritting his teeth as he slowly pushed deeper, making you take inch after inch of his thick cock.

“Oh god, Steve, fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” you babbled, his possessive words making you moan almost as much as the feel of him stretching your tight hole. Maybe it was the way it felt like he was reconstructing you, altering your body to fit himself inside, but the thought of having his name branded on you didn’t sound half bad. It was possessive, but in that moment you wanted to be possessed. “Never knew you could be like this, never knew you could fuck me like this,” you confessed, staring up into Steve’s face. His expression contorted in determination and you cried out when he shoved the last few inches of his cock into your pussy.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, angel,” he growled in your ear, not giving you any time to adjust to the feel of him filling you up before he was pulling out and pumping his thick cock back into you. “And I’m the only one who’s gonna be fucking you from now on, right angel?” He punctuated his question with a rough thrust, the tip of his cock battering the end of you, making you squirm and writhe, but Steve just pinned you down harder on the blankets with his hips.

Your thighs were splayed wide, riding up the sides of his body while you clung to his shoulders, one hand buried in his blond hair and the other fisting in his black t-shirt. You felt ruined, he’d ruined you and he’d barely even started to fuck you. “Yes—god yes, Steve, only you,” you answered easily, knowing no one else would ever be able to fuck you the way your friend could. “Do whatever you want with my body, it’s yours, all of it—every hole, every inch is yours.”

A pleased grin pulled up the corners of Steve’s mouth and when he kissed you, you could feel it against your lips before he sank into you. The sweep of his tongue in your mouth was possessive and you melted into him, loving the feel of him claiming you with his lips. When he pulled away, he dropped a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth and only then did you realize you were smiling, so happy to be his.

Steve thrust into you hard, and your mouth fell open around a loud moan. “That’s my girl, such a sweet little slut,” he mumbled as he sat up on his knees. From beside you, Steve snatched up the phone and he swiped to the camera, holding the device above your body and angling it to get all of you in the shot.

For a moment, you were puzzled when the flash didn’t turn on, but you didn’t have long to ponder it when he was working your body so expertly. Your friend pulled his cock out slowly, dragging his thickness against your stretched walls, making you feel every inch of him. Without warning, Steve thrust back inside, filling you up with a quick, brutal stroke. Your spine curved and your eyes rolled back in your head as your lips parted in a lusty moan. Distractedly, you were aware of a quick flash of light.

When you settled, as much as you could with his giant cock stuffed so deep in your pussy you felt like you could feel him in your stomach, you looked up at Steve. He wore an eager grin. “See how pretty you look stretched out and cock-drunk for me,” he said, turning the phone so you could see the photo he’d taken.

There you were, and you looked positively debauched. Your legs were spread wide and forced open around Steve’s strong thighs, your pussy stretched wide around his thick cock. He’d caught you at the exact right moment and your body was arched up toward the sky, your tits bared and nipples peaked. But it was your face that really conveyed how much pleasure you were in in that moment—your mouth was slack, your tongue nearly hanging out over your bottom lip and your eyes were rolled back in your head so only the whites were visible. It was easily the most sensual photo that had ever been taken of you and you loved it, your eyes looking at it greedily as your pussy gushed with more arousal.

Too soon, Steve turned the phone back to himself, and you could see the same hunger in his blue gaze as he stared at the photo. He loved it just as much as you did, maybe even more. “Look so hot, angel, such a pretty little fucktoy,” he murmured. Then his gaze fixed on you, spread out beneath him and he tilted his head to the side as if considering something.

You squirmed, wanting him to move, but also wanting to know what he was thinking. Whatever it was, you already knew you’d agree. You’d agree to anything Steve said or asked you to do if it meant he’d fuck you with that big cock of his.

“Should I send this to Bucky, angel?” he asked, and you froze. Steve’s eyes were bright and intense as he watched you for your reaction.

Of all the things you’d thought he might say, that wasn’t one of them. Since entering the woods with Steve, you’d forgotten Bucky even existed and you couldn’t believe you’d considered letting him fuck you instead of your closest guy friend. You felt a little ashamed at how you’d almost thrown yourself at the brown-haired man and you felt your face flush with heat.

“He told me how needy you were acting with him, how you practically humped his leg in the kitchen,” Steve said in a conversational tone and you stared at him hard. For how possessive he’d acted, you expected him to be angry and jealous, but he just seemed amused. He must’ve seen your confusion written all over your face because he grinned and explained. “I know how he looks at you, angel, I know he’d love to get inside your sweet little pussy.” Steve placed his free hand down over your pelvis, the gesture so fucking possessive it took your breath away. “But I also know he wouldn’t touch you without my permission.”

You shivered at the certainty in Steve’s voice, goosebumps rising all over your skin at the implication of his words. Not only had he and his best friend both talked about how much they wanted to fuck you, but Steve had wanted you enough to lay claim to you to his friends. It was in that moment you realized this was far more than a one night stand to Steve and you immediately felt relieved. If he was telling his friends to back off, he wanted more and you decided you were only too happy to give him more.

Steve was grinning down at you as he watched you process what he’d told you, going on when it seemed he had your attention again. “Bucky was nice enough to help me set all this up and get you out here,” Steve explained, gesturing around at the blankets in the woods. “I think he deserves a little thank you, don’t you? Should we show him exactly how much of a needy little slut you are, letting me raw you in the woods?” There was a teasing curve to Steve’s grin, like he didn’t expect you to say yes.

But, for how long you and Steve had been friends, he didn’t know everything about you, and he clearly didn’t anticipate how his words, his suggestion, would make you burn with need. The thought of him telling his friends not to touch you because you were his before he’d even had you was hot enough, but the idea of him rubbing it in Bucky’s face by sending his best friend the photo he’d taken of you fucked out on his cock was even hotter. “Do it,” you said, looking Steve dead in the eye. “This body is yours, Steve, if you want to share it with Bucky, then do it.”

Steve’s face went slack with surprise and it was his turn to freeze. His face was still except for his eyes, which raced around your expression, trying to gauge if you were serious or not. After a moment, as if he came to a decision, he ordered, “Remind me of your safe word, angel.”

You titled your head in confusion but replied obediently. “Sidney.” Then you pressed your lips into a firm line and raised an eyebrow in a challenge.

Leaning down over you, Steve kissed your lips until you relented, melting under him. When he pulled away, he didn’t go far, pressing his forehead to yours and looking you in the eye. “You can use it at any time about anything,” he reminded you. “If you don’t like something I say or something I say I’m going to do, you have to promise me you’ll use it."

Pouting, you said, “I’m not gonna use it, Steve.” When you lifted up, trying to capture his lips in another kiss, he backed off and you whined softly. “Fuck, just send the photo to Bucky,” you muttered exasperatedly, flopping back on the blankets. “I want you to—the thought of him seeing me stuffed full of your cock makes me so wet,” you groaned, your pussy clenching down on his thick length.

Steve’s hips rutted into you reflexively, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to still. “You’re not thinking straight, you’re thinking with your pussy,” he accused through his clenched jaw, the words coming out harsh.

You bucked your hips, fucking yourself on his cock for a few strokes before he settled his weight more firmly on top of you, pinning you to the blankets. “How is this different to me telling you to raw me?” you demanded, getting more and more frustrated with every moment he spent not fucking you. “Sending a pic of me to Bucky is less risky, if you think about it.”

Expression contorting into one of irritation, Steve stared down at you. “You think I’d actually risk knocking you up?” he asked, but didn’t give you time to answer before he went on. “I know you’re on birth control because you complained about it to me—you also told me when you got tested after your last partner and were relieved it came back all good.” His blue eyes were wild with frustration as he looked at you. “I’m your friend, remember?”

Tears swam in your eyes at the realization Steve had been listening to you more closely than you realized. When you grabbed his face and pulled him down for a fierce kiss, he let you. He let you apologize with your lips for a moment before he took over, thrusting his tongue into your mouth and tangling with yours at the same time he rolled his hips against you. You moaned into his mouth, wrenching away to pant at the feel of his thick cock stretching you. “Steve!” you cried on a gasp.

He grinned and kissed you once more before leaning up and grabbing the phone. He held it up to your face and said, “Look at the phone, angel.” When you did, the screen lit up and unlocked. For a stunned second you thought he’d somehow added your face ID to his phone, but then the home screen appeared and you realized it was your phone. Steve had been using your phone the whole time, recording you to your own camera roll. He’d only be able to see the videos and photos again if you sent them to him. Your jaw dropped a little at the realization, your heart warming and clenching in your chest.

Steve didn’t seem to notice your reaction as he navigated to the camera roll. “I’m sending the photo to myself so I can make it my background,” he said, but looked to you, only doing what he said when you nodded. “We’ll talk about Bucky later,” he promised, before tossing the phone down on the blanket next to you and covering you with his body, his cock sinking deeper into your pussy.

“Please, Steve, I need you to fuck me,” you begged, your legs wrapping around his waist as much as possible while you clung to his shoulders, holding him down on top of you.

His hips gave a short thrust and you both groaned. “Fuck, you feel so good on my cock, angel,” he muttered, his hands digging under your body and gripping your ass in his big palms, fingers digging into your soft flesh. “So fucking tight and perfect—like you were made to take my cock.” His hands kneaded your ass as he fucked you, grunting with the effort while you sighed beneath him. When you felt his middle finger press against the tight rosebud of your ass, you jerked a little and he grinned down at you. “You gonna let me fuck this ass one day, angel?”

Again, you marveled at how strange, yet oddly good it felt to feel Steve press against your tight hole. It took you a moment to gather your thoughts enough to speak. “Never done that before,” you confessed, catching his eye and letting him see how wild he made you. “But yes, Steve, I want you to fuck my ass.”

The grin that pulled across Steve’s face was salacious, taking all the heat out of his tone when he tsked at you. “There you go again saying this ass is yours when we both know it belongs to me, don’t we, angel?” He raised his eyebrows and you bit your lip, trying to look chastened when you just wanted to grin right back at him. “I forgive you though,” he said, dropping a kiss on your nose. “Since you’re gonna let me be your first.” He slanted his lips against yours and gave you a deep, heady kiss, that left you dizzy and reeling.

You still hadn’t recovered when Steve was leaning up and dragging his cock free of your pussy. With gentle but strong hands, Steve flipped you over onto your stomach, manhandling you into position, pulling you up onto your knees. Before you even realized what he was doing, Steve had you face down and ass up. In the next moment, he shoved his dick back in your dripping wet slit, making you moan loudly with your cheek pressed into the blankets.

Steve bent over your back and ran his thumb along your lower lip. “Open up, angel,” he murmured. You obeyed immediately, taking his finger into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. “Get it nice and wet,” he urged in a deep rumbling tone. With his chest pressed against your back, you could feel his warmth sinking into your skin even through his t-shirt and the remnants of your dress. “We’ll need to start getting you ready if you’re gonna take my cock anytime soon.”

Excitement had your pussy clenching down on Steve’s cock—you were just as eager as he was. Everything your friend had done to you had felt amazing and you were sure Steve would make stretching out your tight ass feel just as good. Smiling around Steve’s thumb, you did as he said, letting saliva pool in your mouth and using your tongue to get his finger totally wet. All the while, Steve thrust lazily into your cunt, not hard or fast enough to be driving either of you to release, but enough to keep a low heat simmering in your body and lighting up your limbs.

When Steve was satisfied with how wet you’d gotten his thumb, he pulled it out, giving you a smacking kiss on the cheek, and then sat up. “Hold yourself open for me, angel,” he ordered in a gravelly voice, still managing to soften the command with a sweetness that was all Steve. It helped that there was a thread of excitement in his tone that matched the feeling thrumming through your veins.

Reaching around behind you, you grabbed an ass cheek in each hand, spreading yourself obscenely for your friend. Steve’s cock managed to slip into your pussy another little bit, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you shriek into the blankets. With your hands on your ass, the side of your face was smashed into the blankets and you were thankful Steve had piled them thickly enough you didn’t feel any rocks or anything underneath.

“Good girl,” Steve murmured, holding his cock still inside you. Over your shoulder, you heard him spit and a second later felt the warmth of his saliva hitting the crack of your ass, sliding down over your rosebud and to your slit. Steve circled his thumb around your hole, using both of your spit as lubrication to press his finger against you. When the tight ring of muscle didn’t give, Steve murmured in a soothing rumble, “Relax, angel, relax for me, let me in.”

You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the blankets—they smelled like Steve. Not like the scent of the woods and earth that clung to him tonight, but like clean laundry and fresh air. They smelled like Steve when you were on his couch, perfectly relaxed in the circle of his arms. It was easy to calm yourself when you were surrounded by the comforting smell of your friend, and when he was being so careful with you at the same time he was talking to you and fucking you like a dirty slut. Focusing on your ass, you relaxed yourself, letting your body unclench and open up for him.

Steve pushed the tip of his thumb past the tight ring of muscle, wringing a jagged, broken moan from your lips. Your fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass so you wouldn’t let go. He didn’t stop to let you get used to the feeling of his thumb breaching your ass, but took his time as he pressed deeper and deeper. He only stopped once his thumb was fully lodged in your hole. His other four fingers splayed across your lower back as he held you possessively, his thumb hooked inside you.

You felt so full, almost overwhelmingly so, and that was just his thumb. It felt good, deliciously dirty even, but with how much a single finger stretched your tiny hole, you had serious concerns about whether Steve would ever be able to fit his cock inside you there. But you didn’t have time to worry about that because Steve pressed his thumb down against the thin membrane separating his finger from his cock, drawing an obscene moan from your mouth.

“Ya like that, angel?” he asked teasingly. His voice was slightly breathless, and you could hear his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, like he was trying to hold himself back. “Like feeling me fill up both these holes?” He pushed deeper with both his cock and thumb at the same time, making you scream at the feel of both intrusions hitting as deep as they could go.

“Yes, god Steve, fuck, so good,” you babbled, your mind going blank at the feel of Steve inside your pussy and ass. It was all you could do to arch your back and hold yourself spread open for him, eager to feel everything he could give you. “I can’t—I didn’t know—fuck, please give it to me, Steve, please, I need—fuck me, please,” you begged, almost incoherent on his cock and finger. The way he filled you up was almost too much, more than you’d ever felt before with another partner or yourself, but the edge he forced you to walk felt so fucking good. You couldn’t believe you’d misjudged Steve so badly, that you’d thought he was too much of a gentleman to give you the rough and dirty sex you craved, but he was exactly who you needed.

A dark chuckle rumbled up in Steve’s chest and poured past his lips, skating over your skin like the ghost of a caress. The sound was full of sin and promise and a little bit of awe, making you clench down on him with both holes. “And to think,” he began, pulling his cock out of your pussy oh so slowly to make sure you could feel how much bigger he felt with his thumb in your ass. “You scoffed at the thought of me being able to fuck you like the filthy little slut you are."

“Wh-what?” you mumbled. For one impossible second, you wondered if he’d somehow read your thoughts. The way he’d read your body all night and given you exactly what you needed made it seem kind of possible, though even your lust-drunk mind managed to bury that preposterous thought. You worried you’d accidentally spoken out loud, but it turned out it wasn’t either of those things.

“I heard you, angel,” Steve bit out in a gravelly tone, frustration lacing his deep voice. “I heard you on the phone with your friends when you were at my place last week,” he explained. “You told them you didn’t think I could fuck you like a slut, but I knew you were wrong.” He punctuated his last word by thrusting back inside your pussy, making you cry out and jerk forward on your knees. Steve hauled you back against him with a firm grip, driving himself so deep you could’ve sworn you could feel him in your throat.

You felt silly for a second. Of course he’d overheard you, you hadn’t been as sneaky as you could’ve been. If you were honest with yourself, you’d hoped he would overhear and do something about it. Even if you hadn’t been actively trying to tempt Steve with your words, a small part of you had hoped to elicit a reaction. It turned out it had worked, it’d just taken Steve a little longer—and a pair of hot Halloween costumes—to prove you wrong.

“So I figured,” Steve went on when you didn’t respond, setting a furious pace with his hips thrusting his cock into your needy pussy. Your moans were so loud and uninhibited, you almost didn’t hear what he said next. “Halloween is the perfect time for tricks, and I’ve earned a treat, don’t you think?” Steve gripped your hair with his free hand, yanking your head back.

With your hands still on your ass, you were completely at his mercy, and it felt fucking divine. All you could do was take Steve’s cock and listen to his words, and what he said next only drove your need to new heights.

“I’ve been such a good friend to you, angel, I deserve a little thank you—I deserve this,” he growled, shoving his big dick into your slick hole with a particularly rough thrust, making you shriek at the pleasure and pain of feeling him so deep. “Look at you,” he practically cooed. “Bent over for me, taking my cock and thumb in these tight little holes,” he said, pulling his thumb out and shoving it deep at the same time he thrust his cock inside. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your mouth opened on a strangled scream. “And you’re enjoying it just as much as I am, like a good little slut.” He repeated the movement of thrusting both his thumb and cock into your holes, driving you wild with the sensations. “My good little slut.”

Your heart thumped at the possessiveness in Steve’s voice, but you didn’t have time to think about how far gone you already were for your friend, not when Steve was treating you like his own personal fucktoy and your mind was overloaded with pleasure. “Fuck, Steve fuck,” you babbled. His words made you so hot and you wanted to talk dirty to him right back. “You do deserve this,” you said between gasping moans. “You were so good to me, and I was so wrong thinking someone else could give me what I needed.” On one particularly brutal thrust, you let out a sob of pleasure, hardly aware of what you were saying, just knowing it felt right. “But they can’t, you’re the only one who deserves these holes—only you, Steve, only you!”

“That’s fucking right,” he growled, holding his thumb deep in your ass as his cock plunged into your pussy faster and faster. “You’ll never stick me in the friendzone again, will you angel?”

“Oh god, no, never,” you answered immediately, not even able to fathom going back to just being friends with Steve. If you had to fall asleep in his arms one more time without getting his cock deep in your cunt, you didn’t know what you’d do. You’d have to take matters into your own hands because now that you’d had his cock, you couldn’t imagine giving it up.

“You’re mine, isn’t that right, angel?” Steve bit out through gritted teeth as he fucked you. He was breathing heavily but his pace never slowed and you didn’t know how much more you could take, he was pushing you closer and closer to the edge with every thrust. “‘Property of Steve Rogers’?”

“Ye-es,” you agreed on a broken moan, needing to swallow past your dry, scratchy throat before you could say more. “Yours, Steve, tattoo it on my pussy so I’ll never forget,” you babbled, barely caring about what you were agreeing to, just knowing the dirty words made you hotter. “Please, Steve, you own me, I belong to you.”

“That’s my fucking girl,” Steve praised in a ragged voice. He drilled his cock into you fast and rough, his thumb still lodged as deep in your ass as it could go. “You’re mine and I can do whatever I want with your holes—maybe share you with Bucky, would you like that, angel?”

The thought of Steve and his best friend both fucking you at the same time nearly pushed you over the edge, but you held off, wanting to last as long as possible. You felt so good, you just wanted it to last forever. But Steve had burned into your brain the idea of being filled up by more than just Steve’s cock and thumb and it was all you could think about. “God, yes, yes, wanna be filled by two cocks,” you groaned, admitting your fantasy all too easily to your friend.

Steve only chuckled and the sound was pure sin. His hand gripping your hair pulled you back up from where you’d slumped down on the blankets so you were dangling over the soft surface. “Such a greedy little fucktoy, angel,” he admonished good-naturedly, the breathlessness in his voice the only indication of how your body and words were affecting him. But Steve proved once again he was exactly what you needed with his next filthy suggestion. “What if we ignored your sweet pussy, angel, what if I filled your ass while Bucky fucked your throat—would you still be just as eager for two cocks?”

His words only made you gush more, your wetness dripping down his cock to his balls as he pounded into you. “Yes,” you answered on a gasp. You were so close, you were pretty sure you’d agree to anything because everything Steve said sounded good to you. “Use any holes you want, just use me, fuck me, please, Steve,” you bit out around gasps and loud moans.

“Rub your clit,” Steve ordered in a jagged tone. “Rub your little clit so I can feel you come all over my cock like the filthy fucking slut you are.”

