Sarge | B.b

oh my. we love a steamy scene

the art of pretending [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x agent!reader

being mentored by bucky is nothing short of torture; he’s cold, infuriating, and impossible to please. but when a mission gone wrong leaves you stranded in a freezing safehouse together, you start to wonder if all that supposed hatred has just been hiding something else entirely.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, shower sex, unprotected sex, fingering, forced proximity, one bed, kissing, enemies to lovers-ish?, sexual tension, sparring, mentor bucky, bickering, insults, violence, bit of blood/gore/wound descriptions, bucky has issues, protective bucky, slut shaming (not from bucky), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 12.4k

A/N: hi! this is for some requests i received (one and two). i combined two of the requests because they were pretty similar, hope thats okay and i hope you enjoy! this took me... so long to write. i hope it doesn't flop <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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You had two goals for the night: get shitfaced and get railed. So, catching your asshole boyfriend wrist-deep in some girl’s panties, doing the kind of finger work he never even bothered to learn for you, wasn’t part of your itinerary.

You could’ve cried, you could’ve begged, or collapsed into a sad cliché with a tub of ice cream and Sex and the City reruns. But no, you had a mission, and one mission alone. Get so unbelievably drunk on whatever you could get your hands on, so drunk in fact that you wanted to black out before midnight and preferably unconscious until sunset the next day.

Tony’s penthouse parties weren’t usually your scene. Too many sleazy rich men with superiority complexes, trophy wives sipping champagne through botoxed grins, and a carousel of extras that Stark always vehemently denied were hookers. What you did know was that, being an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D., your name was always on the list, and tonight, free top-shelf booze felt like divine intervention.

You just had to get in, get drunk, and avoid eye contact with your co-workers long enough to pull off a quiet mental breakdown and ignore the fact that you were rather underdressed for the type of party Stark was hosting. Scantily clad club clothing clashed hard with the pearls and Prada crowd.

A few raised brows and vague greetings followed you as you slithered through the gathering. 

But you held back a groan when you spotted the trio parked at the bar: Yelena, Steve, and Bucky. Great. The Greek god chorus of shame, in all their sculpted, judgmental glory. They looked just as uncomfortable as you felt, loitering by the bar instead of mingling with Stark’s circus.

You ignored their stares and made a beeline for the shelves behind the bartender—some poor kid who looked far too green for this gig. He gave you a look of dismay as you grabbed a bottle of tequila without asking. Slamming down a shot glass, you poured with shaky hands and knocked it back with the elegance of a car crash.

You barely registered the silence that followed until you glanced up and saw the stunned expressions staring back at you.

Yelena was the first to speak. “What happened to you? You never come to these things.”

You poured another shot. “Free drinks,” you muttered, then downed it, already lining up the next. No salt. No lime. Just pain, raw and unfiltered, sliding down your throat.

“I thought you were going out with your boyfriend?” She continued to press, while Steve looked rather scandalised as he watched you swallow back your third shot in a row with a shudder. 

Yelena reached over and snatched the bottle from your hand before you could pour again. “You should slow down.”

​​You blinked at her, teeth gritted, blood thrumming loud in your ears. She meant well. Of course she did. You’d always gotten along—ever since she’d been assigned as your mentor in your early days at S.H.I.E.L.D. You two had clicked effortlessly. It was all a part of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s long-term strategy to make field missions run smoother and reduce casualties. Avengers were paired with up-and-coming agents to pass down their experience and training, with the hope that one day, those hard-earned skills would save lives.

But everything changed when they reassigned you.

You’d been told it was to ‘broaden your skillset’, that it was about growth, adaptability, and learning from different leadership styles. What they didn’t say was that it would mean training under James Buchanan Barnes, aka Mr. No-Praise-All-Pain.

You’d tried. Really. At first, you gave it your all. Took his criticism, bit your tongue, pushed harder. But Bucky didn’t bend. He didn’t compliment. Didn’t guide. He just judged, cold and final, like every failure confirmed whatever low expectations he had of you.

