#steve: and we always do naked thursday

[harringroveera]

Well, Erica is right

[toadallytickles]

NEST 2023

NEST 2023 was absolutely amazing for me! Originally I thought I couldn’t go because Clay couldn’t and he’s usually my ride! I ended up being able to go because our friend Timmi @DynamicUno was attending too! So I got a ride with him, redeemed my free NEST ticket, and signed up to volunteer as a DM to share a volunteer suite!

I was really anxious about not attending with Clay this year; NEST is the largest tickle gathering and I don’t do well approaching people. I’ve been attending NEST and other tickle gatherings since 2019, though I haven’t felt really established in those in-person communities. Clay is usually my safety-net person. I surprisingly ended up doing extremely well, talking to a whole bunch of new and familiar people, and deepening connections I’ve made in the past! I somehow had like 8 sessions.. that is not like of me; one was pick-up with someone I just met at NEST, another I’ve seen a little at gatherings earlier this year. The rest were people I’ve known from previous gatherings for some years, and play just aligned at NEST this time!

I also had to make a boundary leading up to NEST that Clay couldn’t tickle me as I wanted to be ripe and ready for planned sessions! Sucked, but also fun as I easily get ghost-tickled when Clay wiggles his fingers at me, but whatever honestly~ (〃^▽^〃)ゞ

We’ve always arrived at NEST on Friday, mostly a chill day with orientation. It was a luxury to drive down on Thursday, and have all day Friday to catch up and hangout with people! The border security guy was super nice to us, he said he likes to have his back tickled, but that’s it lmao~. I went into my first Dunkin’ Donuts too (didn’t order anything) and they have Timbit-like treats called Munchkins.. also the Tim Hortons’ as you go south are so different from Canada’s, it’s so weird.. alternate universe Tim’s…

Friday morning I get to go on a Target run with Nate @Sensualswitch10 as I wanted to pick up snacks for the weekend! Then we get McDonald’s for breakfast! We had a bit of a secret project going on in his room too~. 🤫 I really appreciated hanging out with Nate casually as for play and making connections I really need time to physically acclimate, and he understood I needed that and made himself a safe space while I didn’t have Clay. I was supposed to reserve my ticklishness for a session, but we ended up casually playing on his bed, just a tickle massage that turned to pinning~!

I finally get to play with Sam @WickedSensations & Frecks @Fiona_Red (@WickedCaress on Instagram)! I knew of their content before NEST ‘22, and when we finally met last year, we had an instant mutual connection and attraction! NEST ‘22 didn’t work out for us play-wise, though we stayed in-touch online and negotiated play for NEST ‘23! It finally happened and it was super fun and flustering! To be gang tickled by a couple~ (≧ω≦ ʃƪ)💕. Thank you for the pretty bruises, Sam! And thank you Frecks for being my first wlw tickle session!

I FINALLY got tickled by Jeff @sptfrtkl in his Blue Brat! We’d see each other at past gatherings and chat, and have been fans of each other's content; this time playing aligned! Such an honour to finally play with him + sign the Blue Brat afterwards! Jeff has an insane amount of tools to use too, hopefully next time we’ll session longer and experiment with every tool~ 😊

I generally do not pick-up play, and consider NSFW acts intimate and something I would reserve for closer relationships, though I met @Mark_Diamond while at NEST, and when he was showing me his many pleasure tools, we discovered we both love David Mack’s style of play.. like clit-focused, edging, denial, and forced orgasms.. I couldn’t pass on the opportunity of reliving my biggest fantasy so I let him tie me spread eagle, naked, and torture me~ 🥰🤤. It was dreamy and felt amazing aah~ wish I could always have a session like that~ (〃˘▽˘ʃƪ) *:・ﾟ✧♡.

So I Ler’d for my first CNC session..~ thanks to Steve @DaddyMilkBoss, who’s been teaching me for years all about his favourite way to play~. He had no safeword.. or maybe I ignored their safeword, who knows~. But it was so so much fun, loved how much he begged for me to stop, and how desperate he got.. and I just continued to play with him… 😍🤤. It was too much fun really.. I shouldn’t have that much power lol, already craving to do that to him again~. Yeah I love being a bully~ 🖤. All those years of taunting me and talking to me all about CNC.. it’s like I was trained to ruin him~ 🤭.

During my session with Steve where I lee’d, I learned that I can make eye contact if my mouth is duct-taped shut~. Usually when I lee, I like to wear a blindfold because seeing the Ler/s makes me so shy and stiff, and that hinders my ticklishness. Our session, I had multiple duct-tape strips over my mouth without a blindfold on and I was very surprised at how comfortable I was making eye contact with him.. it was really hot.. I love the idea of talking with big, pleading eyes~ I also have very pretty eyes~

If you’re on Fetlife, Twitter or in certain Discord Servers, you may have seen Liger @LewdLigu’s feather wheel + stocks… I also don’t usually public play, though he was doing mini trials in the public play area.. and perhaps I was a bit intrigued..~ 👉👈. It’s a super cool invention, and I had a lot of fun giving it a try, bEing wATCHED-! and having those claws and feather vibrators on me .. 😵‍💫.

My last session at NEST was with Nate, this time I was stretched out bound in his under-the-mattress stocks, and arms up at the corners of the bed… I also got high for this session~. 🥴 I just want to say.. Nate knows what he’s doing.. like when you think of the definition of a Ler, or what to expect during a session, Nate is that, Nate knows how to session omg, he’s so good at tickling~. (No he did not make me say this LOL that’s just all I can say and it’s true.) So much fun to hang out with and play with! I miss him!! Nate, thank you for taking care of me throughout NEST!! I already said it but it was so much appreciated when I didn’t have Clay!! 🥹💕

Despite like 8 sessions and depleting my ticklishness, I was super excited to go home to Clay and have a session with him. He knows all my spots and exactly how to wreck me, and I was craving that~ 😆. It was wonderful to reconnect and take all the energy from NEST and share it with him!

AND I TRIED CHIPOTLE FOR THE FIRST TIME IT WAS SOOO GOOOOOD!! 😫💦

Super cool that I got to meet some Tumblr people too! @ticklishadventure @queerswitch-tickles @ticklishposts-sideblog @minotaurvo !! So happy you all got to attend NEST for the very first time! That’s a huge step and I hope you all had a great time!! ❤️

I was fortunate to film a bunch of content too with all the new people I played with!! So!! Gifsets and maybe clips soon! 🤩

I got asked a lot how long I’ve been modelling lol.. and I don’t get that question really!! It was really flattering, though it is super amateur modelling / a hobby to me!!

Crossing the border on the way home, again we share with the border guard that we went to a tickle convention, and the guard wanted to know what happens at a tickle convention.. so I had to be the one to explain what happens as Timmi was looking for a document on his phone…. UUGHH!! 💀🪦

Anyway to wrap this up, this was personally the best NEST for me~. I’ve been navigating my local kink community without Clay a lot as he works, such as going to munches and parties alone, attending kink classes, and hanging out with new friends! I was really nervous to be attending NEST without Clay, though I feel I was capable to navigate NEST with what I’ve learned from our local community. I remember being really anxious Thursday and early Friday, though everything was going really well, I had good interactions, great sessions, and met a lot of new people, and that just made me more confident in myself! I did a lot of new things I didn’t think I was capable of or ready for yet, though I did it, and survived, and very much enjoyed. I can pick-up play with the right people, I can accept more intimate touching and play and not feel wrong after. Those compliments Clay and my local friends give me all the time, I can start to believe them. I was really reassured this weekend of who I am, what I’m capable of, and that my presence is wanted. I feel much more established in the in-person tickle community. There was so much growth and experience for me at NEST ‘23, and I am so looking forward to carrying it all into future kink events. ❤️

Thank you so much to everyone who makes NEST possible, and to those who volunteer their time to keep it organized and going!! And thank you so much to everyone who was involved in my experience this year!! It was awesome because of you!! ❤️

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" Pt4

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, subjugation, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, societal issues, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, onlyfans, predatory behavior, gender politics

Summary: Bucky is not pleased when he finds out that his parents tricked him and he's being forced to stay at the school.

I realized that AN ENTIRE CHAPTER had been left out of this fic's posting schedule!

😣🫣😭So the old ch 4 is now ch 5 and this is the part that was missing. Hopefully y'all can catch up with a quick re-read before I post the newest part this Thursday!

(Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter! Masterlist)

Part 4 In Science Based Practice

Bucky gets his hopes up when Steve says he’ll get a uniform. Anything to not be standing naked in front of the alpha like this, unable to hide his body’s reactions.

Those hopes are swiftly dashed, however, when he gets a load of what the alpha wants him to wear. “No way!” he squawks, glaring at the clothes that Steve has pulled out from a cabinet. “What the fuck is this, the eighteen-hundreds?!”

“Language, little girl.”

Bucky grits his teeth. “That’s not what the other students were wearing.”

Steve comes over to where Bucky is standing beside the desk, unfolding the different items that make up the uniform, including an undershirt, pullover sweater, and a dress. “You must’ve seen older students,” Steve tells him. “First years wear these.”

“A dress?!”

“Typically I’d say ‘jumper’, but that means ‘sweater’ over here, and it gets mixed up pretty fast. So we settled on ‘overdress’. But yes, a dress. This is your uniform. It’s traditional for omegas your age.”

“Maybe back in the middle ages,” Bucky growls, putting his hands on his hips. But then he remembers that he’s naked and he struggles not to cover himself in embarrassment all over again. He glares at the level of Steve’s shirt collar and sticks his chin out. “I’m not wearing that.”

Steve chuckles softly, taking a step closer. “Oh, you don’t have to wear it,” he purrs, fitting his massive hand to the front of Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky tenses, anticipating that grip again, that thumb digging in and that resultant rush of feeling, but Steve doesn’t squeeze his hand like before. He simply holds it there, the scent from his wrist reaching Bucky’s awareness just as he tells him,

“You don’t have to wear any of this uniform, if you dislike it so much.”

“Good, cause I hate —”

“You always have the option to go naked.” The quiet purr of the threat makes Bucky’s guts lurch and his cock jump. Steve sees it and smiles. “And if you keep it up, I promise that’s exactly what you’ll do.” He swipes his thumb back and forth over Bucky’s glands, though he still doesn’t press like he was doing before. It’s like a taunt—him reminding Bucky of the easy power he has over him. “So what’s it gonna be, honey, hm? You want to get dressed in this perfectly decent uniform I’m offering you, or am I gonna have a really nice view for the rest of the day? It’s completely up to you, but you’d better ask nicely if you want your clothes.”

As much as Bucky doesn’t want to admit it, something small and squirmy inside of him responds to Steve saying it would be a “nice view” to have him naked and on display.

… Something even squirmier responds to the alpha threatening punishment in his deep but quiet voice.

Bucky swallows thickly, fighting the urge to duck down and get more of that scent from Steve’s wrist.  “... Give me the clothes,” he whispers. “Please.”

“How polite,” Steve coos, letting go of him to turn around and grab the outfit’s long-sleeved undershirt. “This first,” he says, handing it over. He leans against the desk, arms folded and watching, as Bucky accepts the shirt and begins to get dressed. 

It’s a modest outfit, with the shirt, followed by the overdress, and then a lightweight pullover sweater. The hem falls to mid-shin on him, and he plucks at the fabric disdainfully while Steve goes to retrieve underwear, knee socks, and a pair of shoes.

Bucky's face screws up when he gets a load of the undergarments Steve expects him to wear. “What the heck?” he mutters, taking them and poking at the material. It’s two separate pieces: first, a sort of jockstrap thingy that has a padded cup area, followed by a plain pair of brief-style underwear. Bucky turns them over in his hands, confused. He’s never seen anything like it, and he’s got no clue which piece he’s meant to put on. “Um, I don’t play any sports …”

Steve chuckles. “No, you’re meant to wear them together, with the jock underneath.”

“Why?”

“It’s desensitizing. We know omegas get the urge to touch themselves quite frequently, so these were designed for our students to wear beneath their regular underwear. The padding gives you a buffer, so to speak. Just a little extra thickness to help protect against … wandering hands.”

Bucky sneers down at the garment. “Unless it locks, it ain’t gonna stop me from —”

“Oh, we have locks if you need them,” Steve says, nodding when Bucky looks up at him incredulously. He raises a challenging eyebrow. “Do you need that, Bucky? Need me to fit you with something a little more … restrictive? I can promise it won’t be as comfortable as what I’m offering you now.” His eyes drop slyly down to Bucky’s cocklet.

Which is, humiliatingly, still quite erect. If Bucky thought he could manage it without Steve seeing, he’d pinch his dick to make it go down. He hates that Steve can see his body reacting. “No,” he grits. “S’fine. I’ll wear ‘em.” He bends over to step into the underwear and pull them up—first the jock, and then the briefs. He stands back up and smoothes the skirt out with a scowl. “This is so stupid. What the hell do you think I’m gonna do the first second I’m alone?” He pokes disdainfully at the woolen fabric of the skirt, feeling the thick padding against his junk. “Christ.” 

“Masturbation isn’t allowed, Bucky,” Steve says, the sternness in his voice drawing Bucky’s attention back up.

“Wait, what do you mean? Like … not at all?” He gapes in disbelief. “Are you crazy? I’m omega! Do you have any idea how hard that would —”

“I do,” Steve interrupts, his bearded face unfairly handsome as he authoritatively says, “I do have a very good idea, in fact, of how omega bodies work.” He pushes off from the desk and steps close, looking down at Bucky. “Not counting nocturnal emissions, how many times a day do you typically orgasm?” he asks quietly. “Hm? Two, five, ten? I promise you won’t shock me. We’ve had some students come in as bonafide sex addicts before, unable to stop rubbing the nearest firm object for hardly more than an hour.”

“I’m not a sex addict,” Bucky grits.

“Good. How many times a day?” Steve repeats himself, blinking down expectantly.

Bucky glares at him, hating that even as he can feel his cheeks heating in anger, his cock is pulsing with new interest against the padding of the horrible underwear between his legs. At least it’s hidden now, he thinks. “Three or four,” he says defiantly. “More, if it’s my heat.”

Steve doesn’t even blink, he just nods down at Bucky like this is all expected information. Hell, Bucky thinks, maybe it is. It’s not like he’s ever had friends that he could ask about it. At his old school, only one other boy in his grade was openly O (one or two kids who passed for beta seemed pretty suss to Bucky, though). Point is, he’s never had a peer whom he could ask how much they felt the need to touch themselves. They didn’t talk about masturbation in his school’s sex ed, and porn certainly wasn’t going to yield the answer. Bucky knows better than most, just how fake that is. 

So he really has no clue what “normal” is supposed to be for someone like him. Three or four (okay, or sometimes five) times a day has always felt like a lot to him, but he’s got no basis for comparison. It’s not like he can ask his mom about it, or—God forbid—Ransom. Yuck.

“Is … is that normal?” he whispers, wanting to know but mortified that he has to ask his new headmaster to find out.

Steve gives him a tender look. “Perfectly normal, Honey. Especially for someone your age.”

“Oh.”

“And do you use toys?”

Oh God. If Bucky thought he was blushing before, he was wrong. "What?" he sputters. Steve waits, eyes gleaming with interest—or at least, that’s how it seems to Bucky. He’s standing here, embarrassed and dressed in this dumbass uniform, and meanwhile this stupid alpha is enjoying himself? This is bullshit. “No,” he says tersely. “I don’t.”

“Okay. How then? Fingers? fist? surface?”

“Wh-at?”

Steve steps so close that the toes of his shoes touch Bucky’s. “How do you masturbate? Every omega is different.” Bucky’s guts are roiling before he even fully processes the question, and once he does, the feeling only gets worse. He must stand there silently for longer than he realizes, because Steve prompts him again, “You can tell me, Honey. There’s no need to be shy. Now I asked you a question and I expect an answer. Which way do you touch yourself?” 

Bucky realizes he’s breathing open-mouthed. “I – I don’t … I mean, I … um …”

Amused, Steve tilts his head. “Do you try and reach back?” he suggests. “Reach inside and try to make the ache go away with your fingers?”

Bucky makes a small choking sound, and Steve’s hand comes up to gently hold his jaw, thumb brushing over the cleft in his chin.

“Or,” he says softly, so close, “Maybe you like to straddle something, hm? Something you can hump on. A pillow, the arm of a sofa, rocking ‘til it feels good? It’s mostly the girls who do that but I’ve had some male students self-report that kind of thing.”

“I —” Bucky’s brain is short circuiting. He, he can’t, he’s gonna … something … something’s gonna …

“Or,” Steve purrs, leaning down closer to Bucky's face, “is the answer 'fist'?”

“F-fist?” Bucky’s mind goes in an obscene, unhelpful direction …

“Like jerking off. Do you try to be like the big boys and stroke your little cocklet, hm?” Steve nods minutely as he susses out Bucky's reaction. “Is that it, Sweetheart? Do you lie in bed at night and play pretend, try to jerk your little clit off like it’s a man’s cock?” 

A sound Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever made before comes out of him; something needy and sexual and distressed. “Nnnh …”

Steve hums in approval and nudges Bucky’s chin teasingly with his thumb. “That’s what I thought. Gender confused little things like you usually do. Rubbin’ on the nubbin every morning, noon and night.”

Bucky’s eyes all but bug out of his head. His breath hitches in another low whine, belly tight, and then he actually feels himself wet a little—a tiny spurt in his underwear that he can’t control any more than a sneeze. He stands there, kind of losing his mind, because he thinks that was … he thinks he might’ve just …

“W-what was the question?” he squeaks, mouth suddenly dry.  He has to fight very hard not to squirm in place or reach down to feel his underwear. Oh god, how bad is it? He tries to glance down without moving his head, but he can’t see.

Steve chuckles and plants an affectionate kiss on top of his head, before releasing his chin. “Oh, Little one. I just gave you those and you need new already?”

“... Gave?” Bucky repeats weakly. “New?”

“Your underwear.” Steve turns his nose up into the air, inhaling deeply and then looking away with a smirk. He tuts fondly. “Ah.”

Bucky blinks in horror. Steve can smell it. “Alpha,” he exhales, the word erupting up out of him like some humiliating verbal reflux. "I – I d-didn't ..."

“You’re alright.” Steve is already going over to the cabinet with the uniforms and retrieving another set of underwear. “It’s okay,” he tells Bucky kindly, likely at seeing his stunned expression. “It happens sometimes. I should’ve been more mindful of myself. Normally I find it takes the use of my Voice and a Hold to achieve wet panties.” He chuckles to himself as he rounds the desk and sits in the big leather chair. “You're very sensitive.”

“What?” Bucky feels lost, adrift, like he’s dropped a solid thirty IQ points in the last two minutes. Steve seems to know this, as he smiles gently at him and pushes the new underwear across the desk. “Put those on,” he says. “I promise to tone it down for the rest of this discussion.”

Blinking, Bucky steps over and takes the underwear in hand—mostly because it’s an action that he can comprehend and thinks he can manage at the moment. Simple. “... The rest?” he asks distractedly, as he bends to reach up under the dress’s skirt and pull down the ruined undergarments. 

“Yes.” Steve is opening a laptop and clicking around on it. “I should’ve been asking you those questions more formally. You wouldn’t have gotten so worked up, and I’d already have this jotted down by now.” He starts typing information down. “Three to four, you said?” 

“Three to four …” Bucky parrots out, then remembers: Oh, the number of orgasms he has per day. “Y-yeah,” he says shakily, swallowing around the lump in his throat and averting his eyes to the ground as he desperately tries to shake the nonsense out of his head and get a hold of himself. Great. Now his principal knows he just squirted in his underwear like some cheesy sex novel. Bucky didn’t know that could actually even happen! It’s always clearly faked in porn. Hell, he’s even faked it for the webcam a time or two. 

Face burning and the buzzy feeling between his ears fading somewhat, he bends over and steps out of the ruined underwear. When he looks down, they aren’t as wet as he’d been expecting to see. Just the tiniest little dribble there in the cup of the jock. He really did just wet in front of his principal. Christ. Gritting his teeth, Bucky grabs the new jockstrap and slides it on, then the briefs. Stupid fucking school, he fumes. When he stands up straight again and smooths out the fabric of the uniform, Steve is looking at him from over the laptop screen.

“Hey, it’s not pee, you know that, right?” he asks gently, eyes shining with a tenderness that Bucky absolutely despises. “Submissive release is fairly normal for a boy your age. It happens more than you’d think.”

Bucky shakes his head, brow furrowing. “No. I never have.”

Steve shrugs and types it into the computer. “That’s probably why it came on so easily. I’ll make a note of it. That could be something your Handler winds up working with you on. Now, when did you have your first heat? Not PHS or a proto-heat. Like the full-Monty, real thing. How old were you?”

Bucky squirms and looks around, some of his anger from before returning with his brain cells. “Why does it matter?” he grunts.

Steve tuts. “This is information we need to have in your records. You can either answer freely now, or I’ll get creative to give you a little more motivation. When did you have your first heat?”

Bucky curls his fingers, nails biting into his palms. “Fourteen,” he grits. 

Steve nods, typing into the computer. “Have they been regular?”

“Yes.”

“Do you track it?”

“Yes. On my phone.” Bucky eyes Steve's desk, where the Alpha had placed his phone after blithely informing him that he'll no longer have access to it.

Steve notices him looking but doesn't take the bait. “And how long do they typically last?”

“I dunno. Like four days I guess. Three to five.”

“Good. And when was the first day of your last heat?"

"I don't know. I'd have to check my phone."

Steve's mouth curls wryly. "Best guess then, Princess."

"Early last month," Bucky grunts, trying to remember. "I don't know. Maybe like the third or something."

"Hm. You're due soon, then."

His jaw works in frustration as he realizes that it's true: he'll probably be in heat again by next week. "Great," he mutters. "Just what I was looking forward to."

"Don't worry. We've got excellent heat support here. You're be well looked after each time you cycle."

He refuses to comment on that (even though he is kind of curious what "heat support" might consist of). "I presume a backwards place like this doesn't allow suppressants?" he snarks instead, not expecting the strong reaction it gets out Steve.

The alpha actually stops typing and looks over at him. "Absolutely not," he says. "Those medications are very harmful." Bucky rolls his eyes and Steve sits forward, concerned. "Bucky, have you taken suppressants in the past?" He stares at Bucky sternly, waiting. "Answer me."

It's his Voice—the first time he's used it since he had Bucky stripping down naked right in front of him—and it sends a shiver of pleasure through Bucky that he tries desperately hard to suppress. He can tell from Steve's expression, though, that he's not successful. "I mean ... yeah," he mumbles, feeling oddly uncomfortable when he can see that his answer upsets Steve. An apology sits on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall loose at Steve's visible displeasure. "It's not a big deal. Everybody —"

"How long?" Steve cuts him off tersely, fingers already poised back over the keyboard. "When did you start them and when did you stop?"

"I ... I don't know. Like, most of freshman and sophomore year?" Steve makes a disgusted noise in his throat and Bucky flusters, getting defensive. "Everybody takes them. It's not a big deal."

Steve is glaring at the computer screen as he types. "That's something you'll be educated on real soon, Sweetheart." He's fuming, but Bucky gets the sense that it's not at him. "So you're not taking them now?" he checks.

"... No." He'd stopped taking them last year to do a couple of "Horny Omega in Heat" type videos, and had never gotten around to starting back up with them again. Bucky chews his lip, somehow doubting that Headmaster Rogers wants to hear that. "... Are you mad?" he asks.

Steve's eyes soften as he momentarily glances over at him. "No, Honey. Not at you."

Despite everything, Bucky's cheeks color at the change in the alpha's tone. "It's not," he says meekly. "Dangerous, you know."

"That's not what the medical journals say," Steve quips. "But don't worry. I wouldn't expect you to know that, coming out of the American school system. Political agendas have colored everything they teach over there for more than a decade."

Bucky frowns, indignant. "Hey, I went to a great school."

"You went to a liberal school," Steve drawls, not even deigning to look away from the computer screen. "Where did you get the suppressants?" he asks, no-nonsense. "Who prescribed them?"

"The doctor."

"What doctor? Where?"

"The doctor at Planned Parenthood, jeez." Bucky scowls as he sees Steve's jaw tick in annoyance at hearing his answer. "What? You think Planned Parenthood's bad, too?" He scoffs. "Oh my god, you do. You're one of those. A religious nut. You're probably anti-choice, too, huh?"

Steve looks back over at him with narrowed eyes. "No, I'm not religious. And I'm not anti-choice: I'm pro-science. I'm not going to hold your ignorance against you, Little one, but if you keep mouthing off to me, I'll most certainly hold your attitude against you." He nods over to the far corner, directing Bucky's gaze to the piece of furniture tucked against the bookcase that, until now, has gone unnoticed. "Do you know what that is?" he asks, tone deathly calm.