Immediately, you let go of your ass with one hand, eagerly sliding it around to your front to do as Steve said. You pressed tight little circles into your clit and, with how close to the edge you already were, it didn’t take long for the pleasure to push you right up to the precipice of your release. But it wasn’t until Steve growled out his next words that you fell over the edge.

“Come for me, angel, come for me,” he urged. His voice was low and sweet, with a hint of desperation that almost made it sound like he was begging. It was that thrum of neediness in your friend’s voice that did you in.

After everything Steve had said and done to you, his big cock pummeling your cunt and his thumb stretching out your ass, while he ordered you to rub your clit and practically begged you to come for him, it was all too much for you to take. You could feel your orgasm swell like a tidal wave inside you and, for just a second, you worried about the devastation it would have on your body, heart and soul. Then, with one last driving thrust of Steve’s cock, he sent you careening over the edge.

You came with a scream, the sound piercingly loud, splitting open the quiet of the woods and leaving your throat feeling raw. The pleasure swept over you, wiping away everything else until you didn’t know where you ended and Steve began. For a brief moment, it felt like you were floating in a sea of pleasure, weightless and surrounded by it. But then you crashed back into your body and you knew you’d never be the same, your arms and legs shaking hard as wave after wave of pleasure flowed through your limbs.

“Fuck, gripping me so tight, angel, ‘m gonna come,” Steve gritted out through clenched teeth, still thrusting into your spasming pussy, fucking you through your orgasm and drawing it out. “You feel so good coming on my cock.” Steve groaned, muttering, “Fuck, fuck.” His hips rutted against you in short, wild thrusts as he chased his own release, and he wasn’t far behind you. “Take my come, angel, take it—take it,” he demanded and with one last thrust, he shoved his cock deep in your pussy and came.

Steve let out a sound that was so animalistic, you didn’t know if you could call it a groan, but it was so dirty, it made your pussy clench down on his cock. Then you could feel his dick twitch in your cunt, his load spilling into you and filling you with warmth. You moaned, pushing back on his cock and trying to take him deeper, the feel of him pulsing deep inside your core feeding the delicious aftershocks of your own release. For long moments, you and Steve hung suspended together in your pleasure, riding out your orgasms together while his come leaked from your pussy and dripped down to the blankets beneath you.

Gently, Steve disentangled his hand from your hair, guiding your head down to the blankets. With the same tender care, he eased his thumb from your tight behind and pulled his cock out of your still fluttering channel. Before you could fall over, unable to hold yourself up with how boneless and satiated you felt, Steve helped you roll onto your side. He laid down behind you, wrapping his arms around you and gathering you against his chest while you curled up in his arms. He held you tightly as you both calmed down.

The night had turned a little chilly but you felt plenty warm in Steve’s arms. Still, you couldn’t relax fully when everything that had happened and been said between you and your friend kept replaying in your mind. “Steve?” you started in a tentative voice. Without being able to see his face, you didn’t know exactly how he felt about everything, but you needed to know. “If we’re not just friends anymore, what are we?”

Steve squeezed you tight with his arms, his faced buried in your neck. “Fuck, angel,” he mumbled on a deep exhale, his voice a little muffled, but you still heard him loud and clear. “I’m trying really hard not to beg you to marry me over here.”

Your heart surged with happiness and you giggled, the sound light as air. “I might say yes,” you whispered, your hands clinging to his arms around you like you worried he’d try to escape after your admission.

But Steve didn’t try to pull away, he only pressed his chest closer against your back, groaning loudly like you were killing him. “Don’t fucking say that if you don’t mean it, angel,” he warned.

Laughing so much your shoulders shook, you could feel the answering smile on Steve’s lips when he pressed a kiss to your neck. “I do seem to have a problem with agreeing to anything you want when you’re buried inside me, don’t I?” you asked teasingly.

“Mhmm,” Steve agreed with a rumbling sound, trailing little kisses up your neck until his mouth was right next to your ear. “Don’t worry, angel, I won’t hold you to any of those promises,” he assured you, his voice low and thrumming with happiness.

You hummed happily, the corners of your mouth pulling up in an evil grin as you said, “I don’t know, I think I might still get that ‘property of Steve Rogers’ tattoo.”

Steve froze, his mouth pressed against the underside of your jaw mid-kiss. Then he nipped at your skin, making you giggle. He shifted until you were on your back and he hovered over you, his blue eyes shining bright and excitedly in the moonlight. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, angel,” he warned again, his expression reluctant like he was too nervous to hope you were being serious.

Digging your hands into his soft blond hair, you pulled him down to you for a kiss. It started soft and sweet, but quickly turned filthy when Steve licked into your mouth, his tongue twining with yours. He kissed you possessively and left you gasping for air when he pulled away. His blue eyes were still guarded, and you wanted to reassure him. Looking him directly in the eye, you said, “You’re it for me, Steve, I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

He stared at you for a long moment, like he was trying to make sure you weren’t just talking in the heat of the moment. But when you looked at him with all the seriousness of how you felt, a smile dawned over his face, his expression brightening as if he were lit from the inside. “Thank fuck,” he groaned, ducking down for another kiss. You giggled against his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist.

Steve rolled you both onto your sides while you made out on the blankets. When he pulled back, he looked at you fondly, stroking his hand down your face.

“You’re mine, too, right?” you asked with a soft smile. You already knew he was, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He smiled right back at you, a little bit of self-deprecation in his expression. “Angel, I’ve been yours since the first time you fell asleep in my arms.” He sighed heavily. “I liked being your friend, it would’ve been enough for me, really, but I had to know.”

When you kissed him, your teeth clacked against his because you both couldn’t stop smiling. Laughing, you stared at him with all the adoration you felt clear in your eyes.

“Does this mean you’re not angry about the trick I played?” Steve asked, a little hesitantly, as he trailed a finger over your lower lip. At your confused look, he explained. “With the Ghostface mask.”

Realization hit you and for a second you didn’t understand why you might be angry about that. But then, of course, you understood that he’d been pretending to be a stranger when he’d found you on the dance floor. Truthfully, though, you were glad it was Steve, and you told him as much. “No, if I’m honest, I wanted it to be you,” you confessed.

He looked surprised for a moment before his mouth widened into a happy grin. He pulled you tight against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. You felt his laugh rumble in his chest before you heard it. “Good, because I’ve got some ideas about some other tricks to play on you—some that might involve Bucky if you were serious about that.”

Heat sizzled through your core, your clit pulsing at the suggestion, and your hips wiggled against Steve. “I was serious if you were,” you said, a bit of a challenge in your tone. You could hear the grin in Steve’s voice when he replied.

“Oh I was,” he assured you in a darkly pleased voice. “Now that you’re mine, I’ll give you plenty of tricks and treats, angel,” he promised. You hummed happily cuddling into Steve’s chest, feeling the warmth of him soak into your skin.

After a little while, though, the cold October night penetrated the happy little bubble you and Steve had created and you shivered hard in his arms. Steve dropped a kiss to the crown of your head and then he was pulling you up. He wrapped you in the blanket from the top of the pile, pulling it tight around your shoulders and letting it hang down to your feet. He typed out a quick text to Bucky to ask his friend to gather up the rest of the blankets and store them in Sam’s garage.

Steve led you through the woods, not back the way you’d come but in a different direction, until you broke through the tree line and onto one of the roads that ran past Sam’s neighborhood. Steve’s car was a little ways away and he led you to it, tucking you into the passenger seat before getting in himself. He handed you your phone from his pocket, and you texted your friends that you were going home with him. Before they could even respond, you promised to fill them in later, then shut your phone off.

You fell asleep on the drive back to Steve’s apartment and only roused when he helped you out of the car. He was kind and patient with you as he helped you undress and clean up, both of you taking a quick shower. Then he gave you one of his shirts to wear and tucked you into his bed before sliding in behind you. Steve’s arms wrapped around you and you could feel and smell him everywhere. You fell asleep with a smile on your lips, safe and sound and happy in the arms of your friend, your man, Steve Rogers.

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romanoffjohansson · 1 year ago

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MASTERLIST

HAPPENSTANCE

Pairing: PersonalTrainer!Colin Shea x Female Reader

Summary: You're Colin's neighbour and good friend. The two of you couldn't be more different, especially when it comes to your sexual experience. What would happen, when in need, you ask Colin to help you with your situation?

Fic title inspired by THIS song 🎵

Another au directly from mine and @sparkledfirecracker GYM AU (PT Curtis + PT Johnny)

Warnings: Smut, inexperienced reader + womaniser Colin, friends to lovers, fluff, angst. (Specific warnings will be added to each chapter)

*chapter with smut

Feedback is very welcome, reblogs are golden. I don’t allow my work to be copied or reposted on other websites. Don’t steal other people stuff!!! MINORS DNI - DO NOT read unless you’re 18+ thank you!

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

(more chapters TBA)

TAGLIST IS OPEN!!!

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romanoffjohansson · 2 years ago

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Love at First Grade (18+)- Masterlist

Single Dad!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader;

Teacher!Bucky x CEO!Reader

Summary: When father and first grade teacher Bucky Barnes ends up with Avery L/N in his class, the daughter of the “ruthless” CEO of L/N Enterprises, he’s in for a surprise that’s sure to change his life.

Gonna go ahead and give people a SMUT WARNING. 18+, MINORS DNI

Keep reading

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romanoffjohansson · 2 years ago

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the forever third wheels

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

secondary pairings: natasha romanoff x steve rogers, yelena belova x kate bishop

summary: it's the weekend of your town's annual valentine's day carnival and you go with your group of friends, though you can't help but be sad you don't have someone special in your life. your friend, and fellow third wheel, bucky barnes makes it his mission to give you a valentine's day you won't soon forget—and show you how special you are to him.

warnings: like SO much angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, kissing, so many feelings, nicknames (peanut), reader gets ditched by her friends and is sad but not resentful

word count: 6.6k (😮‍💨)

a/n: i just wanted to write some bucky fluff for valentine's day and i was inspired by a text post i reblogged last week to do something set at a valentine's day carnival. i made a moodboard for this as i started writing and it was so much fun!! (you can see the moodboard here) i kinda wanted similar vibes to my fall fic, all the apple cider and no more haunted houses, but for valentine's day (though this one doesn't have any smut) and i think i succeeded. anyway hope y'all enjoy!!! happy valentine's day ♡♡

The sound of a fake gunshot went off, ricocheting around the plywood walls of the carnival game stall. Your body tensed where you were hunched over the water gun of a racing game, your horse taking off and peeling out in front of the other players. Behind you, your friends cheered you on, which only made you more determined. You had your eye on a stuffed duck, and you were determined to win your prize so you wouldn’t leave the carnival empty handed.

The Valentine’s Day carnival was one of your favorite traditions. Even though it was often cold, and sometimes snowy, the whole town turned out on the weekend of or before Valentine’s Day to enjoy everything the carnival had to offer. It was a little taste of summer in the dead of winter and it brought you so much joy to celebrate Valentine’s Day with carnival games and fried food—even if a part of you was always a little bit sad you’d never had a special someone to go with.

Instead, you’d long been going to the carnival with your two best friends, Yelena Belova and her older sister Natasha Romanoff. Over the years, your group had grown. First when Nat met Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, and the two became a staple of your life, especially since Nat and Steve were practically attached at the hip. Then Yelena had met Kate Bishop and they started dating, and your group had solidified into a permanent party of six—two couples and two third wheels. You and Bucky were the forever third wheels.

The music of the carnival game sped up and you refocused on your mission to win the stuffed duck as yours and another horse passed the three-quarters mark of the racetrack. Glancing down the line of players, you matched your opponent to a 12-year old kid, whose friends were whooping and hollering as he caught up to you. Gritting your teeth, you redoubled your efforts, keeping your concentration on ensuring the water from your gun didn’t stray from the mark.

But you couldn’t help noticing your friends were no longer cheering for you. Instead, Yelena giggled loudly, Kate’s echoing laughter an indication they’d gotten lost in their own little world. When you glanced back, you caught Nat stuffing some popcorn into Steve’s mouth as they stared into each other’s eyes adoringly. Before you knew it, the winner’s bell went off and the 12-year-old cheered in victory. Your horse was less than inch behind his, but he’d managed to win. The kid’s friends crowded around him, all yelling about what prize he should pick.

You turned away sharply, standing up and glancing around at your friends, realizing none of them even noticed you were done with your game. Kate and Yelena were wrapped up in each other, looking ridiculously cute as they giggled about something, and Steve and Nat had moved a little ways away sharing their popcorn and whispering together.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you held back a shiver as the February wind whipped around your body, like even Mother Nature was determined to remind you that no one else wanted to hold you and protect you from the chill. It was actually quite warm for February, a false spring day that happened to line up perfectly with the weekend of the Valentine’s Day carnival. You’d forgone a coat, wearing a cream-colored chunky sweater tucked into the waist of a red velvet skirt. White tights and black ankle boots completed the look you’d been so excited about, but at that moment, it just reminded you how cold it could be to be alone.

Suddenly, Bucky appeared at your side, stepping up beside where you were standing awkwardly by the carnival game and debating whether you should get your friends’ attention or leave them to their canoodling. Back from his snack run, Bucky handed you your own stick of pink and red cotton candy—colored to fit the Valentine’s Day theme, of course. “How’d you do?” he asked, his blue eyes bright and intent on your face as he tore off some of his own cotton candy and stuffed it in his mouth.

“Didn’t win the duck,” you said, shrugging like you weren’t disproportionately sad about losing out on the stuffed animal you’d wanted to take home. It was just a silly stuffed duck, you told yourself, there was no reason to be so sad. But even as you told yourself that, your heart squeezed and tears threatened when you watched the 12-year-old kid walk by holding a stuffed frog—one of the other prizes the booth offered besides the duck.

“That’s okay,” Bucky said, throwing his arm around your shoulders and dragging you closer to your friends, who’d drifted away from the game and the crowd surrounding it. “The day’s young, we’ve got plenty of time to get you a new stuffie.”

It was late afternoon, the sun still up but getting low in the sky, so Bucky wasn’t technically wrong, but you didn’t know how much longer you could endure the Valentine’s Day carnival when your friends were so obviously in love and you were stuck being the third—or, technically, fifth—wheel. Thankfully, you had Bucky. You didn’t know what you’d have done without him, and that thought made your heart beat faster.

You came to a stop in front of your friends, Nat and Yelena arguing over what carnival game to play next. The water gun game was the only one you liked, so you didn’t bother chiming in. Instead, you glanced up at Bucky and found him staring down at you, a small smile on his face, his blue eyes sparkling and reflecting all the bright, flashing lights of the carnival. Affection was clear in his gaze and it made a swarm of butterflies take flight in your belly, soaring up into your chest and making your heart flutter.

You’d never told anyone, not even Yelena and Nat, but you harbored a little crush on Bucky. It had started as friendly gratitude since he made sure you felt left out as little as possible, drawing you into conversations when Yelena and Nat were too focused on their significant others to see you sitting alone, not talking to anyone. But the more you got to know Bucky, the more impossible you found it not to have a crush on him. He was sweet and caring and attentive and a good listener.

But you didn’t know if he felt the same way, so you kept your feelings hidden from everyone, even your best friends. You were too worried about what would happen if you screwed up your friendship with him. It would kill you to lose him as a friend and then again to be left alone with two very happy couples.

So when he looked at you like that, with so much affection it clogged your throat with how much you wanted him to want you, you did what you always did and looked away quickly. You pretended to be engrossed in Nat and Yelena’s argument while schooling your expression to make sure your feelings weren’t plain as day on your face. Your fingers stuffed cotton candy into your mouth mechanically, the sugary treat melting to nothing on your tongue while you barely tasted its sweetness.

Finally, Nat and Yelena came to some decision that you missed, but then they were leading the group away and Bucky was tugging you along with his arm still around your shoulders. The feel of him holding onto you, still steady and solid beside you, helped you escape the panic spiral you’d fallen into wondering what would happen if he ever discovered your little crush. Your brain liked to spin out the worst scenarios possible, like Bucky not wanting anything to do with you and your friends ditching you for good, so you were left truly alone.

“Tell me, peanut,” Bucky started, the nickname warming your heart and grounding you in the moment. All your anxious thoughts were pushed to the side and you let yourself enjoy being with your friend, your feet tromping over the frozen grass of the carnival grounds and your side warm where it was pressed into Bucky. “If I was a stuffie in one of these carnival games, would you try to win me?” he asked, glancing down at you with a playful grin on his face.

It was easy to throw your head back and laugh at the silly question, to pretend everything was normal and there wasn’t a sadness embedded deep in your heart threatening to swallow you up like a black hole. Bucky made it easy. Still, the reality was that if he was a stuffie, you would play carnival games until your fingers went numb and your lips turned blue to win him. But you couldn’t say that. So you scrunched up your face like you were thinking hard about his question, really considering it, even though you were just teasing him.

Bucky chuckled, tightening his arm around your neck and tugging you in close to his chest. You stumbled a little, your face pressed into the blue henley he wore under his dark gray jacket. “You’re gonna hurt my ego, peanut,” he said, more humor than hurt in his tone.

Your giggle was muffled in his shirt, your face still pressed into his hard chest. You were content to stay buried against Bucky, the scent of him surrounding you. He smelled so nice and comforting, like quiet snowy nights when the air tasted fresh and the wind nipped at your nose pleasantly.

You were about ready to make a home for yourself in Bucky’s chest, but he loosened his hold on your neck and tucked you back into his side. It felt like a loss, not to be so close to him, but you contented yourself with having his arm still around your shoulders as you continued following your friends through the crowded carnival grounds.

“I’d make a great stuffie,” Bucky went on, like you hadn’t just been nuzzling into his chest and sniffing his cologne. You hoped he hadn’t noticed, but if he had, he didn’t say anything. “I’m super cuddly.” He grinned, waggling his brown eyebrows at you.

A surprised laugh fell from your lips and you smacked his chest lightly with the back of your hand, falling back into the easiness of your friendship where you could be goofy with each other. “You’re ridiculous, Buck,” you chided good-naturedly, returning his grin with one of your own. “Besides, you’re too big to be a stuffie,” you said, pointedly eying his over-six-foot stature and the broadness of his shoulders.

Bucky hooted with laughter as your friends came to a stop at another carnival game stall. You and Bucky stood a little bit behind the rest of the group and he shifted behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you with your back pressed to his chest. His breath was warm against your cheek as he dropped his head to speak in your ear.

“All the better for cuddling, peanut,” he murmured in a deep, quiet voice that sent heat shivering down your spine.

It felt a little bit like torture, standing there in Bucky’s arms like you were someone more special to him than just a friend, all the while knowing it was unlikely he felt the same as you. But you couldn’t seem to pull away. Instead, you leaned back against his chest, letting him hold you and pretending, just for the moment, that you were a real couple and not just the permanent third wheels of your friends.

Once some of the crowd in front of the carnival stall cleared, you saw your friends had decided to play the balloon dart game. It wasn’t your favorite and none of the prizes caught your eye, so when Steve and Nat turned to you and Bucky, inviting you both to play, you hung back. Bucky dropped his arms and moved past you, accepting some of the darts his friend offered. With everyone else engrossed in the game, you finished your cotton candy and slipped away to find a trash can for the paper stick.

While on your way back, you found another stall with much cuter prizes. There were a bunch of classic teddy bears strung up around the stall, all with soft-looking brown fur and cuddly bodies. They were a good size too, larger than a typical teddy bear, but not so big it would take two arms to hold one. Instantly, your heart yearned for one, knowing it’d be the perfect thing to cuddle when you inevitably went home alone.

But then you saw the game and it looked hard. There were a bunch of small bowls floating around in slow-swirling water, and the goal was to throw a ping pong ball into a specific color bowl to win a prize. It would require landing a ball in one of the very few blue bowls in order to win one of the teddy bears and your heart sank. You weren’t good at those kinds of carnival games. Just as fast as you let yourself want the teddy bear, you resigned yourself to never winning it, and started to walk away, not even wanting to try.

“Something catch your eye, peanut?” Bucky asked, materializing out of the crowd in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket and he glanced at the stall you’d been eyeing.