Five months of that, and you were drowning. You begged for reassignment—back to Yelena, to Natasha, to anyone—but were denied every time. Some higher-up probably thought your mutual disdain was ‘motivating’, like locking two angry wolves in a cage and expecting them not to rip each other’s throats out.

And now here he was. Bucky Barnes. His suit jacket was slung carelessly over the back of his bar stool, his tie loosened just enough to reveal the sharp line of his collarbone. His dress shirt clung to his muscular frame, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing those unfairly defined forearms and the gleam of vibranium wrapped around a bottle of beer. His expression was stony, but familiar—stern brow, mouth set in a tight line, like he was already displeased with you and you hadn’t even said a word yet.

That look. That look you couldn’t stand.

Disappointment, or maybe pity. You couldn’t tell. Either way, it made your skin itch.

You wanted to punch him in his sullen, pouty face.

Instead, you laughed bitterly and reached for the bottle again, only for Yelena to hold it further away, firm.

“I said slow down,” she warned.

You made a face at Yelena. “Uh, you can’t talk. I saw you do shots out of a candle holder once.”

She didn’t even blink.

“Yes. And you called me messy. So I stopped.” She turned away just long enough to vanish the tequila bottle from sight like some sleight-of-hand magician. “This is me returning the favour. Stop it. You’re being messy.”

You barked out a harsh laugh and rubbed a hand down your face, smearing frustration across your cheeks. “You know what’s messy? My boyfriend. Well—ex-boyfriend.”

Across the bar, Bucky shook his head and muttered something low under his breath. You didn’t catch it, but you were sure it was vile because even Steve glanced over at him in disbelief, his eyebrows climbing high. Great. Judgment from Captain Morality and the Tin Soldier. Just what you needed.

Yelena sighed, already exhausted. “What did he do this time?”

You could tell she was reaching the end of her patience, and honestly, it was fair. She’d been your reluctant witness through the entire tragic saga of your love life. Two and a half years of emotional landmines and loser boyfriends who all somehow managed to be worse than the last. It was impressive, in a bleak kind of way.

You gestured vaguely, your expression somewhere between rage and disbelief. “I was supposed to meet him at some sleazy club downtown, his buddy was DJing—-fucking terrible DJ by the way. I’d barely walked in the door when I caught him in a back booth, fingering some girl who wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it!”

Yelena’s lips pursed. Steve stared like he’d never heard someone use the word ‘fingering’ out loud before.

“What did you do?” Yelena asked, her voice low, careful.

“Oh, the usual,” you said sweetly. “I punched him. Hard. He hit the floor like a sack of shit. Then I stepped on his hand until I felt something snap.”

Steve choked on his beer, coughing violently into his elbow. Bucky just watched you with the world's best poker face, a slight clench in his jaw muscles. 

You smiled at Steve, feral and unbothered. “Don’t worry, Cap. He won’t be playing DJ with anyone’s body parts anytime soon.”

Yelena gave a low whistle, somewhere between impressed and alarmed. “You actually broke his hand?”

“Felt like justice.” You shrugged. “Plus, he was always texting with that hand. Two birds, one stomp.”

“That’s assault,” Steve managed, his voice slightly strangled.

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “We’ve all done worse.”

Across the bar, Bucky finally spoke, his voice gravel-edged and unimpressed. “And now you’re here, drinking like a lunatic in front of half the team. Real graceful recovery.”

Your shoulders tensed, that familiar heat creeping up your spine.

“I’m not showing up for training tomorrow,” you said flatly. “Hell, I don’t plan on being conscious tomorrow.”

Bucky didn’t miss a beat. “It’s going on your report.”

Your mid-year report. Just another excuse for Bucky to publicly drag you, whining to the higher-ups about what a terrible mentee you were. How you needed to ‘apply yourself’, ‘show initiative’, or whatever corporate nonsense they lapped up. And of course, those same higher-ups were always looking for a reason to cut dead weight. One misstep, and you were done.

“Of course it is,” you snapped, spinning on your heel. “You miserable, ancient cunt.”