Meanwhile, Bucky feels the blood draining out of his face (and, mortifyingly, his dick twitching inside his padded underwear). "Um ... yeah," he squeaks.

Steve doesn't crack a smile, but his eyes do seem to glimmer just a little bit. "Would you like for me to strap you down there and give you ten licks with my belt for bratting?"

Bucky shakes his head fast as an instant "no," even though his dick isn't so sure it's in agreement. "No," he says a second after, because his dick is a fickle idiot. "Uh uh."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "That's your one warning," he says. He turns back to the computer. "Was it an oral suppressant?"

"... Yes," Bucky says, watching meekly as Steve nods and types the information down.

"And I assume you don't know the name of the physician who prescribed them?"

"No."

"You've been off them for a year?"

"Yeah, almost a year."

Steve nods, not looking happy but not looking angry anymore, at least. "None of this was in your medical records," he grumbles. "Oh well. I can't exactly say I'm surprised. We'll get you in for an exam with the school nurse. Just to make sure you're okay."

"Okay?" Bucky makes a face. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

Once again, Steve seems to almost soften with sympathy at Bucky's response. He looks over at him pityingly, like he's an earnest but slightly stupid child. "You're probably fine. But you still need to get looked at."

That still doesn't answer Bucky's question, and he's about to get annoyed and say something snippy in response, but Steve preempts it by looking pointedly over at the fucking spanking bench he's got parked in the corner. Bucky reverses course and seals his lips up tight.

"Good boy." Steve turns back to the computer screen, finding where he left off. "Okay, just a few more of these left to go. What sort of PHS symptoms do you typically get? I have a list I can read off, if you’re unsure.”

Bucky shrugs, still stuck thinking about the spanking bench and the 'Good Boy' Steve just Voiced at him. He gives up and asks what’s on the list. Steve reads it off, and Bucky nods at a few of the familiar symptoms. “Cramps for sure, and the hyperthermia. Sometimes headaches." He thinks about it, then ventures, "I get real lazy, too. Is that a thing?”

Steve's mouth twitches. “Yeah, Sweetheart. That’s typical. Have you noticed any other behavioral changes? Do you tend to eat much, or nest?”

Bucky snorts. “I eat like a pig for like, two days before. And I guess I nest ... sorta.” He’s actually not sure if the mess of blankets and throws that he’s got stashed in his closet at home counts, but he nods along anyway. "Yeah."

Steve marks it down. “Do you get any anxiety or nerves?”

“No. That’s a thing?” Bucky looks over and catches Steve smiling fondly at him in a way that makes him feel warm and tingly all over. He hurriedly looks away. “Um, anxiety about what?”

“About being around strangers or being out in public. Or sometimes it can manifest as possessiveness: you don’t like people touching your things, or you feel a little extra territorial over your room at home. Any of that?”

“Oh! Well, yeah. The ah … the thing about people touching my stuff,” Bucky admits. “And my room.” He'd almost attacked Ransom once, when the jerk had come into his room without knocking just before his heat. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I um, I do that.”

Steve hums and marks it down. “Okay. And how about when the arousal phase starts? How long does it take between when you first notice that change, to when you’re house-bound?”

Bucky cringes. “I dunno. A few hours? Not long. Usually I’ll just wake up in the morning and know I have to stay home that day.” He peeks up at Steve, whose attention is on the computer screen. “Are we almost done with this?” he complains.

“Almost. Just one last question.” Steve’s eyes come back up to bore into him. “Who helps you with your heats? Do you pair?”

Bucky tenses up, thoughts immediately flashing to his bonehead ex-boyfriend. “N-no,” he flusters. “No.” He watches Steve’s eyebrow rise.

“No?”

“I mean, my mom’ll get me snacks and stuff if I need it," he hedges.

"That's not what I mean when I say 'help'," Steve says, amused, and Bucky fights not to squirm in embarrassment.

“I just stay in my room," he mutters. "It sucks, but it is what it is.”

God, why can’t this be over already? He hates talking about this stuff. He hates remembering. Steve is still watching him carefully though, and his face heats under the scrutiny and the weight of the question he can feel coming next:

“Bucky, have you ever paired for a heat?”

He thinks about lying, because he does not want to talk about this, but the look on Steve’s face is still expectant, so he reluctantly admits, “Just … a couple times. But it was like more than a year ago! So what’s it even matter?”

“I’d like to know what sorts of experiences you’ve had,” Steve tells him gently. “To have a better understanding of your behaviors, and your needs.”

Bucky scowls. “My ‘needs’? Really?”

Steve sighs sadly. “Honey,”

“What’s there to know?!” Bucky snaps, irritated. “I had a boyfriend, we broke up.”

“But he was alpha? And you paired for your heat?”

Bucky works his jaw, mouth twisting in displeasure. “Sure, whatever. He … he stopped by a couple’a times to help me out.”

“‘Stopped by’?” Steve frowns. “What does that mean? ... Bucky, are you saying he didn’t stay with you?”

“People have stuff, okay? They can’t just stick around.”

“What?”

“He’s on the lacrosse team. They have games and stuff. Can’t miss practice, or whatever.” Bucky can feel emotion clogging his tear ducts, pressing at the backs of his eyes. He blinks quickly and looks away, grinding his teeth. “Anyways it doesn’t matter,” he repeats tersely. “We. broke. up.” Steve looking at him all concerned like this isn’t helping anything, and Bucky’s getting fed up. “Is that it?” he asks, avoiding the alpha's gaze. “Or do you want a list of all the people I’ve fucked? Because that’s gonna take a hot minute.”

For a second, he thinks he's finally mouthed off enough to earn himself a trip over the almighty spanking bench, but after a brief consideration, all he gets from Steve is a mild,

“No, Little one. Those are all my questions.”

'Little one'; Bucky's quickly learning that he dislikes that diminutive, in particular. Steve seems to use it when he's feeling sorry for him ... or something. “Good.”

Steve gets quiet. Bucky wants to look at him, but he can feel the alpha’s gaze boring into him, so instead he turns his head and stares to the side obstinately, mouth pressed into a thin line. He can hear it as Steve moves slowly; the soft sounds of his body shifting, the laptop shutting, the squeak of the leather chair as he pushes it out from the desk. Steve stands up. He stays standing still for a long minute, staring at Bucky and saying nothing. Bucky’s skin itches uncomfortably. He’s irritated, he’s got no clue what the hell Steve’s thinking, and it’s putting him on edge. “What are you doing?” he mutters.

Steve comes around the desk and into Bucky’s field of vision. He steps close, arms open like he’ll reach for him. “Buck …” 

Bucky flinches back. “What?” 

Steve pauses. “Bucky. Come here.”

He says it calmly, doesn’t even use his Voice. He sounds almost sympathetic, and that grates on Bucky’s nerves horribly. He scoffs and takes a full step back. He finally looks at Steve’s face and watches as his expression pinches. Bucky takes another step back. He’s feeling vulnerable from telling all of that personal stuff to Steve, and he’s … he’s annoyed over it, okay? He doesn’t like the way Steve’s looking at him, like he knows him. He doesn’t know shit.

“Why’d you ask all those questions?” Bucky demands, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I want to get to know you, baby. Know what’s normal for you, for your body. So I can know what your needs are.”

It’s obvious that he’s aware of how flustered this is making Bucky, and Bucky hates him for how gentle and coaxing he’s trying to be now, after he’s just spent the last twenty minutes asking such humiliating, intrusive questions. Bucky doesn’t need his goddamn kindness. “Yeah right,” he snarks, glaring at the man and his stupid concerned, bearded face. “What my heats are like? What I feel? How I touch myself?” He sneers. “You don’t care about me. You probably just want to know what to picture while you’re jacking it, tonight.”

Disappointingly, Steve barely reacts. He loses his pitying expression and returns to smirking at Bucky like he’s nothing more than an errant pup. “Why?” he counters smoothly, inching closer. “Do you like the thought of me picturing you while I touch myself?”

Bucky falters, taken aback. For some reason, he really hadn’t thought Mr. Rogers would talk like that. He thought he'd scold Bucky and avoid answering. He hadn’t thought the man would bring himself into it by even acknowledging that he does, in fact, touch himself. The shock of it brings Bucky up short, and he forgets to take another step backwards as Steve comes closer to him. His pulse picks up and his lip trembles as he struggles to answer Steve’s question:

'Do you like the thought of me picturing you while I touch myself?'

Fuck. Bucky’s mouth works, but his thoughts are jumbled, and Steve is crowding him again, and speech is not forthcoming. “I – I don’t …”

“Shhh.” Steve puts a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him. “I apologize,” he murmurs, eyes flitting all over Bucky’s face. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was inappropriate of me.” He pauses as if considering something, and eventually his mouth quirks. “What I think about when I jerk off is no business of yours.” He winks. “And there will be no more jerking off for you, Young lady.”

Bucky draws back, the ‘Young lady’ hitting him like a bucket of ice water. He stammers for a moment before coming up with a response. “Y-you can’t just not let us cum,” he complains, outraged. “That’s … that’s cruel and unusual punishment. It’s unhealthy!”

“Oh I agree,” Steve says, turning back around to go and grab something from his desk. “The rule isn’t that you can’t cum at all, it’s that you can’t touch yourself. That’s why we have milking stations set up at various points throughout campus. Many of the classrooms even have a dedicated corner set aside for it.” When he turns back around, Bucky sees he’s got a long, brown strip of leather in his hands. “If you need sexual release at any time, you’re welcome to it. All you have to do is ask your Handler for assistance. Or you can grab a teacher, or myself. Any of us will be happy to help you.”

Bucky’s jaw might physically drop, he’s so surprised. “You … you will?”

Chuckling, Steve steps in close again. “Of course, silly.” He holds up the item that he’s holding: It’s a collar. “I told you we’re all about the science here, didn’t I? Nothing’s more established than an omega’s need to climax. We’d hardly expect you to go for very long without that relief. It’s a very important part of your physical health and your mental well being.” He bends down and smirks right in Bucky’s face, tapping him lightly on the tip of his nose. “Now, turn around to receive your collar, Omega.”

Bucky is so overwhelmed by all that’s happening, by Steve’s Voice and what he’s just told him, by that dirty wink and how he’s just called him ‘Omega’—like he’s Steve’s omega—that he actually obeys right away, turning around in what feels like a daze. “... Collar?” he breathes, feeling Steve reaching around his neck with the thing even as the word leaves his lips. “I – I don’t—”

“You’re fine,” Steve reassures him, drawing the strip of leather around his neck and threading the buckle in the back. He checks the fit with his fingers, then bends and places a kiss right at Bucky’s nape. “There we go. How’s that feel?”

Bucky swallows, the movement of his throat more noticeable against the collar’s gentle fit. He’s … he's inordinately warm all of a sudden, overwhelmed and yet filled with a creeping sense of contentment. He feels dazed and … and heavy, as if the room's gravity has increased or he’s suddenly got thirty more pounds weighing him into the floor. It’s that same feeling he remembers from using a weighted blanket: calming, correcting pressure. Except there is no weighted blanket. There’s nothing. Nothing but a strip of leather around his throat, and Steve.

“... No,” he whispers, mind gone a little fuzzy (why does it feel so nice?). “I don’t like it.”

Steve chuckles, the sound reverberating low in his chest. “Liar,” he whispers, kissing the shell of Bucky’s ear before standing back. “Here, turn around. Let me have a look at you.” His big hands grab Bucky’s upper arms and turn him. Bucky’s left blinking up at him with a slack expression, and Steve looks almost proud as he beams right back down. “Sweetheart,” he gushes. “You look perfect.”

Bucky’s hand comes up to touch the front of the collar, where there’s a little metal placard grommeted flat to the leather. Vacantly, he wonders if it’s his name that he feels engraved there.

This story is an ongoing commission for an amazing supporter who wishes to remain anonymous. If you have a story that you'd like to see custom written, send me a message on Tumblr or reach out on my Kofi.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

[crazybigredlove]

7th September 2013 

Dear Pete, 

He is dead to me. Dead to me to such an extent that I am asking for no further contact. A little extreme sounding even for me, but the humiliation I've been exposed to reached a level that outweighs the underpants/gym shorts incident of 1997. 

The Czech intended to call around on Thursday night, but alas, someone got a little drunk. Even though The Czech has been trying to get me naked for, oh, forever now, he stood me up. Yesterday afternoon the apology texts and explanations came through, asking again if he could drop by once I was home alone, nearly twenty-four hours after we'd originally made a rough plan to finally finish what we started those many, many months ago. 

Haters are more than welcome to slut-shame and say I'm being easy, but Big Red is busy with his girlfriend, you are off somewhere God only knows, and Christopher takes whatever offer he gets first. And I'm here, all alone, and lonely. There is Christopher but his attention is only good till the next shiny, skinny blonde crosses his line of sight. Useless as I am at one- night stands, I wanted The Czech to come over purely because I was sick of sleeping alone. This was the opposite of wanting to get laid: it was purely a hug I was chasing. 

Even so, if I want to get laid that is my prerogative and I won't apologise for it. 

In the midst of all the messages I was trying to explain the impact that the Big Red situation had had on my psyche to Andrew, but he was so pragmatic about it all. 

"There's another girl?" Heavy creases formed on his brow. "Yes." "Why are you still answering?" 

Ummm... 

Only logical thing left to do was to make him sit through Dan In Real Life. When it got to the part where Steve Carrell says "How can you know after only four days?" I jumped up on the couch, startling him. 

"Ha!" I yelled, sending Buffy into a spin with the commotion. "It's a movie, Olivia." Removing his glasses, he pulled a handkerchief from his top pocket and started wiping them. "I'm prepared to concede that it's a good movie - unrealistic, mind you." Sighing, he perched his glasses back on his nose. 

"But what? There's a 'but' I can tell". Eyes staring intently on the credits as they rolled up the screen, he folded his arms. "But maybe you just need to get laid. Seriously, how long has it been?" "Well..." This doesn't seem like the time to mention Christopher, particularly given his ability to somehow always be within earshot of conversations about him. Misreading my hesitation and the flush in my cheeks, he nodded. "That's what I thought. Message The Czech." "No!" I protested, this time throwing myself down onto the couch. "Yes. He wants you. Have a night of fun. Forget about Big Red. Just have sex for the sake of having sex. You might accidentally enjoy yourself." "No. I'm not that kind of girl?" "And what kind of girl is that? The kind that likes to have sex more than once a year?" "You know what I mean." Pout. Full duck face. "Remember that study about women your age being controlled entirely by their hormones? That's your body clock telling you that you like him, not the stars aligning sealing your fate as his wife. It's time to get laid. You're meant to be reproducing. Have sex, he'll seem way less attractive afterwards." 

"I don't think some subconscious desire to reproduce is my issue," I said with a dismissive wave of my hand, though I wasn't entirely convinced myself of what I was saying. "Prove it. Get laid. See if you're still so in love with any of them afterwards." "He had his opportunity last night and he didn't turn up." "You initiate it. I guarantee. Send him something making it clear that's what you want instead of vaguely going along with his suggestion. That's never gotten him anywhere in the past, remember. He'll be here." "What do I even say?" Andrew chuckled and patted my head with the affection of a father oblivious as to how misguided his daughter truly was. "You don't say anything. Send him a selfie." "No. Why? How is a photo of me smiling at my phone going to tell him I desperately want him naked?" Then it clicked. "Ohhh..." "Yes." Andrew's eyes danced devilishly. "No." "Fine. Pine away for a man who only wants you for sex but who is currently having sex with someone else. Pine away when you could be having sex with someone who wants no more than you do and may very well help you forget that loser for good. Your choice." 

Andrew went home and I sent a photo. Suggestive. Not nude. There is no need to compromise my entire future just because I haven't had sex this year. Except for Christopher. Which I'm obviously not counting. 

It took less than thirty seconds for The Czech to respond and then we were off and racing (inappropriate time for that metaphor?). Unfortunately the messages from The Czech got a little too crazy too quickly, reminding me once again just how much of a ladies man he is and how bad I am at flirting. 

Then they escalated. It was a level that would've caught Hugh Hefner's attention and made a Playboy Bunny or two squirm uncomfortably. Awkward, uncomfortable, blushing-as-I-read- them inappropriate. 

Despite not replying they came through faster. Each more disturbing than the one before. Started drinking because I had no idea what else to do or how to handle the level of pornography I was receiving (also because some of his suggestions would require a detailed and very well-illustrated handbook to actually initiate and I had been hoping more to just kind of lie there...). 

Now, I know what you're thinking. Silly Liv. Good news though is that for once in my life I had the restraint and the composure to tap-out. The last message I sent just read: 

Are you coming over? 

When he responded with more disturbing porn that, truthfully, I didn't even understand, I switched my phone off and hid under the covers where it didn't matter if I was a total prude who had developed performance anxiety. 

Then this afternoon I get this: 

Sorry about last night. Mates got hold of my phone. 

Oh God. 

He picked up on the second ring. "Hey." "What do you mean your mates got hold of your phone?" I hear how terse my words are but with the thumping in my chest echoing up through my ears I feel helpless and unwilling to control it. "It's okay. They don't know it was you." "Oh, because there are a million girls named Olivia Spencer in this town, whom, no doubt, are all saved into your phone, and who you interact with regularly in your daily life?" "No. You aren't in my phone under your name. Your number is there as something else." His voice is quieter and more sheepish than it should be, and I already know there isn't a cute and fluffy end to this anecdote. "What am I in there as?" "It doesn't matter." "I assure you, it does. What is my number saved in your phone as?" 

There's a pause. The sound of swallowing. "Neurotic chick." 

"Fuck you." 

As idiotic as it is, what I wanted was Prince Charming to appear at the door, and since he wasn't going to, settling for The Czech seemed reasonable. I was even open to the idea of The Czech secretly being wildly in love with me. What I wasn't expecting was half the city to be reading and laughing at a text message exchange I'd innocently and MINIMALLY participated in. 

Hiding my face from the world until I work out exactly who knows about the invitation I extended and the porn I received that I didn't even understand. 

Maybe I should go do another training session with Dylan and maybe it will calm the adrenaline that pulses through my body each time I think about which of his friends read those messages and what they must think of me. 

Liv x 

[kevinscottgardens]

29 août au 4 septembre 2022

We moored up in Calgiari around 10.00. Lucien and I decided to take a minibus ride around the city before alighting at the top of the town. From there we meandered down, and finally stopped for a bite to eat. Disappointingly, this was a short stop, so we were back aboard by 14.30 and were sailing by 15.00. It was our last port-of-call for the cruise.

Goodbye Sardinia. I made my way to the naked suntanning area for one last time. As we sailed up the coast of Sardinia, back towards Civitavecchia, we were blessed with a stunning sunset.

Jody and Steve kindly offered to give us a lift in their taxi the short ride to the train station in Civitavecchia. Thankfully we had bought our tickets ahead of time as the machines were out of order. The train ride home to Antibes, with Lucien, took twelve hours. There was a lot of lightening with heavy rain between Genoa and Ventimiglia which slowed the train to a snail’s pace. Lucien had the foresight to call ahead to a sushi place near the Antibes train station. So as soon as we arrived I ran over to collect it then we took a taxi home, enjoyed a late dinner and slept very well.

I started at 06.45 Wednesday morning. It was tough going. Several more plants in pots succumbed to the heat in my absence, especially the ones in the nursery. Lucien had coffee for me around 10.00 which was nice. We ordered Chinese for lunch then took a siesta. We headed to the airport to collect Susie around 19.30 then headed directly to Biot for dinner.

Thursday I fed the pelargoniums and did some watering. Heavy rain is forecast for all day Saturday, let’s see if anything materialises. I took Lucien to the train station before having a physio appointment. I then joined him at a nearby boulangerie for a coffee before accompanying him to his train at 16.10. It was sad to say goodbye after two weeks travelling together. I then headed to the market for a much needed stocking up of food for the house. Poor Susie must have been starving. That done, I headed home and Susie and I enjoyed apéros before making dinner.

Friday I worked until I headed off for an MRI on my left elbow. The scan confirmed tendonitis.

Susie and I headed into Antibes for a late lunch then walking around I ran into Christoph and Jean Noel, two guys I met while Chuck was here. I always running into people I know unexpectedly. I propagated some Salvia candelabrum in the afternoon.

Then we both needed a good siesta before apéros. In evening we headed up to O’Sarracino in Biot. We were ecstatic when we discovered the same singers were performing again this evening, just like our last visit here last October. It was a fun evening of dining and dancing.

Saturday was a grey, overcast yet still warm day. We headed up to Vence to visit Fondation Marguerite et Aimé Mæght. It started to rain as we drove away so we headed home for a snooze and apéros. Sadly, none of the rain made it to the domaine. I have a lot of watering to do Monday.

In the evening we headed into Antibes where we enjoyed a lightning show from the marina before stumbling upon a cosy restaurant that served us good comfort food at Le Brulot.

Sunday morning I went into old town and picked up some pastries for a late brunch. Then we decided to drive over to Cap Ferret and do a walk along the sentier du littoral.

It was a very nice walk and I’ll definitely do it again. There were many little areas to tan and jump into the water. There were a lot of people scuba diving too. The MS Azura was anchored off Villefranche-sur-Mer. It was anchored with us in Mykonos. We enjoyed some nice aperitifs before making a delicious risotto for dinner.

Plant of the week

Scrophulariaceae Leucophyllum frutescens (Berland.) I.M.Johnst.

common name(s) - Texas sage, Texas ranger, Texas rain sage, Texas silverleaf, Texas barometerbush, ash-bush, wild lilac, purple sage; español : senisa, cenicilla, palo cenizo, hierba del cenizo synonym(s) - homotypic synonym(s)* : Terania frutescens Berland.; heterotypic synonym(s)* : Leucophyllum frutescens f. albiflorum Clover; Leucophyllum frutescens f. albineum Lundell; Leucophyllum texanum Benth. conservation rating - none native to - SW Texas to Mexico location - Domaine de l’Orangerie, chez moi leaves - silvery gray to greenish, soft to the touch, tapering more gradually to the base than to the rounded tip, margins smooth flowers - solitary axillary pink flowers are bell- or funnel-shaped, with five lobes and two lips; violet to purple, sometimes pink, nearly bell shaped, appearing intermittently from spring to autumn fruit - small two-valve capsule habit - evergreen shrub to 2m tall by 1m wide habitat - grows primarily in the desert or dry shrubland biomes in rocky, calcareous soils pests - generally pest-free disease - generally disease-free hardiness - to -10ºC (H4) soil - well-drained sun - full sun propagation - seed, softwood cuttings, hardwood cuttings pruning - trim growing tips to encourage full, bushy growth nomenclature - Scrophulariaceae - scrophula, breeding sows were said to be prone to this glandular disease, signature of the glands on the corolla, many plants were used to treat scrophulae, the King’s disease; Leucophyllum - Greek words λευκός (leukos), meaning white, and φυλλον (phyllos), meaning leaf, referring to the trichome-covered foliage; frutescens - shrubby, becoming shrubby NB - Leucophyllum shrubs are legendary for their ability to ‘forecast’ rain, usually blooming several days prior to a rainstorm, apparently in response to humidity. It is believed to be a survival trait in the plants' semi-desert habitats.

*In botanical nomenclature a homotypic synonym (nomenclatural synonym) is a synonym that comes into being through a nomenclatural act. When a taxon gets a new name, without being included in another taxon (of the same rank). The old name becomes a homotypic synonym of the new name. In botanical nomenclature a heterotypic synonym (or taxonomic synonym) is a synonym that comes into being when a taxon is reduced in status (reduced to synonymy) and becomes part of a different taxon.

References :

Gardening Know How [online] https://www.gardeningknowhow.com/ornamental/shrubs/texas-sage/rooting-texas-sage-cuttings.htm [3 Sep 22]

Gledhill, David, (2008) “The Names of Plants”, fourth edition; Cambridge University Press; ISBN: 978-0-52168-553-5

IUCN [online] http://www.iucnredlist.org/search [3 Sep 22]

Missouri Botanical Garden [online] https://www.missouribotanicalgarden.org/PlantFinder/PlantFinderDetails.aspx?taxonid=287024 [4 Sep 22]

NCSU [online] https://plants.ces.ncsu.edu/plants/leucophyllum-frutescens/ [3 Sep 22]

Plants of the World [online] https://powo.science.kew.org/taxon/urn:lsid:ipni.org:names:139187-2 [3 Sep 22]

Wikipedia [online] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leucophyllum [3 Sep 22]

Ibid https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leucophyllum_frutescens [3 Sep 22]

Wildflower Center [online] https://www.wildflower.org/plants/result.php?id_plant=lefr3 [3 Sep 22]

World Flora Online [online] http://www.worldfloraonline.org/taxon/wfo-0001136787 [3 Sep 22]

[you-are-so-much-better-than-that]

Season 1 Episode 3

Episode 3 starts with Fiona fucking Good Officer Tony in his backseat. Strong start.