Forcing a smile, you shook your head and said, “Nah.” You wrapped your arms around your friend’s bicep and tried to steer him back in the direction of the balloon dart game, but Bucky wouldn’t budge. “What’re you doing, Buck?” you asked, looking up at him with a confused frown.

His blue eyes were intent on your face and he glanced back up at the teddy bears you’d been admiring. You suddenly got the impression he’d caught you staring at the prizes. As you watched, Bucky’s gaze fell to the game and he got a determined look on his face. He stepped forward, pushing through the small crowd in front of the game and dragging you, still clinging to his arm, along with him.

“Y’know, I think I’d like to try my hand at this game, peanut,” he said, handing some cash over to the carnival worker. “Wait for me while I play?”

The charming grin Bucky turned on you was magic—it must’ve been, because in that moment you would’ve done anything your friend asked of you. So you nodded and smiled and stood patiently at his side while Bucky accepted the little basket of ping pong balls from the carnival worker.

For the next few minutes, Bucky shot ball after ball at the bowls, and you could tell he was aiming for the blue ones, obviously trying to win one of the teddy bears. It warmed your heart and you started cheering him on. However, he kept missing the blue bowls and you found yourself hoping he’d hit his target—not so he’d win you a teddy bear but because you didn’t like seeing frustration bunch in his shoulders.

When Bucky was down to his last ball, he picked up and rolled it around in his hand for a moment, looking at it thoughtfully. Then he turned to you and held it up right in front of your mouth. “Blow on it for luck, peanut,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips.

You could feel your friend’s gaze heavy on your mouth as you pursed your lips and blew on the ping pong ball gently, not believing for a second that it would give Bucky any luck at all. As you watched him, Bucky’s eyes darkened when your breath skated over his fingers, the look he gave you sending heat curling through your core. Before you could analyze the heat in his gaze, though, he turned and focused on lining up his shot, taking the warmth of his attention with him.

You held your breath when Bucky threw the ball, and gasped when it landed in one of the blue bowls.

Bucky raised his arms in triumph, letting out a loud whoop before turning and wrapping his strong arms around your waist, hauling you up against his chest and spinning you around until you got dizzy. Giggles tumbled freely from your lips, even after he set you down and turned to the slightly exasperated carnival worker. Bucky let you pick out which bear you wanted and the worker handed it over.

You hugged the bear tightly to your chest, burying a huge smile against its fur as Bucky led you away from the stall and back toward your friends. “Thanks, Bucky,” you mumbled, turning your face up to him to show him your big smile. “You didn’t have to win me anything, so thank you.” You wanted him to see how happy he’d made you and how much gratitude you felt for the teddy bear.

Something like shock froze on Bucky’s face when he got a look at you, and it seemed to take him a second before he could speak. “C’mon peanut,” he scoffed bashfully, a light pink tinging his cheeks as he wrapped his arm around the back of your neck and pulled you in close to him. The move made it so you couldn’t really look up at him anymore and you couldn’t help but think that was on purpose. “I couldn’t let you go home empty handed—not on Valentine’s Day.”

When you found your friends, they stood in a tight circle, showing off the prizes they’d won at the balloon dart game. Nat, Yelena and Steve each had a small toy, while Kate held a rather large stuffed penguin under her arm. She was boasting about her marksmanship as you and Bucky approached.

“Hey—nice bear!” Kate exclaimed, cutting herself off mid-sentence when she got a look at the prize you were holding.

You smiled and glanced up at Bucky, who was grinning proudly, his chest puffed up and everything. “Thanks, Bucky won it for me,” you said, letting Yelena and Kate draw you into a conversation. Your friends excitedly recounted exactly how many balloons they’d each hit to win their prizes.

Steve’s eyebrows raised at your remark and he shared a look with Nat before catching his best friend’s eye and tilting his head in your direction with a question in his eye. Bucky shook his head subtly so it wouldn’t draw your attention, returning his friend’s questioning look with a quelling one of his own. Steve and Nat both smirked.

The entire exchange escaped your notice since Yelena was busy showing you the little stuffed frog she’d won. It was about a tenth of the size of Kate’s penguin, but she was just as, if not more proud of it. You congratulated both your friends on their prizes, laughing as they started to squabble about where they would display the toys in the apartment they shared.

Once the conversation died down, you looked around at your friends and asked, “What’s next? Should we ride the swings—or the ferris wheel?” You bounced on the balls of your feet, excited for either. The sadness and disappointment over being the third wheel to your friends was momentarily forgotten and you were eager to spend more time with the group, enjoying everything the Valentine’s Day carnival had to offer.

But your enthusiasm was met with a weighted silence and sidelong glances.

“Ah, Nat and I were gonna grab some food,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, his eyes not meeting yours. He kept glancing at Bucky, though, you noticed. When you looked to Nat, she only offered an apologetic grimace and a shrug.

Your heart was dropping but Nat and Steve were only two of your friends. When you looked to Kate and Yelena, though, you could already tell from the looks on their faces that you weren’t going to like what they were about to say.

“Kate and I were gonna check out the tunnel of love,” Yelena said. Her apologetic expression was so similar to her sister’s, for just a moment they looked like identical twins.

The eager excitement you’d felt just moments before drained out of you. “Oh,” you said, your voice hollow and your feet flat on the frozen ground. “That’s okay, you guys have fun,” you said, fixing a smile on your face. You clung harder to the teddy bear in your arms, unable to look at any of your friends for fear they might see the tears shining in your eyes. You tried to blink them away, not wanting to make your friends feel bad for wanting to spend some time alone with their partners.

Nat’s fingers circled your wrist and gave it a comforting squeeze before she and Steve disappeared into the crowd in the direction of the food trucks. Yelena wrapped you in a quick hug, kissing your cheek and telling you she’d catch up with you later. Then she grabbed Kate’s hand and tugged her girlfriend toward the tunnel of love attraction. It was a staple of the Valentine’s Day carnival, but you’d never gone through it since it was more of a couples thing.

The desire to cry was an incessant, pounding headache behind your temple and you had to fight it off with your face buried in your teddy bear, not wanting Bucky to see how sad you were to be left alone again. It wasn’t his fault you felt so abandoned by your friends—you didn’t even blame them, not really—and you didn’t want him to think you weren’t grateful that he was the one who stuck around.

Somehow, Bucky knew exactly what you needed. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in the warmest hug he had to offer. It was such a sweet gesture, you almost lost the battle you were fighting with yourself not to break down crying. Thankfully, you managed to stave off the tears for a little while longer, but you suspected you were going to go home that night and spend a long time sobbing into your new teddy bear’s soft fur.

“It’s just you and me again, peanut,” Bucky murmured, one of his hands finding your cheek and tilting it up so he could see you. When he saw the look on your face, his expression softened, everything about him gentling, his touch so tender it nearly broke your heart. “It’s not so bad, is it—just you and me?” he asked in such a quiet voice you almost didn’t hear him over the loud noises of the carnival.

Nuzzling into his warm palm, you let your eyes slide closed, the action giving you a momentary reprieve from the headache pounding in your head. Shaking your head, you pressed yourself closer to Bucky, shifting your teddy bear to the side so you could slip your other arm around his waist, curling into the warmth he offered. “No, Buck,” you said, opening your eyes and blinking to clear your vision of a few tears. Your lips curved in a small smile as you looked up at him. “Being with you isn’t bad at all.”

You turned your head, brushing a kiss to his palm. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to do in that moment, but when you looked back at Bucky, his expression was stunned. He recovered quickly, but when he did, his gaze dropped to your mouth and your lips tingled with your desire to kiss him. Bucky’s eyes flicked back up to yours and you weren’t sure what he saw, but when he leaned in, it wasn’t your lips he kissed. Instead, he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek and you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“We’re gonna have a great time together, aren’t we, peanut?” Bucky asked in a rumbly voice that did things to your body. His blue eyes sparkled and his mouth was curled up at the edges in a tiny smile.

Nodding, you refocused on your friend and pushed aside all thought of kissing him. The sun was setting over the carnival grounds but you still had plenty of time before the workers began closing up for the night. “Yeah, Bucky, we’re gonna have fun,” you said, stepping back from your friend and putting some space between the two of you.

He let you go, his arms dropping by his sides. “Okay,” he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together as he looked around. “So, swings or ferris wheel first?” His blue eyes sparked with excitement when they found yours, the bright lights of the carnival games playing over his handsome face.

It was enough to take your breath away, but you forced air into your lungs and responded. “Swings, please,” you said, some of your excitement returning to your tone.

Over the next few hours, Bucky kept you so busy, you forgot to feel sad about being left by your friends. He took you on the swings—not once or twice, but three times because you told him it was your favorite ride—then the Heart Flip, the Valentine’s Day carnival’s version of the typical teacups ride. Bucky even dragged you through the fun house, making silly faces in the distortion mirrors until you were laughing so hard, your stomach and cheeks hurt and tears of mirth were sliding down your face.

When your stomach growled, Bucky bought you all the junk food you could eat—popcorn, funnel cake, fried oreos. He even produced a heart-shaped lollipop from somewhere that you snacked on while waiting in line for the merry go ‘round. Then he helped you onto the unicorn you wanted to ride and took photos of you while you held your teddy bear and laughed.

It was turning out to be a great night, all thanks to Bucky. You knew you wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun at the Valentine’s Day carnival if it weren’t for him, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful to him. It may not have been the experience you’d always wished for—since you’d dreamed of going to the carnival with a significant other—but your friend was doing his damndest to give you everything you could ask for. And if you wanted a little more, to be more than friends with him, you’d resolved not to be greedy and just be happy with what he was willing to give.

“Ready for the ferris wheel, peanut?” Bucky asked, getting your attention and drawing you out of your thoughts. His nose was tipped in red and his cheeks were flushed, making the icy blue color of his eyes stand out against his fair skin and dark hair. A little smile curled just the edges of his lips as he looked at you expectantly, like he was waiting on you for more than just an answer about a carnival ride, though you couldn’t fathom what else he could be asking.

In that moment, all your thoughts of setting aside your selfishness fled and you knew you could love Bucky—you wanted to love him and be loved by him in return. You wanted it more than your next breath. But you’d been friends for so long and he’d never given you any hint he had feelings for you. The words you wanted to say stuck in your throat.

You didn’t even know how to express the way you felt, how you could explain to him the way your crush had slowly bloomed over the years you’d known each other. How it had grown into these big, overwhelming feelings that were so all-encompassing it felt like trying to explain the process of your heart beating. And besides, was the middle of the Valentine’s Day carnival, surrounded by screaming children and harried parents and cutesy couples, really the place to confess such things?

Closing your mouth against all the words threatening to tumble out, you swallowed and tried again. “Yep,” you said simply, mustering a smile and nodding for him to lead the way.

If Bucky noticed something was off about your voice or your expression, he didn’t say anything. He just wrapped an arm around your lower back and guided you in the direction of the ferris wheel. You leaned into his side as you waited your turn in line, still clutching the teddy bear he’d won you to your chest. You let yourself enjoy the moment, content to simply be with Bucky without stressing about your feelings for him.

It wasn’t a long line and soon you were climbing onto the bench of a gondola, tucking your bear between you and the side of the seat so you could be closer to Bucky. He sat beside you, not commenting on how your thighs brushed against each other while the carnival worker secured the safety rail.

As the gondola began to rise, Bucky slid his arm around your shoulders and tugged you in closer to his chest, making it feel like you were almost a real couple, taking a romantic ferris wheel ride together. The thought made your heart squeeze.

“So, peanut, are you having the Valentine’s Day carnival experience you always dreamed of?” Bucky asked.

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he sounded a little bit hopeful, but that didn’t make sense. Since your head was resting on his chest, you couldn’t see his expression or gauge his mood. But if he was feeling hopeful, you didn’t want to squash it by telling him the night didn’t quite live up to your wildest dreams.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your answer almost flitting away on the wind as you rose higher in the night sky. It was colder in the air and you cuddled deeper into Bucky’s warmth. You didn’t really mean to say anything else, but you were distracted by the comforting smell of Bucky and whispered, “Almost.”

Somehow, your friend managed to hear you and he grumbled, the sound vibrating in his chest and tickling your cheek. “‘Almost’?” he asked. “We’re not settling for almost—what would make it better, peanut?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, you pushed away from Bucky, turning away from him and looking out over the carnival grounds. Everything seemed so far away, but you weren’t going to let the illusion of privacy lull you into having this conversation with your friend. “You can’t do anything else, Buck, you’re already doing everything you can,” you said.

Gentle fingers gripped your chin, turning you to face your friend, but you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, instead staring at his stubble-covered jaw. He wouldn’t let you get away with that, though, ducking his head until he could look at you properly. “Tell me what I can do, peanut, I’d do anything to make you smile,” he said, sincerity in his voice and his gaze.

Closing your eyes against the rush of emotion those words stoked inside you, you had to take a minute, trying to talk yourself out of confessing anything to your friend. But the gondola came to stop at the very top of the ferris wheel and something about the way you felt so safe in Bucky’s arms, suspended so high up in the air, had words tumbling out of your mouth.

“I just—I always wanted to come to the carnival with someone special, someone I was dating, y’know?” you said, opening your eyes and watching Bucky’s face as he spoke. He looked like he wanted to interrupt, but you soldiered on. “It’s silly, but I just thought it would make the carnival that much more special to enjoy it with someone I love, someone who loves me, too.” You had to stop, your eyes dropping back to Bucky’s jaw, seeing it jump as he clenched his teeth. You didn’t want to think about what that meant, sure it was a bad sign. “Coming with my friends is fun, don’t get me wrong—I’ve gone to the carnival with Nat and Yelena almost every year of my life and I love them, but this year I don’t even have them.”

“You just have me,” Bucky said, a hollowness in his voice that made you glance up at him. He looked sad and defeated and you couldn’t stand the sight.

“Don’t say that like you’re a consolation prize, like you aren’t enough,” you said sharply. It was your turn to cup Bucky’s cheek and make him look at you so you could make sure he was hearing what you were saying.

He smiled sadly, his mouth curling up in the way you loved, but his blue eyes were so mournful, it made your heart crack a little. “But I’ve tried all night to show you how special you are to me, peanut, and it’s still not enough.��

The cold night air froze in your lungs and confusion made you frown. “What?” you asked, the question sounding dumb to your ears.

A breeze swept between your bodies, catching your hair and sending it swirling. Bucky tucked it behind your ear, looking down at you with a mixture of somberness and fondness in his gaze. “I wanted to make this the best Valentine’s Day carnival for you because I wanted to show you how good I could be for you,” he admitted. “So maybe you’d want me to be your valentine—your special someone.”

“Bucky,” said on a sharp exhale. Your brain was slow to process his words, too weighed down by the many emotions you’d felt that night.

He seemed to misinterpret your reaction, looking away. His jaw flexed, the muscle jumping and making you want to soothe it with your touch. “If you don’t feel that way about me, I understand,” he said, his voice rough like gravel, the words sounding like he was wrenching them forcefully from the depths of his chest. “I’m happy to be your pal, your buddy, your fellow third wheel forever.” He wiped a hand down over his face, but you noticed he hadn’t tried to pull away. “Seriously, I don’t want you to feel pressured...”

“I like you, too, Buck,” you blurted, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Bucky’s head whipped around to look at you. The lights of the carnival lit up his face, tentative hope sparking in his eyes. “What?” he asked, echoing your earlier confusion.

“I’ve had a crush on you for ages,” you confessed, a blush rising in your cheeks even though he’d just admitted his own feelings for you. A weight lifted off your shoulders and you sat up, your hands pressing against Bucky’s chest, his pecs firm beneath your fingertips. “I like you, Bucky Barnes,” you said firmly.

For years after that night, you and Bucky would argue over what exactly caused the feeling of your stomach dropping and your heart soaring—whether it was the ferris wheel or his kiss. He, of course, would say it was the result of him finally, finally, kissing you, while you’d argue it was just the ferris wheel. Later, though, when he’d kissed all the giggles from your lips, you’d admit he was right. It had been all him. He’d grin arrogantly and smother you in even more kisses.

That night, when Bucky kissed you for the first time, his head ducking and his lips finding yours as the ferris wheel descended from its peak, you were briefly dizzy with all the sensations. Your stomach fluttered and your heart pounded excitedly in your chest, your whole body warming as Bucky wrapped you up in his arms and kissed you tenderly. It was the sweetest first kiss you’d ever had. Bucky’s lips were soft against yours, gentle with you like he always was—like you were something precious he was fearful of losing.

Slowly, his mouth grew more insistent, his tongue sliding against the seam of your lips and begging for entrance. You parted your lips, opening yourself to him and when he slid inside, you could taste the eagerness on his tongue. It matched the fervor that sang through your whole body. You kissed him back, matching his passion with every bit of your own.

When Bucky finally pulled away, you were left breathless and a little bit stunned. Satisfaction made you smile when you got a look at Bucky’s face, seeing him looking a little stunned, too. He was quick to duck back down and kiss the smile from your face, his lips curling up in a grin and his teeth knocking against yours, making you both laugh.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s go,” a gruff voice broke into the little bubble of happiness that surrounded you and Bucky.

You looked up and found the carnival worker manning the ferris wheel looking at you expectantly as he held the safety rail open, some teenagers snickering behind him. You blushed, but grabbed your teddy bear, hiding half your face in the fur as Bucky helped you out of the gondola and led you to the exit. His fingers tangled in yours as he held your hand, walking with you through the carnival grounds.

“So peanut, you gonna put me out of misery already?” Bucky asked, glancing down at you with happiness clear on his face, his mouth spread in a grin like he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. His blue eyes were sparkling and you couldn’t stop staring at the man you knew you were falling for. When you didn’t respond, he went on. “Are you gonna be my valentine?”

Giggling happily, you nodded. “Of course I’ll be your valentine, Buck.”

Bucky twirled you around, pulling you off to the side of the crowd and ducked his head, capturing your lips in another kiss. You didn’t know if you’d ever get enough of his kiss, and you gripped greedy fingers in the front of his jacket, clinging to him while he kissed you senseless. After long moments, he pulled back, his eyes roving over your face like he still couldn’t believe it was real, that you were his to kiss.

You couldn’t really wrap your head around it either. It was a little unbelievable that the two of you, who had met and become friends because you were the third wheels of your group, would actually develop feelings for each other. But it was your reality, and you couldn’t wait to explore the new aspects of your relationship with Bucky. The fact that you were the forever third wheels no more was just a bonus.

“So, what’s next?” you asked Bucky excitedly, half hoping he’d suggest going home so you could kiss him more in the privacy of one of your homes. And maybe do more than kiss…

“Duh, peanut,” Bucky said, a teasing grin on his face as he started leading you through the crowd, seeming to know exactly where he was going. His blue eyes shone with affection and adoration as he looked down at you, dropping a kiss to your lips before continuing on. “The tunnel of love.”

For the rest of the night, Bucky made your Valentine’s Day dreams come true, helping you to enjoy the carnival with someone special—him. Then, he took you home and you made out on the couch like teenagers until neither of you could keep your eyes open. You left your teddy bear on the couch as you and Bucky headed to the bedroom and though you felt a little bad about leaving it behind, Bucky had been right, he was very good at cuddling. You fell asleep, curled up in Bucky’s arms, both of you smiling.

Every year after that, Bucky was your date to the Valentine’s Day carnival, and each year he endeavored to make it better than the last. Every year, he succeeded.

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romanoffjohansson · 2 years ago

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romanoffjohansson · 2 years ago

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Lessons in Love.

Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.

“No way. How is that even possible?”

You look at the bewildered man in front of you and can’t help but smile.

“It’ll play anything you want it to. Anything in the world. Just ask it!” you encourage, beaming grin still plastered on your face.

“Alexa,” he says tentatively, “play Marvin Gaye.”

The first notes of Trouble Man begin to sound through your apartment, and his eyes light up. He’s looking at you like you’ve discovered something completely revolutionary.

You laugh – a real, genuine, delighted sound that flows through Bucky like a beam of light, illuminates his bones, makes his heart beat that little bit faster.