Steve choked on his beer again.

Without another word, you reached behind the overwhelmed bartender, who looked about five seconds from quitting, and grabbed the nearest bottle. You didn’t even look at the label. You stormed off with tequila already burning in your veins and spite lighting the way. 

—

You were leaning casually against the wall outside the gym’s changing rooms, dressed in workout gear that was probably a little more flattering than necessary. Tight enough to flatter your waist, breathable enough to pass as practical. Around you, the low hum of chatter buzzed from a small group of fellow agents. You were killing time before your dreaded one-on-one training session with Barnes.

Theo leaned a shoulder beside yours, towelling sweat from the back of his neck. He’d been an agent about as long as you had—charming, competent, and a little too easy to get along with. The two of you were part of that unofficial after-hours crew: drinks on Fridays, complaints about the job, stumbling home tipsy and hungover texts on Saturday mornings.

“You’re on sparring duty all week too?” Theo asked, glancing at you with mock pity. “I swear Rogers gets off on making me eat mat.”

“I know what you mean. Barnes definitely loves making me suffer,” you replied with a grimace. “That man has a personal vendetta against me.”

Theo grinned, tossing the towel over his shoulder, and he gave you a playful sidelong look. “When I get knocked on my ass, promise you’ll kiss it better?”

You arched a brow, but the smirk tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. “Careful. I’m starting to think you’re flirting with me.”

“Starting to?” he shot back, unfazed. “Let me make it clearer. If I don’t get my ass handed to me by Rogers, I’ll buy you a drink Friday.”

You leaned back against the wall, arms folding over your chest. “And if Rogers wins?”

Theo leaned in, voice low and smooth as his fingers brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, lingering just a moment too long. “Then I’ll buy you two,” he murmured.

You opened your mouth to respond. Flattered, a little surprised, already mentally debating whether it was worth shaving your legs, when a voice cut through the hallway like a blade.

“Agent. You’re late.”

You didn’t have to look to know who it was. That gravel-edged tone, sharpened with disapproval, could only belong to one man.

Bucky stood at the end of the corridor, arms crossed, jaw set like granite. His black compression shirt clung to every sculpted line of his chest, joggers slung low on his hips in a way that really shouldn't have been legal. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a combat simulation and into a fitness magazine.

But the expression on his face? Full-on battlefield.

That signature scowl was locked in place, thunderclouds brewing behind his eyes as he stared straight past you, straight at Theo. Typical. You hadn’t even done anything, yet somehow, he already looked pissed.

“Training doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.” You reminded him.

He didn’t seem interested in whatever argument you were about to make, and he turned on his heel without another word.

You sighed, uncrossing your arms as you pushed off the wall and flashed Theo an apologetic smile. 

Jogging to catch up, your boots thudding against the hallway floor, you called after Bucky. “You know, there’s this really neat thing called a schedule. Maybe try sticking to it?”

He didn’t even glance over his shoulder. “You could use the extra time.”

You scoffed in disbelief at his audacity. Classic Barnes, gruelling, joyless, always ready with a critique and never a compliment. He’d made it his mission to grind you down, one scathing remark at a time. And yet, you knew you were one of the top agents. The higher-ups had told you as much in your mid-year review, even going so far as to say that your mentorship with Barnes was working brilliantly. You hadn’t bothered correcting them, though it irritated more than you liked to admit. All your hard work, and somehow, he got the credit.

Bucky didn’t stop until you were both inside one of the gym’s private sparring rooms. The door clicked shut behind you. No audience. No distractions. Just him and you and the electric tension that always seemed to spark the moment you were alone together.

“Seriously, Barnes, what’s your problem today?”

Bucky stepped onto the mat, gesturing for you to follow.

“You’re here to train, not flirt in the hallway.”

You barely resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Bucky always had a problem whenever your love life even breathed into the conversation. Said it was irrelevant. Unprofessional. A distraction.

Back when Yelena was your partner, the two of you used to spar and gossip at the same time, her dodging your punches while you gave dramatic play-by-plays of whatever your latest fling had done to you in bed the night before. She lived for it. Bucky? Not so much.