In the last episode, Good Officer Tony shoots his shot with Fiona, inviting her to an awards benefit at a church ‘next Thursday’. So this episode starts the Thursday night. If we’re assuming the previous episode happened during Thanksgiving weekend, then we’re now solidly in December 2010 and this episode starts December 2nd.

Good for you Good Officer Tony.

We meet Mandy for the first time. Season 1 Mandy seems so much softer than seasons to come, but still really sad. This little girl gets eyed up by Kev and harassed by her teacher. There's always an atmosphere of underlying sadness and trauma that Shameless covers up with comedy.

Anyway, she’s at the Kash and Grab ‘thanking’ Ian for playing hero and saving her from creepy, greasy, porn mustache teacher.

Lip and Karen go on a date. Ian and Kash make out behind the Kash and Grab (ew), but before they can go off and do any more, Mandy interrupts them. Love her from the get go! They head to the Gallagher house, and then there’s an amazing Mandy/Mickey parallel that makes my heart sing.

Everytime a Milkovich calls Carl a shithead an angel gets its wings.

Ian breaks Mandy’s teenage heart when he pushes her off of him after she basically attacks his face. Fiona comes home in time to see Mandy storming out, saving her from an awkward conversation with Good Officer Tony.

Lip and Karen are snuggling and screaming under the tracks. I kinda love this scene.

The next morning, a very naked Kev can’t make toast because the Gallaghers have their toaster. I love their symbiotic relationship. Or is it more that Gallaghers are leeching off of them? The Gallaghers wake up to a cold house, and Fiona is just constantly picking up laundry from the hallway. Why do they all get undressed in the hallway and then leave it there when the laundry shoot is literally RIGHT THERE. If you’re gonna undress in the hallway, just throw it down the shoot. OR are they getting undressed in their rooms and then just throwing the dirty clothes out into the hall even though, again, the laundry shoot is right there!

Steve knocks on the door. Kev storms in wearing THE ROBE. Carl is melting action figures over Kev’s toaster. Kev, ever helpful, suggests Carl, the almost 9 year old, use a blow torch. Steve lost a bet to Ian and asks if Ian wants to see Philly on the 12th or Edmonton on the 27th, a Sunday and Monday, respectively. He chooses the Edmonton Oilers (🇨🇦). I googled to see if these games existed on any day in 2010 or 2011 in case I was off on dates. They weren’t. This is Shameless parallel world.

Anyway, Fiona realizes the gas bill wasn’t paid which is why it’s so cold. It was due November 30 as per original Calendar, so their power was cut off. They owe $587, which is steep. They’re a few months behind. Once more, never forget this show is about American poverty. It’s winter and they’ve cut off their heat. Gotta say though, I love the Fi and Kev relationship. He can tell she’s obviously stressed, but he compliments her oatmeal and she smiles.

Frank steals from his own kids. Tony admits he was a virgin until last night. And a lady is here for Aunt Ginger because her social security checks have been cashed in Chicago, but Fiona is confused because AuNt GiNgEr LiVeS iN wIsCoNsIn. Oh poor Fiona.

The dirtiest white boy in America (or at least the Southside) leads a group of similarly dirty Milkoviches in search for Ian. You know. To murder him, probably. Normal.

And in a moment of great foreshadowing: that dirty boy has no idea he’ll be spending the rest of his life screaming Ian’s name 😏

While Fiona yells at Frank about Aunt Ginger, Mickey and his goons have spray painted “Ian Gallagher is a Dead Man” all over the Southside. I wonder if it’s still there and Ian takes Mickey to visit it all nostalgic.

He spells his name right here, though.

Frank tries to get an old lady from the shelter to pose as Aunt Ginger. He is refused for something he did ‘last Christmas’, so he sneaks in. Steve is still chasing Fiona. Lip has just taken an SAT for some other kid and gets the shit beat out of him by Mickey. No good deed.

Things to note. Iggy is getting out of juvi, and Mickey says his mom is driving up to get him. So his mom is still alive here.

Lip comes home, once more interrupting Good Officer Tony trying so hard to get Fiona. Frank finally admits Aunt Ginger has been dead for 12 years, breaking Debbie’s heart. So they take Debbie to the old people pound to pick out an Aunt Ginger for them to foster temporarily.

Debbie and fake Aunt Ginger bond over old lady things. Steve tries again with Fiona. Ian and Lip have another iconic BROTHERS moment.

The next morning, Lip wakes up to find Ian and the Killing Bat missing. Lip goes to join Ian on his suicide mission, and we get another great BROTHERS moment. Instead of Mickey, Ian runs into Mandy and he confesses that he’s gay.

The lady from the government comes back and meets fake Aunt Ginger. The Gallaghers get away with it, and Fiona steals the social security cheque to pay the gas bill. And Frank admits Ginger is buried in the backyard. I hate this show.

Ian and Mandy bond over NSYNC, which feels like a dated reference. If they're 14/15 in 2010, and Nsync's final album Celebrity came out in 2001 (I know this because 12 year old me made my dad take me to the HMV at the mall to buy me the cd) then they were like 5. Anyway, she’s worried he thinks she’s ugly and is using being gay as an excuse. He assures her she’s beautiful, which is adorable, and when she’s still skeptical, he grabs her boob and puts her hand on his dick. He doesn’t get a boner, which convinces Mandy that he really is gay. He looks so bored.

Debbie has to return fake Aunt Ginger and breaks down crying. I’d say get this girl a puppy, but they couldn't afford to keep one alive.

Fiona is all dressed up and in front of Tony’s mom’s door, but instead chooses Steve, because that girl loves toxic men.

In conclusion, this episode begins a week after the previous, starting on Thursday December 2 and going through until Saturday December 4.

[cockasinthebird]

Prompt 212! I hope it's a good one, but it's your writing so I'm sure it'll be fantastic! Congrats again on 500!! 💕😊💖 -opaldraws

@opaldraws yeah I’m also tagging your other blog, what about it 😌💕

212. “Did you just call to get off to my voice?”

Now, I haven’t written it a lot, but I absolutely L O V E phone sex fics, and for the sake of it, I’ve written this a bit into the future; not quiet a modern day au, but more of an... early 2000′s au, because I wanted them to have phones, but not something modern and smart, so for the sake of the prompt, imagine that they both have that super iconic Nokia 3310, you know exactly which one 😂😂🤣

Also this includes mechanic Billy, another of my favourite aus

Thank you again so much for prompting me, babe!!!! I think it’s fantastic, so, for your pleasure, 1.7k words, enjoy~

-

Steve rolls around in sheets that still smell of Billy. He stretches out with a grunt, naked and lazy blissful, the clock on his side of the bed says 10:13 am, on a typical Tuesday morning. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and stares at a water stain in the corner of the ceiling, one which Billy claims that if you squint, it looks like a voluptuous woman. 

To think, three months they’ve lived here now, a shitty little one bedroom apartment down on mainstreet, walking distance from the workshop and Family Video, yet Billy insists every day on driving the camaro, revving the engine and showing off in front of his envious coworkers. 

Three months since they became official, three months since Neil kicked Billy out, three months since Steve’s father cut him out of the will. 

Three months they’ve spent every night together, yet, as Steve presses his face into Billy’s pillow, inhaling the musky scent of his sweat, he still yearns all the same as he did back in high school. The same old desperation and neediness fills him just at the mere thought of his boyfriend. And he’s hardly to blame, being naked in their bed, in their apartment. 

He breathes in deep again and sighs contentedly into the fabric, raising his hips to allow for a hand to slip beneath, fingers grazing gently across hardening flesh.

Their schedules don’t always align, Billy being off on weekends, Steve on, leaving the poor brunette home alone Tuesdays and Thursdays. And he misses him already, as needy and pathetic and clingy as that might be, making him anxious and doubtful, but Billy calls it cute and sweet and that, “I miss you, too, baby,” so maybe someday Steve will learn that this kind of behaviour and thought is ok when you’re in love, and won’t get pushed away for it.

Billy never pushes him away, no he holds him, kisses him, loves him. Tells him every day with the sweetest kisses. In the mornings when they’re rushing off to work because they stayed in bed for too long. In the evening when they’re cooking dinner and eating together by the little round table. In the night when they’re pressed together soft and slow, rough and fast, skin on skin on skin.

Steve closes his hand around his full dick and strokes at a far too slow pace, enjoying the pleasant sparks that spread around his lower abdomen and thighs, not enough for release, but enough for him to moan lightly into Billy’s pillow. He runs his other arm beneath it to hug it tighter against his face, wishing to be as close to Billy as he can right now.

God he really needs Billy right now… Billy Billy Billy… If he closes his eyes and focuses hard enough, he can almost imagine that it’s Billy’s hand stroking him now, calloused and worn from work, strong and firm, he tightens his grip, thrusting into his fingers with jittery and impatient hips.

He turns his head to look at his phone on the bedside table, thinking, tempted to call. And he only really wastes a few brief seconds convincing himself, before he’s reaching for it with his free hand, the motion of his other hand becoming lackadaisical as he finds Billy’s phone number on his phone.

The ringing like a drum solo, his heart beating hard and loud in tact. 

“Hey honey,” Billy says with a voice pure with adoration, and Steve’s heart calms down immediately, feeling his dulcet tone embrace his heart.

“You’re up early,” he teases.

“Yeah, I…” Steve trails off, not really sure what to say, just really wanted to listen to Billy talk. “H-how’s work?”

“Oh you won’t believe what I’m looking at!” the eagerness in his voice palpable, “This old couple comes in with the most gorgeous Cadillac from the 70s! Says they’re taking retirement ‘on the road’, but it’s been sputtering an awful lot lately, so now,” he pauses for the sake of dramatic effect, “I get to clean this old gals engine! New spark plugs, cleaning the carburetor, and an oil change on the house.”

Even if Steve doesn’t know what any of that really means, he gets a near second-hand thrill from how excited Billy is. Also it paints a perfect picture, Billy with his jumpsuit tied around his waist because he loves to show off those arms, covered in oil and grease and sweat, the dirty, white tank top, hair tied back.

There’s a longer pause before Billy asks, “What are you up to?” something in his tone that might imply he knows exactly what Steve’s doing.

“I-I’m still in bed,” Steve responds with all the self-control he has, albeit not a lot of it.

“Oh yeah?” Billy’s voice deep and raspy all of a sudden. “And what are you doing in bed? Because it doesn’t sound like you’re sleeping.”

Steve rolls on to his back and looks down at where his prick has started leaking; the pre helping with the dryness as he swipes his thumb over the head. 

“Come on, princess,” Billy drawls when there’s no response, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I-I- ahh…” Steve moans gingerly before biting down on his lip. “I’m touching myself.”

“Thinking about anyone in particular?”

The obvious answer being, “You.”

His phone nearly vibrates when Billy chuckles like rolling thunder. “So… did you just call to get off to my voice?”

“Yes,” Steve says without a filter, lust slowly pulling him apart as he jerks a bit faster to the sensuous tone of Billy.

“That’s awfully naughty of you.”

A breathless, “Fuck,” escapes him as he screws his eyes shot to picture Billy again.

“Calling me like this, in the middle of my work day… Do you know how hard that makes me? Listening to you pant and moan like that? Making it impossible to focus on my work, baby.”

He leans into the phone, moans a bit louder, unadulterated, let’s out a slight, “Billy…”

And Billy laughs. “Oh that’s so unfair, you saying my name like that when I can’t do anything about it. When I come home later, I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The echo of a lock comes through the phone and Steve blinks open.

“What are you doing?”

Next he hears just a light clink of a belt.

“I’m in the employees bathroom, taking a break. You didn’t think I’d just let you get off on your own, did you? Don’t be so selfish.”

“Billy, are you-”

“I am,” he sighs with satisfaction - a roughness to the edge of his voice.

A sigh and insinuation that gives Steve all the right clues for the perfect picture of Billy, sitting with his legs spread out, cock out through the hole in his boxers to stroke it, making Steve’s own kick and drip more. He slides further down their bed as he raises his hips into his fist, closing his eyes again to focus on Billy’s breathing, his words.

“Mmmh, when I get off from work, when I get home in 4 hours, you better be naked, waiting for me as I step through the door.”

Steve imagines it just so, listening to Billy like he’s being told a story- a promise. 

“We won’t make it to the bedroom - I can’t wait that long to touch you again.”

“Billy,” he whines and runs his hand a bit too fast, chasing an all too soon release.

“I’m gonna have you bent over the dining table, eating you out till you’re begging me to finger you open. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck-” 

Each word sending static shivers through his entire being, making him buck his hips harder, thrusting with abandon into the whimsical motion of his hand. He presses the phone between his face and the pillow, to allow his left hand the freedom to go down, squeezing his balls tenderly, pressing and massaging his taint beneath.

“God, shit- arrh- listen to you, princess, so obedient and willing… Getting so wet just from my voice, hmmm…” his deep, carnal humming vibrates through the phone. “And once you’re all stretched out and ready from four of my fingers, I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be on the verge of tears, all sensitive from my big cock.”

“Please, Billy,” he whines, oh so close, the fuse burning quickly at the speed of his hand.

“Fuck I love it when you say my name like that, all needy and horny and pliant, begging for me to pound your ass, fuck- ah-”

“Billy,” Steve whines and really milks it for all it’s worth, drawing it out into a full moan. “Billy I’m so close.”

“Let me hear you cum, baby,” Billy growls out, rugged with laboured breathing.

“God, fuck- fuck, a-ah-” And Steve doesn’t keep quiet, opens wide as he arches his back, lifts his hips high into the air as he pumps himself with fervor, cum spurting from his throbbing cock and onto his chest, a splash reaching his throat from the raised angle. Billy has, on numerous occasions, called it “pornographic,” says that Steve gives a better performance, riding on his dick, than any of the actors on tape.

Billy grunts and groans on the other end, struggling to keep his own euphoria down no doubt, but it is clear to Steve that his boyfriend is right there with him, and listening to him cum gives him a deep rooted thrill, an incredible sense of satisfaction that can almost rival his own orgasm.

They pant and gasp for air together, Billy sounding more like he’s been diving too deep for too long, but chuckles all the same.

“Mmmmh glad you called, bambi,” he hums deep and satisfied and happy.

A joy that brings such elation to Steve’s own heart.

“Me, too,” he laughs back, short and utterly exhausted. He could absolutely go for a nap now.

“Now, you have…” a pause as Billy no doubt looks at his wristwatch, “three hours and about twenty minutes to get cleaned up, regain your energy, and drink lots of water, because when I get home, I’m gonna have to punish you for this.”

[world-of-aus]

Behind the Screen - (Part 7)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 

Warnings: 18+

Author’s Note: Is anyone else confused on there days, because i literally thought today was Monday and i thought i was on schedule only to realize it was actually wednesday! So sorry for the delay, i’m debating moving around the day updates for Behind the Screen to Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday & Family Matter’s will be Monday, Wednesday and i’m also aiming for Fridays, im thinking if i make this change it may help me feel caught up! With finishin up our year, and being a fulltime mom updates are a little hard, but im trying! As always tag-list are still open for both BTS & FM, so if you’d like to be added just send me a message or ask. Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying the work i put out!

Part 6 / SERIES MASTERLIST

“How bad is it?” Bucky groaned head resting in your battered hands.

“I’m pretty sure it’s broken, I don’t think I can set this,” you sighed gnawing on your bottom lip in worry as you assessed his injured nose, “Buck I really think we should get you to med bay, why didn’t you go there first before coming here, I'm not a medical professional.” You muttered applying more pressure to the soaked cotton hanging from his nostrils.

“take my nose between your fingers will you,” he grunted nasally.

Bucky was having trouble breathing, through his more than likely broken bloodied nose, the hot air from his mouth fanning over the palms of your hands where they rested on his cheek, “buck seriously this is broken, let me get you down to m-”

His fingers looped into the tops of your leggings, pulling you into the slot between his tense thighs, “stop with the med bay, I'm not going and you're not taking me,” he wheezed, “set it for me, you do it to Steve all the time,” he murmured.

You stared at the bloodied man before you in bewilderment, “Buck that was once and it was his shoulder, we’re talking about your nose here,” you voiced exasperatedly, “what if I break it more than you’ve already managed to do!”

“Sweetheart,” he grunted, the word going straight through you, “will you just straighten it up, I can’t fucking breathe.”

You knew you shouldn’t, but you also knew how stubborn Bucky could be when he was this badly messed up after a mission, and man was his brooding showing through, and where there was brooding his stubbornness was sure to be as well. There was just simply no arguing, you would be here longer than needed if you didn’t just do what he was asking.

“count of three?” you questioned.

He nodded his head, his fingers holding onto your waist as he pulled you in a little closer, “alright,” you took a breath, “one, two, th-” your thumbs pressed into the sides of his noise, fingers pushing on his nose, a crack sounding below your fingers as you pushed it back into place.

“Son of a bitch!” he growled, “what the fuck doll, I said three!” he grunted his fingers pressing harder into your skin sure to leave a mark. His head fell to your shoulder, his breathing labored, “Buck had I counted to three you probably would have moved away at the last second.”

“I wouldn’t have, should have just done it myself,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped past your lips, “m’sorry buck, but if you had gone to med bay like Steve had advised when you guys landed instead of catching me in the hallway maybe they would have been gentler with you,”

Bucky lifted his head up from your shoulder then, “maybe I wanted you to be the one to tend to me, have you not read those types of fics of mine?” he questioned a teasing tone to his voice.

Laughter fell from your lips, “I'm regretting ever letting you find out, I mean how long has it been now and you still tease me about it?”

A low chuckle fell from Bucky’s lips as his eyes looked over your face, you felt so exposed in that moment, “Wouldn’t say I'm teasing you in that way doll, but I am teasing you in another way,” he replied his voice dropping to a whisper.

You cocked your head, eyebrow raised, “Buck” you warn, “don’t you star-”

His hands are cupping your face then, thumb running over your lips silencing you. He’s staring at you in a way that has your heart stalling in your chest, your knees going weak. He’s leaning forward then, bringing you in closer, his breath ghosting over your parted lips.

His name falls from your lips in a silent whisper, his lips close the distance between the two of you. The kiss is slow, un-rushed like the two of you had time. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, coaxing you to let him in. Your fingers are curling, looking for something to bury themselves in, you push further into his open legs your hands sliding up his chest where they weave their way into his long locks. You’re pushed against his warm broad chest, lips magnetically drawn to his as your tongues continue to dance, delicate moans spilling from your lips into his.

The need for air becomes too much in the wake of your heated kiss as you draw your head back, a gasp falling from your lips as you suck in a lung full of air. Bucky nuzzles your neck then, placing delicate kisses along your awaiting skin. His hands have found their way to your hips, fingers gliding along the hem of your shirt slipping under to feel the soft skin that lays there. Your hands still weaved in his hair, are pulling his head back to you, your lips connecting with his again. The kiss is not like the first, this one is fiery, demanding, your senses having been clouded over with want, a need building up within.  

He speaks your name into your lips, you heart fluttering wildly in your chest from the sound, never had your name sounded so wonderful falling from someone’s lips as they did his. Your leaning in again when three sharp knocks to your door have you both jumping apart from one another,  

“y/n,” Steve's voice calls out, your head falls against the wall, a silent groan falling from your lips.

“is Bucky still with you, he’s needed for a debriefing,” his muffled voice adds through your closed door.

From where your leaning against the wall, your eyes look over to Bucky his face unreadable, and you wonder if Steve has managed to do it yet again. A gentle sigh leaves your lips as you push off from the wall, “Just finished Steve,” you lied not daring to look in Bucky’s direction, “I’ll send him right out to you,”  

No words are spoken as you move around Bucky’s unmoving form from where he sits on your bathroom vanity.  You can feel his eyes on you as you pick up the bloodied cotton and wrappers thrown around him. You want to say something, but your words are failing you, all that you can think to speak is “Steve’s waiting Buck, you should go before he comes looking for you again,” you murmured continuing to clean the already clean counter. The sigh that leaves Bucky’s lips has you looking up at him, your breath catches in your throat at the storm on Bucky’s face. Not wanting to stick around to be caught in it, you did the only thing you could think to do in that moment, you walked away to busy yourself and your racing thoughts.

Bucky wants to reach out to you the second he sees your face falter, he wants to stop you, make you stay, tell Steve to fuck off, but he knows you, he knows what you’re doing inside that head of yours. So he lets you go, let’s you walk away from him, even though he wants nothing more than to pull you back into his arms. Walking out your door to go to the debriefing with Steve was the last thing that he wanted to do.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you while Steve babbles away of the disarray of today’s mission, but he can’t get you out of his mind. Bucky’s mind is solely on you, on how you look, feel, everything about you, and he’ll be damned if he gets an earful from Steve on not being focused, which it does.

Bucky can’t get out of the meeting room quick enough, waiting for everyone else to leave the room before he does so as to not throw them off when they see him run off in the other direction. He’s quick to walk the halls, feet pounding down the slick tile like a man on a mission.

He stops in front of the door, his mind and heart racing wondering if he should just turn around, tuck tail, and go back to his room. He doesn’t want to though, he wants to put himself out there, he wants to put himself in arms reach for you, he wants to do these things with you, he wants you. He doesn’t allow himself to over think as he turns the doorknob, pushing your door open.

Bucky freezes door open midway as he spots you standing in the middle of the room a single white towel wrapped around your wet skinned form. Your eyes are wide, finger clutching the towel tightly, his name is falling from your lips but he doesn’t quiet register it in the haze of his mind. He’s moving forward then, the door swinging closed behind him, as his feet carry him to you.

“Bucky,” you whisper in question stumbling back slightly from the intensity of his gaze. He’s watching you, the rise and fall of your chest, you shouldn’t have this effect on him, but you do. He draws closer to you, his hand rising up to push your damp hair from your face, his fingers curling behind your head, keeping you there. The smell of your body wash lingers on your skin, the scent of coffee and coconut tickling his nose. He’s pushed against you now, his body turning yours as he backs you up into your bed. The back of your legs hit the bed first, your form stumbling, Bucky's hands are gripping the towel as it falls from your body, your back hitting your sheets.

Your cheeks are burning as you look up at him like a deer caught in head lights, your hands scrambling for your sheets to cover your naked form, but Bucky’s voice stops you.

“buck what are you-” he silences you with a finger to his lips. His stare alone causes a shiver to roll up your spine, his gaze predatory.

“buck” you try again.

There’s too many things going on through his mind, he needs to calm himself before he does something he might regret, “fuck” he whispers his eyes trailing your naked form, you’re so beautiful he thinks as he eyes rake over your curves.

“Buck,” you repeat, your eyes looking at him with concern, he can see your restraint in leaning up to check on him, the caution. He's swooping down then, his body fitting over yours, pushing you deeper into the mattress below you. He's caught you off guard, an audible gasping falling from your lips, his head is ducking down, tongue trailing your clavicle, drawing a low moan from you. He braces himself with his left hand, his thighs slotting with yours as his right hand finds its way to your face, thumb tracing along the plump of your lower lip.

“Bucky,” you sigh, his name falling from your lips in a breathy drawn out plea.

“You’re so beautiful sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, his nose running along the underside of your chin, leaving a trail of open wet mouthed kisses, till his lips are finding yours. He lets himself relish in the sounds he pulls from you, the way you feel under him, saving it for later when he’s away from you, something that he can think back to. When he pulls his lips from yours, he can feel the rise and fall of your chest, your plump lips parted slightly, your warm breath fanning across his face.

He really can’t bring himself to look away from you, he had always thought you were beautiful, but having him underneath you like he did now, it was almost to much, almost.

“You know,” he murmurs “when I first went through the tag on my own after I had left your room that first night, I didn’t know what to think, but the more I read through some of these stories the writers wrote, I began to imagine myself doing these things, and do you want to know who I imagined myself doing them with?” he questions. Your nodding then, your breath hitching as you feel his right hand descend down the curves of your body, “you” he whispers, words ghosting over your lips, “I’ve imagined you in every possible scenario that was drawn out for me,” he murmurs nipping at your chin.

Your writhing; back arching as you feel his hand drift to where you need him, “I’ve pictured you on your knees for me, on your back legs spread, arched, as your hands drift down this beautiful body, finger dipping into your warm heat,” the statement is accompanied with his fingers dipping into the slick of you warmth, your mouth falling open in a gasp. “I have pictured you every time, and you never disappoint,” he grunts index finger circling your entrance before he’s dipping in your back arches head thrown back at the pleasure that surges through you.

Your making those noises Bucky loves to hear spill from your lips, the sweetest sounds bubbling from your throat. He’s adding a second finger, curling them in a beckoning motion, grinning against your skin, when he feels how your body reacts. He pushes in deeper, fingers curling quicker, “fuck” you breath out, and Bucky's grinning again knowing he’s found that sweet spot within you.