Grabbing your notebook, you delicately place a check next to Number 26 – voice-controlled devices. Number 27 is air fryers. Number 28 is Bluetooth. Number 29 is kindles and e-readers. Number 30 is Doordash. You’ve already checked off Spotify, and ATMs, and Google, and online banking, amongst many others. A list of things to better integrate Bucky into the 21st Century. A list of things to make him feel less like a man out of time. A list of things that allow you to spend all the time with him that you can.

A warm hand on your left hip and a cold one on your right pull you back into reality.

“Dance with me.” he murmurs. “Let me teach you something, for once.”

Before you can process his words, he’s gliding across the kitchen with you in his arms. Trouble Man isn’t playing anymore, instead replaced with something slower, richer. Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off you, not even for a second. He’s watching your every move, every expression, every twitch of your lips. Reading you like a book.

You bring your hands to rest around his neck, and he relaxes into you. He’s leading, swaying you gently, occasionally twirling you like a ballerina in a music box. Perfectly effortless. He’s good at this.

The sun is setting, casting a warm orange hue across the kitchen. The light is reflecting onto your hair, making you glow, giving you a halo. Angelic, he thinks. My guardian angel.

You close the space between your bodies, wrapping your arms around his middle. Resting your head on his chest, he prays you can’t hear how his heart is working overtime. You shut your eyes, and breathe him in. He smells faintly like the Bakery, like sugar and coffee and cinnamon. The place that started it all.

　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵

When Bucky first moved into his apartment, he’d noticed the Bakery down the street immediately. The smell of cake and coffee drifted out of the lilac colored door, enticing him in. He resisted the urge, and told himself that he’d go inside tomorrow.

The next day, he stood outside of the red brick building, and read the menu on the noticeboard carefully. Then he reread it. And then read it again. Since when was coffee so complicated? And don’t even get him started on cake. He swore there was only a few types back in the forties. Now, there was at least fifty different kinds on this menu alone. He was overwhelmed. He thought he’d be able to walk into this Bakery, get some coffee, maybe something sweet, and leave content. Instead, he's stood on the sidewalk on the verge of a panic attack. Tomorrow, he thinks to himself. I’ll go in tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes. Every day, he takes a walk, and purposely passes the building that he longs to go into. But somehow, he can never find the courage. He knows he’ll just look like an idiot if he walks in. He’ll look lost, and out of place, and everyone will laugh and mutter. Look, they’ll jeer, The Winter Soldier can’t even order a coffee.

And so, he spares himself the pain. Lets his feet carry him past, only slowing down slightly when he passes the lilac door. Every day for three months, he takes the same route. Willing himself to go in, to find the courage. It’s just coffee, he tells himself. Get a grip.

Until, one day, you decided to change his life, unknowingly. Or maybe knowingly. He’s still not sure.

He takes his usual path, and just as he gets to the lilac door – you’re there. Stood, waiting, soft smile on your face. Bucky panics, and wills his feet to move faster, to take him away from this inevitably awkward situation. You stop him before he can make a run for it.

“Hi.”

Oh. You’re talking to him. You’re staring into his soul with no judgment, or fear, or trepidation. You’re staring into his soul with gentleness. Kindness. Friendship. He’s terrified.

“Uh – hi.” He rubs the back of his neck. Nervous habit.

“So, uh, I hope this isn’t weird, or anything. But, I’ve been watching you walk past every day for like three months, and, well…” you trail off. Now you look nervous. “Actually, I haven’t really thought this far ahead. I just see you, and I wanted to… invite you in, I guess? Not that you need an invite, of course not, we’re open to everyone, but… you always look like you’re going to come in, and then you never do. And I’ve been telling myself for months that I should properly invite you in, but now I’m realising this is, uh, really weird. And I’m sorry.”

You still have that gentle smile on your face, but it’s more tentative now. A dusting of pink is making its way onto your cheeks, and Bucky thinks it might be his new favourite color.

It’s now that he really starts to take you in. Your hair is blowing slightly in the breeze, and the sleeves of your sweater are pulled down over your wrists, to try and keep the New York chill at bay. You have bright, inquisitive eyes – eyes that contain hope, love, laughter. You make him feel almost peaceful. No one makes him feel like that. Damn.

You’ve stepped closer to him now, to get out of the way of the customers making their way through the door. You smell like sugar, and coffee, and optimism. He wants to breathe you in, let you settle in his lungs. A comfortable warmth spreads through his chest.

He decides to take a gamble and bear his truth to you. He’s not sure why, but he trusts you. He doesn’t trust anyone, these days. But he trusts you.

“Can I be honest with you?”, he asks, looking at you expectantly. You’re almost expecting him to laugh in your face at the absurdity of it all. You nod anyway, signalling for him to continue.

“I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come in. But every time I try, I just, uh-” he stutters, and you can tell that his mind is screaming at him, sounding alarm bells, begging him to stop with all this sudden vulnerability.

“It’s overwhelming, right?” you ask, cutting him off. Saving him. Guardian angel.

You see the relief in his body at your question. His fists unclench, the tension leaves his shoulders. He smiles bashfully. Half grateful, half embarrassed. You get it.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. You giggle, and he’s convinced that the melodious sound will circle around in his mind forever, like the Earth orbiting the Sun.

You fiddle with the strings of your mint green apron, and look at him. You’re gazing at him so earnestly that he’s worried he might spontaneously combust.

“Are you busy tonight?” you ask suddenly, and he feels so dizzy he’s concerned momentarily that he’s going to pass out.

“Uh, no. I’m not,” he replies, managing to force the words out of his mouth.

“We close at 6, so meet me here at 7.”

You still have that sparkle in your eye. He couldn’t say no to you if he tried.

“Why?” he queries. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t absolutely petrified at the turn the conversation has taken.

“I want to show you around. Maybe make you a coffee, introduce you to some of my favourite things. You won’t believe how good my raspberry and white chocolate cookies are. They’re best sellers for a reason,” you beam at him.

Beaming. He wonders how he’s lived his whole life without your light illuminating his universe. Anywhere he goes without you is going to feel so dark, he thinks. How did I ever live like this?

He manages to pull himself together to smile back at you. His first genuine grin in God knows how long. He’s forgotten what joy feels like, and he’s almost drunk on it now.

He agrees to your plan, and you turn on your heel, about to make your way back inside.

“Wait!” he yells, louder than intended. “What’s your name?”

Your lips turn up into a smirk, mischief seeping out of your pores.

“Come back at 7 and find out.” You wink at him, and he has to take a few deep breaths in order to stay conscious. With that, you leave him alone on the sidewalk, where he’s silently thanking the universe for dropping you in his lap. Finally, he thinks. The cosmic punishment is over.

He does come back at 7. In fact, he’s stood outside waiting at 6:45. He can see you mopping the floor, singing as you go. His supersoldier hearing allows him to listen to your voice, even from this far away. He’s never been more grateful for the thing he used to call a curse. He’d be cursed every damn day if it meant he got to listen to you like this.

At 6:58, you appear at the lilac door, beckoning him to follow you inside. He knows that stepping over that threshold is going to change him fundamentally. He can’t wait.

Upon entering, he’s hit with the smell of cinnamon, sugar, coffee, and you. A beautiful mix of all three. Without a second thought, he reaches out with his right hand, and gently brushes some flour from your cheekbone.

“Bucky,” he murmurs.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him. Lips slightly parted, chest heaving, it takes you a minute to register that he spoke.

“What?” you ask, dazed by the handsome stranger with the steel blue eyes.

“My name,” he speaks softly. “It’s Bucky.”

You smile knowingly, and take a deep breath. It’s overwhelming, meeting someone that you know is going to be in your life forever. You’re both feeling the same, neither of you sure just quite what to do.

You grab his left hand, sighing quietly in relief at the feeling the cool metal against your heated skin. Leading him gently, he lets you guide him through the front of the store, until you stop behind the counter. He’s convinced he’d let you lead him anywhere, as long as he gets to feel your skin, soft and warm, on his. Grounding. Comforting. Easy.

“What kind of milk do you like?” you ask, fingers still intertwined with his.

“There’s more than one kind of milk?”

Bucky looks so disorientated, that you want to kiss the confused expression off his face. You chuckle softly, and the sound bounces off the metal in the room, twinkling around him.

“We have cows’ milk, oat milk, almond milk and soy milk.” You take one look at him, and decide to change course. “Let’s start with something less complex, actually. Any allergies I should know about?”

He shakes his head, mischievous grin beginning to form on his handsome face. There he is, you think. He’s with me.

“I’m going to make you a latte. It’s milky, and not too strong or too sweet. I think you’ll like it.”

She thinks I’ll like it, he muses. And he trusts you - whether it be with his life, or just a cup of coffee.

You reluctantly let go of his hand, and begin to flit around, gathering everything you need. Bucky leans back against the counter and watches carefully. He watches the way you bite your lip when you measure out the milk. He watches the way the steam from the coffee machine blows your hair back from your face gently. He watches the way you’re trying to make everything perfect. He can’t remember the last time someone paid attention to him like this. His mind is telling him to sprint in the opposite direction, to excuse himself and never come back. He’s terrified. But he stays. I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.

You pull him from his thoughts by handing him the mug of warm coffee. He takes it from you carefully, and, without breaking eye contact, takes a sip. He smiles, really smiles. That’s all the validation you needed.

“Let me show you where we bake everything,” you say quietly, as if you’re afraid to burst this bubble of warmth and trust you’ve created. You’re scared he’s going to bolt if you give him the chance. So, you don’t. You take his hand once more, and guide him through to the kitchen.

“Have you done much baking in your life, Bucky?”

No, he thinks. But I will. I’ll bake everyday for the rest of my life if it means you’ll love me. If you’ll make me coffee and smile at me like that.

Instead, he answers cautiously.

“Not really. I’d like to, though.” He adds that last part bashfully. You smile back at him earnestly.

“Well then you’re in the right place,” you wink. He has the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees. To pray at your altar. To worship you like an angel sent down just for him. He’s surprised he’s still stood on two feet.

Before he can even register what’s happening, you’re beginning to create a mixture for your infamous cookies. You direct him to stir, while you add meticulously measured ingredients into the bowl.

“Put those arms to good use,” you’d smirked, and a blush had risen up to his cheeks almost instantly.

You click the radio on, and a soft, jazzy melody begins to drift through the room. You’re humming quietly, gliding around the kitchen, and he decides that this is it for him. You’re it for him. He could watch you do this every day and die a happy man.

Cookies baking in the oven, you jump up to sit on one of the counters. Bucky moves to stand in between your legs, still being careful to keep his distance ever so slightly. He knows if he touches you, he won’t ever want to let go.

“This wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be,” he confesses.

“What, me?” you tease.

“No. Coffee. And cookies,” he chuckles.

“Are there lots of things that you haven’t done because you find them scary?” you ask genuinely. You want to know him. All of him. Fears, wants, quirks. All of it.

“Yeah, actually. The world is so different now. I don’t really know where to start. It’s all terrifying, honestly,” he laughs. You laugh with him, but you know there’s truth to his words. You want to wrap your arms around him. He may be 6 foot tall and made of solid muscle and vibranium, but you want to protect him.

“Why don’t we do it together?”

A pause. He’s confused again.

“Do what together?”

“All of it. The learning. I’ll help you. Everything is less scary if you do it with someone else.”

It’s now that he’s convinced he’s dreaming. You can’t be real. Why would you be here, offering him everything, after all that he’s done? He has to remind himself. I deserve this. I deserve something good.

You can sense his trepidation, so you keep talking.

“Why don’t we make a list? You write down the things you want to learn about. I’ll write down other things I think you should know. You’ll be an expert on the 21st Century before long, Buck.”

Buck. The nickname sounds like a gift coming from your lips.

“Okay. Yeah. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

The anxiety is coming off him in waves. He’s panicking. You grab a hold of both of his hands, and place one on each of your legs, just above your knees. He steps in closer, and takes a breath. You’re warm, and you’re soft, and you’re love personified. He’s okay.

“Of course I don’t mind. I’m excited!” you assure him. Then, quieter, “It means I get to spend more time with you.”

He aims a beaming, megawatt smile in your direction. He feels as if his nerve endings are alight. You’ve awoken something in him. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel like this. To feel alive.

You reach over and grab your notebook. In it, you simply write his name, followed by a love heart. Then, underneath, you begin to list everything you can think of that you want to teach him. You hand the list to him, and he adds his own requests. Between you, you manage to write 50 different lessons.

“Perfect. We’ll start with number one, and work our way down. Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

He chuckles at your eagerness, but secretly, he can’t wait. He knows he’ll be counting down the hours until he can see you again.

“Nope, I’m not. You are my only priority, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment seeps into your skin, settles in your ribcage. You’re convinced it’ll warm you up from the inside out. If he keeps calling you sweetheart in that Brooklyn drawl of his, you’ll never be cold again.

　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵

You’re not sure if you’ve been swaying in your kitchen with Bucky to Marvin Gaye for 2 minutes or 2 hours. You’re comfortably settled into him, as if the space in his arms was made especially for you. Maybe it was.

Bucky’s voice breaks through the solitude.

“You know, I’ve created my own list,” he murmurs against the top of your hair, where he’s resting his head.

You pull back, still in his arms, to look at him carefully.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Read it, and tell me what you think.”

He untangles himself from you and crosses the room, to retrieve his leather-bound notebook. He returns, and places it carefully in your awaiting hands.

You flick open the cover to reveal the first page. You recognise his handwriting instantly. It’s spiralling, and imperfect, but so Bucky. At the top of the page, you spot the title – your name, with a love heart next to it. Exactly the same as you’d done for him when you’d originally created your list together.

Underneath your name, only one thing is written.

I love you.

You look up at him, to see him watching you, holding his breath. Neither of you know what to say. You know what you want to say. You want to tell him that you hope the list never ends, so you always have an excuse to spend time with him. You want to tell him that you watched him walk past the door of the Bakery every day for 3 months because you thought he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. You want to tell him that every time he looks at you, you feel as if you’re going to pass out. You want to tell him that you can recognise him anywhere, by touch or smell alone. Instead, you say,

“You do?”

That genuine, million dollar smile is back, etched on his face. He’s glowing, light radiating from his bones.

“Yes. I do. I think I’ve loved you ever since I saw you waiting for me on the doorstep of the Bakery that day.”

You think you might be floating. Levitating above ground, fuelled by love. You laugh.

“That’s the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

He laughs with you, then. You could get drunk off the sound.

“I didn’t think love at first sight was a real thing. I thought I was going crazy,” he confesses.

He’s convinced that the two of you have discovered something, invented it even. Because he doesn’t understand. If love feels like this, so all encompassing, so consuming – how does anyone live? Every moment of every day, Bucky thinks of you. How does anyone go to work? How does anyone ever feel sad, or angry, when love like this exists?

You drop the notebook and cross the room to him. He closes the gap, and throws his arms around you, spinning you in circles, laughing with joy. He sets you back on your feet, and tilts your chin up, so you’re looking into his steel blue eyes. You could drown in the ocean of his irises if he let you.

He leans down, and presses his lips to yours. He’s giving you all of the love, the joy, the laughter – everything good that he has ever felt, because of you – through his kiss. Your knees go weak, and he holds you up by your waist, his strong arms encircling your frame. He tastes like coffee, and sugar, and promises. You’ll never want to taste anything else.

Eventually, you break away for air. You gaze up at him, and he sees sunshine in your eyes. He’s not sure what he did to earn a love like this. You seem to sense his doubts creeping in, because you say, in the most assured voice he’s ever heard –

“No one has ever loved anyone as much as I love you.”

I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.

⋆ 　　 . ✵　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵

Authors Note - hello gorgeous people, hope you're all doing well. writing this has made my heart so full, and I hope it makes you feel the same. requests are always open and more than encouraged!! currently working on a stunning jake seresin request that's just so lovely. i'm SO open to more jake requests, but also any marvel, top gun maverick, criminal minds, narcos and any others you have in mind!! just send them over, and I'll see what I can do. as always, so much love x

5K notes · View notes

romanoffjohansson · 2 years ago

Text

don’t mind me just sobbing my heart out. wow. this is… wow.

Hand In Hand

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Stark's New Years Eve parties never disappoint, and this year is extra special.

Warnings: Fatally fluffy. Like so much. Death by mushy feelings.

Word Count: 10.5k

Part 25 of 25

A/N: If I told you this was easy, I would be lying. This chapter is six months overdue, but the ending to this story has been in my head for over a year, and choosing which aspects of their final night to include was almost impossible. This little universe has grown bigger than I ever expected, and I know I won't be able to give this ending the weight it deserves. Here is my best attempt.

This story is my heart and soul, and it’s been mortifying to realize how much of myself I poured into both Bucky and reader. If you know these characters, you know me. I've made incredible connections because of this story, and I love you all. I do.

Sharing my Bucky with you all has been one of the greatest joys of my life. Thank you for reading. I’ll see you soon 💗

playlist for this chapter - let's set the mood

series masterlist

Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

After so many months of near-silence, the laughter echoing through the ground floor of the compound was jarring. A deafening overlap of conversations, grating and dissonant chatter— maybe he should just let the elevator doors close again. At least inside the elevator, it was quiet. At least in there, things were normal.

From beside him, Steve stepped boldly out into the crowd. The sheer number of people milling about the hallway was staggering, but of course Steve didn’t hesitate. He led the way, and when Bucky felt the comforting pressure of your hand at the small of his back, he followed.

You passed a few familiar faces on the short walk from the elevators to the south wing’s conference complex. There were agents who offered Steve polite, professional smiles before returning to their conversations, and a couple of straggling teammates who greeted the three of you with significantly more enthusiasm. Bucky could only blink when Scott Lang clapped him on the back in a poorly-disguised hug, and he was relieved when Lang turned to Steve and pulled him into an awkwardly tight embrace instead. Thor hurried past, but not without pausing to share a fist-bump with you; even Banner, who seemed to be in unusually high spirits despite the fact that he was sulking in the hall by himself, gave Bucky an encouraging nod and a smile as he walked past him.

But with one glance into what used to be the conference hall, none of that mattered. Panic rose in Bucky’s chest, and he planted his dress shoes firmly on the tile just outside the doors.

This was a mistake.

Stopping next to Bucky, you let out a low, impressed whistle. “Wow,” you breathed, then glanced up at Steve. “You’re sure we’re invited to this thing?”

Stark’s New Year’s Eve parties never disappointed, and as the grand finale of the publicity tour, he had gone above and beyond for tonight’s gala. Ambient light shone on the sea of unfamiliar faces, glinting off their expensive jewelry as they ebbed around the transformed ballroom. Their classy black formalwear was accented by glitz and glitter, and the tables adorned with gold place settings and decorations managed to be more extravagant than gaudy. But the strings of lights and balloons hanging from the ceiling made the room feel smaller, more claustrophobic, and somehow Bucky was the only one who noticed the walls closing in—

“Of course,” Steve said, unconcerned. “You’re both on the guest list.”

Bucky huffed out a bitter, halfhearted laugh, and Steve raised an eyebrow at him. Tickets to the gala had been raffled off to donors for several thousand dollars apiece, and staring in at the crowd of tech bros, business moguls, and socialites, it couldn’t be more obvious that Bucky wasn’t one of them— of course he was on the guest list. He was there as a favor, as a kindness. A gift from Tony Stark himself.

Bucky’s invitation to the gala wasn’t the only olive branch that had been extended that day. The first time Bucky read through the article— his article— when it went live early that morning, he was as surprised as everyone else to see a statement from Tony near the end.

“I’ve never been one to take the high road,” Stark said. “I’m not the type to forgive and forget. But if you people think that I’m letting the man who murdered my parents not only walk free, but also live on my [redacted] property, you’re stupider than I thought. Barnes was the Winter Soldier, yes, but things change. And it only takes one iota of interaction with that crotchety centenarian to see that he never would’ve done any of that [redacted] if he had a choice to begin with.”

Tony’s endorsement carried significant weight. Steve was quoted in the article, too, of course he was— but Steve’s bias was common knowledge. It was a given that Steve would always vouch for Bucky; even when Bucky had nothing, he had Steve. Public forgiveness from one of the most influential men in the world— a man who had directly suffered from Bucky’s time as the Winter Soldier— was monumental.