He’d cut the conversation short every time. Couldn’t even stand the sight of you laughing a little too long with someone else. He’d yank you away with some bullshit excuse like, ‘distractions on the field will get you killed’, or ‘do I need to report you for slacking off?’ Like you were breaking protocol instead of just being a human being.

You stepped into position across from him, tightening your stance, heat already prickling beneath your skin. From the glare he was giving you, he looked ready to fight. Good. So were you.

“Are you always such an asshole,” you said, voice flat, “or is that just a special little treat you save for me?”

He gave you a look, deadpan and infuriating. “Only when I’m working with someone who’s constantly late, distracted, or hungover.”

You let out a sharp breath through your nose and threw a lazy jab, just to shut him up. He deflected it with a flick of his wrist like he could’ve done it in his sleep.

“And yet,” you muttered, circling to your right, “you wrote me a glowing mid-year report.”

His hand faltered for a split second. It was brief, but you caught it, a crack in the armour he hid behind.

“So you read it,” he replied, already shifting back into motion.

“Hard not to. Maria practically quoted it word for word at me in the hallway.”

His mouth flattened. “It was accurate.”

You scoffed and came at him again, this time with more force, a blow aimed at his jaw. He blocked with ease, catching your wrist mid-air and twisting just enough to tip your balance. You staggered, caught yourself, then stepped back with a glare.

“‘Most adaptive mentee in the current program,’” you quoted, circling him again.

A jab. He blocked it.

“‘Performs under pressure.’”

You followed up with a low kick aimed at his calf. He side-stepped like you were moving in slow motion.

“‘Good instincts in the field.’”

Another punch, this one he met palm to palm, stopping your momentum cold. You grit your teeth and shoved him off.

“‘Promising.’” You swept your foot in a feint and then struck at his ribs. He pivoted out of reach, breath barely changed. “‘Capable.’”

He lunged this time, arm out, trying to lock your elbow, but you twisted under it, ducking away, the mat skimming under your feet.

“‘Excellent recall.’” 

You squared off again, eyes locked on his.

“Why the hell,” you asked, low and angry, “are you always such an asshole to my face when you’re singing my praises behind my back?”

He didn’t answer right away, moving like a shadow around you, eyes locked on yours. 

“As much as it pains me,” he finally spoke, tone flat, “you are my best mentee. Even if I dislike you personally, I felt your report should reflect that.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown. That was… probably the most praise you’d ever got from him—buried beneath the usual bullshit, sure, but praise nonetheless. On a good day, you might get a grunted ‘good’ if you were lucky. Most of the time, training with Bucky was just an endless list of everything you were doing wrong, punctuated by a jab to the ribs for emphasis.

“Do you always make your compliments sound like insults?”

“It wasn’t a compliment. Just the truth.”

You threw a kick toward his side, fast and impulsive. He caught your ankle and held it, grip firm around your calf for a second too long. His vibranium fingers were cold, even through the fabric of your leggings. You could’ve sworn they tightened around the muscle just a fraction as your eyes swept up to give him a look of disbelief. But instead of pulling away, you leaned into the moment and used the hold for balance. You pivoted hard on your grounded foot, letting the captured leg swing inward. Then you launched yourself forward, hooking your other leg around his waist, aiming to bring him down with you.

For a half-second, it worked. His balance shifted. Your hips were flush against him, legs locked tight around his torso as you twisted your weight, trying to drag him off his feet.

With a grunt, he straightened, twisted, and you suddenly found yourself airborne.

You hit the mat hard, slamming against it with a thud that knocked the breath out of you. The ceiling lights above blurred for a second as the impact rattled through your spine. His shadow hovered for a beat, chest rising with exertion, jaw clenched.

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat. Just stared down at you, maybe it was the oncoming concussion you probably just suffered, but you could’ve sworn there was a flash of concern in his eyes.

“Next time, I won’t let it slide if you don’t turn up because you’re hungover.” He wiped a forearm across his brow.