He loves to see you like this, loves to see how your body reacts to his. His lips are making their way up your face to find your lips, only for you to be seeking out his as well, the action causing you to jostle his nose slightly a low hiss falling from his lips. “Buck your nose,” you gasp breathily, “you really should have gone to med bay.” Bucky can’t help but chuckle, “you really want me to go to the med bay?” he questions his fingers curling again, causing your head to fall back into the sheets.  

“you know what would be better than med bay,” he murmurs kissing along your skin, “to see you come apart underneath me,” he whispers, teeth nipping at your skin, “you think you can do that for me angel, you think you could cum for me,” he questions huskily thumb swirling around your clit.

Your mouth falls open in a breathy moan, back arching as he builds you up, fingers thrusting faster, deeper, thumb swirling quicker, harder working you up to that immense pleasure only he can bring you. He feels the moment you fall over the edge, your pussy clenching around his fingers, a loud moan falling from your lips. He continues to thrust his fingers into you, only for you to reach down and take a hold of his hand halting his movements. He glances up at you through his lashes, a grin pulling at his lips as he pulls his finger from your wet slick.

You're watching through hooded eyes as he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. A shiver rolls through your body at the action, you don’t get the chance to utter the fuck that wants to escape your mouth with Bucky’s lips crashing onto yours. Bucky licks into your mouth, tongue tangling with yours, letting you taste yourself, a low moan falling from your lips.

“Bucky,” you moan tearing your spit slick lips from his, “please,” you plead.

And Bucky swears he’s never heard sweeter words than those that spill from your mouth, “what do you want sweetheart, tell me what you want,” he replies in a low whisper, his fingers trailing over your lips. He watches in awe as your tongue peeks out, licking the digit, your lips closing over it as you suck it into your mouth.

“Fuck look at you,” a moan falls from your lips, “the things I want to do to you,” he grunts, “I want to fuck you, fuck you so hard you won’t be able to leave this bed, be buried so deep inside of you that you’ll never forget what it feels like, would you like that, do you want me to fuck you?”  

“Yes please,” you moan, “please fuck me Bucky,” you beg.

Bucky growls low in his throat, his lips capturing yours in another heated kiss of teeth and tongue. You have no idea what you do to him, how riled up you get him. Your innocent to the reactions he has because of you, though he thinks you know with how hard he is in his tactical gear, his cock straining against the confines of his pants.

Needing to feel your skin against his he slides off of you, a whine leaving your lips as your fingers reach out for him. You watch him peel his shirt off tossing it to the side, his hands going for his jeans next, but your hands are stopping him, pushing his hands away as you work the button and zipper off.   Your hands are hooking into the waistband of his jeans and boxers pulling them down swiftly, a low moan falls from your lips as his cock springs free from the right confines of his pants.

He’s kicking them off the rest of the way, his body covering yours once more. Your perfect he thinks, so fucking perfect, and you’re with him like this, in a way he never could have imagined having you. His hand is sliding down the side of your body where it hooks underneath your leg pulling till it’s wrapped around his waist his hips falling into place between your legs.

Bucky’s mind is hazy with pleasure,  as he feels every inch of you against his, like you were for him. “Fuck sweetheart,” he murmurs with a roll of his hips, “you’re so fucking wet, did I get you this wet?” He questions his cock nudging your clit.

A moan falls from your lips, “use your words sweetheart, did I make you this wet?” He grunts thrusting his lips shallowly  

“God yes,” you whine needing to feel more, “please Buck,”

“Please what, tell me what you want,” he whispers lips ghosting just over yours.

“Please fuck me, please I need to feel you,” you begged back arching, your chest pressing into his.

Bucky wastes no time as he lines himself up with your slick entrance, his hips thrusting forward, teeth gritting as your heat welcomes him. He stops when he’s fully sheathed, breath coming out labored, as you flutter around him, clenching. “Fuck sweetheart,” he grits, “feel so good around me,” he murmurs.

He pulls back to only the tip, before surging forward, the thrust jostling you beneath him, earning him a throaty groan of pleasure from you, “Fuck, yes,” you hiss, “please don’t stop,” you moan.

Bucky grins into your neck, nipping at your sweat slick skin, his thrusts are slow, hard, and deep, a buildup that has you writhing and whining just for him. Your fingers are winding through Buckys hair, tugging the harder his thrusts get. Your pulling his hair bringing his face to yours, your lips meeting his in a breathy kiss.

“Fuck right there, right fucking there,” you moan into his mouth when he changes the angle on you hitting that pleasurable spot within you.  

Bucky’s left-hand catches under your right thigh, lifting till it sits high up on his hip, it changes the angle further, a broken gasp falls from your lips as it drives him in deeper, “fuck it feels so good,” you groan, you feel so good,” you sob clenching around him.

Bucky wants to reiterate your exact words but with the way your warm wet heat is clenching around his aching cock, he can only manage a low moan of your name. Your it for him he thinks, the way you take him, the pleasure you bring him and he knows he can bring you; he doesn’t think he could ever go tired of this.

“Shit,” he breathes his hips slowing slightly, he wants to drag you out a little longer, wants to rebuild that pleasure. He moves again fucking up into the wet heat of your cunt, drawing low moans from you, your breath hitching as your pleasure builds up. Bucky feels spurred on as he continues to fuck into you, bringing you back to that sweet edge, he can tell your close by the way your pussy clenches around him, and he knows the thing to send you right over.

His left hand is leaving your thigh to slide in between your bodies, delving in the warmth of your heat, index finger seeking out that sweet little bundle of nerves.

“Come on baby,” he murmurs finger picking up speed around your aching clit, “i know you want to cum for me, are you going to cum for me?” he questions finger swiping a little quicker. Its enough to send your over the edge, as your body tenses, thighs shaking, low moans of pleasure ripping from your mouth.  

Fuck Bucky thinks, if that isn’t the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.  

His name is falling from your lips in a low chant, the pleasure is too much, you need him to cum, you want to feel him cum. And he does, he cums with his lips pressed to yours a low groan of pleasure falling from his lips and into yours as he loses the rhythm, his body thrumming with pleasure.

Your both laying there bodies lax, Bucky’s head nestled into your neck, your fingers absentmindedly running up and down his back drawing the occasional shiver from him. Its quiet, but its comfortable, you’re the first to speak up, “Bucky where did this come from you,” you murmured quietly.

He peeked his head up looking up at you, “you complaining,” he teased earning a laugh and a swat to the arm from you.

“No i’m not complaining but,” you paused mulling over your words, “it was just unexpected, I thought you might have been thrown off with Steve again,” your murmured looking away from him.

Bucky didn’t like that you did that, that you felt you needed to hide from him, “i told you I wanted to do these things with you, and I meant it,” he spoke taking your chin in his hand so your eyes would meet his again.

“so, is this part of the new agreement?” you questioned not really knowing what this new agreement had entailed since you and Bucky had never actually sat and talked about it.

“You could say that, there’s things I want to try and like I said, I only want to try them with you, if you don’t want to do this you can always tell me to just go and I won’t hold an of this against you,” though those were the words that had fallen from his lips, his mind was saying something entirely different. Bucky could only hope you would agree to this new agreement, because while he felt he couldn’t have you the way he really wanted if he could have you like this, well this would be enough.

Part 8

Behind The Screen Tag-List: @ladifreakingda @georgialeighc13 @racewife2004 @multy-fandom-lover @otvlanga @sailorstupidsblog @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @wantingtobekorra @gazzan-a @clarinette07 @amanda-the-fangirl @im-sure-its-fine @sagechanoafterdark @heyywestman @runaway-escape @ilovesupersoldiers @unlistedpond @rayofdawnworld @badassbaker @spookyanairwin @fandom-basurero @krabby-tentacles @sassy-pelican @lizlepuffs @jaywolf840 @xoasalxo

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The (not naked) pin-up calendar

Summary: When you ask for a favor, Bucky (very) grudgingly agrees. What can you do to thank him? Return the favor, of course.

Characters: Bucky x Reader; a plethora of Avengers Warnings: Hardcore fluff. Soldiers wrestling like immature children. Steve being weirded out by nut sacks. Harry Potter references. A hint of naughty times at the end.

A/N: This is silly and fun and what can I say, writing sassy Bucky makes me happy. This is for @beckzorz 1k Writing Challenge (go follow this incredibly talented, beautiful lady), and my prompt was ‘Pin-up calendar’. Thanks a million for hosting Becca, I love you 3000! ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Overnight, the list gets tacked on the corkboard in the kitchen.

Bucky’s rummaging through the pantry, searching for his breakfast Doritos and a jar of salsa to dunk them in, when he glimpses his name from a distance. Snatching up a butter knife, he wanders over to the wall. When he sees the list header, he whirls around in a flurry of tangled hair and irrational grumpiness.

“What the hell is this?”

Bucky complaining first thing in the morning is par for the course, so both Sam and Steve, strolling in to search for breakfast, ignore him. Sam veers toward the sugary cereal cabinet, Steve heads for the oversize Ironman container housing granola, and Bucky stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Steve says seconds later, through an overflowing mouthful of flaxseed and yogurt. “You already agreed. You’re not backing out.”

Bucky spins around and reads the flyer again.

---

“Avengers Calendar Shoot”

See below for your name and photo call timing.

Monday: Carol (10am), Wanda (2pm), Scott (6pm)

Tuesday: Rhodey (10am), Sam (2pm), Steve (6pm)

Wednesday: Tony (10am), Bruce (2pm), Natasha (6pm)

Thursday: Thor (10am), Clint (2pm), Bucky (6pm)

---

Stomping his foot again, Bucky stabs the flyer with the aforementioned butter knife.

“Someone better be yankin’ my dick right now,” he warns. “I definitely didn’t agree to bare my wrinkly nut sack for the whole fucking world to see.”

Sam dry heaves over his Lucky Charms.

Steve’s now filling his Black Widow coffee mug and rolling his eyes.

“What is it with you always trying to be naked? It’s not a naked thing, it’s a charity thing. Innocent children who don’t know what an asshole you are will see this, so you better be wearing clothes,” Steve gives his mug an annoying slurp. “Besides - you already agreed. No takebacks.”

“Steve,” Bucky crisply pivots, launching metaphorical murder darts from his eyes. “We’ve talked about this. Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

“Well it was your girl who convinced everyone to do it, so good luck telling her you’re a liar.” Instead of responding, Bucky holds up a Dorito in front of Steve and peers around the silhouette. Draws a few angles in his head. “What?” Steve asks brusquely.

“Nothing,” Bucky mutters. The chip cracks between his teeth with a puff of toxic orange. “Just makin’ an observation.”

“Just wear your scary leather bondage uniform with your scary mask and stand there all scary. You don’t even need to smile,” Sam says. Spooning cereal in with one hand, his other is attempting to worm its way into Bucky’s bag of chips. Cradling the Doritos under his arm, Bucky twists away, blocking the attack.

“Good way to lose a finger. Don’t touch my things.”

Sam swallows his cereal, ignores the lethal look in Bucky’s eyes, and tries again.

Steve joins in.

And so, when you roll into the kitchen a few minutes later, here’s what you find: three Avengers, three veteran soldiers, wrestling over a bag of Doritos. Bucky has Sam in a headlock, Sam is kicking Bucky’s shins and hitting him with a milky spoon, and for some reason, Steve is dancing around trying to tickle them both.

Clearing your throat, the trio freezes.

You smile.

“Gentlemen.”

Flailing arms and legs instantly break apart. Sam and Steve have the good grace to look chastened, both stammering embarrassed apologies. Bucky simply shoves a fistful of Doritos in his mouth and smiles triumphantly. Striding over to you, he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Babe, take my side here. You don’t want the whole world to see my nut sack, right?”

“Stop saying nut sack,” Steve hisses. “Nuts are gross.”

“Maybe your nuts are gross Steve,” Sam pipes up, rubbing his shirt with a wet rag, trying to clear away Bucky’s orange powder fingerprints, “but my nuts are awesome.” After a few harsh scrubs, he sees the futility and throws the rag in Bucky’s face. Stalking from the kitchen, he shouts something about laundry wheels and Oxyclean.

When you pluck the bag of Doritos from Bucky’s grubby hands, he releases them easily and grins at your exasperation. Sidling close, he rubs up against you like a needy kitten, so you hug him tight, dipping your fingers down to squeeze his butt.

“Please do it Bucky, I already told them you would. Wear anything you want, you don’t even have to smile,” you murmur in his ear, knowing precisely which buttons to push. “And besides, I bet I’m not the only one who wants to see those pretty blue eyes. Right?”

Bucky purses his lips. Wrinkles his nose. Grumbles under his breath.

And because you’re looking at him all wide-eyed and soft, he gives in.

Like he always does.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Fine. I’ll do it for you.”

“So much drama,” Steve mumbles through his granola. Bucky lunges for him, but Steve drops his bowl in the sink and skirts past, rushing for the door. Looking back, he throws Bucky a challenging smirk, before smacking into the doorframe. There’s a brief ricochet and then he’s scurrying down the hall, laughing as he goes.

“Idiot,” Bucky mutters.

Folding your fingers behind his neck, you turn his face back to you and kiss his stubbly cheek. “Thank you. Reason number one billion and two why I love you.”

At the brush of your lips, Bucky promptly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you in the air. Spinning around, he shuffles over to the counter and drops you on top. Settling between your legs, hands flat on the counter boxing you in, his mouth finds the open space above your shirt collar and he proceeds to kiss every square inch.

“The things I do for you,” he breathes, sucking his favorite spot along your neck. It makes you shiver, that thing he does with his tongue. “You realize now I gotta go on a diet.”

“What? No, you don’t. You look perfect.”

Disappointingly, he stops that whole talented tongue thing and leans back. Grinding your heels into his butt, you kick him, urging him to stay put. Instead, he sighs in that tragic, pay attention to me way that only Bucky Barnes can do.

“Obviously I’m perfect, so are you by the way, but the camera adds five pounds. I have to preemptively lose it.” Crinkling up his now empty bag of Doritos, he throws it at the trash can and misses by a mile. He gives you a hangdog, pathetic sort of look. “This sucks.”

Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. The most dramatic human being on the planet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to diet. You could weigh a thousand pounds and it wouldn’t matter, you don’t - “

“Maybe not, like, a thousand pounds,” Bucky interrupts. “That’d make sex super hard. And not good hard. Just awkward hard. You know? Like when Hagrid’s mom and dad had sex. Which I still don’t understand how that’s supposed to work and I’ve done a shitload of research on it, been on all kinds of forums and talked to some experts - there’s a guy at SHIELD who specializes in interplanetary species relationships, I don’t know if you knew that - but anyway it just makes no sense because she would have killed that little guy if he tried to bang her, and I’m sorry, that’s the tea and I’ll fucking fight anyone who disagrees.”

Pausing for breath, he looks so earnest you almost hate to stop him.

“Buck, maybe we try one day where you don’t reference Harry Potter? I know you’re a fan, but - “

“I drew some diagrams,” he continues. “Boning diagrams. But like, I still can’t get it to work.”

Staring into space, he lets his marvelous tactical brain run every scenario of sexual acrobatics required to establish the feasibility of human-giant sex.

This could go on forever. Once Bucky gets knee-deep in fan forum theories, hours will lapse before he swims up for air. Many a morning has found him still in his boxers, laptop on his knees while he smashes the keyboard, arguing with virtual enemies about the physical features of Hogwarts house founders or the complex nuances of international Wizarding trade law.

The truth is - Bucky Barnes is a god damn nerd.

Clapping your hands, you drag him back to real life.

“Focus please. You’re good to do this then? Without the diet?”

“I really really hate it,” he replies, matter of fact, “but I really really love you, so if you want me to, I guess I’m in. But I’m still losing five pounds.”

“You’re my favorite, you know that?” Slipping your hands up under his shirt, you massage the tight muscles alone his spine and he hums happily. Flashing a lazy grin, he boops your nose.

“You know what? I think you should do it too. Be so great to have a sexy poster of you for those long nights when I’m gone and can’t sleep,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t have a folder full of dick pics with my name on it,” he laughs.

“I wish you’d stop sending me those,” you say sternly. “You know this is my work phone.”

“So? You always need fresh material for your diddle box. Keeps the romance alive,” he says. Reaching up behind you, he tugs open the snack cabinet and rummages for a new bag of Doritos. The airtight blurp of a new jar of salsa follows.

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but - what exactly is a diddle box?”

Massive Winter Soldier eye roll.

“All the pictures and videos and sexy shit you use to masturbate. Clearly.”

“Why do I ask you questions,” you sigh.

“I’m starting my diet tomorrow,” he answers instead, before dunking a fresh Dorito in the salsa.

*****

The next two weeks are spent with Bucky mostly eating raw vegetables and baked chicken breast and loudly commenting on the sorrows of dieting to everyone he encounters.

“You’re being ridiculous Bucky. No one told you to lose weight.”

“No,” he says glumly, crunching a celery stick with a martyred expression. “I need to be hot. Beauty is pain.”

“You are a pain.”

He sighs dramatically. Stares wistfully into the distance. Snaps a carrot in half.

“The things I do for you.”

“Jesus.”

*****

AVENGERS CALENDAR SHOOT THIS WEEK!

Remember to be on time, or we will choose the worst picture of you and print that.

We’re assholes that way.

Thanks,

Management

*****

MONDAY

(SEPTEMBER: Danvers, Carol; Captain Marvel)

Carol throws her bomber jacket over her red, blue, and gold uniform, and adds a sleek pair of vintage Ray Bans. Climbing into the cockpit of her fighter jet, she turns herself all glowy and golden, the color bouncing merrily off the control panel. Tipping her face down to the camera, she flashes the Shaka sign and gives the photographer a huge smile.

(FEBRUARY: Maximoff, Wanda; Scarlett Witch)

Wanda goes all out on all things red. Clad in a long red dress and long coat, surrounded by hundreds of red flowers - tulips and roses and carnations - she curls her fingers and everything around her begins to glow with a warm red light. When she smiles at the camera, her head tilts shyly.

(OCTOBER: Lang, Scott; Antman)

Is Scott actually in the picture or did someone spill coffee? The photographer sees a white sheet and a black spec, and scratches his head in confusion. Antman is kinda weird.

*****

TUESDAY

(NOVEMBER: Rhodes, James; War Machine)

Rhodey shows up dressed head to toe in gunmetal colored armor. When he snaps the faceplate down, the photographer timidly asks if maybe he wants to show his face. Rhodey flips the faceplate back up, reminds the photographer how badass this armor is, and says nope. He’s all good, thanks.

(APRIL: Wilson, Sam; Falcon)

Sam has spent the last few nights practicing his Zoolander pout in the bathroom mirror. He decides to wear a tight black t-shirt and comfortable jeans, with his wings spread wide, Redwing hovering beside him. At the last minute, his sultry pout melts into an animated belly laugh and they decide to use that one instead.

(JULY: Rogers, Steven; Captain America)

Steve goes back to his roots. Wearing a too small shirt and holey old jeans, he gazes pensively at the easel in front of him, glossy blond hair combed in a perfect wave. Fingers dusty with charcoal, he points to the picture he’s drawing and insists they capture it in the photo as well. They later realize he was drawing a picture of his own ass. That month gets labeled “Steve Rogers and America’s Ass”.

*****

WEDNESDAY

(MAY: Stark, Tony; Ironman)

Tony wears the bottom half of his suit and his favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. Posing in his lab, he floats a few feet off the ground, crossing his arms and giving that trademark smirk. Scattered around him are random bits of technology and a few arc reactors, with Dum-E and a steaming platter of cheeseburgers in the background.

(JUNE: Banner, Bruce; Incredible Hulk)

Bruce looks a bit rumpled. The publicity shy scientist in him detests these things, but he’s a good sport for a good cause. Surrounded by microscopes and beakers of dazzling green liquids, he allows the teeniest quirk of his lips. Hands tucked in his pockets, messy curls fall over his forehead, and Bruce just feels happy to be included.

(JANUARY: Romanoff, Natasha; Black Widow)

Natasha asks for her photo in black and white. Dressed in shadows and tulle, she is nothing more than a dark figure against a white backdrop. On her feet, are a pair of ballet slippers, their satin ribbons looped and laced around her ankles. When she arches slowly up on pointe, her arms curve gracefully over her head and there’s an ethereal stillness about the image. Natasha is amazing.

*****

THURSDAY

(DECEMBER: Odinson, Thor; Thor)

Thor wears an enthusiastic smile when he arrives - and not much else. Dressed in a cherry red speedo, black boots, and his swirling red cape, he stands with one fist on his hip and Mjolnir held lovingly in the other. When the photographer asks about his outfit, Thor proudly describes something called “fan art” he saw online of himself wearing this outfit, mentioning how many “re-blogs” it had. He thinks he might wear this outfit more often, if that’s what the Midgardians want.

(AUGUST: Barton, Clint; Hawkeye)

Clint has a cup of coffee in one hand, a pot of coffee in the other. He wears purple sweatpants and a grey tank top and he yawns every five seconds. When asked what pose he’d like to use, he pretends his hearing-aids are broken. He lays down for a nap and the photographer goes with that.

(MARCH: Barnes, James “Bucky”; Winter Soldier)

Bucky leaves his leather bondage gear, his excessive collection of knives and guns, and his murder scowl at home. Instead, he arrives in black jeans and boots, a dark blue t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his tousled hair brushing the collar of his jean jacket. Perched casually on the seat of his restored Harley, he looks carefree and sweet, offering that signature smile that always sets hearts aflutter.

*****

When the final photo is taken, Bucky ambles over to where you stand with the photographer, reviewing proofs. Snuggling up beside you, he moves in for a kiss and stops in surprise.

“What’s with the lipstick?” he asks, bemused. “That’s new.”

You seem momentarily flustered by the question, stuttering something about losing your chapstick and trying new things. Bucky shrugs and dives in anyway. It makes no difference to him. Painted red or completely bare, your lips are always his favorite flavor.

*****

“They’re here!”

The box of calendars lands with a thump on the kitchen counter.

“Excellent. Are we hot?” Steve asks, his mouth full of cheesy pizza.

“I’m always hot,” Sam answers, ripping into the box. “Yesterday I saw a Buzzfeed post about how hot I am, and it said 11/10 recommend.” Yanking out the pile of calendars, he throws one to Steve. “That means more than 100% would recommend. I’m beloved.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a national treasure,” Steve argues. Reaching for a calendar, he flicks impatiently until he finds himself.

Leaving the team to laugh and bicker and poke fun of each other, you grab your bag (and another small package), heading off to search for your favorite assassin slash model.

His door is cracked when you reach it, low music in the background. Knocking lightly, you push it open.

“Hey Buck. Are you busy?”

Surrounded a chaos of metal, Bucky sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor. A tin of gun oil lays open beside him, a shredded old t-shirt in hand, while he cleans and reassembles his guns. This particular task has taken him literally all day, because Bucky Barnes has yet to meet a gun he doesn’t need.

(Seriously. He needs them. All of them. Stop questioning him, Steve.)

At your voice, an adorable smile scrunches up his face. Bouncing to his feet, he leaps gracefully from the middle of the mess and scoops you up, twirling in a circle and stealing your breath with a warm kiss.

“Hey sweetheart, what’re you doin’ here?”

“Something arrived. Thought you might like to see.”

Handing over the calendar, Bucky wipes his hands on his jeans. A nervous energy makes his fingers fumble when he riffles through the pages.

He stops abruptly at March.

“Huh,” he says, observing his portrait from every angle. Turns it sideways, upside down, pinches his lip. Squints a little. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I look pretty great. I think? Right? I don’t know, what do you think?”

It’s funny.

Sometimes, you hold your breath when you watch at him. There are these little things. The bright excitement in his eyes maybe, or the way he scratches his jaw when he gets nervous, or the absentminded way he tucks his hair behind his ear.

It does things to your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, mesmerized by those little things, “you really do.”

Bucky looks up. Sees your face and breaks into a wide grin. He loves when you look at him like this, like he’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s your whole world. Like you love him.

It does things to his heart.

Snapping the calendar shut, he flings it on his bed. Blue eyes rake you up and down and he pokes his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Still think you should’ve done it too,” he says. “Bet you would’a looked so hot.”

At his comment, you reach into your bag and pull something free. Silently, you hand over a second square, this one wrapped in black paper, a silver bow taped along the edge.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously.

Shrugging, your expression stays neutral.

“Open it and see.”

Like a kid on Christmas morning, he rips the paper away.

He freezes.

Blinking rapidly, he looks up. Silver fingers delicately trace the shiny picture and he swallows hard.

“Honey, is this - did you do this for me?” he asks softly. Flipping gently through each page of this special, one-of-a-kind calendar, he shakes his head in slow disbelief.

Because there you are.

Posing in March, holding his favorite confetti cupcakes adorned with birthday candles in front of your naked breasts.