But standing there at the threshold of the party, Bucky was beginning to think that this invitation was more of a cruel prank than a show of goodwill. Some kind of trap, maybe. A golden opportunity for Bucky to fuck everything up, once and for all. He glanced sideways at Steve, but Steve’s stoic demeanor did nothing to ease Bucky’s nerves.

These events had been foreign for Steve too, at first, but now he fit in easily. Of course he did. While Steve Rogers could be awkward and honest to a fault, Captain America had adapted. After years of practice he could slip into that role, faking laughter and schmoozing with the best of them for the evening. He looked completely unconcerned by the crowd that waited inside; this was just another day on the job for Steve.

On Bucky’s other side, your excitement was palpable. You had never been to an event like this, and of course you hadn’t brought anything nearly fancy enough to wear. While Bucky and Steve got ready in the apartment, Natasha had swept you away to the closet that stored all of the formalwear used by agents during undercover missions. When you returned, your hair was done, your makeup was applied flawlessly, and the dress… holy shit, the dress. It clung to you perfectly, showing just enough skin, and Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes— or his hands— off you. He didn’t miss the triumphant smirk Natasha shot your way when he stepped up behind you and wrapped his arms around you, or the way Steve licked his lips as his gaze traveled down the expanse of your chest. He didn’t care. Being able to touch you, to hold you like this— he was the luckiest man in the world.

The faint scent of gunsmoke that lingered in the fabric only made you that much sexier.

Standing there in your dress and heels, maybe you were a little nervous. You fidgeted with your hands as you took in the scene, twisting and pulling at your fingers, but you would be okay. With all your carefree charisma, Bucky knew you would acclimate quickly.

Sure enough, when you met Bucky’s eyes, you looked thrilled— but he couldn’t hide the worry from his face quickly enough. He tried to unclench his jaw, tried to relax his brow, but there was no fooling you; your mouth curved into a slight frown as you saw right through him.

On any other day, Bucky might have been able to do it. Despite his standoffish silence and his propensity for panic, he might have been able to blend in, to smile and nod and wave, to survive until he could escape. He had survived far worse, after all. It should have been an easy, if not enjoyable, evening.

But today was anything but ordinary. Bucky’s name had been trending online for over ten hours, and his nerves were fried.

When his article began gaining traction early that morning, it was quickly picked up by the cable news stations; his face had been plastered across every television screen in the country all day. Before, he might have had a chance at staying under the radar. But tonight, in this crowd of people who had been hearing his name, seeing his face, and listening to his story all day, he was going to stick out like a metal thumb.

Of course, after standing there in the doorway so long, the whispers had already begun.

“That’s him— look—”

One by one, heads raised. Hundreds of gazes burned right through his suit, scorching his skin and heating his insides to a rolling boil. The high-pitched ringing that started in his ears made him wince, but somehow the screech wasn’t loud enough to drown out the deluge of hushed voices, the whispers that spread like wildfire through the crowd. After just a few moments, it seemed like everyone in the room knew that the Winter Soldier was standing just outside.

“Did you read the part about the serum?”

“About his arm?”

Bucky shrunk into himself, hiding as best as he could inside his six-foot-plus frame. He had been stupid, he realized, when he decided to leave his gloves upstairs. Stupid to think he didn’t need them, stupid to think he could do this. He curled his left hand into a fist, as small as it would go, as if he had any chance of concealing it inside the cuff of his tailored suit jacket.

“He was held captive—”

“They said he was tortured—”

If he ran, people would notice. He couldn’t run, because that would only make him look worse, make more people look and watch and whisper about him. His suit jacket was suddenly unbearably tight around his chest, but he could still walk. He could… say he forgot something upstairs, he thought frantically. And instead of going to the elevator he could go out the front door, could leave and disappear and never come back.

But just when that vice clamped down on his ribcage, you wrapped your hand around his clenched fist.

You were subtle about it; no one in the ballroom would notice this tiny gesture of tenderness, but the warmth of your hand against his was startling enough to command Bucky’s attention. Your thumb worked in gentle circles, sending pleasant, calming feedback tingling up his arm, and when you pressed carefully along the plates of his palm to ease his fingers open, the pressure around his chest loosened along with his grip. He inhaled a slow, shaky breath, and you intertwined your fingers with his.

Your hand fit so easily inside of his. So perfectly.

“He didn’t want it.”

“He tried to stop it.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

Just ahead, Steve was looking back at him and waiting. At his side, you gave Bucky’s hand a supportive squeeze and gently pushed forward.

There were hundreds of people watching Bucky, but you and Steve were the only two that mattered.

You walked into the party together.

The carpet in the ballroom was an industrial-looking mix of gray and black, and if Bucky focused all of his attention on watching the pattern swirl and repeat with each step, he was almost able to ignore the whispers. He was almost able to ignore the hundreds of eyes that followed him across the room, like a pack of hyenas studying their prey.

Some attention was to be expected, of course, walking in next to Steve. Steve turned heads wherever he went, whether he liked it or not; stares and speculation were nothing new for him. But this time, people weren’t staring at Steve— they were staring at Bucky.

He fucking hated it.

The last time people had been more interested in Bucky than Steve had been at the trial, and the memory of those camera flashes and clamoring reporters made panic swell in his chest. He held his breath as the tide rose around him, higher and higher with every step he took through the crowd.

He couldn’t see the pattern on the carpet anymore. The waters were too dark.

But just when the surf began to lap at his neck, a buoy: Sam and Natasha waved from their assigned table on the other side of the room, catching his attention.

“Nice of you all to finally join us,” Sam teased around a mouthful of food when you approached. A rope tossed, and Bucky clung to it— he scowled and narrowed his eyes at Sam to hide the pure relief flooding through his veins. He pulled out a chair for you before sitting down across from Sam, but Steve remained on his feet.

Whatever Steve was saying to the others, Bucky wasn’t listening. He was too focused on the weight of Steve’s hands on his shoulders as he stood behind Bucky, and his firm, reassuring grip. The tender little half-moons Steve rubbed with his thumbs had Bucky melting into the contact while he blinked the anxious haze from his eyes, and when Steve gave his shoulders a quick squeeze before continuing on toward the VIP section, Bucky missed his touch instantly.

Still, Bucky couldn’t help but smile. This desire for Steve’s comfort, for his touch, was worlds away from how he used to recoil; it was lifetimes apart from the bitter resentment Bucky had harbored for so long.

Steve had to go now, but Bucky didn’t mind— he felt more amused than abandoned as he watched Steve’s retreating back, his broad shoulders set with resolve. This party was yet another demand on the Captain’s endless list of responsibilities, that was all. Steve had appearances to make and hands to shake. You and Bucky were here as guests, but for Steve, this was work.

It was okay, really. Bucky understood. But his next inhale came louder than he intended, and he coughed slightly to try to conceal the almost-gasp, too late. You gave him a sideways look, and he smiled apologetically. It was an accident, an unnecessary gulp of air; he didn’t expect to be able to breathe so easily while waves were crashing all around him. But sitting with you and his friends, he found his head was still safely above water.

Sam watched Steve go, shaking his head. “You know what they say,” he said solemnly. “Once a guy gets his fifteen minutes of fame, he forgets all about us little people.” Bucky was too busy fussing with his cloth napkin, unfolding it and smoothing it across his lap, to notice when Sam turned to him with a cheeky grin. “Half expected you to be up there, too, kissing ass with Steve.”

At the words kissing and ass and Steve, Bucky looked up and blinked stupidly. If Sam noticed the slight flush that spread across his face, it didn’t seem to phase him, and your amused huff was quiet enough that only Bucky could hear it. “Your ugly mug was all over my TV this morning,” Sam continued, jabbing his fork toward Bucky as he settled back against his chair. “Straight out of my nightmares, I swear. I couldn’t escape it.”

Bucky glared at Sam, but before he could formulate a response, a waiter stopped by the table to offer around a platter of something bite-sized and insufferably fancy. You plucked one of the unidentifiable snacks off the tray and dropped it straight into your mouth; Bucky took one, too, but set it on the edge of his plate. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, and he wasn’t feeling particularly daring tonight. Maybe that was for the best— your eyes widened with shock at the taste, and you coughed before forcing yourself to swallow it.

“Did you watch any of the coverage?” Sam asked, luring Bucky’s attention away from your watering eyes and back across the table. His casual tone seemed forced now, and Bucky’s heart dropped while he shook his head.

No, Bucky had spent the day keeping as far away from the news as possible. It had been difficult enough for him to read the article on his phone that morning, sitting beside you on his unmade bed while Steve was in the shower. His heart raced faster and faster with each paragraph, he was drenched in a cold sweat by the time he reached the end.

But that was the beauty of it, wasn’t it? He reached the end. It was over.

The article was exactly as Karen said it would be: Bucky’s story, his interviews, complemented and fleshed out by additional research she had gathered. What he hadn’t expected, though, were the interviews she had done with other people. The quotes she used were never more than a few sentences— this was Bucky’s story, after all, not theirs— but they were expertly placed, adding substance where substance was needed.

Tony’s endorsement was the most shocking, but he wasn’t the only teammate Karen had interviewed. There were a few lines from Dr. Banner explaining some of the medical procedures Bucky had endured, and Peter Parker (who was very popular with the younger crowd, you told him) spoke of Bucky like he had cured cancer one afternoon after spending his morning rescuing kittens and helping grannies cross the street. Natasha wasn’t mentioned by name, but the anonymous source who emphasized the cruel details of the brainwashing methods that had been used on him couldn’t have been anyone else.

Sam’s contribution was the most comprehensive. He didn’t sugarcoat the condition Bucky had been in when Sam found him years ago, or the subsequent ways Sam had watched him struggle to find his footing in this new life. But that honesty made his following commendation all the more meaningful, and Bucky swallowed around a lump in his throat as he read, feeling exceptionally grateful for his most unexpected friend.

Steve was quoted several times throughout the article, but Bucky had to skim over those parts; he couldn’t bring himself to read them. Bucky’s last sliver of dignity was cobweb-fine as he sat there on the bed, blinking at his phone and fighting to keep his breath slow, and if he read Steve’s words there would be no stopping the tidal wave of emotion that kept threatening to spill. He had heard it all before, anyway— Steve’s devotion, his admiration for Bucky, how guilty he felt for everything that had happened. How he would do anything, including but not limited to becoming an international fugitive, for Bucky— none of it was new, but Bucky had never allowed himself to believe a word of it.

It was easy enough for Bucky to convince himself that Steve was wrong when Steve was the only one saying those things; his self-loathing was too heavy for Steve to lift on his own. But now Steve’s voice was just one of many, his long-told testaments nestled within a few thousand words of corroborating evidence— and for just a second, Bucky allowed himself to consider that maybe Steve was right. Maybe Steve had been right all along.

Bucky still wasn’t quite sure he believed it, but his resolve was running dry.

You weren’t mentioned anywhere in the article. “I’m biased,” you explained with a kiss to his heated cheek when he noticed. “No one would take what I say seriously when they find out who I am.”

“When they— what?” Bucky furrowed his brow. They wouldn’t believe you when they find out you’re a… person? Maybe not a hero like the rest of them, at least not in the traditional sense, but—

Your soft chuckle halted his runaway thoughts. “When they find out I’m in love with you,” you murmured, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder. “Conflict of interest.”

Oh. Right. Bucky wanted to laugh, but all he managed was a sharp exhale and a grimace. He couldn’t say it, but you understood; the bed creaked as you snuggled closer and wrapped an arm around his tense shoulders, squeezing him tight.

The article wasn’t all feel-good endorsements and heartwarming anecdotes. While helpful, they would be meaningless without the truth, and Karen spared no details when recounting what Bucky had told her about his time as the Winter Soldier. About the abuse he had endured, the torture he had survived. The things he was forced to do, and the guilt that haunted him still. Even with you pressed up close, following along on the same screen, Bucky almost couldn’t bear to read it.

He felt exposed to the bone. It had been hard enough for him to bring all of those suppressed memories to the surface, to face them on his own and speak them aloud with just you and Karen listening. And now those memories, those words he had dredged up and spit like venom through his bared teeth, were printed for the entire world to read.

He forced his brain to keep reading, to carry on like everything was fine, but he couldn’t stop his physical reaction. His hammering heart, his tensed-solid muscles, and the soft whirs of distress from his left arm as he clenched and unclenched his fist— traitors, all of them.

Here were his secrets, laid out flat and on display. He was terrified, and his body knew— but at the same time, there were tears brimming in his eyes, because his friends— and he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he was too goddamn dizzy, he couldn’t— he got a head rush of oxygen with each deep breath, because he could finally breathe.

He didn’t know just how crushing the weight on his shoulders had been until it was gone.

You rubbed Bucky’s back while he cycled through those rapid-fire emotions, one after the other, like he was making up for years’ worth of feelings all in one go. He choked out a laugh, then blinked furiously and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, then chuckled again and shook his head. If he was thinking straight, he might have been embarrassed. But you just pushed his sweat-damp hair away from his face and held him, and eventually the swell of emotions subsided. He dried his eyes, sat up straight, and offered you a shaky smile— he was exhausted, a bit numb, and so, so relieved.

But then, his phone began to ring.

It was like when the story of the botched mission broke back in November, but exponentially worse. This time, it wasn’t just a couple of low-ranking reporters trying to get ahold of Bucky for a quick statement. Now it was news station executives. It was the New York Times. It was talk show hosts and bloggers and publicists, all trying to get that first exclusive interview— because after their initial read-throughs, they could tell this story was going to be big.

It was too much pressure. Bucky couldn’t handle it on his own.

But the thing was, he didn’t have to.

On your suggestion, he shut his phone off and went to the gym with Steve for most of the day. You stayed behind to finish packing and keep an eye on the news; you promised that if anything important happened, you would let him know. With you as a buffer between Bucky and the world, he was able to spend his last day at the compound with his oldest friend, boxing and lifting weights until his muscles shook and his mind was quiet.

At the party, Sam was still talking, and it took Bucky a moment to tune back in. “They’re saying a lot of good stuff,” Sam continued with a crooked smile. “You know it’s a big deal when those talking head assh-” he glanced at the surrounding tables and lowered his voice, “-when those talking head assholes on TV can’t even find something to vilify you for.”

That was news to Bucky, though he tried not to let it show. You glanced at him, a quiet pride in your eyes, before quickly lowering your gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly.

You shrugged. “Not important.”

You were right, of course.

Natasha cleared her throat. “I heard there are some activists in DC calling for an internal investigation,” she said. She concentrated on her plate, pushing her food around almost absentmindedly, but Bucky knew better— her voice was light in that way that meant she knew more than she was letting on. Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, but no matter how intensely he stared, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “They’re demanding some kind of systemic change,” she continued.

Okay, well, that seemed like it might be good to know— but when Bucky turned to you, his mouth hanging open slightly, your attention was elsewhere.

There was a gleam in your eye as you watched a waiter approach with another tray of hors d’oeuvres. It seemed you hadn’t learned your lesson the first time around, and Bucky frowned when you grabbed another mystery snack off the tray and held it up to your face to inspect it. After a moment of consideration, you threw Sam a cheeky half-smile and offered it to him.

“No way,” Sam laughed, crossing his arms in front of him. “I’m good.”

The first course came and went before Steve managed to break away from his responsibilities and return to the table. Bucky thought he would’ve been exhausted after schmoozing at the bar for the last hour, but Steve was almost giddy with excitement— his honey hair was mussed in the front, his smile permanently fixed on his face. He grabbed an unused chair from a nearby table with gusto, knocking a tray of full plates out of a passing waitress’s hands in the process.

“Oh, god damn it— fucking shit—” Steve cursed as he scrambled to catch the falling tray. The Captain’s choice of language earned some stares from the neighboring tables, but Steve’s enhanced reflexes prevented a true disaster. He caught the airborne dishes with centimeters to spare.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said hurriedly to the stunned waitress, making sure the tray was stable in her hands before collapsing onto his stolen chair beside you with a sigh. Steve’s knees were spread wide as he leaned back and loosened his tie; the top button of his shirt was already undone, and Bucky’s heart flipped when Steve caught his eye and shot him a lopsided grin.

“Hey, Steve, how’s it going?” Natasha asked from across the table. Too loud, too direct, and with one glance at her face it was clear that she once again knew something the rest of them didn’t. Bucky should’ve been used to that by now, but it was still unnerving to see.

“Great, great,” Steve said dismissively, though his grin didn’t leave his face as he turned to you. “You guys havin’ fun?”

“Tons of fun,” you said. “Here.” You picked up the now-cold bite-size appetizer off of your plate and held it out to Steve.

“Don’t—” Bucky began to say, but Steve opened his mouth and leaned in toward you. You giggled as you fed it to him, but Bucky could hear your heart racing; Steve’s eyes never left yours as he closed his lips around the food. The intensity of Steve’s gaze was hot enough to burn, but you didn’t back down.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s collar suddenly felt a bit too tight; his whole body was warm. The electricity in the air was palpable, and across the table, Sam and Natasha shared a sideways glance.

But then Steve frowned. He leaned back in his seat, his face scrunched in disgust, and you cackled as he swallowed the bite. “Ugh,” he said when he could. He looked at you like you had committed the ultimate betrayal; Bucky had to laugh at his furrowed brows, his distrustful eyes. “What was that?”

“No idea,” you said gleefully while Steve shook his head like a dog, as if that would make the taste go away faster.

Bucky tried to keep his expression neutral, but his lips twitched as he passed Steve his glass of water. He hadn’t expected Steve to be this relaxed tonight, but it was a welcome sight. Steve drank the water hurriedly, and when he came up for air, he shook his head. “Evil,” he said to you, but he was grinning. “You pull that on him, too?” he asked with a nod toward Bucky.

You feigned offense. “I would nev—”

“Tried to get me with it,” Sam interjected. “You should know better, Steve. Gotta be something wicked about her if Buck is so into her.” Steve almost looked insulted, but you and Bucky were both laughing, so Sam continued. “You can’t afford to have a soft spot like that.”

“I don’t—” Steve started, too loud. He was growing frazzled, which was strange; his defenses were down, his emotions on full display. It was rare to see Steve like this at home, let alone in a crowd—

Oh, no.

“You know what I think, Steve?” Natasha teased, leaning forward. “I think you’re whipped.”

Steve let out an exasperated sigh. “What does that even mean?” He tilted his head to the side, his lower lip pushed into a pout, and Bucky knew that look—

“Steve—” Bucky said, but it was too late.

“Means I can get you to do anything I want,” you said, a devious lilt to your words. Steve met your eyes, and there was a moment of silence before he broke into giggles. His cheeks were flushed as he shrugged and opened his mouth, searching for words, stalling for time.

“Oh, you know how it is, Tasha,” he finally said, a saucy smile breaking across his face, and Natasha’s eyes lit up with delight. “Things were so weird with me and Buck, but we just needed some help, and—” his voice cracked slightly as he turned to you, “— and I love him so much, and you’re perfect for him—”

Bucky sent you a panicked look, and he could see the dots connect in your mind. “Steve,” you said sharply, to no avail.

Steve had already returned his attention to Natasha. “And we just had the best week ever— it’s not even about the sex, you know? It’s more than… I mean, the sex is great, don’t get me wrong, but—”

“Steve,” you said again, and finally, finally, he heard you. He froze, a deer in the headlights at the realization of what he had just said out loud. When he lifted his eyes to yours slowly, he looked guilty as sin. “Have you been drinking?” you asked, softer.

The pink tint to his cheeks went cherry red, and he fell forward and buried his face in his hands.

“Thor told me not to tell,” Steve said, his voice muffled but at least no longer weepy. “Because you’re not allowed,” he said, peeking between his fingers to look at you before turning to Bucky. “And you’re definitely not allowed.”

Bucky grimaced; after Thanksgiving, he wasn’t tempted by Thor’s liquor in the slightest. But even though Steve was allowed to drink— he was allowed to have fun, and no one was upset with him— he was still hunched forward, burning in a pit of mortification. Embarrassed heat radiated off him in waves, and Bucky almost reached out to comfort him.

But just when Bucky raised his hand, he stopped. The hundreds of eyes that had watched him enter the ballroom earlier had mostly lost interest by now, but Steve was always under some level of scrutiny, and his excited voice and overanimated gestures had garnered a bit more attention. Bucky swallowed roughly and settled his hands back in his lap.

Through all these years, Bucky and Steve had never been publicly affectionate, and after the week they had just spent together, Bucky wasn’t sure if he could keep his touch convincingly platonic. He wanted to hug Steve close, to laugh until Steve laughed with him, to tell him that he was okay and that being a little too tipsy at a party was perfectly normal. That Steve was perfectly normal.

Bucky wanted to, but he couldn’t— so you wrapped your arms around Steve’s broad shoulders and comforted him instead.

If the other guests reacted, Bucky’s stomach was too full of butterflies for him to notice.

Across the table, Natasha was grinning as she elbowed Sam. He dug out his wallet and silently passed her a ten dollar bill, shaking his head in defeat.

Steve took a deep breath, and after a moment he was able to sit up straight again. “Do you really have to go tonight?” His deep voice bordered on a whine, and he gave you his best attempt at puppy eyes as you sat back. “Can’t you just stay til the morning?” He turned in his seat, redirecting his begging toward Bucky. “You know Tony won’t actually kick you out at midnight, right? You can stay.”

Sure, you probably didn’t have to leave right after the party. But Bucky was itching to get on the road after six months of being locked up, and your little sedan was already parked out in front of the building, packed to the brim. There was the luggage you arrived with last summer, and the things you had collected over the past six months— all the fuzzy blankets and pillows, cooking utensils and pool floats. Bucky’s belongings took up much less room; he had his clothes and his knife collection, some books, and that box of memories from deep in his closet.

There were things he needed to leave behind, of course. The majority of his firearm arsenal would stay at the compound for the time being, and Steve promised to keep an eye on his motorcycle. He would be stupid to move it in this weather, and it was protected from the elements inside the garage here.

And it wasn’t like he was leaving forever. He wouldn’t be living at the compound any longer, but after this quick trip with you, he was still going to have to be there every day for work. He’d pick up the motorcycle when he got back, and if all went to plan, maybe by then he’d have a place of his own to park it.

Bucky took a sip of his drink. “Gotta hit the road, pal,” he said gently. “Two hundred miles to cover tonight. Won’t be easy in this weather.” He smiled; saying it like that made the trip seem much more urgent than it was, but in reality, he and you had all the time in the world. The itinerary wasn’t exactly full, and reservations could always be broken.

But that pizza shop in Burlington was calling his name, and you had a whole calendar of plans to work through.

“Promise you’ll call if you need help, alright?” Sam asked. It had been snowing for a few hours with no end in sight, and the roads were white with accumulation. “None of that survivalist sub-zero camping shit. If you break down, or slide into a ditch—”

Bucky sighed. “If we slide into a ditch, Samuel,” he said pointedly, “I will simply get out and pull the car back onto the road.” He lifted his left hand as proof. Sam narrowed his eyes at Bucky, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he nodded his approval.

Steve was still pouting. “I’m gonna be so lonely tonight,” he lamented to no one in particular, slowly swirling the glass of water in his hand. “Gonna be so cold. And breakfast!” He turned to Bucky with absolute devastation in his eyes. “No one for breakfast, and—”

You leaned in toward Steve and took both of his hands in yours. “I’ll make you as much breakfast as you want when we get back,” you said soothingly, but Steve sighed. “You gonna be okay, Stevie?”

Steve took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah,” he said wistfully. “Yeah. It’s just— I’m so happy, y’know? For you two. Oh, look at you.” His eyes glistened when they met Bucky’s, and Bucky had to look away. Steve was drunk; Bucky had no excuse for getting emotional.

But Bucky startled when Steve lunged sideways, reaching past you to wrap his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” he mumbled against Bucky’s neck, his breath warm on Bucky’s skin.

People were watching, so Bucky stayed perfectly still. He tried to be casual, tried to ignore the way Steve clung to him, the way he nuzzled just under Bucky’s ear in that way he knew wasn’t fair. With Steve distracting him like that, Bucky could almost ignore all of the curious stares, and the new round of whispers that fired up around them.

But Steve pressed a chaste kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and there was no coming back. Bucky might have been able to play it off, but as usual, his body betrayed him— the pink that spread across his face and down his neck was a dead giveaway that this kiss was more than friendly.

But when Bucky glanced around, he couldn’t see the crowd, or their reaction. He could only see you, and Sam, and Natasha— and all three of you looked thrilled.

Steve was oblivious, of course. “You’re gonna let me come visit, right?” he mumbled. “When you get a place?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky said softly. “Any time.”

Bucky didn’t want to dance.

He really, truly, sincerely, did not want to dance. Not here, not like this.

“C’mon,” you pleaded, squeezing Bucky’s right hand as you tried to pull him to his feet. “Just one song. Or two. Please?”

When dinner was almost wrapped up, Steve was summoned back to the VIP area. Natasha and Sam both stood to go with him; they said it was for the free drinks, but Bucky mouthed a silent thank you to them as they walked away. Steve wasn’t quite sober yet, but under their watch at least he wouldn’t be able to do anything stupid.

With your friends gone, you and Bucky found ways to entertain yourselves. You ate dessert, because it was there; you drank champagne, because it was there. There was no shortage of interesting people to watch, and Bucky laughed until he had to hide his face in his hands when you began to name and narrate the most insufferable guests. You were slumped against him in your seat, giggling and whispering the intricate backstories you created as he wheezed.

His cheeks ached from smiling. Maybe these stuffy events weren’t so bad, after all.

But then, in the middle of a fascinating story about Mrs. Trenchcoat from table twelve and the scandal she had caused with her gardener, the music that had been playing softly in the background crescendoed. Tables were moved, a space in the middle of the room opened up, and to Bucky’s absolute dismay, you decided you wanted to dance.

It was cute that you thought you could move him. You might as well have been pulling on a lead weight; Bucky stayed firmly seated despite how you tugged at his hand. It was one thing to dance with you in the privacy of his living room, but this?

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stalled, his mouth twisting into a wince as he glanced nervously at the crowd. Many people were still seated at their tables, chattering away, enjoying their too-expensive meals and watered-down cocktails. Some had moved to the dance floor, though none of them were really dancing— they laughed and swayed, the awkwardness they should be feeling eased away by the drinks in their hands.

None of them were paying Bucky the slightest bit of attention. But that would change— he knew it would change— the moment they saw the former Winter Soldier take to the dance floor.

“Buck,” you said gently, bringing his focus back to you. Your head tilted to the side, a sly smile on your lips. “You’re an upright fella, yeah?”

The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. He knew the slang was prehistoric, knew you were teasing, but he couldn’t roll his eyes when you sounded like that. Your silky smooth cadence, that smoky undertone— that was a bedroom voice, not a ballroom voice. He saw the gleam in your eyes, knew you were setting a trap, but he was defenseless; he fell for it anyway.

You leaned forward, pouting, and his gaze was drawn down your chest to the plunging neckline of your dress. His eyes snapped back up to yours when you huffed, and it took everything he had to keep them there as you spoke. “You wouldn’t make your girl go dance on her own, now, would you?”

His girl.

Suddenly Bucky was twenty years old again, wholly infatuated and in over his head. He remembered this feeling— the sweaty palms he had to wipe on his slacks, the uneasy understanding that the gal he was trying to talk up was way out of his league. But truth be told, those girls he used to chase after had nothing on you. And if he thought he was nervous back then, well…

But he had no reason to be nervous, he told himself. You were his girl. His. He saw it in every move you made, heard it in every word you spoke. And you were standing in front of him, asking him to dance— what kind of man would he be to deny you?

Bucky climbed to his feet with an unconvincingly resigned sigh. But he had to take a moment to steady himself, to blink, because the pure joy on your face was like staring at the goddamn sun— and the sun was staring right back. All of your warmth, directed solely at him. It was enough to melt a man. He was molten, gooey, unsteady on his feet as you led him to the dance floor.

Either you didn’t notice the stares that followed the two of you across the room, or you had decided to ignore them, but Bucky wasn’t that strong. Some of the strangers were subtle, sneaking glances as they sipped their wine, hiding their mouths as they whispered. Others gawked outright, but it made no difference— that syrupy softness in his bones hardened again as ice-cold waters lapped at his heels.

Bucky straightened his shoulders and dug in, still marching forward. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you, and he had already gotten this far. Even if the tide rose around him, he could probably hold his breath for one song. Could maybe stay afloat for two.

You stopped at the edge of the dance floor and turned to face Bucky, still beaming— at least, until you saw his face. He did his best to smile, but gave up almost immediately. That pained grimace he could force might fool some people, but not you. Never you.

“They’re watching us,” he whispered as an explanation, the words coming out more panicked than he would have liked.

“Okay.” A new song was starting, a slow one, and you tried to move closer to Bucky. To get in position, like he showed you in the living room all those months ago.

But Bucky balked. He at least managed to keep himself from stepping backward, from causing a scene; his feet stayed firmly planted on the floor, but his arms were stiff at his sides, and a muscle in his clenched jaw started up a steady throb. You frowned, watching him with worried eyes.

This was your last chance, he realized. If you walked away now, people would forget about you— they would go home and say they saw the Winter Soldier at the gala, sure, but that was all. They’d say he was brooding and unpleasant, but that was inescapable.

But if he took your hand— if he danced with you here, on display for everybody to see— well, that was something worth gossiping about. That would raise questions. Not just about him, but about you, too— because what kind of person would dance with a monster like him? You would be tied to him inextricably. Your reputation would suffer. Why would you want to be associated with the Winter Soldier when you had the option to avoid it?

If you walked away now, they wouldn’t drag you into this. If you wanted to walk away now, Bucky would understand.

His thoughts were spiraling so quickly that his mouth couldn’t keep up. “They don’t have to know—” he choked out, shaking his head. “You don’t— if you leave, you—”

You stretched up onto your toes and kissed him.

This wasn’t just an innocent peck. This wasn’t the kind of kiss that could be explained away as something casual, or shrugged off as something between friends. This was your open mouth on his, your tongue flicking out to tempt his lips apart. Your hands on either side of his face, supporting him, holding him there until you felt him take a deep breath. Relax. Suddenly, the world was quieter. And if a few camera flashes happened to go off in the meantime, well, so be it.

No more questions. No more doubts. No matter what, you were here to stay.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” you said when you broke away, a roguish smile curling your lips— and damn it, he loved you— “let's dance.”

Bucky was still a gentleman, of course. Didn’t want to be too forward. He offered you his left hand, which you took, then wrapped his right arm gently around your waist— but instead of leaving space between your bodies like he intended, you pushed forward to close the gap.

It was unexpected, but he didn’t mind. Felt more natural like this, anyway— the familiar thud of your heart beating against his chest, and his own a slower, stronger echo. Looking down at you, he tried to hide his smile. “What happened to leaving six inches for Jesus?”

You snorted. “Oh, there’s no saving us now.”

He chuckled at that, and you squeezed his hand, reassuring, before carefully lacing your fingers with his. Flesh and metal intertwined, one and the same.

Together you fell into a gentle step, ambling around the dance floor, your clasped hands held proudly for anyone to see. You weren’t ashamed of him. You didn’t try to hide the reality of the hand you were holding, though that would’ve been impossible, anyways— the thousands of tiny lights strung like stars across the ceiling refracted off the exposed metal as he moved, a dazzling display.

It was embarrassing. Ostentatious, almost. But your bracelet, your goddamn bracelet, was looped delicately around your wrist, and it shimmered alongside him— his perfect match.

Bucky was weak. He was losing it. He took a deep breath.

The icy water that had been threatening to overtake him was shallow enough to stand, he realized. The soles of his shoes touched down against the rocky shore, and he sighed the tension from his shoulders.

You glanced up at him, smiling, because you could feel it— the relaxation in his muscles, the gentleness in his grip. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. How could he explain his sudden certainty, this confidence that no matter how rough the waters were, he would be able to hold steady? If the words existed, he didn’t know them.

He chose a different direction instead. “Don’t know this song,” he murmured as he swayed.

“You don’t know a lot of songs.”

He glared at you. Lovingly, of course. “It’s not like the ones on your playlists, either.”

“Mmm, no,” you agreed. “This one is pretty old.”

One corner of his mouth twitched up, and he couldn’t resist. “Old like me?”

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Not that old,” you said flatly. “After. In between.”

In between. All those decades, history that you could only read about, but Bucky had lived it— well, he hadn’t. Not really.

The thought settled easier, now that he had heard it so many times from so many people. All of those years, the lifetime he spent as the Winter Soldier— yes, it was him. It was his body, wielded as a weapon, subjected to brutality no man should have to endure. It was his mind, scrambled and wiped, tormented until he had no choice but to comply.

It was him. He was there— but that didn’t mean it was his fault. He didn’t have to grapple with that dichotomy anymore; both could be true. Both were true.

In the most basic sense of the word, Bucky was alive all that time. But this? This was living.

Soft blankets, a sitcom laugh track in the dark. Slow-building confidence and burnt meals for two. A bouquet of flowers, pancakes and coffee, naps in the afternoon. Clumsy conversations. Tentative smiles.

Intertwined fingers, the taste of your laugh against his lips. Nights spent wrapped together, whispering words too fragile to say in the daylight.

Bucky’s darkest secrets, yes, but his brightest ones, too.

The harsh realities, facing his fears head-on. Acceptance of his past, and his present. You carried the weight of forgiveness when it was too heavy for him to bear alone.

But it grew lighter and lighter, day by day.

The music trailed off into silence, and when the next song began, your eyes shot up to his. They crinkled at the corners, and half a second later, it clicked. Bucky knew this song.

“Elvis,” he said, his voice so thick with emotion it was almost a croak. The same song you danced to in the living room, all those months ago. At the start of this— whatever this was.

Bucky had never been too good at staying on key, especially not when he had to keep quiet, so he didn’t sing along. But he couldn’t resist breathing the lyrics against your ear, whisper-soft, for you alone.

“Like a river flows surely to the sea,Darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.Take my hand, take my whole life too,For I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Your skin erupted in goosebumps beneath his words, and he smiled. God, he smiled.

If it wasn’t for his enhanced hearing, Bucky might have missed your next words. They were butterfly-meek, muffled by how you pressed your face against his suit jacket. “Do you think it was meant to be?”

“...Hmm?” He heard you, but that didn’t mean he understood you. His mind had been elsewhere.

“Us,” you said, not clarifying anything in the slightest. “What if we didn’t meet like this?”

Bucky wasn’t following.

“Do you think it would’ve happened anyway?” You looked up, serious now, expecting an answer.

Bucky huffed nervously. “You gotta give me more to work with, here, sweets—”

“If we weren’t stuck in here together for so long,” you explained slowly, with more kindness than he deserved. “If we just, like, bumped into each other on the street, would you still… would we…?”

He finally made the connection. “Be like this?” he supplied, hugging you close for emphasis, and you nodded.

Bucky wanted to shout yes, of course. Wanted to tell you it was you and him, forever, no matter where or when or how. He wanted to quell your fears, reassure you, make it so you never had to wonder again.

But that wasn’t the truth, and he knew it.

Six months locked in this building had been stifling, sure. Bucky had resented it at first. But without it, with nothing forcing him to stay, he would have pushed you away at the first sign of trouble. He never would have fallen in love with you, because he never would have allowed himself to know you.

When you first arrived last summer, Bucky was all shattered glass and sharp edges. He held himself like a knife, like a warning— don’t come too close, he tried to say. His heart was a hand grenade, dormant for now, but sooner or later something would pull the pin. And maybe under other circumstances, he would’ve been able to convince you to stay away; if not forever, at least long enough for him to start running. To put distance between himself and the love he didn’t think he deserved, so when the detonation inevitably hit, he wouldn’t hurt anyone except for himself.

But trapped in this building, in this apartment, he had nowhere to hide. And you saw right through him, whether he wanted you to or not.

You saw his nightmares, and how the serrated edge of guilt cut into him as soon as his defenses went down with the sun. You saw how terrors from his past would sometimes get stuck on a loop in his head, and how no matter how irrational they seemed under the bright kitchen light, he couldn’t stop them. You saw his fears, and his doubts— was he redeemable? He didn’t know. Did he deserve kindness? He wasn’t convinced.

Yes, you answered, confident and bold enough for him to hear you over the turbulence of his thoughts. Because you saw his hope, too— you saw the gentleness in his heart, still there despite having every reason to wither.

He wasn’t as damned as he thought he was.

And by some miracle, in that splintered mess of a human, you saw the reflections of something beautiful. He was in pieces when you met, hiding it as best as he could, but even beneath the flakes of gold holding him together you saw something worth waiting for. Something worth holding on to.

So yes, maybe this was meant to be. Bucky had lost faith in religion a long time ago, but something this perfect didn’t just happen by accident.

“I love you now,” he said, avoiding your question but giving you the answer you needed. He lifted your chin with a gentle metallic finger. “I love you,” he repeated, because that was what mattered— now that he had you, it would never stop being true. He didn’t know how to say it convincingly enough, but you knew what he meant. You always knew.

You looked up at Bucky and smiled through your tears, and like snow in the sun of your radiance, he melted all over again. He was slush, a puddle at your feet. His own eyes felt wet; he blinked rapidly, and in the corner of his vision, a camera flashed.

It should have made him uncomfortable. It should have made him want to hide, because yes, people were watching him. Whispering about him. But even without looking, he could tell there was something different about how they were staring at him now. The stinging hate and burning vitriol he was used to was gone, and when he looked up, he found only curious eyes and soft, reassuring smiles.

Maybe it was because of the article, or maybe it was because they were hardly looking at Bucky, anyway.

They were looking at you.

You were glowing with happiness, the brightest star in the sky. But maybe Bucky wasn’t the black hole he always thought he was. Like how his hand, intertwined with yours, glimmered under the lights— dancing with you, it seemed like maybe he was reflecting some of your brilliance.

His light was dim for now, and only when the angle was just right. But maybe with time, it would grow.

Maybe someday he could shine, too.

The falling snow hadn’t eased up all night, and when Bucky peered through the front doors, the view outside was equal parts beautiful and eerie. With everything coated in a thick layer of white, the road and lawn were indistinguishable. Your car, parked out front and waiting, was encased in a fluffy white shell.

At twenty minutes until midnight, you and Bucky escaped from the gala. You hurried to change out of your formal clothes in the lobby bathroom, shedding the gown and suit for more practical items: jeans and boots, winter coats. Gloves. With the last of your belongings in a small duffle bag, you went to the front door to wait.

Bucky knew a lot about snow. It made it easy for him to cover his tracks when he didn’t want to be found, and even easier for him to stalk a less knowledgeable target. Snow could be used as insulation if needed, as a last-ditch effort to prevent hypothermia. It could be used to reduce swelling on an injury, or to numb a wound for stitching.

Snow could be bright, even at night. The floodlights outside of the building would normally stretch far across the grounds, but with the density of the falling snow, it was like that brightness was gathered up and kept near. The snowfall caught the light and reflected it upward, creating a luminous glow, and although his range of visibility was limited, up close he could see clear as day.

In the ballroom, the crowd began to count down.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

Bucky’s pulse was racing, his heart hammering in his chest. The thrill of impending freedom, and fear of the unknown— the rest of his life was a blank slate, and the possibilities ahead of him were endless. The past was the past, and here was his future: he couldn’t yet see what it held, but he welcomed it.

“Six… five… four…”

Your gloved hand squeezed his, bulky but still familiar. “Ready?” you asked. You looked up at him with adoration shining in your eyes, giddy with excitement, shaking a bit from the chill.

Bucky exhaled, and nodded. “Been ready, sweets.”

“Three… two… one…”

The crowd roared as the clock struck twelve. Bucky grabbed your face between his hands and smashed his smiling lips against yours— hard, and only for a second. A quick New Year's kiss, because he was supposed to. He had to.

But then the doors slid open, and you ran.

Snow also absorbed sound. The whoops and cheers echoing through the lobby were muffled as soon as Bucky stepped outside, and all he could hear was you. Your laughter as you fled, glancing back over your shoulder at him. The soft thuds of your footsteps, slipping on the covered ground. Your hummingbird heartbeat. It was all you. Only you.