Posing in July, dressed in a vintage red, white, and blue USO uniform, white boots on your feet and crackling sparklers in your hands.

Posing again in October, wearing a slutty pumpkin dress with cut-outs revealing slivers of your sweet, sexy assets.

Each picture is incredible. Full of vivid colors and your sunny smile. No air-brushing, no fake poses, just you. Indescribable and undeniably beautiful, bursting with love.

All for him.

Bucky rubs his chest absently, feeling his heart thumping with every turn of the page. And then he reaches the last month, and there’s a strangled squeak. He stares intently at the page. Looks up at you. Back to the page. Back up at you. Closes his eyes briefly.

This is it, this is his favorite, his absolute fucking favorite thing of all time, the image instantly wiping all other thoughts from his proverbial spank bank.

There.

You.

Are.

Damn.

Tacked above you is a sprig of mistletoe, a concession to the holiday theme. But it’s the outfit that does it. Black combat boots, lacy red lingerie, deep red lipstick, and an empty thigh holster. You’re pointing one of his favorite guns at the camera and giving a sly wink.

Mind-blowingly, devastatingly, breathtakingly gorgeous.

Bucky awkwardly adjusts the rising situation in his pants, raising lust-blown eyes to yours. Licking your lips, you give him a hesitant smile.

“Do you - um, do you like them?”

It makes you panic when he says nothing. He simply stares. But then he sets the calendar carefully, reverently, aside. Slipping a hand behind your neck, he hustles you backward until you bump the door, slamming it shut. His warm mouth slants over yours, that talented tongue returning to sweep over your lips. The kiss is hot and frantic, tinged with an edge of wild excitement. When he finally breaks away, his voice is low, dark gravel in your ear.

“Listen. I’m gonna need you to get all those outfits and put on every,” he kisses your throat, “single,” he trails his lips up to your jawline, “one,” and now he’s panting in your ear, “and then I wanna take pictures of me taking everything off, before I fuck you so damn good. How’s that sound?”

Sliding a hand between his legs, your answer makes him tremble.

“Sounds like a deal.”

*****

[forever-rogue]

Disappear Here - 3/4

A/N: Hi guys! So, firstly, I decided to edit this to change it from 3 to 4 parts because I can never be brief with anything. So yes, there will be another part after this. Thanks for being patient I as got this part too, you guys are the best! Again, I recommend the acoustic version of Disappear Here by Bad Suns to set the scene! As always, feedback is welcome! xx 

Based on this blurb (because I’ve gotten a few questions and realized I never really explained it - this blurb is in the present and everything else is in the past).

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: a wee bit of language

MASTERLIST

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 4

ALTERNATIVE ENDING

SEQUEL

»»————-　♡　————-«« 

There was not a single sound in the room beside Javier’s light snores as you opened your eyes to the soft early morning light. The sun was filtering in through the thin curtains that covered the open window. The streets were quiet for once; no children out and shouting, the traffic was all but nonexistent. It should have been the perfect start to the day - should have, but wouldn’t be.

Your fingers played with the surprisingly delicate fabric of Javier’s sheets as you faced the window, a million thoughts racing through your mind. A small sigh escaped your lips despite your best efforts to remain silent. You weren’t even sure what it was for: were you happy, or were you more worried about what happened next? What would happened after you finally slept with him? You hadn’t thought that far ahead, no, last you’d gotten much more carried away, getting lost in every part of Javier. 

“Let’s make a horrible decision,” had been the last words out of your mouth before you forgot where you ended and Javier started. After that it had turned into a long night of passion at Javi’s. At first you had wondered how many other girls had been in his bed before you, but as soon felt Javi’s mouth move down your body, you decided you didn’t care. All you wanted was Javi, Javi, Javi.

Almost as if the millions of thoughts bouncing around in your heard had stirred him from slumber, Javier turned around so he was facing your back, an arm snaking around your waist. He let out a small content sigh as he pressed a few soft kisses along your bare shoulder, his mustache tickling your skin.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep. You bit your lip, happy he couldn’t see your face, all he would have seen was the confusion etched deep into your features. You remained silent for a few moments before placing a hand on top of his much larger one and giving it a light squeeze. Wrong wasn’t necessarily the right word…more like unsure or confused. You’d really just gone and slept with him. Even after you promised yourself you wouldn’t.

“Nothing,” you whispered after you felt his breathing deviate from its formerly steady rhythm, “just…you know, waking up.”

“A horrible liar,” he sighed as he pulled back from you, laying on his back as he stared at the ceiling. In reality you weren’t a terrible liar, it was more that he was able to read you so easily, more so than anyone else.

“Javi,” you turned to him, reaching over and grabbing his face, forcing him to look at you. He wore an unreadable expression.

“Y/N.”

“Javier,” you retorted, locking eyes with his soft brown ones, “I…we probably shouldn’t have done this. But it’s my fault. And I can’t blame you for it, not entirely anyway-”

“I thought you wanted this?” he had a point - you’d practically thrown yourself at him the night before. You definitely didn’t do anything to stop him, in fact you were only asking him for more. You had most definitely wanted it.

“I did,” you admitted and he let out  long sigh; you were a hard one to read, even you could admit that, “but I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the opportunity to just do it. To just jump right into bed with you.”

“Y/N, you’re making no sense,” his eyebrows knitted together as you pointedly looked away.

“I know…I just,” you ran a hand through your messy hair before pausing and sliding out of the bed, your face flushing when you realized you were naked. Not like it mattered at this point, he’d seen every inch single inch of you in the most intimate manner. You made a mad dash to grab your clothes that littered the floor and slipped them on haphazardly, “I don’t know what we expected this to lead to. I’m not usually down for a one night stand, and it’s not like this is going to change anything between us.”

“Meaning?” he sat up and watched intently as he tried to figure out where you were going with your statements.

“Meaning that now we’re just going back to work after having fucked and have to pretend we haven’t just...done everything that we did,” you sighed. Considering the state of your neck and collarbones, that would be a hard one to ignore; people would notice the markings right away. Light bruises covered your soft skin liberally, “it’s not like we’re suddenly going to be dating, we can’t even technically do that, and I’m not going to turn into your routine Thursday night booty call.”

“Is that all you think this is? Us fucking?” his voice was elevated and had a bite to it as his gaze seared into yours. Clearly you’d struck a nerve.

“Am I wrong?” you threw your hands up in exasperation, trying to get him to understand the gravitas of the situation, “you have a reputation for a reason, Javi, I’m not ignorant to that fact. Hell, half of the country probably knows, Lord knows most of your informants do. And I’m not going to be one of those girls. And it’s not like you’re suddenly going to turn into the model boyfriend.”

“Huh,” he sighed as he rubbed his eyes, his morning quickly into a scenario very different from what he had expected, “why did you even come home with me then? If you think so little of me? Of what this is-”

“What is it then, Javi?” you crossed your arms over your chest, “tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that this isn’t just a one night stand.”

“Why should I bother?” defeat colored his tone as he got out of bed and grabbed his own clothes, “you’ve clearly made up your mind. So why not, then I suppose? You were right, Y/N, this was just a one stand. All I wanted to do was fuck you.”

“Javi-”

“No, you’re right,” he opened the door to the bedroom and pointed towards the front door, swallowing the lump that had appeared in this throat, “just like always. Now get out, rookie.”

“Javier-”

“Get out,” his tone left nothing up for discussion as he moved out of your way. This had turned out very differently than you had imagined. As much as you wanted to hash this out with him, you knew better than to argue when you were both worked up - it wouldn’t end well. Instead you silently brushed past him, storming out of his apartment and slamming the door shut.

If you were so convinced that all he wanted was a one night stand, why were you so upset? Why did you so desperately want him to prove you wrong?

»»————-　♡　————-««

After your altercation with Javier, which you knew was largely your fault, you went back to your apartment and hid out there. It wasn’t much of a reprieve, considering it was down the hall from the man himself, but it was better than nothing. You decided not to go into work, preferring to avoid that whole situation entirely: was it immature? Maybe. Did you care at that point? Not in the slightest. You’d deal with the ramifications of everything on Monday morning, after getting some time to think everything through. 

It had all been fine and well until that evening, late at night as you tried to go to sleep. You had heard people walk into the building, the sounds of hushed whispers wafting under your door as you cleaned up your kitchen. You just rolled your eyes and carried on. But as you got ready to go to bed, you stopped dead in your tracks when you heard some loud banging coming from down the hall.

Your instincts took over as you threw open your door and bolted down towards the sound; you’d even managed to grab your gun in the process, just in case. Just in case Escobar or someone else had tracked you down. It was an ever-looming threat. But when you reached the end of the hall and found yourself facing Javier’s door, your heart plummeted to the bottom of your stomach. The sounds were coming straight from inside, the loud and repetitive bang, bang, bang intricately mixing in with moans and a slew of Spanish. You knew those moans, hell you knew that voice. Javier. It was all Javier. 

As you backed up, you felt a familiar stinging in your eyes as you realized what it meant. You tried to remain as silent as possible as you retreated back to your own apartment; not like it mattered anyway, there was no way that he would hear your over what he was currently doing. 

Sighing, you tossed the gun onto the table before heading to go to bed. Sleep was the only viable option at this point. Hell, you’d brought this on yourself, you’d let yourself catch feelings for, and acted on this feelings. You knew it would this way. But it still hurt like hell, and didn’t stop you from crying yourself to sleep. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next Monday at work was exactly what you thought it would be: awkward, tense, stiff, horrible. But you knew you couldn’t hide away forever, that the more time you missed people would grow suspicious. So you forced yourself into the office, arriving after Steve and Javier. When you walked the two of them glanced at you, Steve offering you a warm smile and Javier looked away almost immediately, his mouth forming into a thin line. 

Yup, this was going to be fun. You thanked your lucky stars that your request for a transfer was still in; maybe it was time to take that more seriously. 

The first day was long and painful, only a few words exchanged between the three of you. You were glad when Steve and Javier were called away; Steve asked if you wanted to come, but you just shook your head, turning back to the paperwork in front of you. For once you were glad to have the excuse of such a menial task. 

And that’s the how the next several weeks passed, much in the same manner. The days dragged on and you’d fallen into the rhythm of staying behind and doing things around the office while your partners did the field work. At first, Steve had questioned you ruthlessly about why you suddenly didn’t want to join them in the field, but when he noticed how you and Javier were interacting, or rather not interacting, he realized something was up. But he didn’t push it; so he decided to do his best to give you both his time equally. 

Relief finally, finally, came after almost a month of tension. when Noonan called you into her office and let you know that there was a spot opening up in Mexico and it had your name written all over it. A wave of relief has washed over your body as you realized that you soon this would be over, soon you’d have a fresh start with new people in a new place. Heaven.

The only thing was that you’d have to wait another month before you could, but you graciously accepted the offer. You’ already survived a month of this tension, you could survive another one. Besides, with this in the distance, it would be enough to see you through it. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next morning you’d headed into the office early, deciding to get a head start on wrapping everything up; you didn’t want to leave them with lots of work to do once you were gone. Steve, to your surprise, showed up a few minutes after you, just as surprised to see you there as early as him. He greeted you with a smile before heading to his desk; he was silent but you could feel his gaze concentrated on you. You choose to ignore it, pretending that somehow you couldn’t feel it. 

“So...heard you’re leaving,” you were wondering how long it would take for him to find out. You were surprised it took this long, even though only a day had passed. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you lifted your eyes to meet his and gave him a small nod. There was a hard to read expression etched onto his face, “Mexico can be a dangerous place.”

“So can Columbia,” you countered, before the two of you sharing a small laugh. You would miss him; he was kind and gentle, and always made it a point to check in on you. And Connie; sweet, gentle Connie, who you’d probably more than intruded enough in the past few weeks in order to get avoid Javier. You’d miss them both dearly.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his serious tone creeping back up, his eyebrows raised in question. You subconsciously bit your lip as you let out a long sigh.

“Look, Steve, it’s just...there’s no future for me here,” you tossed your pen back down and threw your head back with a long sigh, “and besides, you and Peña have got it all handled. You don’t need me, you never needed me.”

“Y/N, look, and please stop me if I’m wrong, but whatever between you and Javi, it doesn’t matter. It’s no reason for you to leave,” he went on and your face immediately paled. You thought you were being subtle, that you were so slick, but little did you know that you were terribly wrong. in reality everyone knew, “this is a job, and it’s our job. You really going to leave all this over that asshole?”

“Steve,” you felt your eyes start to well up, but you laughed at him nonetheless. You really hoped that you’d have someone like him when you arrived in Mexico City, “I appreciate all of your kindness. You’ve always treated me like a real partner. But I can’t do this, not like this. Noonan told me she thought I could handle it, and I thought I could too, but apparently it’s not enough.”

“And what if the same thing happens in Mexico?”

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he won’t be there,” you answered honestly. You felt pathetic for a moment; here you were a strong, independent woman, running away because you couldn’t control your emotions over one man. But not just any man. Javier Peña.

“If you’re sure,” he asked, somehow hoping you’d change your mind a last ditch attempt to keep you there. That maybe somehow you’d suddenly see the light and realize you were meant for Columbia not Mexico. 

“Yeah,” you insisted, using the last bit of vigor and resolve you had left in your voice. Both of you could see right through it though; there was no heart behind your answer, “I’m sure.”

Javier shook his head to himself as he leaned against the wall and sighed. Just like you and Steve, he too had the brilliant idea of coming in early to get extra work done. You were serious this time, you were actually leaving. All because of him. Part of him knew he should have rushed in there and told you not to go, to tell he was sorry, and that he wanted to try and talk things through, but he couldn’t. 

He found himself frozen there, listening to you and Steve. Just when he felt the contents of his stomach churning slightly too much, he decided to leave he’d had enough. He stormed out of the embassy, ignoring repeated calls of his name as he decided to find solace in something, anything, else. He just couldn’t there. Not at that moment anyway.

And as he went to visit his favorite brothel and spent the day there, the only thing on his mind was you. His companion for the day didn’t even mind when he called her by your name. But he did; he wished it was you he was giving himself too, not some girl who’d forget him as soon as he left and she welcomed a new client in.

Javier knew the two of you had been acting like immature teenagers, just avoiding each other and pretending the other didn’t exist. It was dumb, and completely irrational, but it had been the easiest option at the time. But now he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t just let you leave…at least not without speaking his piece first.

»»————-　♡　————-««

His revelation came a few nights later, while you were in the middle of packing. You hadn’t been expecting him, or anyone for that matter, and the loud and rapid banging startled you so much you dropped the wine glass in your hand. You sighed at the mess of glass shards and blood red wine before deciding to leave it for now and seeing who was at the door.

You shuffled towards the door, navigating through a few stacks of boxes before reaching the front of the apartment. Peering through the peephole, you cursed under your breath when you recognized Javier on the other side of your door. Maybe you could pretend that you weren’t home?

“Come on, kid, I know you’re in there,” of course he did. If he hadn’t heard you dropping the glass or heading towards the door, he’d probably still know. You decided to ignore him, hoping that maybe he’d just go away. But you knew better than that, you knew that wasn’t Javi’s style. Just before you walked away, a soft sound of exasperation reached your ears, “Y/N, please open up. Look, I just…I just want to talk.”

Every rational fiber left in your being told you to ignore him, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t. This was Javier after all.

Instead you opened the door slowly, revealing him on the other side, a tired and worn out expression on his face.

“Y/N,” he said as soon as his eyes landed on you. You wished you could have retorted with a smart remark, but instead you just found yourself staring at him. 

Only a matter of seconds passed before Javi’s hands were on either side of your face, and he crashed his lips onto yours. It had become a familiar sensation, how he felt and tasted, and despite the fact that you were embroiled in some sort of silent stand off with him, you had missed this. You had missed him.

“Javi,” you managed to get out in between kisses, which were quickly becoming more and more heated, his hands flitting all over body as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled back momentarily before peppering kissed along your jaw and working down your neck, “I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”

“Me too,” you agreed in between the soft moans that escaped your lips as he trailed his fingers over the bare skin of your hips and nipped at the delicate skin of your neck, surely leaving bruises that would be hell to cover tomorrow, “I’m sorry too.”

“I want you,” he insisted, punctuating each word with a bruising kiss to your lips. You met his eyes, and you could see there was not even a remote hint of joking in his eyes, “you. Only you. I can’t get you off of my mind.”

“Javi,” you put your hands on his shoulders and pushed him back a little, despite how much you wanted him. Your heart was screaming at you in annoyance, while your brain was happy with your decision, “I…this is…I’m leaving, Javi. I’m leaving for Mexico in less then 2 weeks.”

You took a step back and gestured into your apartment that was nothing was boxes. He let out a long sigh when he realized just how serious this all was. You were actually leaving; it wasn’t just a boast.

You stepped inside and waited for him to follow, listening to the door click shut. It was quiet in the small space for once, much more quiet than you cared for. The stillness was almost too much to bare. So many unspoken words were hanging in the arm and it felt like they were going to suffocate you.

“You’re really going,” it wasn’t a question so much as a statement. You nodded before leaning against the counter, waiting for him to say something; anything, “you shouldn’t go. It’s dangerous there.”

“As compared to the peaceful little paradise here in Columbia? What is it with you and Steve?” you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, “and besides that, I can handle myself. This is a dangerous job regardless of location, for anyone.”

“Do you remember what they did to Kiki Camarena?”

“Everyone knows what happened to Kiki. I’m well aware. The people who did that to him, namely Miguel Felix are done for. It’s been years,” he really was going there with you, “and what about all the things Escobar and his men have to done to people? Carrillo - and I know he’s your friend but he’s not always innocent either. I’ll be able to handle myself, Javier. It’s not like I’ll be alone.”

“Please don’t go,” his arguments were weak, even he was aware of that but it wasn’t going to stop him, “at least don’t just leave because of me. Leave for a better reason. Leave because you really want to.”

“I am doing this because I want to,” it was only a partial lie. You did want to get out and make a name for yourself in another place…but you also did want to get over Javier. And the only way to do that, you had come to realize was to leave. If was almost ironic - you’d never once let your feelings for man or woman get in the way of your job. Not until him.

“You’re not doing this because of me…of what happened between us?” he was doing his best to try and break you down and he knew he had you where he wanted you. You sucked in a breath and nodded, pointedly avoiding his eyes, “eres una mala mentirosa.”

“Si,” you agreed with him, “lo sé.”

“Don’t do this then,” he reached over and put his hand gently on your cheek, trying his best to get you to look at him, “don’t make a decision you’ll only regret.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll regret it?” you put your hand on his wrist, at first attempting to pull his hand away, but finding yourself unable, “besides, Javi...there’s nothing here for me. You and I both know that.”

“You don’t know that though,” he insisted, “I’ve been thinking, a lot-”

“Oh dear,” you interrupted him, a small bit of laughter bubbling up - but he wasn’t amused. 

“Y/N, I’m trying to be serious-”

“I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

“Woman, you are going to be the death of me,” he was getting exasperated and ran a hand through his already messy brown locks. You hopped on the empty kitchen counter, barely able to keep the self satisfied smirk off of your face. You knew he was being trying to be serious, but you had always loved teasing him and pushing him to the edge, “now will you be silent for a few moments and just let me talk?”

“The floor is yours, Agent,” you gestured for him to go on and he let out a long breath. No other woman had ever put him through so much, so many highs and lows before. Not until you. And that’s how he knew, he knew it was supposed to be you.

“Listen,” he stood in front of you, hands on either side of your body as he took up the space between your legs, “I know what I am, who I am, and what everyone thinks of me. I’m not an idiot. But you, you’re never treated me like everyone else, well you and Murphy anyway, but I’m not interested in Murphy-”

“Javi...”

“I don’t normally do...the relationship thing for various reasons,” he admitted, “and getting attached to someone, someone you could lose, it’s not a good idea. Feelings are dangerous.”

“So it’s easier to just fuck people?” you knew he had a point, but you nudged him gently with your let to let him know that you weren’t judging him. Hell, if you could have so easily given into being okay with hookups, you probably would have been doing the same thing. 

“Obviously,” he hung his head and let out a long breath through his nose.

“What’s changed then, Javi? Why do you think you can do a relationship now?”

“You,” he answered honestly, lifting his head and searching your face for any sign of what was going on in your mind. You couldn’t deny that his answer that had set a flame off in your stomach that was slowly spreading through your bones. But you did your best to try and keep your face neutral; you didn’t want to just give him the upper hand completely, “it’s you been, kid.”

“Okay, first of all, if you’re trying fuck me or whatever, you gotta stop calling me kid,” you laughed, trying to loosen the tension a little bit, “besides, I’m your partner not just some kid that just hangs around the office.”

“Fair enough,” the slightest bit of a smirk tugged on the corners of his mouth, “do you prefer Rookie-”

“For you it’s either Agent L/N, or Y/N. Anything else and I’ll show just how proficient I am with a gun,” you waggled a finger at him, which caused him to finally loosen up and laugh. You both knew that aim was not your strongest suit. 

“Listen,” he took a step closer to you, leaving only a small bit of space between your bodies. You wondered if he could hear the rapid beating of your heart, “I’m not going to give you a sappy speech or whatever, but I will be honest with you. I want you, Agent L/N, and whatever that entails, relationship, everything.”

“You’re sure...?” you asked quietly, hoping you weren’t somehow setting yourself up for a huge disappointment, “you’re willing to give up your whole...bachelor thing? You know what that means, right?”

“Like I said, I’m not an idiot,” he brought his face closer to yours and if you would have leaned even the tiniest bit closer, your lips would have been on his. His hands moved to your waist and you didn’t even bother to hold back the small sound of surprise muddled with content, “that means only you.”

“No more side pussy,” you insisted, carding a hand through his hair, and tugging at it to prove your point, “not for information, not for pleasure. And I’m being serious. If we were to do this...you’ve got to be all in.”

“No more side pussy,” he agreed, wasting no time in closing the tiny distance between your lips and kissing you hungrily. You gave into him and let him lead, trying to remember every touch, every feel, every taste you were currently experiencing. It was enough to leave you all but completely senseless, “only your pussy. I’m all in.”

“Javi,” you managed to choke out as his hands roamed under your shirt, and his mouth found your collarbones. He was barely doing anything and here you were, coming completely undone  underneath him, “we..bad idea...work...”

“Fuck them,” he whispered into your skin as he started to tug your shirt off. It didn’t take much for you to acquiesce and lift your arms up so he could easily pull it off and throw it to the side. 

“Jesus,” you melted into his touch as his hands and mouth found your breasts. You were glad that you’d already long since removed your bra, “Javi.”

“Don’t go to Mexico,” it was a plea, as close to begging as he could get in your current situation, “stay.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[hopesbarnes]

Black Swan (2)

Summary: Y/N used to be a Russian spy under the code name Black Swan. But that was a lifetime ago, now she’s a part-time avenger, dance teacher, surrogate sister to Natasha Romanoff, and trainer to new Shield Agents. She’s come a long way from the days of killing targets and being tortured. But when someone from her past comes around will she be able to ignore her history anymore? Or will she end up falling in love with the only man her sister ever loved?

Warnings: Mentions of past hydra abuse 

A/N: Italics is a flashback! Taglist is open, send an ask. Make sure to check out my 900 follower writing challenge in my bio!!

It had been an especially gruesome day. Training seemed to last all morning and it felt like every inch of you was bruised or broken. It probably was. Luckily, you were given the afternoon off for ‘studies’. It happened very little that you were given any time without being watched, so everyone took advantage and relaxed. 

Natasha came up to you with a pleading look, “Пожалуйста, прикрой меня (Please cover me)” she said. 

“Куда ты идешь (Where are you going?)” You asked, despite the fact you were pretty sure where she was headed. 

She smiled sweetly, “на свидание с Джеймсом (On a date with James)” 

She was so naive when it came to him. From the moment they met, she was infatuated.  “будь осторожен, не попадись (Be careful, don’t get caught)” I said before adding “повеселись (have fun)”.

 You wanted to protect her from heartbreak, or something worse. But at the same time, she deserved to be happy. She ran away and you sighed. Nat was head over heels for the man, and you just hoped it didn’t interfere in training or get her in trouble.

James had arrived an hour ago and looked the same as he did over two decades ago. It was as if time had frozen and you were years younger. But if you’re being honest, Natasha and you looked the same too. All that genetic testing and drugs pumped into you slowed your aging amongst other things. 

 Memories started to come back when you saw him, some more pleasant than others. In particular, you remembered one of the times Tasha snuck out to see him. She used to be so innocent before the world hardened her. Seeing him was even harder on her. She couldn’t even stay in the same room as him. She left moments after he arrived with a shaky “I have to go do something”. Everyone seemed fine with that, but you knew she was freaking out inside. Sisters always knew when something was wrong.