Your sprint through the shin-high snow was more on par with Bucky’s casual jog, so after following you for a few yards he scooped you up in his arms without breaking stride. You screeched and laughed into the quiet night, holding on to his neck while he ran to the edge of the darkness. Just before the light emanating from the compound gave way to black, he turned on his heel and jogged back toward the building.

He slowed as he approached, and when he reached the halfway mark he gently dropped to his knees. You rolled out of his arms and flopped into the powder, and he had to laugh; he had set you up for a much more graceful landing, but of course you had to do it your own way.

“C’mon,” you urged as you crawled around, eventually settling flat on your back. “Snow angel. Don’t tell me you’ve never made a snow angel.”

“‘Course I have.” A century ago, maybe, on an undisturbed sidewalk before anyone had the chance to walk by and muck it up. But not since then— at least, never on purpose. Bucky reclined next to you, and though he gave a halfhearted attempt at moving his arms and legs, his attention was on you.

Bucky knew a lot about snow. But he had forgotten how fun it could be, if you could just look past the cold long enough to enjoy it.

He didn’t want to be sappy, so he didn’t notice the way the stars reflected in your shining eyes, and how it made his heart stutter. He didn’t notice the softness in your expression as you watched him crawl over top of you, or how you only had eyes for him, like somehow he was more beautiful and held more magic than the entirety of the cosmos above him.

The choices you had were endless, but you picked him. Every time.

Bucky focused on the snowflakes that stuck to your hair, landed on your eyelashes, and melted on your cheeks as he leaned in and kissed you.

You cradled his jaw with one gloved hand. The knit was soft, but it caught in his bristly stubble, and you used it to keep him in front of you even after he broke the kiss. “Bucky,” you said. He pretended he didn’t hear you, just so you would say his name again. “Bucky. Listen to me. I love you.”

He knew. He knew, he knew, he knew.

But then he gasped, his shoulders jerking straight up to his ears, when a handful of freezing wet snow smashed against the back of his neck.

He arched away from you while you cackled, but that only made it worse. The icy slush slid down inside of his jacket as you scrambled to your feet, and by the time he turned to you, outraged, you were running.

You knew what you did. You knew what was coming.

Bucky planned to let you run for a bit— was going to let you have a head start— but you didn’t make it far at all before you slipped, falling clumsily to your hands and knees with a shriek.

It didn’t make any difference, anyway; Bucky’s aim was just as good at one hundred yards as it was at ten. He scooped up snowball after snowball, shaping them in his hands before pelting them at you.

He never missed.

After seven direct hits to your back, you stopped attempting to stand and settled flat on your stomach instead. “I surrender, I surrender!” you cried, the words almost unintelligible through your laughter. Bucky brushed the remaining snow off of his gloves, smug, and walked over to help you up.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” you panted as you climbed to your feet. “You’re gonna regret that so bad.”

Bucky knew a lot about regret, too. He had made plenty of mistakes in his life. But if making you laugh like this was what counted as a mistake these days? Well, he could live with that.

“Forgive me?” he asked, grinning, because he already knew the answer.

“Always,” you said. “Because I love you.” He hugged you tight before you finished your thought. “Unfortunately.”

You did, though. You did.

Your lips met his and he couldn’t believe it. His body was numb, but not from the cold. “I love you,” you whispered into his mouth. “I do.”

He almost asked you then. He wanted to. But you deserved more than a half-assed plan, deserved better than no ring and an impulse. You deserved more, but you wanted Bucky, and whatever messes that entailed. He patted his jacket pocket, as if what he needed would magically appear there, but of course it didn’t. Not yet. Not today.

You were both grinning when you broke apart, but you were trembling in his arms, your teeth chattering as your whole body shivered to keep warm. The frigid water was slowly soaking through your layers of clothes, and you couldn’t hide your discomfort any longer.

“C’mon,” Bucky said, draping his arm around your shoulders. “You gotta change again. There are more clothes in the bag.” But when he turned to head back toward the building, he paused.

A small crowd had gathered just outside the doors. Still in their suits and formal dresses, they huddled together on the sidewalk, rubbing their arms for warmth as they chatted amongst themselves. It was a shoddy attempt at looking casual— like they would have come outside for any reason other than to watch.

Steve and Sam and Natasha stood at the front, of course, but there were others, too. Either to be supportive, or to be nosy— Bucky didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. He focused on the familiar, friendly faces. They were enough.

You both took a few moments to say goodbye to Bucky’s teammates. His friends. He promised Steve he’d call in the morning, and assured Sam that he would ask for help if he needed it. Natasha watched him with a self-satisfied smile, and Bucky hugged her extra tight— he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to thank her, but he did.

The car was packed and started. The hotel room was booked and waiting.

There was still that dark shred of doubt lurking in his chest— telling him he didn’t deserve this, that this happiness wasn’t his to keep. That voice would always be there, he supposed. But it was easier to ignore with his friends standing behind him, and the sun of his universe lighting his path forward.

Silhouetted by the glow of the night sky behind you, framed in silver and starlight, you looked at Bucky with galaxies in your eyes. “Come on,” you whispered, your voice vibrating with excitement. “It’s time to go.”

Bucky took your hand and followed you. He always would.

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romanoffjohansson · 2 years ago

Text

METHOD ACTING MASTERLIST

18+

frat!steve x reader x frat!bucky

series status: complete

series summary: frat!steve and y/n are close friends, but the lines are starting to blur. if that isn't confusing enough, enter beryl; a girl who's hell-bent on making steve rogers hers, no matter what it takes.

series warning: frat!steve x fem!reader, frat!bucky x reader, frat!steve x frat!bucky, fluff, angst, smut, eventual polyamory, mature themes.

🎥

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Epilogue

🎥

DRABBLES/

the time bunny and bucky slept together

how bucky and bunny's friendship developed

karaoke night

when bunny met steve

what music the boys are into

when steve told bunny about peggy

bucky x dummy lactation kink

sorry, mommy- i mean, mommy- i mean mo-

that time steve and bucky crossed the lines of friendship

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romanoffjohansson · 2 years ago

Text

Undisclosed - Masterlist

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.

Warnings: Beefy!bucky, angst, references to death/crime, injury, toxicity, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **), a bit of slow burn!!

a/n: This series is now complete 🤍

Series playlist ⍋

❆ Chapter One

❆ Chapter Two

❆ Chapter Three

❆ Chapter Four

❆ Chapter Five

❆ Chapter Six**

❆ Chapter Seven

❆ Chapter Eight

❆ Chapter Nine

❆ Chapter Ten

❆ Epilogue

Series art!!

🤍 Bucky

🤍 Bucky and Alpine

🤍Scenery

🤍 Bucky at the diner

Extra content!!

Reader gets sick (drabble)

Spring in Stowe Mills (oneshot)

The bear attack (drabble)

Come Home (oneshot)

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romanoffjohansson · 2 years ago

Text

How’s Your Head? | Bucky Barnes x Reader

This has been in my WIP forever and I finally finished it. Once again, I am looking for a soft, kind, Bucky Barnes to take care of me and flirt with me. Is that so much to ask?🥲

This is slightly longer than my usual stuff, just FYI. The WC is 7280. And yes the title is a Drag Race reference. 😂

Warnings: reader injury (not severe), creepy men (jail), blood, vomit, flirting, fluff🫶

Bucky didn’t like the staring. The eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. The old woman just a few seats down from him leered at him almost aggressively, like she hoped looks could kill. And though this was a common occurrence, it still rubbed him the wrong way.

“Another adoring fan…” Bucky thought.

He shifted side to side along with the rocking of the subway car and did his best to ignore her gaze- but couldn’t stand it any longer. He gave her a nod and a small, forced smile before heading for the adjoining subway car. Hopefully, he’d find an empty seat free from gawkers and onlookers.

But when he opened the door to the next car, he didn’t find the peace and quiet he’d hoped for.

“I’m not interested…” you said to the creepy guy sitting next to you.

“Oh, come on,” the man insisted. “Don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He rested a hand on your thigh and gave your leg a squeeze, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Fuck off, dude. Seriously?” You banished his hand and stood from your seat, “eat glass, asshole.”

But as you tried to make your getaway, the man grabbed you by the wrist. He pulled you close as you struggled in his grip, his face only inches from yours. “Maybe you should learn some fuckin’ manners,” he threw you to the ground, your head striking the floor.

Bucky flew into a blind rage. He made quick work of your assailant, nearly removing the man’s head from his body. And with the entitled dickhead desperately escaping to another subway car, Bucky made his way to your side.

“Hey, are you alright?”

You sat on the floor, slightly dazed. A thick fog settled into every corner of your mind and your ears stung with a sharp ringing. “Yeah, I’m good. Didn’t hurt that bad,” you lied. Yet another interaction with an unknown man. Yes, he’d shooed away your creeper, but you wanted to be left alone. No more strange men, no more men pretending to be “one of the good guys” before showing their true self.

If you could convince this random guy that you were okay, maybe he wouldn’t bother you. Maybe you’d be able to make it home without being touched by another strange hand. “Thanks for asking, but I’m-”

“Oh- you’re bleeding”. Only then did you notice the rush of warmth running down the back of your neck. Bucky yanked the jacket from his body and reached for your bloodied skull before quickly recoiling. “Erm, can I?”

You nodded- the motion made you wince.

With cautious hands, he used his jacket to hold pressure to your wound. He stared down at you with genuine concern, his brow furrowed with worry.

After a few moments, most of the fog cleared and brought you screeching back to reality. The reality in which a man you’d never met held his jacket to your bleeding scalp as you sat on the floor of a subway car. Pain pulsed beneath his touch and shot through your head. Warm blood dripped down your neck. But you didn’t care- all you wanted was to move.

Bucky watched as you struggled to get up and instantly tried to stop you. “Hey, careful. I don’t think-”

“I don’t wanna be on this floor any longer than I have to,” you did your best to stand, but the dizziness sabotaged your efforts. “People do weird shit on the train. I’d probably sitting in someone’s pee.”

Bucky gave it a thought and instantly reconsidered his cautioning. “Ew. Yeah. You’re right,” the disgusted look on his face nearly made you laugh out loud. He thought back on all the questionable and downright nasty things he’d seen on the subway- he didn’t want you on that floor. “May I?” He offered you his free hand and got you safely into a seat.

“Which stop is yours?” He asked, settling into the chair next to you. And though he seemed like a perfect gentleman, you gave him a suspicious glance.

“Oh- I didn’t mean that in a ‘where do you live, I’m gonna follow you home’ type of way. More like, ‘how many stops do you have left before you can go get some rest?’ type of way”

You let out a laugh that sent pain pulsing behind your eyes. Maybe this stranger wasn’t so bad. “Um, I still have like five to go. I think. I’m coming all the way from Coney Island.”

“Coney Island, huh?” A rush of memories hit Bucky like a train. Riding the cyclone with Steve and watching him puke. Spending all his money to win a stuffed animal for some redhead he had a crush on.

“Yeah, I got to hang out with a girl I know from college. Haven’t seen her in a while and she’s never been out there. It was actually a pretty great day until that asshole cracked my head open…”

Bucky grimaced. He pulled his jacket from your scalp to give the wound another look, only to be greeted by a continuous flow of blood. “I think you should probably go to the ER. You might need stitches. And there’s a good chance you have a concussion.”

You shot him only a nonchalant shrug, “I’m not worried about it. Plus, I don’t feel like going into debt so they can give me two Tylenol and an ice pack”.

Bucky liked your sense of humor, your wit. How you could be cheeky and sarcastic after being accosted surprised him. But he clocked the tension in your shoulders, the worry in your eyes. You were uneasy. Your glance darted from one end of the subway car to the other every few seconds; he knew you had to be searching for your assailant. Or the next man who wanted to touch you without permission.

“Hey, would you rather take a cab home?” Bucky said, pulling you from your anxious spiral. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want to ride the train after what happened.”

“Oh, um…”

“I’m not inviting myself home with you-” Bucky shook his head. He was cute when he got flustered. “I just mean, I’ll pay for you to take a cab if you’re uncomfortable.”

How you seemed to meet both the bottom of the barrel and the crème de le crème of men back-to-back nearly gave you whiplash. But this handsome stranger had done enough; you couldn’t let him pay for your ride home. “That’s- wow, that’s really sweet. But you don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“What if I want to? You seem uneasy… like you’re waiting for him to come back.”

You nodded.

“Then let’s get you a cab, alright? Next stop, we’re outta here.” He shot you a wink before once again reassuring you that he was not going to follow you home. “Is there someone who can keep an eye on you, though? Like I said, you probably have a concussion. And if your roommate or, um, significant other can sit with you for the rest of the night, that would be a good idea. Head injuries are no joke.”

“Well, I don’t have a significant other,” you almost laughed. “And my roommate’s out of town. She was supposed to get back around sevenish, but her flight got crazy delayed because of weather- now she’s not getting home for a few hours.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He checked his watch and saw that it was only 8:04pm. He needed someone to sit with you for the rest of the night. Just in case something happened, you’d need a friend or loved one by your side. And if you didn’t have someone there with you, Bucky knew he’d spend the remainder of his evening worrying about the cute stranger he met on the train.

Just then, the subway stopped. Bucky offered you his arm and guided you onto the platform and up the stairs- all while keeping his jacket in place against your wound. Getting away from the train eliminated your unease. No longer were you trapped in the tiny space, your blood staining the floor. You had an escort in the form of a good samaritan, and a ride that would get you home without any further abuse.

But when Bucky hailed you a cab, your anxiety resurfaced.

“Hey, um…” you eyed the car as it approached, “Would you- do you mind riding with me?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side.

“I don’t know- I’m just a little nervous and I don’t really wanna be in a cab alone with another random man,” you said. “I know it’s probably inconvenient for you- I’ll pay for your ride home from my place.” The taxi neared the curb and stopped in front of you, sending your unease into overdrive. “Do you mind?”

Bucky clocked your wide eyes and shaking hands. Sure, you made jokes and sarcastic quips about what happened. But deep down, you were shaken. And he wanted to help in any way he could. “Not at all- I get it,” he gave you a reassuring look, “and you don’t have to pay for my ride. Let’s just get you home, alright?”

He held the door open for you and helped you into the cab before sliding in behind you- his hand still attached to your bloody skull. The ride was quiet, save for the honking of horns and cursing drivers. But having Bucky with you for the duration eased your discomfort.

“So, is there anyone you can call to come look after you?” Bucky asked after a while, “A friend, a neighbor, a family member?”

“I don’t really have any friends,” you said. “But not in a ‘I’m a loser and can’t make friends’ kind of way, I promise.” Bucky laughed. You liked his laugh. “I’m just still kinda new here. And all my family lives in across the country. Plus, I only know two of my neighbors. One of them is an old man who always tell me my skin looks ‘so soft’-”

Bucky’s nose wrinkled, “Ew…"

“Yeah. And the other is this girl who told me to shut the fuck up because she thinks my footsteps are too loud? So yeah, I don’t have many connections here yet.”

He sensed a little embarrassment staining your words and aimed to make you feel better, “Well I’ve lived here for quite some time, and I don’t have any friends, either.”

That didn’t seem possible to you. He was so likable. Quiet, yet endearing. And certainly, a gentleman. He made you feel safe. You wondered how his girlfriend would react when she found out he took another woman home.

Bucky found himself wondering how you didn’t have swaths of friends. Even after your harrowing experience on the train, you were so charming. Funny. Sweet. It was even harder for him to believe you didn’t have a love interest to go home to. But after what he’d witnessed tonight, he didn’t blame you for keeping to yourself.

“What part of town do you live in?” You did your best to conceal the optimism in your voice, the hoped that he lived close by. It was embarrassing how smitten you were with this man.

“Brooklyn,” Bucky said. “I’ve lived there for a while- save for some years I spent, um, away.”

Brooklyn. Nothing a quick train ride couldn’t solve. Though you weren’t too keen on the subway after the night’s events. “Well, tell your girlfriend that I apologize for keeping you so long.”

“I don’t have one,” Bucky said. Things inside the cab fell quiet.

“Oh. Well, do you-” you second guessed yourself, but decided to push through. “Do you want to stay with me until my roommate gets home? You know, since you’re so worried about me and my possible concussion and my lack of friends.”

Bucky stopped breathing. “Oh, um. Sure. Yeah. If that’s- if that’s alright. You sure you’re okay inviting a stranger into your house?”

“Well, you’re not really a stranger, Sergeant Barnes”. You shot him a wink.

An immediate ringing filled Bucky’s ears. He didn’t know what to say, how to react.

The rest of the ride was quiet. Bucky’s mind echoed with the sound of your voice referring to him by name. He liked the way it sounded coming from you. But he hated that you knew who- and what- he was. And when the cab turned onto your street and stopped in front of your apartment, he nearly panicked. He reconsidered his agreement to stay with you. But you didn’t seem to mind having the ex-Winter Soldier so close. And he didn’t want you to be alone with a head injury.

Against his better judgement, he followed you to the front door of your building.

“My great aunt actually lived here back in the fifties,” you told Bucky as you fumbled for your keys. Bucky wondered how you could tell casual stories while dealing with a head injury and an ex-assassin. But as you continued to speak, he realized that he didn’t quite hear what you’d said. He was still reeling from your mention of his name.

And then he noticed you struggling. You were dizzy after cracking your head open, and a slight shaking rendered your hands almost useless. No matter how many times you tried, you couldn’t seem to finagle the key into the lock.

“Um, do you want some help?” He gestured to your keys and allowed you to drop them into his free hand. He pushed the old door open with a loud creak and escorted you inside the lobby- his hand still resting on the back of your head. It was quiet while the two of you waited for the ancient elevator to roar to life. And when the doors finally opened, he guided you inside and watched you press the ‘5’ button.

“So… how’d you know it was me?” He asked as the elevator slowly climbed to your floor.

“Well, when I first saw you, I thought you looked kinda familiar. But I couldn’t place you”. You laughed a quiet, bashful laugh, “Then you knelt down next to me, and I thought I was gonna pass out- but not from the head trauma. You just you have like, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.” The head injury had you a bit loopy, a little too honest. Too confident. “I knew I’d seen those eyes before… and then it clicked. You were so chivalrous, you know? So old fashioned. I mean, who uses their own jacket to stop a stranger’s head wound from bleeding?”

Bucky shrugged. His cheeks flushed pink.

“I read a book a few years ago about Captain America and his efforts during World War II. And there was a huge portion about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes… And that’s where I’d seen those eyes.” You flashed him a dramatic wink, “Truth be told, it was my favorite part of the book.”

A shy laugh made its way out of Bucky’s mouth, “Is that so?”

The elevator lurched to a stop and nearly sent you tumbling to the floor. You’d gotten used to the clunky machine since moving into the building, but your sabotaged equilibrium didn’t stand a chance against it. Bucky caught you in a careful, protective grasp before you could tip over. He gently righted you and searched your face for any indicators of discomfort.

“You alright?”

“All good, Sergeant Barnes.” You gave him a salute.

He rolled his eyes and escorted you into the hall, “you can just call me Bucky, if you like.”

“Okay, Bucky-” you said with a smile, “follow me.” You lead him in the direction of your apartment- with his jacket still plastered to your scalp. The man was determined to help you. You’d give him that.

You once again needed his assistance when it came to unlocking your front door. But when Bucky got the door open, he just stood there. He didn’t go inside. He held the door for you and insisted you go ahead, finally peeling the jacket from your wound. He knew he didn’t belong here.

You noticed how tentative he was about entering your home and beckoned him inside. “You can come in…” you said. “Are super soldiers like vampires? Do y’all need an invitation?”

Bucky laughed, “No. I just… I don’t do this kind of thing very often.”

“Oh, you don’t accompany injured women home from the subway on a weekly basis? I’m shocked.”

You flipped on the light and let the warm glow reveal your apartment. Bucky admired the art covering your walls, the books lining your shelves, the smell of some kind of baked goods lingering in the air. This place was cozy, welcoming. Nothing like his apartment.

While he was distracted drinking in the details of your home, you gave his jacket a once over. Blood coated the leather and smeared the lining. It was enough to make you nauseous. “Sorry about this mess… here, let me clean it up for-”

“It’s leather- I’m not worried about it,” Bucky shrugged. “I’ll just wipe it off later.”