You mistakenly called him James before he mentioned that he preferred to be called Bucky. When you had said his name he looks at you with confusion, as if he’s trying to search his brain for a memory that he’s unsure exists. He says he has few memories from the past, and all of them were right before he was ‘wiped’. You don’t mention the red room where he spent some of his missing time. Probably a blessing in disguise, all that happened there was bloody. Not worth remembering if it could be avoided.

After some polite small talk with Steve and Bucky, you excuse yourself to find Nat. You’ve seen her at her worst and know when she’s not alright. And this was one of those times.

You knock on her door, but don’t wait for an answer to enter the room. 

“What if I was naked?” she yells out annoyed when you find her attacking a punching bag viciously. 

You laugh, “As if that would stop me!” she joins you in laughing but continues to brutalize the bag. “Hey, what did that bag do to you сестренка? (sis)” You tease. 

She huffs in annoyance. “Does he remember?” 

“No, but when I called him James he looked like he was trying to. It might only be a matter of time,” you reply honestly. She should be ready for her past to come back.

“Duly noted,” she says. 

“I’m guessing by the state of this bag you remember though,” you say pointing at the bag missing stuffing. 

“Not hard, no matter how many times they cleared my head he always came back. It’s like he’s forever etched in my brain in grave details.” You nod and she slumps down against the wall. You go over and sit next to her and she rests her head on your shoulder. 

“I really did love him at one point. In fact, I think he’s the only guy I’ve ever loved.” You feel wetness on your sleeve but don’t dare to say that aloud. 

“Oh honey, I know,” you say stroking her hair. “But he’s not that person anymore, and neither are you.” She hums in agreement with this. 

“Do you think we can keep this between us. It’s not in any file and you are the only one who knows.” You’ve only heard her this broken a few times before. 

“I was never going to tell anyone, любовь (love). You keep a million things quiet for me, and I a million for you. That’s what sisters are for.” You both just sit in silence with her leaning against you for a while. 

A few weeks had gone by since Bucky moved in. He got into a schedule, and the initial awkwardness died down. Tasha still couldn’t be in a room with him for more than 5 minutes, but she’s slowly coming to terms that he isn’t going anywhere. 

You started putting together the girl’s solos for competition and finished the large group before moving on to a small group of the younger girls. You also started to train new SHIELD agents, a compromise you made to get off the field more. They all picked up skills easily and were quick on their feet. You were only needed for one mission at that time, and it was a quick recon that only took three days. Child’s work really.

It was a Thursday afternoon and the rest of the team was doing some press to promote the image that Avengers wasn’t just a group of superheroes who sometimes ruined cities. This left you and Bucky alone in the compound. You tried to avoid him, but he was everywhere. 

In the gym? He was working out. In the library? He was reading a book. In the garden? He was planting seeds. By the time you ran into him in the kitchen you had run out of excuses for why you kept leaving. This meant having to stay sitting on a stool and pretend you didn’t feel insanely uncomfortable around him. You resented him so much, but it’s hard to resent someone who doesn’t remember you at all.

“I know you,” he says frankly, pulling you from your thoughts. It takes a moment for the words to completely register.

 “Uhm yeah? We’ve been living in the same building for a month now.” You hear yourself say, praying that it’s what he is referring to, but knowing it’s not.

 “No, I knew you. From when I was the soldier, right?” You sigh. You knew he would remember eventually but you just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. 

“Yeah, we knew each other,” You confirm. He frowns as if this was the harder of the replies you could give. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“It wasn’t a particularly fun time for me. Plus, I uh- hated you. Probably still do. It’s unclear, you returning is super confusing for me.” He laughs at this, and you’re left confused. Who chuckles when you admit to hating them? 

“You think this is confusing? Try not remembering anything but snippets of your life! It sucks!” he's hysterical now. As if you had just told the funniest joke ever. “Russia right? I remember the cold.” 

You nod, “Да, добро старый отчизна (Yes, good old motherland).” He laughs again. 

“не очень по-матерински, да? (Not very motherly, huh?)” This makes you join in with his laughter. 

“So, you hate me?” he asks. 

“Hated,” you correct. “I’m unsure how I feel about you now.” 

He looks apologetic at this and says “I’m sorry for whatever I did to you.” 

“It’s not like you hurt me, and I know it wasn’t you. God, they were horrible,” you tell him before asking, “What do you remember about then?” 

He thinks for a moment before saying, “Not much. Lots of blood.” He says shrugging, blood was sadly a normal occurrence in both your lives. “A building with people telling me what to do. The cryo. But I remember you, and other girls. Why?” Deciding that this would take some time, you get up to make some coffee. 

“Hold up, let’s get some coffee and I’ll tell you about back then.” He nods.

After pouring two cups of coffee, both black you guide him to sit on the couch with him and get comfortable. 

“So around 30 years ago both my parents died. I was 18 years old and had no idea what I was doing, or how to protect myself.” he looks astonished by this. 

“But you look 25!” he exclaims. 

“You don’t look 100,” you add and he makes a face in agreement. 

You continue with your story. “I met a man and fell for him. Thought he was the love of my life. Turns out he was just looking for someone to turn into a spy for the Russian government. Within three months I was put in the red room or Красная комната as it was called. It’s where they trained their female spies. They took me because I was a ballerina. It had created was discipline, strength, and flexibility. All things you want in a spy.” 

“Steve said you were a dancer,” he says, “You don’t need to say anymore if you don’t want to. I get it.” You shake your head. 

“I need to do this,” you admit to him. He nods encouragingly.

“We also were experimented on. Injected with their versions of the super-soldier serum. Close to what they put into you. They did other medical things to make us into the best spies. I was put through the ‘wiping’ a few times, but it never stuck for the important stuff, just made little details fuzzy. We trained to be silent and deadly. They had me be part of the national ballet, as a cover. In between shows I was sent on missions to kill people, or steal information. Nobody ever expected a girl who wore tutus in front of thousands of people. I got the tag, Black Swan, after the ballet and it stuck.” 

You pause to take a sip of your coffee. “That’s where I met Natasha, she was also part of the red room. She was a few years younger and I tried my best to protect her in any way that I could.” 

“Where do I fit into this?” he asks. 

“You trained me. In all combat-related areas. Taught me how to shoot a gun, where to hold your arms to snap someone's neck. How to tackle someone twice your size.” He looks ashamed of this. “I know it wasn’t you, and if you weren’t there it would have been someone else to train me. It’s not the entire reason I hated you but it’s a part of it.” 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your past still haunts you. “Is that why Natasha leaves the room whenever I’m around?” He asks. You nod. “Thank you for telling me all of that, I know it’s hard.” You smile back at him. 

“Okay! On that note, how about we watch a movie. Ever see Mean Girls?”

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[yikesharringrove]

I am such a crackhead, when you said to request some stuff for your birthday I immediately thought of an idea that I hate myself for 😂 So imagine it's Billy's birthday and let's just say that Susan, Neil and Max are away, so Billy invites Steve over, right? But he told Steve to just walk right in whenever he arrives. So he does and the second he walks through the door he says, "I see my cake has arrived." And Steve is so confused, Billy has to explain to him that he means his ass 😂

I LOVE THIS.

So I totally hc Billy as a summer baby, like late July, maybe even early August.. I also really weirdly love the idea of him being super young for his grade in school. I also included my Jewish Steve hc because that’s like, hella strong in my brain.

Billy was gonna vibrate outta his skin.

Susan had taken Max back to California for the summer, to spend some time with her dad while Susan visited her sister she left out there. Neil was keeping to himself, wasn’t jumping down Billy’s throat with him working most days at the pool, and just generally staying out of the house (usually at Steve’s), and as long as Billy had his chores done everyday, Neil was leaving him alone.

Until one Thursday, when he sat Billy down.

“My branch is sending me to Chicago for a meeting this weekend. I leave tomorrow morning and will get back Sunday night. While I am away, you are not to have anyone over. If you so much as think about having a party, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Have a good trip.” Billy kept his face neutral, his body stiff until he was in his room, proceeding to let loose. He jumped around silently, wiggling and dancing around all excitedly.

“Hello? Harrington residence.” Steve always sounded so bored over the phone.

“Baby, its me.”

“Bill! Hi! Are you okay? Do you need me to pick you up-”

“No, I’m good. Look, my dad’s gonna be out of town all weekend. I want you to come over.” Billy was twirling the phone cord like some lovesick school girl. He supposed he was kind of a lovesick schoolgirl.

“Wait, really? He’s leaving town over your birthday?” This sentence showed a few fundamental things about Steve: 1. He remembers everything when it comes to Billy. Everything. 2. He is shocked a parent could leave their kid on their birthday, despite the fact his parents have been around for any of his birthdays since his bar mitzvah, six years ago. 3. Despite knowing Neil’s a piece of shit, apparently he is still somehow surprised by this fact.

“Yeah, he’s gone ‘till Sunday night. He said he’ll get back at like, eight. We can have the whole weekend together.” Steve made an excited little noise.

“I’d say I was gonna pack a bag, but I think we should just spend the whole weekend naked. What about that?” Billy groaned.

“If you pack a bag I’m kicking you right back out.”

Neil left at about five in the morning on Friday. Billy was sitting in the front room, waiting excitedly for Steve. Steve had only ever snuck into Billy’s bedroom once. They both had too much anxiety to ever try it again. Plus, the next day max had told him she could hear whatever girl he had in there the night before, so Steve coming over was off the table. Billy doesn’t even think Steve has seen the inside of his house, going in and out Billy’s big window by his bed.

Steve still parked down the road, didn’t want a neighbor spilling to Neil that Billy had someone over.

He walked in, wearing a stupid party hat, a big grin on his face.

“Happy Birthday, Bill!”

“Ugh, finally my cake is here.” Steve’s face fell.

“Was I, was I supposed to bring cake? Bill I forgot. Holy shit, I’m so sorry let me go get you one.” He was halfway to the door when Billy grabbed him around the middle, pulling him onto the couch, straddling Billy’s hips.

“Relax, Pretty Boy. I was making a joke. About this cake.” He grabbed a rough handful of Steve’s ass. “Now get in my room, and get naked. I wanna eat my cake.”

[thesaltysocialworker]

Loki teaches reader how to ice skate which helps develop their relationship from 'best friends' to something they tried to ignore at first + flufffff!!

Sorry this took so long to write! I’ve been sick with a chest cold almost all week, even on my birthday on Thursday! :(  Now that I’m feeling better I’m planning to get back to posting at least twice a week. I’m also planning on introducing a fic this week. Stay tuned. :)             

Winter Hearts

Word Count: 1, 955

Warnings: Fluff, some minor nudity.

The other Avengers made it look easy; spinning around on the frozen pond outside the Avengers facility in up-state New York like they were ice dancers. Natasha and Bruce moved hand in around the pond; laughing and smiling at each as a gentle snow fell around them. Steve, Tony and Thor were racing; a masculine show of strength from the three of them as they shoved Wanda and Vision out of the way practically causing a pile up on the ice. But you sat on the sidelines, watching it all with an amused shake of the head from a bench near-by.

             “C’mon, Y/n!” Steve shouted, waving his arms to get you to join. You shook your head and cupped your cup of hot chocolate tighter in your gloved hands. The rest of the Avengers seemed to forget about you, except one. “Afraid of falling and making a fool of yourself?” A snide voice whispered in your ear. You nearly jumped out of your skin, and turned to glare at your tormentor. You weren’t sure why Loki seemed to have it out for you.

Sometimes Loki seemed like he was starting to like you; when the two of you were sitting side-by-side in the library at the compound reading and sharing a snack, or when the two of you (the only early risers at the compound) ate breakfast together. You had gotten Loki to try a few new Midgardian foods and expand his palette a little; a huge deal according to Thor. But then he would do something like pull a horrible prank on you in front of the other Avengers, seemingly just for the sake of try to embarrass you. He was hot, and then he was cold. Sometimes you felt like you could get whiplash from the changing of his emotions.

“I’m not afraid of falling, or ice skating. What a foolish thing to be afraid of considering I’m a damn Avenger.” You grumbled, pulling the scarf tighter around yourself with a huff and trying to ignore him. “Then why not join your friends? Clearly they want you too.” Loki moved to sit beside you, and this seemed to draw the attention of Steve who stopped mid-race with Thor and allowed the huge God to rush past him for the win. Tony shrieked ‘what are you doing?!’ at Steve in disbelief, like he’d had a bet on this race and just lost money. “I have—weak ankles.” You started, realizing how foolish that sounded. Loki actually laughed at that, out-loud. He was laughing so loudly that a few of the others stopped to look at the two of you. “You can’t lie to me, y/n. I’m a professional. I know a lie when I hear one.”

“Why don’t you go down there and race your brother or something?! You’re always trying to prove you’re better than him at things, if you’re such a whiz at ice skating go down there and prove it.” You turned to face him with fire in your eyes, your pale features turning pink and not from the cold. “I’m not going down there until you come with me.” You were trying to figure out what he was playing at, what his end game was. Sure, if you fell it would be embarrassing but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. “I didn’t bring skates.” With a snap of his fingers, your boots became ice skates. He stood, offering you a hand. When you looked up at him, clothed in Midgardian apparel which made him look even more God-like somehow, you hesitated a moment. Your eyes met his, and he lacked the harshness that was normally present. He had softened. Had you somehow missed something that had been there all along?

You took his hands, and he pulled you to your feet. The two of you carefully made your way to the pond. One of Loki’s hands wrapped around your waist, helping you onto the ice. It was clear that from the beginning that you had never done this before; but Loki seemed to be good at it and patient with you. “Don’t lift your feet. Just glide.” Loki whispered to you, moving to skate in front of you backwards, his hands clutching your gloved ones. “Aren’t you cold?” you asked, huffing and puffing and trying not to make yourself look like a fool. “Frost Giant.” He whispered so only you could hear him, an uncomfortable smile on his face. You nodded, continuing to look at your feet. You were so focused on your feet that you stumbled, Loki caught you tightly with a lightning speed. The two of you were pressed together, your hands clutching the lapels of his coat tightly and his hands gripping your hips.

The two of you stared at each other, you tilted your head up to meet his beautiful blue eyes. Snow had begun to fall again, catching in Loki’s long hair. You brushed the snow out of his hair, his eyes closed and he tilted his head into your hand. You noticed the gesture, but no one else seemed too. “Keep trying.” Loki demanded, now it was his turn for embarrassment. The two of you made another lap around the rink, and you started to become more confident. “Let me try this myself?” You asked, and Loki nodded. He watched you with pride on his features as your fear became amazement. You gained speed, you were no longer hunched over. But then you realized, you didn’t know how to stop. “Loki! I can’t stop!” you cried out, and his smile turned to look of panic as you realized you were going to crash right into him.

You expected him to be angry as you crashed him and both of you went sprawling onto the ice, you lay on top of him trying to catch your bearings. But then he laughed, he laughed heartily until tears were running down his face. For the first time, you weren’t embarrassed. You knew he hadn’t set you up to look like an ass, he had genuinely been trying to teach you something and you had learned. He had surprisingly been a good teacher. You laughed, lying on top of him. You the two of you kept laughing as you tried to get up, falling back on him but managing to catch yourself in the tangle of limbs you two had become before you shoved your cleavage right in his face. But you caught yourself hanging over his face; your long, curly hair tickling his features and providing the two of you some cover. You bent down, moving closer until your lips were almost touching his…

“Good God, y/n! Are you okay?!” Steve came rushing across the ice, helping you to your feet even though you didn’t want him too. The super solider lifted you like you weighed nothing, pulling you off the ice and checking you for bruises. Thor moved to Loki, helping him up. But the two of you kept your eyes on the other. You were more embarrassed by the fuss Steve was making over you, checking you for bruises like some sort of toddler. You were mad that he had ruined the moment, especially everyone started to retreat back inside for dinner. You suddenly realized that perhaps you had been too harsh on the God that had just taught you to ice skate, kind of. Maybe he wasn’t out to embarrass you, but maybe he was pulling you out of the bubble you trapped yourself in where you never tried to experience new things. Maybe you owed him a thank you.

             The compound had fallen quiet. Couples disappeared for the evening after dinner, Thor and Steve were engaged in a game of Mario Kart in the main living area. But you had offered to do kitchen clean up, much to everyone’s surprise. That was because you wanted the kitchen to yourself after dinner, and you knew no one else would volunteer to help.

             You made cookies, and hot chocolate. While the cookies were in the oven you crept down the stairs to the library, which is where you were absolutely certain Loki would be. But he wasn’t. Had he gone to bed already?! You glanced at the clock, it was only eight. Surely he couldn’t be sleeping. You put the sugar cookies onto a plate, pouring two mugs of homemade hot chocolate and managed to sneak out of the kitchen before anyone was drawn to the smell of your baking. You rushed to Loki’s room as fast as you could with two mugs of hot chocolate on your tray. But as you approached Loki’s door you saw Steve going to his room. Knowing he would stop you from going in there, explaining to you that Loki was “bad news” and that you didn’t truly know him, you just pushed yourself inside without knocking or announcing your entrance. You hoped he wasn’t naked or something, but maybe that was a lie.

             You spun around, tray in hands, and found Loki lying in bed with a book in his hand. He cocked a dark eyebrow, not shouting at you to get out so you considered that a small victory. “Y/n. Are you breaking and entering? With baked goods?” he asked, a grin lighting up his features as he marked his spot in the book. “I just wanted to say thank you for today. For pulling me outside of my comfort zone, which I seem to be very bad at.” You took a few more steps into the room, placing the tray on his nightstand. “So I, uh- baked for you. I noticed you liked sweets.”

             You turned to go, your door on the handle. “Wait!” Loki called out quickly. “You brought two mugs of hot chocolate. I can’t drink both of these myself.” He stood from the bed, and for the first time you noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was wearing pajama pants that hung low on his well-defined hips and gave you a view of his sculpted abs. You were silent, staring at him without discretion. “See something you like?” Loki asked, amusement in his features. You decided to live outside your comfort zone again, as it seemed to work this afternoon. “I did, I do. This afternoon I had a really good time with you. I’m sorry we got interrupted.”

             Loki was shocked by your honesty. “That’s why I came back, I thought maybe I was blind to something. Maybe I had missed something. Maybe I didn’t.” The look on his face made you uncomfortable, and you started to rethink this whole plan. “You did miss something, y/n. You missed the fact that I am unequivocally in love with you. I’ve been trying to get your attention for months. I’m glad you finally noticed.” He caught your chin, pressing his lips to yours. His hands moved to your waist, and his kiss felt like coming home, like slipping into warm bath water. When he pulled back, you stared at him in disbelief. This handsome God had feelings for you, he said he loved you. How? “Why didn’t you just tell me?” You asked with a laugh. He caught your hand, leading you to his bed. “Even those with winter hearts fear rejection, Sweetheart.”

             You cuddled up next to him on the comfortable silk sheets. He offered you a cup, and a cookie. He hummed in appreciation, picking the book back up and reading to you. You realized he was reading Les Misérables by Victor Hugo. You listened to his voice, lulling you in comfort as you leaned against your head against his shoulder. You should’ve stepped out of your comfort zone long before now.

Please consider supporting the starving artist/social worker if you’re able. :)

[heli0s-writes]

II. Slow Like Honey

Summary:  Steve gets a surprise visit from Bucky and Natasha. You accidentally/purposefully run into Steve and Sarah at the bakery. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy! 

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

The rest of the week is a little calmer, and you don’t see Steve Rogers again until the following Thursday when he hand-delivers a Mason jar full of flowers to your door in the morning. He’s there for his end of year conference and you’ve given yourself plenty of time. The clock reads 7:30.

An elegant pale purple ribbon is wrapped around the open mouth of the glass, matching the walls of your classroom, tied into a neat bow. Sarah picked them out from the florist next door this morning, he says as he leans against your doorframe, hands tucked into his pockets.

You thank him, eyes wandering over the colorful blooms, trying to focus on anything that keeps your attention away from his face. The note attached to the ribbon is a simple Thank You, written in neat penmanship, much too controlled to be a child’s. You don’t mention it as the sneaking suspicion crawls up your cheeks that Steve Rogers actually got these flowers for you.

Two pairs of feet patter over to the teacher’s desk, and you place the arrangement next to the window.

“So.. um. Five days left, huh?” He asks as he sits down in a chair on your horseshoe white board table. He drums his knuckles on the smooth surface before rubbing his palm back and forth, admiring the sheen. “Sorry— this is so cool; it always gets me.” You smile because yes, every time he’s here he picks this table.

“Do you have any summer plans?” He ventures, picking at a scratch where dried expo has crusted over. It comes off on his fingerprint and he rubs it away with his thumb.

“No. I, um,” You hand him a tissue, “I think I’ll just be here. What about you and Sarah?”

“No, uh, I’ve got the bakery and well, Sarah will be with her mom for the summer. She’ll be leaving for the UK on the tenth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

An awkward moment passes before you open the manila folder you keep full of Sarah’s papers. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen or heard before and you start giving him your well-practiced speech of how Sarah’s been doing, beginning with her recent standardized scores and ending with a few pages of classroom reading and writing assessments. He nods along and points here and there, asking for context on some things, but the way he bites his lip and folds his hands tightly suggest he has something on his mind.

Those too-blue eyes stare intently at you any time you feel brave enough to investigate them. After catching yet another critical look, you halt and match his posture, hands linked together, shoulders back. “Mr. Rogers, is there something you’d like to say?”

Your question surprises him, and his broad shoulders slack.

“What? No! Not at all. Why are you asking that?”

His response surprises you, and you fold your arms.

“You’re… looking at me very intensely.”

As if making it his mission to continue shocking you, he begins to sputter and flushes completely rouge. “Oh.. I.. that’s just…” Steve Rogers takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. This must be completely unprofessional… I just…” The next phrase rolls out of him like a sudden thunderclap and it sends chills through your body just the same.

“Can I take you out to dinner some time?”

“Huh!?” You nearly shout.

The smile he sends you is small and shy, corner of his lips lifting ever so slightly to touch bright pink skin. “Maybe at the end of the year. After Sarah’s finished so that we don’t have any conflicts of interest?”

Your heart is pounding like a jackhammer and nothing you scold at it will calm it down. Part of you wants to pinch yourself just to make sure this wasn’t some terrible nightmare where you also discover you’re completely naked and giving a speech. The man in front of you is waiting patiently and you can summon forth nothing but a gape.

Steve Rogers, Mister Perfect White Picket Fence, literally just asked you out on a date. The man you have been dreading for the better part of the last nine months, is sparkly-eyed like a high-school crush. All of those teacher’s lounge rumors are pointing at you and laughing as you stand under an auditorium spotlight, horrified at your nudity.

He realizes your panic and corrects himself.

“Um, sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position.”

You frown at him, because it is an awkward position. You don’t even know why he would be interested in you because you’ve never really shown him that you are. A part of you wonders if he could be confusing your role as Sarah’s teacher with some sort of domestic fantasy. Was he looking at you as a two-for-one deal? Date and babysitter? He was divorced, after all. But then Sarah’s sandy head crosses your mind and you sigh. You shouldn’t be so bitterly lumping her into this line of reasoning.

Enough time has passed and the fuzzy infatuated thoughts you entertained on Tuesday have made their exit. You’re back to the routine, throwing yourself back into work, grading, collecting data, having conferences, planning end of the year activities, finalizing the year, and shoving Tuna Helper in your mouth at the end of the day. You think about your sparse apartment with the single couch, outdoor dinner table you picked up from a yard sale, mismatched chairs, and recycle bin full of empty wine bottles.

Why the hell would Steve Rogers be interested in you? Because you teach his daughter? And he’s comfortable enough to try it?

You should just ask.

Steve beats you to the punch. He’s fumbling for the right words to ease the situation.

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve asked anyone out. I realize this—“

“I can’t.” You cut him off before either of you can get any more lost in this terrifying possibility. What would that even be like? You going to work here at this tiny school, dating a parent of one of your former students. It would be a scandal— and a stupid one, at that! All of these southern little housewives at the PTA would crucify you as the young hussy seducing an older, established man. And the teachers who already treat you differently would make it so much worse.

“Mr. Rogers,” You inhale a shaky breath, because he is gorgeous, and sweet, and you just have to say it now and save both of you.

“I’m still new here and the rumor mill is already insane… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Oh.” He licks his lips before pressing them together, “Yes, of course. Yeah, I, uh, I’m sorry.”

You feel so guilty because he immediately stands up and nearly knocks the chair over as he steps away from the table. “Well, I should get going. Thanks for everything this year… I really do mean it when I say that you’ve been such a wonderful teacher. I can see Sarah’s growth every day and I know so much of that is attributed to your kindness and expectations for her.” He digs into his pocket to pull out a small speckled envelope and slides it across the table.

Steve Rogers holds out his hand and you stand up to shake it. Unlike the last handshake you had with him, this one is warm and soft. He envelopes all your fingers again, but his touch is like a glove and your hand remains in the slightly folded position even after he pulls away. The sudden thought of wanting his touch invades your mind. He takes Sarah’s papers in that same big hand of his and leaves with a small smile and a wave at the door.