“Ew, I think that’s considered a biohazard, Sarge.”

Bucky’s laugh echoed through your home- you liked the sound of his voice bouncing around your space. “Well, lucky for me, I’m not susceptible to biohazards. So, really, it’s not a big deal.” He shot you a wink and hung his bloody jacket on the back of a chair. “Let me take a look at your head.”

He gently moved your hair out of the way enough to expose your wound. He was as careful as he possible not to hurt you or make things worse. And using the dish towel you offered him, he wiped away enough blood to get a good look.

“It’s big, but not deep enough to warrant stitches. And it looks like the bleeding has finally come to a stop.”

“Perfect. I’m gonna go take a shower” you said. “Make yourself at home. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge, except the kombucha. My roommate will murder you if you drink her kombucha.”

Bucky didn’t even know what kombucha was. “Are- are you sure you wanna go shower?”

“Um, yeah. Gotta get the subway-floor germs off me,” you gave a dramatic shudder. “Some of us are, indeed, susceptible to biohazards.”

“That’s fair,” he laughed, “I’m just a little worried about your balance… I think it’s probably seen better days.”

He wasn’t wrong. The floor did indeed seem to dip and shift under you unsuspecting feet. The room spun on occasion. The walls wiggled. But you needed to get cleaned up. “I’ll be extra careful. Promise.” You offered him your pinky and made him link his with yours. “But I have more blood in my hair than anyone should- I need a shower.” You left Bucky alone in your living room with a promise to be back soon.

It was strange for him, being in a stranger’s home like this. He didn’t get invited places or have friends to hang out with. He had Sam- and that was it. And while Sam was great, he never felt quite like this at Sam’s apartment. Something about your place warmed him, made him feel a little lighter. Or maybe it was you. Who was he kidding? Of course, it was you.

But Bucky knew this feeling couldn’t last. In a few hours, your roommate would return and send him home. And that would be the end of it. Of course, he’d be thrilled to see you again under better circumstances. But assuming he’d get that chance would only lead to disappointment. And so, as he waited for you to finish your shower, he did his best to remember this feeling just in case it was the last time.

“I said make yourself at home and you didn’t even sit down!” you said when you emerged from the bathroom. You found Bucky in the living room with his hands in his pockets, admiring your things as though he were in a museum. Looking, never touching. “Relax a little, sarge. The couch is really comfy, I promise.”

Bucky liked the way you looked with your skin still slightly damp form the shower, your hair wet and a little messy. “Oh, yeah- I just got distracted looking at all your…” he gestured to your bookcase, “your books and your tchotchkes. You have good taste- I like that you have two copies of Fellowship of the Ring.”

“Well, my sister dropped one of them in the lake at summer camp when we were kids…” you pointed to the faded cover and worn spine of the book in question. “She took a hairdryer to it and it’s mostly fine, but my mom made her get me a replacement. I just can’t seem to part with this one, though.” You plucked your water-damaged copy of Fellowship of the Ring from the shelf and flipped through the pages, “too much sentimental value. You know?

Bucky felt a small smile creeping upward- you didn’t mind damaged goods. Maybe you’d want to see him again after all.

“Can I get you a drink or something? I have water, tea, La Croix, wine…” you looked at him expectantly.

“Oh, no I’m okay-”

“Well, I’m going to the fridge for some water anyway, so you’re not saving me a trip…” you shot him a wink and began your trek to the kitchen. He followed in your footsteps, too much of a gentleman to let you fetch him a drink. And though he didn’t know what La Croix was, he took the one you offered him with a smile.

He followed you yet again, but to the couch this time. He sat a respectful distance away- as respectful as your small couch would allow- and taste tested the blackberry drink in his hand. It didn’t taste like blackberries. But he thanked you, anyway.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to check in on you after your shower- he was too entranced by the sight of you in your pajamas. “Hey, how’s your head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints.”

Maybe it was too forward of a joke. Maybe someone from his time wouldn’t appreciate crass humor. Bucky’s cheeks flushed red- and he burst into laughter. You joined him, ignoring the throbbing pain in your skull.

“It feels fine. I mean, it hurts, but it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before” you said. “Are you just gonna make sure I stay up all night?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “uh, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Oh…” you grew a little embarrassed. “I thought you couldn’t go to sleep if you have a concussion.”

“You can go to sleep- it’s just good to have someone check in on you now and then,” he said. “And, hey, you don’t have to stay in here with me- don’t feel like you have to entertain me, or anything. If you wanna go to bed, I’ll be fine out here.”

“Well, I don’t know about entertaining, cause I think the concussion kinda fucked up my ability to tap dance,” you laughed. “But I wanna hang out here with you- if you don’t mind the company.”

He gave you a shy smile, “I don’t mind at all.”

Bucky wasn’t anything like the tabloids said. He wasn’t cold or scary or threatening. He sat on your couch, sipping a La Croix and admiring your throw blanket. He was the farthest thing from intimidating. He had a quiet calm about him that brought you peace. Never did you think you’d invite a man you met on the subway to accompany you home. But Bucky made you feel safe. He was sweet, he clearly cared for your well-being. He was, by all definitions, perfect.

“So, what do superheroes do in their downtime?” you asked. “Like when you’re not saving the world, what do you do for fun?”

Bucky shrugged. He didn’t do anything for fun. “Um, I have court mandated therapy appointments,” he gave an awkward laugh. “I read. I hang out with Sam when he’s not in Louisiana visiting his sister. And I have lunch with a neighbor of mine every Wednesday- this old man named Yori.”

“I’m sure he could say the same about you- that he has lunch with some old man named Bucky.”

Bucky’s head fell back in a laugh, “yeah, you’re right. He’s- he’s about twenty years younger than me.” Bucky didn’t bring up the fact that Yori didn’t know his real age or anything about his past. About how the Winter Soldier killed his son. “Um, what about you?” He quickly changed the subject, “what do you do for fun?”

You thought it over for a moment. You hadn’t expected him to ask; most guys never asked what you liked to do for fun. They didn’t ask you anything at all, really. “Well, I also go to therapy,” you said. “My therapist’s name is Angela and I love her. And when I’m not ‘hanging out’ with Angela, I like to read. I like to go on walks. Oh, and I do a lot of baking- there’s a Tupperware of chocolate chip cookies on the island if you want some.”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. He was off the couch quicker than you could comprehend and returned with the entire Tupperware in hand. But before he could dive in, he offered one to you. He was a gentleman, after all.

“Oh, shit, these are so good”. Bucky wiped a stray crumb from his lip, “seriously, maybe the best I’ve ever had.”

His praise made your cheeks hot. Bucky Barnes called you ‘the best he ever had’- it was enough to make you sweat. “Oh, I’m flattered. The recipe’s been in my family for generations, though, so I can’t take full credit, but I-”

“I’m giving you full credit”, he said as he finished his second cookie. “These things are incredible.”

You smiled so hard it hurt. “Well, I make at least one batch a week, so…” This was it, your excuse to see Bucky again. You could simply say that you wanted to bake him some cookies as a way of saying thank you, and then you’d ask him out. It was a perfect plan, really. A flawless, surefire way to guarantee that you’d see him at least once more. But as you tried to suggest baking him a ‘thank you’ batch, your mouth flooded with saliva.

Bucky clocked the way you grew suddenly quiet. He dropped his third cookie and inched closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you okay? Do you need something?”

You did your best to push past the wave of nausea. Breathing in your nose and out through your mouth, you willed your body to cooperate. You made a valiant effort, but it was no match for the clear and present threat of vomit. This was happening- now. You scrambled to your feet and made a beeline for the bathroom, swearing to yourself you wouldn’t puke in front of the James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky rushed after you and found you kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach. “Oh, shit- here, let me,” he carefully moved your hair out of your face, holding it behind you in an imitation ponytail. His touch was gentle, cautious. He didn’t want to pull too hard and hurt you- you didn’t need any extra pain.

He watched your body lurch as you wretched over and over, voiding your system completely. It was harsh, almost violent. And when you finally sat back on your heels, black and white spots danced through your field of vision. You were empty. Spent. Exhausted.

“Hey, do me a favor and sit against this wall, okay?” Bucky guided you backward until you rested comfortably like he asked. “I’m gonna go get you some water, and I don’t want you tipping over while I’m gone.” Even in your despondent, miserable state, he still made you smile. And when he was certain that you wouldn’t injure yourself in his absence, he rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

He returned moments later with ice cold water in hand. “Thanks,” you croaked, your throat raw. Small sips of the cool water eased the burning. And a few more swigs rid your mouth of the unpleasant aftertaste. “I’m sure you weren’t planning on watching a stranger puke tonight,” you laughed. It made your head pound. “But I appreciate the water. And you holding my hair.”

Bucky plopped down next to you with a “sure thing” and a “don’t worry about it.” But you’d heard those phrases before. You’d heard them from people who were never a sure thing, people who made you worry about everything they did for you. They’d throw their rare acts of kindness in your face and use them as ammo in an attempt to disprove the pain they caused. It was condescending. Manipulative. Hurtful. But Bucky meant what he said. All he wanted to do was help. You could tell.

He watched you catch your breath. Watched you drink your water in small sips. But he kept an eye out for another wave of nausea. He wanted to be ready in case he needed to hold your hair again. And he found himself thanking the universe that you’d invited him in; imagining you going through this by yourself broke his heart.

“How do you feel?” he asked after a while.

“Not the best... but I’ll probably survive.”

Bucky’s laugh filled the room, “well, that’s very good news.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence. Bucky’s hand rested near yours. Your thigh bumped against his a few times. You swore electric currents passed between the two of you each time you touched.

“Hey, if you don’t mind, could you grab me some Tylenol?”

Bucky was up in an instant, ready to fetch you what you needed. But he found himself lost with no idea where he was going. He was so intent on helping, on making you feel better, that he was ready to run off without a map.

“In the cabinet to the left of the fridge,” you laughed.

He shot you a wink and sped off. And while he rummaged through your cabinet, you made an embarrassing effort to stand. You rose on wobbly legs, determined to brush your teeth. There was no way you were going to have vomit breath around Bucky- absolutely not. He was the handsome stranger of your dreams. And you couldn’t screw this up; not that you thought he’d kiss a random concussed woman he met on the subway. But you wanted to leave the very best impression possible.

Bucky came screeching own the hall, bottle of Tylenol in hand. “I didn’t know how many you wanted, so I brought the whole thing”, he shrugged. You shot him a smile in the mirror and gave him a muffled “thanks”.

He stood patiently in the doorway, waiting for you finish brushing your teeth. And when you banished the rank taste of bile, you accepted the Tylenol. You tossed back four pills, and before you could reach for your water, Bucky retrieved it for you. He was one step ahead of what you needed.

With the pills washed down your throat, you gave Bucky an expectant look. “Back to the couch?”

“Yeah, I mean, only if you’re feeling up to it,” he checked his watch. Noticed the yawn you tried to keep concealed. “If you wanna get some rest, please, don’t mind me. You can go to bed- I’ll be fine on my own.”

“No, I’m good. I’m fine,” you took him by the hand and led him back to the living room. “I’m having a good time.” Bucky didn’t say a word; he just let you guide him. He hadn’t held hands with someone in- he didn’t know how long. And holding hands with you- a stranger he’d grown rather smitten with- was enough to stop his heart.

The two of you sunk back into the couch- closer this time- and kept the conversation going. Your thigh rested against Bucky’s; his arm curved around the back of the couch. You could’ve sworn he was playing with a piece of your hair as he talked. But you didn’t want to ask and ruin the moment.

As the night continued, Bucky was shocked. He couldn’t believe you’d only heard of a few of his favorite movies. And he’d never heard of any of yours. “Make me a list,” you said, handing him a pen and a scrap of paper. “And I’ll make one for you. A person’s favorite movies say a lot about them.”

“Yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow at you. “And what do mine say about me? The ones you know of, that is.”

A sly smile pulled at your lips, “they say that you’re a hopeless romantic.” It almost sounded like an accusation, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.

“Is that so?”

“That is so!” you told him. “But I’m gonna tell you a secret…” You lowered your voice, beckoned him closer, scanned the room as though in search of any eavesdroppers. “I’m the same way.”

Just as you finished your list of movies for Bucky, you considered writing down your number. It would be so smooth, so perfectly timed- but what if he thought it was too forward? What if he didn’t want your phone number at all? You scratched out your area code and handed him the list with a smile.

The two of you continued teasing and joking and learning about each other. You found out that Bucky loved peach cobbler. He learned about your passion for animals. And eventually you asked the question you’d been curious about all night.

“So, where were you headed?”

“What?”

“Well, you were on the subway. I’m assuming you were going somewhere.” You thought he was probably going to some fellow hero’s house for Super Movie Night. Or maybe a meeting with Captain America and Company. He had something much cooler to do than anything you planned for the night, that was for sure.

“Oh, right…” he cringed. “Um, I wasn’t actually heading anywhere. I was just riding the train to, well, ride the train.” It was embarrassing. More embarrassing than anything he’d ever done or said in his hundred years of life.

You cocked your head to the side, “Hmm. Interesting. So, is that like a hobby of yours?”

He wished he could take his answer back. He wished he would’ve said he was going to dinner. Or Target. Or literally anywhere. But no, he just had to be honest. “No, it isn’t a hobby. It’s more like… exposure therapy.”

“Shit. Sorry,” you threw him an apologetic look. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s okay, no big deal. I just- I don’t really like confined spaces. Or spaces with a lot of people. It’s a- it’s a long story.”

You nodded.

“So, my therapist told me two combine the two and force myself to take the train- which isn’t great for my fear of trains,” he let out an awkward laugh. “Anyway, I was just trying it out. Seeing how it made me feel.”

Your heart broke for him. He had so many problems, so much trauma to deal with. And while you weren’t a psychiatrist, you didn’t think combining three of his fears into one nightmare was very sound medical advice. “And how did it make you feel?”

“It wasn’t great- this lady was staring daggers at me for ten solid minutes. But I did get to teach that creepy guy a lesson, so at least there’s a silver lining.”

You laughed. He loved the sound- wanted to hear it all the time.

“Thank you again, by the way, Sarge. You really rocked that guy’s shit.”

“I don’t like hurting people-” he shrugged, “It’s just something I’m good at. I try not to engage in violence unless absolutely necessary, you know? But that guy deserved it. Probably deserved a little more, but…” He gestured to you, “priorities.”

A warm rush flooded your cheeks. James Buchanan Barnes referred to you as a priority.

The evening continued as the two of you swapped stories. You couldn’t believe how funny he was, how many ridiculous things he did back when he was young. In the comfortable safety of your living room, he came alive. You asked for more tales of young James Barnes and his antics with Steve Rogers.

But as time passed, Bucky clocked the way you sank deeper into the couch. You nodded along with his stories and made comments here and there, but there was no mistaking your exhaustion. You leaned against his body more and more until your head rested on his shoulder.

And then, you were asleep. Completely out.

But Bucky didn’t mind. He sat still and quiet. He silenced his phone and yours. After the night you had, you needed the rest. And he was more than happy to help you get some sleep. He held in his laughter as you muttered nonsense under your breath- something about crepes and trench coats. It was perfect. Not the night Bucky expected, but the night he needed. And he’d stay in that exact position for hours if he had to.

But after only forty minutes, a loud crash scared you awake.

Two large pieces of luggage fell to the floor inside your front door. “Fuck Delta airlines and FUCK LAX!” your roommate, Emma, yelled. “I swear to god, there’s a curse on that fucking airport and Delta is the devil’s airline.”

She eyed the room for a moment, taking in the unexpected scene. “Ew, why is there a bloody jacket in the kitchen? And who the fuck are you?”

You stood, begrudgingly leaving your spot next to Bucky. “This is Bucky, that’s his jacket. Some asshole attacked me on the train. I split my head open. He brought me home and kept an eye on me till you got back.”

Maybe she was just in a shit mood because of the travel nightmare. Or maybe she recognized Bucky. But either way, Emma wasn’t having it. “Okay, well, thanks for bringing her home. But I’m back, so you can go.Now. And don’t forget your nasty jacket.”

Bucky gave an awkward laugh. He mumbled a “nice to meet you” and stood from the couch. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and you wished telepathy came with the serum. If he could only read your mind, he’d know how sorry you were. How horrified you were by Emma’s behavior. You couldn’t believe how rude she was being, how utterly unkind.

But your mind and body weren’t quite working together. You were still groggy, lost in the haze of sleep. And your head injury only made things more difficult. You did your best to formulate a response to your Emma and an apology to Bucky. But before you could say anything, Emma was at it again.

“Seriously, dude. It’s time for you to go, get out of my house.”

Bucky was so flustered, so uncomfortable that he left without saying goodbye. Without getting your number. He shut down. He simply snagged his jacket from the kitchen and bailed. He heard you arguing with Emma as he walked down the hall. Heard you near-tears.

He wanted to turn around and say goodnight. To protect you from Emma’s wrath. Comfort you. More than anything, he wanted to get your number. Maybe ask you out. But he was too thrown off by the whole thing. He didn’t expect such a response- he didn’t even get to tell Emma that you needed looking after. He just ran. And it made him feel like a coward.

He pressed the button for the ancient elevator once. Twice. Five times. And when it finally arrived, he got in and slammed the button for the first floor. Ruining his chances of ever seeing you again. Sure, he knew where you lived. But he couldn’t just show up. You’d already dealt with enough creepy shit from weird men- he wasn’t going to stalk you.

Bucky spent the entire elevator ride heartbroken. He knew he’d have to go home to his empty apartment; knew he’d think about you for way too long. You’d probably forget about him after a day- maybe two at the most. And he’d spend months trying to get over the stranger from the subway.

But when he stepped out of the elevator, he found you waiting for him.

“Hi, um… what?” He was more than a little confused. “How did you- how’d you get down here so fast?”

“Stairs,” you breathed. “Faster.”

Bucky couldn’t believe you. It was romantic; it was something out of one of his favorite movies. But it was stupid. “That was… that was a terrible idea- you could’ve gotten hurt. You almost fell over earlier when you were just standing still. Why’d you run down the stairs?”

“Cause I didn’t get to say goodbye…” your voice was soft, heartbroken. “And I didn’t get to give you my number.”

Wordlessly, Bucky handed you his phone. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to chance ruining such a perfect opportunity. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, of all people. That you actually wanted to see him again.

When you finished, you extended Bucky’s phone in his direction- but recoiled as he tried to reach for it. “Promise me you’ll call?”

“On my life,” he said. The answer brought a warm smile to your face- a smile he wanted to see again. As soon as possible. And when you gave his phone back, he took a moment to stare down at your number. This had to be a dream.

“Do me a favor and go get some rest, okay?” He extended his pinky and linked it with yours, “Drink a lot of water. And even though she seems like she’s in a bad mood, ask your roommate to check in on you every now and then.”

“Yeah, like she’s gonna go for that-”

“Tell her that if she doesn’t, I’m coming back to look after you myself. And I’ll drink her, her um…”

“Kombucha,” you whispered.

“Right, I’ll drink her Kombucha!” He laughed and shot you a wink, “That’ll do the trick.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiggled your pinky with his, and stepped into the still-open elevator doors. “Thank you for everything. I’m really happy I met you.”

Bucky blushed. “So am I. Not under the best circumstances, but-”

“Worth it,” you shot him a wink. Just as the doors began to close, the two of you exchanged waves. And just before Bucky vanished from view, you threw a quick “call me” his way. And then he was gone.

You made it back to your apartment, nearly tripping over Emma’s luggage. She apologized as you grabbed a glass of water and nearly cried when you told her the story of your evening. And though you wanted to hear about her airport nightmare, you needed to sleep.

You got settled in bed and realized- you missed Bucky already.

And just as you decided to go to sleep for the night, your phone buzzed:

“Wanted to call but figured it might be too soon- seeing as it’s only been about four minutes. I’ll call you in the morning. And just so you know: even without the tap dancing, I found you very entertaining. I’m really glad I met you.

If you need anything at all, let me know. Feel better.

-JBB”

—————————————

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