You flop down in your swivel chair with a loud sigh and open the slip. The rough recycled paper holds a hand-drawn picture that Sarah has made inside. It’s of you and her standing in a field of multicolored flowers and she’s drawn the clouds and rainbows from your accent wall in the background. In big pencil letters, as neatly as she can make it, she’s written the words, “thank you for being my teacher and teaching me so much new things! I am sad that you will not be my teacher next year ….. I love you!!!!”

Paperclipped to the picture is a laminated rectangle of paper that says Coupon for unlimited banana bread at C&C… a small token of our appreciation. Come in anytime!

Steve’s signature is scrawled on the right-hand corner of it, next to the bakery’s circular logo of concentric rings and a star. You tuck it into your bag quickly, just to get it out of your sight and fold your hands over your eyes.

5 Days Left of School!

The alternating blue and purple expo letters leer back at you from the whiteboard. Your best teacher handwriting is mocking, because five days feels like both a dream and a nightmare. Five days left until Steve Rogers is out of your life and thrust upon another teacher— where he’ll bake banana bread for them and… a small twinge of jealousy pinches your side. You groan again and clench your fists. You rejected him! A workplace is not the right environment to engage in a relationship! He was your student’s father! It’s near incestuous!

“Oh shit…” You mutter before straightening your dress and standing up. Taking a deep breath, you plaster on your brightest smile and make your way to the gym.

—

 It’s Friday morning at the bakery and he’s juggling two Americanos when the door opens with a clanging from the bell. Two familiar heads pop in- one brown, one red. They wear matching aviators and leather jackets, and both grin at the man behind the counter.

“Cute apron, Rogers.” Natasha smirks, eyeing the worn canvas fabric. It was a gift from one of his regulars- slightly too small, but the endearing baguette and croissant print sold him. He alternates between this one and a one of Sarah’s favorites—butterfly print.

“What are you guys doing here!?” Steve yells, swinging around the back and pulling them both into hugs. Customers and employees alike dodge out of his way, but smile at him anyway. The lunch crowd hasn’t come by yet, so the bakery has calmed from the morning rush and sits quietly in the quell of 10 am. He’s delegated some busy work this morning to a barista, dusting the lights and windows while Steve manages the front.

“Thought we’d surprise ya. We’re taking a road trip to see Clint and Laura’s new baby.” Bucky pats Steve on the shoulder and he finally lets go of the clamp on both of them. “We’ll be staying the night so we can at least have dinner with Sarah-bearah! You got any good recommends for coffee?”

Steve pretends to act hurt before he makes them sit at the bar. Spinning back around the corner, he twirls two handmade ceramic mugs in his hand and gets to work. Natasha and Bucky flip through a magazine together and only make it to the fourth page before he presents them with two coffees and a shared plate of bread.

“Cream and sugar for you…” Steve sets down the items in front of Bucky, “And black for you.”

Natasha smirks at him before digging into the plate with her fork. “This is delicious.” She smiles, “I remember it differently…. New recipe?”

She catches the slightest hint of embarrassment from her friend and waits patiently for his disclosure. Natasha never needs to push; everyone tells her the truth eventually. Forking a bite into Bucky’s mouth, she watches him from underneath her lashes and tilts her head. “Good, huh?”

Steve sling the towel he’d been using to polish the ceramics over his shoulder and sighs, shaking his head. He tells them about the crumbled oats on top and how he’d experimented for almost a whole week to get that perfect brown glaze, trying to balance the heaviness of whole wheat with the richness of the honey. “I settled on wildflower because of its lingering quality—the other ones were just too—I don’t know…” he rubs two fingers together with one hand on his hip. Bucky and Natasha share a knowing look because the punk’s always been like this when it came to baking, getting lost in his thoughts and infodumping on them.

They wait for the other shoe to drop.

He finally tells them why he changed the formula: an attempt to win over Sarah’s teacher. Bucky’s barking laughter earns him a smack from Natasha.

Steve flushes completely red as he counts his reasons—her care for his daughter, her dedication and kindness, her smile, when he could finally see it because his new banana bread recipe had worked and she smiled at him genuinely for the first time in nine months! Steve recounts to his two amused friends how he hadn’t felt like that since before Peggy left. Years.

He rambles through his apprehensions—fearing that his infatuation is merely a schoolboy crush on a woman who just happened to be in his life that was nice. A woman who was his daughter’s teacher, even if she wouldn’t be for much longer, it was just a sketchy way to meet someone you were romantically interested in. She was also younger than him by nearly eight years, barely finding her footing in the world.

He also finally admits the rejection—she confirmed all of the apprehension he had, matching them with her own. “How do people do this?” He mutters, “Dating?” He realizes he may not be asking the two best people for advice as they smirk at him behind their coffee- sly little lifts at the corners of their mouths. Steve sighs because as far as he knows they might not even be sleeping in the same place tonight.

He asks if they’d like to stay over since he’s got a spare bedroom and Bucky takes him up on his offer. Natasha declines politely; she has a friend in town but she’ll meet them back up in the morning. Her and Bucky want to explore Steve’s sleepy little town before picking Sarah up with him after school. Natasha teases him about the teacher, and promises not to harass her too much if they run into her.

He’s wary of them, but agrees anyway, shooting off a text to the babysitter that she’d be having the evening off.

--

Sarah’s been crying all day, and even though it’s your week off carline duty, you sit with her in the gym and hold her hand. It started at lunchtime, when she barely touched what her father had packed for her. You broke off half of your banana and the two of you shared it at your desk when she calmed enough to sit with you. Then she ate a packet of goldfish crackers from the classroom pantry and threw her lunch into the trash can. You watched the lovingly-made multigrain turkey and provolone, slices of tomato, homemade granola bar, and chocolate-dipped biscotti fall helplessly into the bin and pulled Sarah out into the hallway.

“Can you tell me what’s going on, Sarah? You threw away all of your lunch.” She could tell that you were somewhat cross because she immediately burst into tears.

“I hate turkey and provolo!” She blubbered, “I told daddy no turkey sammiches but he made it anyway and he never listens to me!”

You gently shushed her, and she quiets a little but continued to complain, “And Marnie’s coming today but I said that I wanted to go to the bakery with daddy but he won’t let me. He only lets me go on Mondays but … but…” She hiccuped all over the hallway and flung herself into your shoulder as you kneeled down on her level.

“Sarah, it’s okay. We can take a little break, and you can walk with me to get a sip of water. Would you like me to call Miss Esther and see if she can talk to you today?”

Sarah shook her head no but reached for your hand anyway, “I don’t wanna talk to Miss Esther, I wanna go home and see my daddy.” You gave her a small squeeze and what Steve told you during the conference crosses your mind— Sarah leaves with her mother on the 10th, just one day after the last day of first grade. The poor thing was going through so many sudden changes that all she can do to exercise control is throw away her own lunch.

She had started to cry again, so you asked her to take deep breaths with you, placing your hand on her chest and the other on your own to assure her. In between a set, you peeked in the room to see Heather asking the class to finish their food and clean up. Sarah’s cheeks were bright as maraschino cherries, but she finally calmed down a little. “Okay, hon. Let’s go walk together to get water. I know you said you don’t want to see Miss Esther, but I know she would love to see you. Think you might wanna try?”

Your student relented in the end, but continued to be sullen the rest of the day.

 And now, at 3:30, she’s returned to sniffling as she curls up next to you, cheek pressed against your arm. When her name is called over the receiver, you put her bag on your own back and walk with her to the cone. A few minutes later, you see the familiar blue of Steve Roger’s sedan and with a small wave, you point him around the traffic circle and into the attached parking lot. He meets you quickly, getting out of his car in a rush.

“Everything okay?” He asks with a slight panic when he sees Sarah’s blue eyes watery with tears. There are two people in the car with him and they give you a nod before coming out of the car too.

The woman opens her arms and calls, “Sarah-bear!” And Sarah throws herself into the embrace, squealing, “Auntie Nat! Uncle Bucky!”

You step to the side and Steve Rogers follows, leaning over slightly as you lower your voice. “She had an emotional day—“ you look over to her, now hopping excitedly around the man, “She’s really nervous about summer, Mr. Rogers.”

“About second grade?”

You nod, “And seeing her mom, being a new place, and being away from you. It’s quite a long time, two months. I think all of the changes are scaring her and so she’s trying to control the things around her.”

“How so?” He looks perplexed and you completely understand because it’s quite a concept that children can be manipulative in ways that they don’t even understand. You try to be as delicate as possible.

“Well she threw away her lunch, and ate crackers and my banana…”

“Oh geez, I’m so sorry!” He turns to scold her but you quickly reach out to grab his arm before pulling away, embarrassed at the contact. You begin to fumble over your next sentence, but he doesn’t seem to notice and you thank your lucky stars.

“It’s totally fine, I promise. Go easy on her. She’s only six… the world’s a confusing place for a child, you know? I just wanted to let you know because she might be acting out at home but just keep in mind that it’s because she’s anxious, not bad.” You do air-quotes around the “b” word because it really is just a term adults use when children don’t act the way they want them to. Sarah Rogers couldn’t be bad even if she tried.

You give Steve a pained look because it must be tough for him as a single parent. You were raised by your mother, and there were a number of years that you were actually “bad”.

“Be firm with her, but give a little where you can.” You advise.

He nods and when you peek behind him to look at Sarah, the dark-haired man is smiling at you with his arms crossed. Sarah sits comfortably on the woman’s back, feet dangling with her shoes in her hands. Steve sighs as he looks at his daughter, curled ends of her golden braid shining in the summer sun. “Thank you. I really.. thank you. For telling me…. Any thoughts on how to make Monday a better day?” He asks.

Sarah waves to you from the backseat as she settles in, buckled and snug as a bug. You catch her air-kiss dramatically as she giggles.

“Yeah, Mr. Rogers,” you grin, “No more turkey and provolo sammiches.”

Steve feels his heart skip a beat as you tilt your head up to him, hand over your eyes to block the sun rays. He thinks your smile could outshine the whole damn thing. You wave to everyone and turn away, heading back across the crosswalk and into the building. His heart flutters along with the edge of your dress, flapping wildly in the wind.

—

Bucky comes back to the bakery and helps Steve close up for the night. Natasha has taken Sarah to a movie after dinner and will be dropping her off in a couple of hours. As he flips over the sign on the door, Steve begins to stack the chairs. He’s got a pretty good routine down at this point, and it shouldn’t take any more than half an hour before he’s ready to head home. Bucky helps wipes down the windows before moving to the counters.

“Sooooo….” Bucky calls, “Nice girl.”

Steve smiles as he finishes with the chairs and grabs the handle of the broom from the closet. “She’s not interested.” He sighs defeatedly, even if he can’t help the lift of his lips at the thought of her. “Why would she be? I’m divorced with a kid. My kid’s having a crisis and I have no earthly idea how to help her--”

Bucky cuts him off.

“Don’t forget-- you’re also stupid. She went hot as a poker when he touched your arm today.” The comment gives him pause and he stops mid-sweep to look at Bucky’s back stretched over a counter as he reaches for a particularly dusty spot. “Keep doin your pull-ups, Rogers. Girl’s into ‘em.”

A moment of silence passes between them.

As if he can hear Steve wondering, Bucky lets go of a little groan before speaking again, “Me and Natalia are complicated. And that’s fine. I’m happy, she’s happy, and we work it out best we can. Sometimes we make each other crazy, but sometimes… pal, if I had to burn down the whole world to see her smile, I think I’d do it. I used to think that you and Peg had the kinda relationship I wanted. Domestic, simple, real nuclear family. But that’s not Nat.”

He can hear the longing in Bucky’s voice. The endearing tone his best friend has reserved solely for Natasha.

“I thought about it after we hung up the other day. Me and Nat, moving so fast, you know? I think I’ll try that slowing down thing you like so much.” He chucks the rag in his left hand into the basket by Steve’s feet. “So here we are… going to see the Bartons, not talking about getting hitched any time soon.”

Bucky shrugs, almost as defeated as Steve. “I dunno, man. It’s all complicated and all simple, but what the fuck do I know... Shoot your shot.”

Steve finishes up and moves to bring his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, which slump slightly before he takes a deep breath and straightens his back. They share a dry laugh between them, quietly both lamenting and celebrating their troubles.

Bucky claps him on the chest- a warning to both of them to stop being so miserable. Steve nudges him back. They scuffle at the car before Bucky ducks from his reach and flips him the bird with a grin.

As they drive, Steve puts on the radio. An echoing, resonant female voice vibrates through the speakers of his blue sedan, accompanied by slow piano notes.

You’ll remember me, like a melody. Yeah, I’ll haunt the world inside you…

He thinks back to the dazzling smile in the afterschool parking lot. The delicate brush of fingertips and slightest scrape of fingernails on his arm, all sensations he relives again with a shudder as if they just happened.

And my big secret, gonna win you over.

He shakes his head to himself because maybe that coupon for unlimited banana bread was a bit overkill and a bit shameless plugging, but then again, maybe it can be the perfect opportunity, too. He’ll wait, Steve thinks, if it happens, it happens.

Slow like honey, heavy with mood.

—

 It’s Sunday morning when your feet lead you to a familiar logo. Your yellow ballet flats are pointed at the wooden door of Cap & Co., nicknamed for Captain and Company.

You’ve read about the Rogers bakery in the local food section of the paper last year when it was picking up steam. Over a bowl of oatmeal, you pondered about the object of all your co-workers’ affections.

The short article interviewed Steve about his business- and he explained the meaning of the name.

At his old workplace, he was teasingly called “Captain” because of his serious demeanor and ability to rally security teams together just right. Even his seniors began to refer to him as Captain, much to his initial chagrin. But as the years passed and he only kept advancing in his field, it stuck. So he eventually took pride in being The Captain.

There was a funny little anecdote he revealed as well- about always finding joy in baking and sharing the desserts he had created, so much, that his co-workers also began calling him “Man with a Flan”—and how it irritated him to no end that they disregarded the fact that flan does not rhyme with man. You remember giggling loutishly at that paragraph.

Company was not about business, it was about friendship. Company was about the camaraderie, the article stated, before the neatly printed words made your heart swell.

Captain Steve Rogers’ only company right now is his five-year old daughter Sarah- a splitting image of his own sunny disposition and sincerity-- but he hopes that you soon will be a part, too. Grab a friend and swing into Cap&Co, smell the warmth of handmade pastries, soak in the perfectly brewed coffee, and have a conversation with Steve Rogers, the man behind the counter, making it all happen.

Adjacent from the blurb was a picture of him bent over behind a glass display case, unsurprisingly, intensely focused as he rearranged the pastries. Next to that, had been a more inviting image- Sarah sitting on his apron-clad hip as they gazed at each other, close-eyed and wide-smiled, him brushing a sprinkle off her cheeks.  

But, you’d forgotten all about it soon after. Open House showed you his intensity, and gossip deterred you so much that in the two years you’ve known about the local favorite Cap&Co, this is embarrassingly, the first time you’ve been here.

 You trace the edge of the laminated rectangle in your pocket, feeling your heart seize with the possibility of seeing him in there, perhaps fixing a coffee (intensely) or handing someone a muffin (with a smile—and you’re not sure which one you’d prefer). Maybe he’ll be in the back office, doing whatever it is that owners do—answering e-mails, checking inventory, ordering supplies (maybe this one was best).

You had spent the rest of Friday thinking about Sarah along with the rest of your students as you prepared your heart for the end of the year. It was your first real classroom, after all. And to say that it was an excellent year would be such a massive understatement that you didn’t dare summon forth words in fear of dishonoring it. Nothing would top this year. All twenty-five kids were fantastic, and you worked yourself sick some days to ensure that they were learning to the best of their potential. You’d even gotten in some trouble after a few heated confrontations with other specialists and the like when you didn’t think that they were treating your students correctly. Worth it.

Now, as your feet point at the entrance of Cap&Co., you wondered if it was a good idea to come in asking about Sarah. Not that it was a lie—you really were worried about her.

Oh, and of course! You also wanted some more banana bread. Yeah, two completely decent interests.

The bell clangs when you push in and immediately, the toasty sweet scent of pastries and bitter richness of coffee fill your nostrils. There’s light jazz playing in the background and the shades are drawn, flooding the space with luminous sunshine.

Looking around, the place is reminiscent of a rustic french patisserie if it had been set in the 21st century. There are design choices that seem like they shouldn’t make sense and be so harmonious, but for whatever reason, they fit perfectly together. The furniture is a mixture of polished wood and dull metal, the floor is a shiny speckled concrete, and along the wall behind the counter is a gorgeous handwritten chalk menu better designed and executed than any you’ve seen. The display cases exhibit an array of baked goods that sparkle their sugar-shine at you.

“Welcome to Cap&Co.! What can I do for you?” The barista greets, waving as you come in. You tuck your hair behind your ear and request a chai tea with milk. When she asks if you’d like something to eat with it, you suddenly become panicked and shove the coupon into your pocket and shake your head vigorously. Then you completely chicken out and ask for the chai in a to-go cup.

You chide yourself as you take your order and spin back towards the door. You shouldn’t have come in the first place. Sarah was fine, and she shouldn’t be your excuse to see a man you had already rejected. It was unfair to both him and yourself.

But those clear blue-green eyes, so large and concerned on Friday afternoon forms a lump in your throat as big as a boulder. You realize that as much as you were worried about Sarah’s emotional health, you were also worried about Steve. His story runs so parallel to your own mother that you’re instinctively drawn to him, almost out of guilt.

The bell dings half a second before you reach for it— handle swinging away from your grasp, and you run face-first into Steve Rogers’ chest.

The tea in your hand drops and splashes on the ground.

Sarah’s shrill voice screams your name with delight before she jumps into your arms, immediately hooking both legs around your own and knocks you into the puddle. The memory reel of Open House plays as Steve catches you before you fall over.

In your wide-open eyes, Steve Rogers feels himself falling. When he steels his arm against your body and pulls you back up onto your feet, the hope he’s been slowly letting go springs alive and takes flight, towing him along.

—

“Sarah, stop that, honey!”

You let loose a laugh as Sarah clings onto your seated body like some sort of animal. Her legs are squeezed so tightly around your torso that you feel the air starting to seep out of you like a deflating balloon. Adjusting your arm, you place it over her back and tickle her ear. This wasn’t too unusual for Sarah, but you figure outside of the school environment and in her territory, she felt more comfortable.

“I love you so much!” She whispers loudly, as if her father couldn’t hear, and ignoring his scolding of her position against you.

“I love you too!” You whisper back, just as obvious.

Steve shakes his head, but can’t stop the smile that blooms. The three of you are in the back corner of the café, nestled in a wooden booth where you and Sarah are leaned back against the polished mahogany and Steve is across the table in a chair. The cashier from before brings a few slices of warm banana bread over as well as another chai. You and Steve thank her and she smiles back, eyes darting over to where Sarah now burrows her cheek against the ridge of your collarbone.

There’s a knowing wink the cashier sends to Sarah that you interpret for playful. She sends the same wink to Steve, but you miss it completely when the young girl attached to you like an extra appendage moves so she sits in your lap and faces her father, who sputters awkwardly.

“S-Sarah, honey, you gotta get off… baby, look, Miss--”

Sarah Rogers spins her head around, and with all the logic that a six year old can have, asks, “Can I sit in your lap?” as if the simple action of asking is enough to justify her already perched position. Steve bursts out laughing and puts his face in both his hands before rubbing his beard.

“Hey Sarah,” You whisper, eyes fixed on Steve’s cheeks before you raise a pinky. “Wanna make a Dill, pickle?”

She perks up, interested, and her father’s eyebrow raises as well. You continue to watch him, as if unfolding a magic trick in front of an expectant audience.

“How bout this? You can sit on my lap after I finish the tea. It’s really hot and I would hate to accidentally spill any on you. But woah… look at all this banana bread… I don’t think I can finish it. Can you help me?”

Sarah nods eagerly and hooks her little finger in yours. “It’s a Dill, pickle!” She clambers off and licks her lips, “Yummmmmmy. I love love love banana bread. Daddy can I have some even though Miss Marnie’s coming?”

She flutters her eyelashes exactly two times before he folds like a house of cards. Oh boy, Steve Rogers is going to be in for a tough run of teenage years if his resolve is this weak against her now.

The three of you share the heavenly slices with easy conversation. Between Sarah’s animated subject matters, your own talent of entertaining her, and Steve’s bubbling laughter in the background, twenty minutes fly by in a snap before the babysitter—Miss Marnie—shows up and Sarah happily leaves with her. She squeezes the living heck out of you and gives her dad a sloppy kiss on the cheek before she goes.

In her absence, the conversation halts almost completely as you poke at the crumbs on the plate and pretend to drink your tea too much. Steve watches you with interest, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when you bring the mug up for the fifth time in what could only be half a minute. It’s near eleven now, and you know he’ll need to get back to work soon with the lunch rush coming in; Steve Roger’s chicken salad sandwiches and bagel and lox could give his banana bread a run for its money.

“How do you do that?” He asks suddenly, leaning his chin on his palm, “You’re so good with her.”

You shrug reflexively. “I spend more time with her than you do.”

Your brain moves too fast on chai, and you immediately face-palm upon seeing his pained expression. “Oh God. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I- look, ah, I’m an idiot. Ugh! Jesus, fuck me!”

His face lights up when you slip the f-bomb and you turn five shades of red at the sound of his laughter. You lean forward and lower your voice, hoping that you could convey sincerely to him how apologetic you are.

“You’re an excellent father. I interact with Sarah on a pretty shallow level, not to discredit the hard work of teaching because it is hard, and demanding, and--” You shudder at the recollection of all your late-night hours and morning espresso shorts, “—I teach her lots of things, of course. She grows with me. But I’ve only got her for a year, you know? You’re with her in a capacity that I will never experience. You’re her father, her guardian. That is a profound thing. And you’re doing a wonderful job. I promise, Steve; I see it in her every day.”

Steve swallows thickly at the way his name sounds rolling off your tongue. The way your mouth curls into a fond smile. The way your eyebrows raise and lower empathetically. The way your eyes flit back and forth over his.

The air between your faces still as you start to realize just how close you are, propped forward like this on the small square table, hands under your chins. You gaze trails down the slope of his nose and gets lost in the hairs of his beard—brown, tawny, bits of red-- in-between lengths. Strangely, you think it makes him look more refined, now that he’s paired it with a slicked back haircut that somehow still looks soft. His rosy lips part. Even softer than his hair.

“Um.” You blink a few times and lean back when the bell jingles with the arrival of a string of customers. Steve catches himself doing the same before turning to greet the newcomers and standing up hastily.

“Wait, don’t go yet. Let me… um, let me um—“ Both of you look away, cooling off the heated thoughts that have overtaken your heads. Steve’s heart hammers wildly in his chest as he tries to find the rights words that have irritatingly vanished from his incoherent brain.

“Bread!” He cries triumphantly as he steps back and points to the display case. “Bread! I got it. Some. I got some. For you.” His expression briefly turns self-deprecating as he chides himself for being such a buffoon as you look on, confused. “Let me just take care of this real quick and I’ll have it packed for you.”

Before you can argue and try to refuse his offer for the sake of decorum, he’s already behind the counter, making coffee orders and chit-chatting breezily. As you clean up your own table, stacking the little plates and putting them in their designated bins, you continue to watch him from the corner of your eye. All sinew and muscle underneath his baby-blue button up. Big hands holding his own hand-made mugs three-at-a-time. Perfect pearly white teeth showcasing the most beautiful smile a man can have.

Damn. It. All. Steve. Rogers.

You pluck a brown napkin from the dispenser and a pen from your purse before you can lose your nerve.

 When everyone’s been served and seated, Steve neatly wraps half a loaf of banana bread up in the made-from-recycled-paper sheet behind the counter and ties it off with a delicate snip of twine. He finds you at the table, standing with your hand against the strap of your crossbody and a napkin folded in your palm.

“This is for you.” He says quietly, holding the loaf forward, fingers brushing yours for a second as he passes it. You pinch your lips together and for a second he’s afraid he might have offended you.

“And… um, this is for you.”

You press the napkin into his hand and leave quietly with the package, ignoring the curious eyes of customers and baristas who have witnessed your interaction, glancing back just a second before the door shuts behind you. Your face is so warm you very well could have been one of the many fresh bakes on display. At the car, you let go of a breath that shakes your entire frame. Your face is still on fire. Holy fuck, you did the thing. The scary thing.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Oh god. The bad thing?

Back at the café, Steve unfolds the napkin carefully. Written with a sparkly gel pen is a string of ten digits and a pretty- if not albeit shakily- written note.

Three days left of school. Ask me again?

Next Chapter

[you-are-so-much-better-than-that]

Season 1 Episode 2

In episode two we get to see just how much Frank sucks. He’s a shitty father, a shitty friend, a shitty patron to the Alibi. He breaks televisions, he steals beer, he steals his kids’ clothes. He steals their fucking shoelaces. But, again, William H Macy plays him in a way where he’s always stumbling back and forth on that thin line Frank walks between complete asshole and maybe sort of slightly sympathetic.

Frank is having a bad day. His shoelaces break, then his hair tie rips, then Karen’s dad, Eddie, headbutts him in the face. What’s truly great about this scene is Frank falls, but his beer does not. That’s talent, Frank.

Oh! First Tommy sighting! He lives up above the Alibi! Who knew! Wonder when he moved out for Mickey’s whores to move in?

I don’t know what day it is, but it’s during the day and everyone is watching television. The Gallaghers are watching a fishing show (anyone know what it is?). There’s a big pay per view fight on tv at the Alibi. The ring says HDNET Fights, and after doing a quick Wikipedia search of past events, there was a UFC fight on November 12, 2010. Which is before the first episode! CONTINUITY!! Shameless exists out of space and time, guys.

Frank heads home, bloody and bruised, and takes out his anger on Ian. Again, Frank is a piece of shit.

The almost entirely silent scene between Fiona and Frank—cinematic gold. She was snubbed.

Ian goes upstairs to change (quick note: is the shirt Ian’s wearing when Frank hits him the same shirt that Mickey later wears in season 11 when they go see the apartment?).

We have a BROTHERS moment where Ian threatens to kill Frank and Lip is encouraging. Looks like Lip is coming around to the whole gay thing. 

I don’t like Steve, but I gotta say his forthcoming revenge is hilarious.

Still no idea what day it is, but Kev is shutting down the bar, saying goodnight to Billy who has not moved, and then it’s the next day.

Debbie is going around collecting coupon books. I’ve lived in a few places in my life, and have found that those usually come out on Thursday. Can someone who lives in Chicago confirm?

Was it Wednesday the day before? Is it now Thursday? Are we still in November? This would make it Thanksgiving weekend? Or is it the first weekend of December? I HAVE NO IDEA PEOPLE!

This show is obsessed with mental health, but like sometimes not in a good way? When Vee is talking to the dairy man, they talk about his wife being over at [Cook] County and on meds.

Frank gets another benefits payment in the mail, but he’s nowhere to be found. Fiona asks what day it is and Lip answers that it’s Friday. Ok! So the day before was Thursday. Maybe it IS Thanksgiving weekend and the coupon things are a day late because it was Thanksgiving the day before? Explains why they were all sitting around watching TV and not in school? Plus, mornings on a school day are crazy hectic at the Gallagher house. Debbie is cutting coupons in her robe. I really feel like it’s Thanksgiving weekend.

Fiona walks in on Kev and Vee having very enthusiastic sex. She sticks around anyway and finds out that Frank didn’t stay until last call at the Alibi. They all start calling around looking for Frank. Kev is angry that they’re using his phones and running up the bill. He yells at Vee, but doesn’t leave without telling her he loves her. Relationship goals guys.

They start walking around the Southside checking all the regular spots. Steve looks sketchy as fuck. Carl and Debbie look for their father at a funeral home checking all the coffins. These kids need therapy.

Fiona goes to the police station and we learn it’s not any Friday; it’s the last Friday of the month, and, according to Kev, that means it’s disability check day! I swear he got one of those in the last episode. This show makes no sense!

Ok, if it’s still November, then this is Thanksgiving long weekend. Guess they didn’t do much this year?

Anyway, I wish I was even a fraction as comfortable with my naked body as everyone on this show is. Vee is hangin out, completely topless, with Fiona and Steve discussing Frank’s whereabouts while ‘working’ her day job, when Ian walks in and laughs. Very different reaction than the last episode when he saw Kev’s dick.

Once more I give you Ian seeing Kev’s cock:

Vs Vee’s boobs:

Is this what they call gay panic?

Cute scene of Debbie freaking out and just making sounds, but Ian, the BEST BROTHER EVER, is able to translate her nonsense. Apparently 12 year old 3rd grader Holly saw a dead body by the tracks. It’s not Frank.

Because Frank is in Canada! Toronto, apparently. Up in my neck of the woods.

 I just want to take this moment to inform all you non Canadians that, no, Mounties don’t actually ride horses up and down Lakeshore as Shameless would have you think. This is basically downtown.

Also, fuck you Frank! Canada isn’t fond of you either, sir!

Anyway, Fiona figures out it was Steve that took Frank over to Canada (yo Americans! Do your cigarettes not have health warnings on them? Ours have pictures of cancer all over them. It’s really gnarly looking and I’ll never understand how anyone can smoke). Also, Shameless, Toronto is close to the border, yes, but not the Detroit border. It’s another 3 ½ hours away from Detroit! You’re thinking of Windsor. Ok Stop nitpicking Chrissy! Moving on.

Fiona punches Steve in the face. Don’t mess with Fiona’s fucking family. Steve, Kev, and Vee go to get Frank back.

Officer Tony shoots his shot with Fiona, invites her to an awards benefit. Closeted good guy cop Tony coaches 8 year olds basketball. Anyway, his event is next Thursday. Important for the following episode.

The next day, Saturday, the entire neighbourhood is there to welcome Frank with open arms and Canadian flags. Frank is unamused. Even when Debbie brings him Canadian beer.

He doesn’t refuse it though. Which makes sense because up here in Canada WE GOT STRONGER BEER (and drinking age is 19 in most provinces and 18 in some).

Anyway, Fiona goes full mama bear on Frank and you gotta love seeing it!

And then there’s a really great scene with Frank and Debbie where she thinks he’s just had this big Canadian adventure. He’s seen the CN Tower! (Sorry, Debs, but it’s totally overrated.) At first he’s all bitchy, but eventually he humours her. Tells her that he could see all of Canada from the top of the CN Tower, that bits of Canada are beautiful, that he can get around every inch of the country now that he’s been to Toronto. The way William H Macy can make us hate Frank for an entire episode and then give us this moment of semi tenderness is why Frank is such a compelling character.

Lip steals a kid’s bike (the second in two episodes. So is this a thing?) and follows Frank around. Frank’s not happy and he’s decided he’s moving out. And we’re back to hating Frank when we hear how Fiona, Lip, and Ian split all the bills. How Frank’s barred from every bar. No one loves this man. His friends refuse to let him in or kick him out because he owes them money. He’s stolen his ‘friends’’ microwaves and tv.

He manages to trick Sheila into letting him in, though. And takes a bath. Then has some kinky sex.

Frank waddling over to a beautifully set table to take a seat on a butt cushion and downing two Tylenol with his beer is amazing. Shameless comedy is top notch.

 Steve tries to apologize by gifting Fiona a van, and she is rightfully insulted. He’s got a ridiculous hero complex. He wants to save Fiona and she hasn’t asked for it.

The episode ends with a brilliant post end credit scene of Frank being cut out of fuzzy handcuffs by firemen.

So this episode starts on a Thursday and ends on a Saturday. I don’t know what dates, but we know it’s the last Friday of the month. No one went to school. No one celebrated Thanksgiving, unless you consider takeout burgers and shakes in front of a fishing show on tv a Thanksgiving dinner. I mean, they’re poor. This show remains first and foremost a show about American poverty, and not celebrating the holidays when you don’t have enough money on a regular basis makes sense. They barely had enough to pay for their electric bill last episode. Maybe this was not a year to celebrate. In theory, they could have skipped a month and a half and this could be the last Friday in December, but then that makes it Dec 30-Jan 1, and this was no New Year’s episode. It doesn’t feel right, so I’m calling it.

Episode 2 took place between November 25th-27th, an eventful Thanksgiving weekend even if there was no turkey.

[world-of-aus]

Behind the Screen - (Part 8)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3,653

Warnings: angst, misunderstandings, fluff, all the love.

Author’s Note: updates for BTS will be moved to Tuesday’s & Thursdays, and updates for FM will be on Wednesdays and Fridays! This will give me time to work on the chapters, and my course work for my masters over the weekend & Monday. If you would like to be added to either series tag-list you can send me an ask and you’ll be added. Also i saw this on a blog and felt the need to bring it up, if at any point for whatever reason you would like to be removed from the any of the tag-list at any point you can always message me privately to let me know, in no way will it offend or hurt me, i understand that there may be things that i put out that you the reader may not like or be interested in any longer. Anyways i hope you enjoy this chapter, this has been a longtime coming, thank you for reading, liking, and reblogging you all warm my heart immensely! - xoxoxo

Part 7 / SERIES MASTERLIST

“So what are the terms of this new agreement?” You questioned your head resting comfortably against Bucky’s chest.

“I wouldn’t even call it an agreement per say, I don’t like how it sits on the tongue, I'd say it's more of us helping each other out?” he murmured fingers running aimlessly in circles on your bare back.

You perked your head up, eyes catching his, “okay so we’re helping each other out,” you chuckled, “but tell me again how it is I'll be helping you out?”

“like I've said many time already, there’s things I read that I'm curious about, and well I want to try, and who better to do it than with you,” he shrugged.

You gnawed on your lower lip as you thought it over, you still felt you were treading in dangerous waters with your feelings on the line, “i dunno Buck, why not try these things with a stranger, you know whole no strings attached, hit it and quit it, one night stand type of deal,”

Bucky chuckled low in his throat, his chest vibrating underneath you, “are you saying your iffy to do this with me because you’ll catch feelings?” he questioned an underlying teasing tone peeking through.

You cocked your head to the side staring at him confused, it took you a second to realize what you had said, “no, absolutely not what I'm saying,” you murmured unsubtly.

Bucky was grinning as he sat up slightly, sliding you under his body, “awe come on doll, who better to do these things with than with you, you’ve been having a good time haven't you?” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes a small smile pulling at your lips, “Buck YOU’RE INSURFFERABLE,” you grunted under the weight of his body.

“you’re not denying the catching feelings doll,” he grinned cheekily, “have you caught feelings for little ol’ me?”  

Your mouth dropped open and then closed, you were stumped, how could you reply without it coming out like a total lie, the longer you stayed quiet though the more that grin pulled at the corners of Bucky’s lips. Bucky’s heart was beating away wildly in his chest, the rhythm matching yours, and you prayed he couldn’t feel it like you were feeling his. Truly he didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but he couldn’t help himself when he heard those words spill from your mouth, he wanted to know.

Though the longer you remained quiet beneath him he couldn’t contain that little part in his mind that was telling him otherwise, making him feel a fool for even insinuating you felt the same.

He kept his grin intact though not wanting you to see through him, his hand played with your hair, fingers running over your cheek, “m’just teasin sweetheart, I know you couldn’t possibly catch feelings for a grumpy old man,” he teased nudging your cheek with his fingers.

Your heart clenched in your chest, you wanted to tell him, but your heart was acting on your thoughts instead of your feelings. Your hands found their way onto his cheeks keeping him in place, “Buck I-”

“Y/n, you up??” Natashas voice sounded hurriedly behind your closed bedroom door.

Bucky eyes went wide, a muttered shit falling from his lips, “Y/n!” she called a little louder, her knocks getting louder too.

Bucky slid off you then both of you getting frantic, “y/n i’m coming in,” The two of you froze at her words, “buck hide,” you hissed. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as the door started squeaking open, you stood from your bed pushing bucky onto the floor on the side of your nightstand, grabbing your comforter to cover your naked form.

Your door pushed open the rest of the way, Natasha taking in your disheveled form, “did you just wake up?” she questioned with a raised brow.

Fuck she was analyzing you, “obviously,” you murmured looked at your nightstand, “tasha it’s four in the morning what is this about?” you murmured pushing out a yawn.

“do you always sleep naked?” she questioned an all-knowing grin pulling at her lips.

Son of a bitch, you thought, she's onto you.

You rolled your eyes, “I was tired Nat, and very frankly I didn’t feel like changing post shower, so I just fell asleep, now can you tell me what this is about?”

“Was it really that you were tired or did you have a gentleman caller in your room last night?” she questioned a gleam in her eye.

“Natasha!” you screeched, “there was no gentleman caller!”

“Хорошо, тогда держи свои секреты, Было бы стыдно, если бы Барнс узнал, о, он был бы опустошен” (alright then, keep your secrets, would be a shame if Barnes were to find out, oh he would be devestated)

“Natasha” you ground out, your eyes turning to slits, “will you tell me why you’re beckoning me from my room?”

“we’re all needed for a retrieval, we assumed you were with Barnes since he wasn’t in his room, but” she grinned that damn twinkle in her eye, “ it seems he must be elsewhere since he’s not in here with you  like usual, anyway get dressed and meet us in 15”

You were about to let your guard down when Natasha turned back around stopping just outside your door, “ты должен сказать ему” (you should tell him)

You cocked your head at her, her words completely flying over your head, she shook her head before she continued on her way.

Once the door was shut again you turned to look at Bucky who was now standing, his face was unreadable, “she knows,” is all he murmured.

Your heart stilled in your chest, his voice sounded so distraught at the fact that someone knew about you, had natasha said something, was the last thing she uttered something about you?  

“Buck-” you tried, he held up his hand, “we should get ready I'll meet you down at the hanger he murmured.”

You couldn’t help the feeling of rejection that washed over you, maybe the two of you just weren’t meant to do this. This whole thing should have never occured in the first place, and it was plain as day to see that this thing between the two of you just wasnt going to work. Bucky always closed you out the second the two of you almost got caught, he didn’t want you like you wanted him. The more you stewed in your own mind the worse the thoughts got, you were even beginning to feel the slightest bit used, you should have never agreed to this.

You wouldn’t look at him, not even sparing him a glance when Steve had announced him as your partner to retrieve the intel. He knew he messed up but truth was he didn’t want to do this anymore, he didn’t want to have to do this secretly, he didn’t want to have to use an excuse to be with you. While yes he wanted to try all these new things he had read and never heard of before with you, he didn’t want to feel like he was using it as a crutch when all he really wanted was to be with you.

“you and y/n alright?” Bucky turned his head to see Steve standing there a questioning look on his features.  

“what are you on about punk, why wouldn’t we be?

“I don’t know buck maybe it’s the fact that she isn’t acting like herself one bit, y’all get into a fight or something?”

Bucky’s brow creased, “we’re fine Steve, she’s fine” he murmured looking over at you.

Steve huffed out a laugh, “Bucky she’s not fine, the two of you are not fine, if you were you’d be sitting right next to her huddled in close like you always do right before we go in,”

“let it go man, we’re fine,”

Steve chuckled, “you know for being someone so close to y/n the way you are, you’re really clueless bud.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed further, “I do know her, what are you trying to get at steve” he muttered.

Steve chuckled again shaking his head, “ so then when are you going to tell her?” he questioned, “or are you two just going to keep sneaking around, you really think she’s deserves just that from you?”

Bucky head snapped over to Steve, “what are you talking about?” he questioned trying to play off the words that had just fallen from his friends lips.

“I know Buck, and given how you feel about her, and how I'm sure she feels about you, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together, hell the only one who hasn’t clued in yet is Sam,”

“It’s not like that Steve,” he sighed he knew Steve and knew how stubborn he could be, “it’s”

“it’s what Buck, you’ve had feelings for her for months now, and it’s obvious you care for her in more than just a friendly way, you’re with her more than us most days”

“Leave it alone already” he hissed, “we’re not a thing, why can’t you just leave well enough alone, why do you have to push things that just aren’t there,” he questioned through gritted teeth “so we mess around, doesn’t mean there's something there, maybe that’s all that this is”

Steve sighed, “and if she wants more, then what Buck?”

“she doesn’t” he murmured thinking back to the moment you two had in your room, “she doesn’t want me in the way that I want her,"

Steve placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder giving him a comforting squeeze, “maybe you just haven't given her the chance to tell you,”

Bucky nodded his head slowly letting Steve’s words sink in, and the more he thought them over the more he thought maybe he was right. How would Bucky get you to talk to him though, he had messed up yet again, and he had a feeling getting you to hear him out this time wouldn’t be as easy, and he was right, because while to them it seemed you were off in your own mind with your earbuds placed tightly in your ear, you had heard everything he had had to say to Steve, well almost everything.

“Talk to her Buck," Steve advised him after sometime.

Bucky could only nod as his eyes returned to your slumped over form, before they were returning to see Steve’s retreating back heading to the front of the plane.

“Alright team, games faces,” Steve called out, “we’re going in”

To say you were upset would be an understatement to the storm of emotions rolling through you. You hadn’t been in the right headspace when you were thrown into the mission, and you had been reckless. The anger, sadness, and rejection that flowed within had blindsided you. Both you and Bucky could have been badly hurt had Steve not rushed in when Bucky gave the call for backup. You had still been able to retrieve what had been asked of you, but not without the consequences that had come with you being so reckless.

The ride home had been tense, everyone had chosen a corner to unwind in, Natasha sitting close by as she wrapped your ankle.

“what happened back there y/n?”  

You leaned your head back against the cushioned seat, your teeth grinding at the pain surging through your leg, “what didn’t happen” you grunted, “I messed up Nat, I should have had Steve pair me with someone else, this whole mission was fucked the minute we stepped off the jet.

Natasha tsked, her eyes searching yours, “you always work so well with Barnes, what was so different about this time around?”  

You wanted to just tell her what the real problem was, but it was obvious Bucky didn’t want anyone to know about the two of you, and you felt like a damn fool for thinking there would have been anything more between the two of you.  

“was it what I told you in your room, is that what threw you off your game?”

You sighed shaking your head, “I just don’t want to talk about it Nat, I messed up today and I should have been better about it.”

Natasha's hand left your leg momentarily to give your hand a squeeze, “we all make mistakes, no one is going to hold this over you, you did your job, you completed your part of the assignment,” she reassured, “and if you ever want to talk about what happened, you can always come find me when you’re not locked away with Barnes.”

You looked over at her like a deer caught in headlights, “what?” you questioned.

She smiled then her voice dropping into a whisper, “I’ll pretend not to be appalled at the fact that you didn’t know I knew,”

“knew what?” you questioned brow raised.

Natasha rolled her eyes her hand reaching down to pinch at your side, “you wound me y/n,” she chuckled lowly.

A shaky sigh left your lips, “guess we weren’t as secretive as we thought,” you murmured.

“honestly hadn’t we known about your feelings for one another we wouldn’t have caught on,”

You scoffed, “those feelings are one sided, I can assure you nat,”

Her brows furrowed, “what do you mean one sided y/n Bu-”

“Buckle up guys if you aren't already, we’re descending,” Steve voiced out from the front abruptly cutting off yours and Natasha’s conversation.

You were being surrounded once the carrier had touched down in the quarters, “I’m postponing the briefing till later on this evening,” Steve murmured from his spot.

“going for your morning jog?” you questioned looking down at your watch on your wrist, the watchful eyes of your teammates making you uncomfortable.

Steve chuckled, “not today, think we all deserve to sleep in, and you,” he aimed a finger at you, “you need to go get that thing, wrapped, iced, and lay off it,”

“anything else cap?” you questioned.

“Buck’s going to accompany you down to medbay and then he’ll take you up to your room,” he added.

You cocked your head to your side, was this your punishment?

“Steve this is nothing,” you spoke up gesturing to your likely sprained ankle, “i’ve had worse and never needed to be escorted before,”

Steve sighed, “well those other times you weren't reckless, don’t want you going against what is advised and hurting yourself further,”

Ouch, low blow.

You raised your hands in surrender, not wanting to argue, because then you definitely wouldn’t hear the end of it.

You watched the team unload from the hangar, Bucky moving to your side as you unfastened your seatbelt his hand at the ready.

“You know you don’t have to do this, I can get myself to medbay,” you murmured looking up at him.

He looked down at you, eyes stormy, jaw clenched, “you’re really going to go against orders again, do you want to get yourself hurt again?”

Your brows furrowed at his tone, he really had some nerve, “look Barnes,” you hissed pushing yourself to your feet, “you don’t have to pretend like you care right now, I can get myself to medbay and to my room just fine,”

Not wanting to be in his presence a second longer you moved past him you shoulder knocking into his as you limped down the ramp.

“y/n,” he called out, but you were determined to get away from him, the events of the day rising to the surface once more.

“y/n goddamnit would you just hold on,” he grunted as he followed after you his arm wrapping around your bicep as he pulled you back.

Your turned on him as you pulled your arm from his grip, “leave me alone Bucky,” you glared.

“What’s your problem?” he growled.

“My problem?” you questioned angrily, “my problem is you!”

He took a step at your ourburst, “what?”

You scoffed shaking your head, “i said you’re my problem, this,” you said waving your hands between the both of you, “I can’t do this anymore, I’m done,”

His face fell for a split second, “what are you talking about?”

You threw your hands in the air, “do I have to spell it out for you?” you hissed, “what aren’t you understanding?” you questioned, “I’m not doing this stupid agreement with you anymore,” you added not letting him get a word in, “I’m not going to be someone you just mess around with,”

“I thought you were okay with it,” he grunted out.

“and I was, but Bucky, “your words fell short, you wanted to scream them, but you weren't sure how much more pain you could take.

“But what?” he urged, he wanted you to say it, he wanted Steve’s words to ring true.

Your shook your head, “I don’t want to be that person you just mess with, I care about you Buck, and I thought I could do this with you, but it’s been all wrong from the beginning,” a sigh left your lips, “you agreed to do this with me for all the wrong reason’s and I thought I could do it because - I just – I don’t want to do this anymore, I just want my best friend back, I don’t like the way this has made me feel, when we almost get caught, I hate that wall you bring up because of it, I'm sorry but I just can’t,” you murmured.

Bucky’s heart was clenching in his chest, Steve words from earlier ringing in his ears, he saw you turning away from him, your feet moving to carry you to the door, but he just couldn’t let you go, not without knowing.  

“Y/n wait,” you turned to face him features forlorn, he pushes himself forward on unsure feet.

Bucky licks his lips, his eyes searching your face, god he thinks no one has ever made him feel the things he does when he’s with you. No one is quiet as beautiful as you, nobody compares to you, and that’s why he wants you. He’s wanted you for so long now, and you’re here in arms reach.

“I don’t want to do this either,” he starts but its only then that he realized he should have thought over his words, when your face morphed from one of sadness to anger.

“Jesus buck, is that what you wanted to say, I think I heard enough of it earlier when you told Steve that we were just messing around, that that’s all this was, all this would ever be,” you hissed smacking away the hand that reached out for you.

Bucky’s mouth dropped open, so you had heard, but why were you so upset, “what else did you hear?” he questioned cautiously.

“nothing,” you grunted, “I didn’t need to hear more,” you muttered.

Bucky felt relief wash over him, a chuckle bubbling deep within his chest, his hands reached out for you once more, only for you to smack him away the anger and rejection building through your chest again.

“leave me alone Bucky,” you hissed smack his arms away, “i said leave me alone!”

He didn’t listen though he was a man on a mission, “sweetheart stop,” he grunted, trying to contain your swinging arms, “y/n would you just stop,”

“No buck, seriously let me go,” you grunted squirming in his arms, trying to contain those tears threatening to spill over.

“no not until you hear me out,” he muttered

“i think I've heard enough!”

He let you go but his hands caught your face holding you still, “you didn’t, you didn’t hear enough,”

You scoffed a laugh, “really Barnes, you didn't think I heard enough, what more did you want me to hear?!”

His face softened, “had you heard just a little longer you would have heard me to tell Steve that you,” he whispered thumb running over your cheek, “you couldn’t possibly want me in the way that I wanted you.”

Your frozen, his words bouncing around in your head, you couldn’t have heard right, he didn’t just say what you thought he did.

“sweetheart I can’t do this either because I can’t keep lying to myself, to you,” he continued, “i can’t keep doing this when I want so much more than just this stupid agreement, I want more than just what it entails, I want you, I want all of you.

You couldn’t breathe, he had just said everything you had wanted to hear, and you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it.

“Buck” you murmur, “you don’t know what you’re saying,”

A chuckle is falling from his lips, “doll, I promise you, I want you, and not just for some agreement I put together because I couldn’t fess up how I felt for you, because I'm doing that now, and im sorry it took me so long,”

“Buck-”

He’s shushing you with a finger to your lips, his thumb trailing you bottom lip, “just answer me this one thing sweetheart, and I promise I'll let you go,”

Your silence is enough answer for him to continue, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “did you catch feelings for little ol’ me, and don’t worry if you did, I promise they’re not one sided.”

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, you had thought he wouldn’t want anyone to know, that to him you were just a secret pass time, like he was yours in a way.

You couldn’t find the words, but you hoped your actions would show him, pressing onto your toes your lips pressed to his passionately, your lips molding with his until your lungs burned in your chest and you both had to pull away for air.

A relieved chuckle is falling from his lips, his head pressing against your’s

“is that answer enough?” you murmured pressing your lips to his once more.

Part 9

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