“How do you know my heart wasn’t broken?” You asked, shaking off the blow as you rose to your feet once more, feet finding their usual stance.

He arched a brow, unimpressed.

“Don’t you have sympathy for me?” you asked, somewhere between a joke and a challenge.

“I wouldn’t call it sympathy,” he said coolly. “More like pity.”

That stung more than you cared to admit. You rolled your shoulders, stepping in again. Your guard was up, but there was a crack in it now, frustration flaring under your skin.

“I can’t imagine you were actually that sad about it.” Bucky bit out, not even bothering to hide his annoyance now. “Don’t you have a new fling every other week? Sure sounded like you were lining up another one in the hallway.”

“Oh wow,” you drawled, voice harsh. “Slut shaming? This isn’t the 1940s, Barnes.”

“It’s not my fault who you choose to date.”

You exhaled, long and low. The tension between you had teeth now, gnawing at the air. “Y’know, for someone who hates me, you sure pay a lot of attention.”

He didn’t respond. Just stood there, fists flexing at his sides, poker-faced.

You waited, ready to shoulder any insult he laid on you. You could see irritation simmering under his skin, jaw ticking, knuckles white.

“I think you should take a lap or two around the room.” He huffed finally. “Your blocks are late, your punches are soft, and your stance is a joke. Try warming up before you embarrass both of us.”

You grinned back at him, though it was closer to baring your teeth than a show of amusement. “But I’m still your best mentee, huh?”

“Let’s make it five laps then.”

You gave him a lazy salute and turned for the edge of the mat.

“Whatever you say, Sergeant.”

As you jogged the first lap, footsteps echoing lightly in the private room, you could feel his eyes on you, tracking every movement and watching you like a hawk, like a fuse lit, waiting.

And damn it, you ran a little faster because of it.

—

If you’d known how this mission was going to turn out, you would’ve called in sick. Faked a family emergency. Broken your own damn leg. Anything to avoid being stuck alone with Bucky Barnes in a freezing H.Y.D.R.A. bunker from hell. You’d even considered whispering a desperate prayer to whatever all-seeing god might be listening—or hell, maybe begging Stephen Strange to yank you into an alternate universe where this wasn’t your reality.

Gunfire rattled somewhere outside the cement walls, and you imagined your fellow agents in the middle of all the fun, chucking grenades, dodging bullets, living the dream. Meanwhile, you were practically glued at the hip with Sergeant Sunshine, babysitting an ancient Soviet-era computer that looked like it still ran on dial-up.

You were perched on the edge of a desk, legs swinging, having shoved aside a mountain of dusty files scribbled in Russian. All completely useless to you.

“What is it with H.Y.D.R.A. and brutalist architecture?” you muttered, eyeing the thick ceiling. “Why does concrete get them so hard?”

“I can’t concentrate with all your whining.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s literally the first thing I’ve said in ten minutes, Barnes.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t even throw you one of his signature grunts. Just kept clicking away like the keyboard had wronged him personally, eyes narrowed at the screen as if trying to decode the goddamn Rosetta Stone.

You groaned and rolled your head back, staring up at the ceiling.

More concrete.

You weren’t usually this unbearable on missions, but this? This whole situation felt like a personal attack. You’d been mid-flirt with Theo on the quinjet (who had been very committed to making bedroom eyes at you) when they’d called out team assignments. The second you heard your name paired with Barnes, tasked with data extraction while everyone else got to blow things up, you’d spun around to glare at him.

He’d been sitting there in his usual cold, statue-like stillness beside Steve, as if this wasn’t a death sentence. You’d stormed over, demanded if he knew anything. He just shrugged and muttered something about ‘higher-ups’.

The walls shook suddenly—another explosion—and dust drifted from the ceiling. You blinked it out of your lashes and slid lazily off the desk, sauntering over to where Bucky hunched at the terminal.

“Can you hurry it up? At this rate, they’re going to bury us alive in here.”

“Give me a second,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

You leaned in slightly, eyeing the screen. A wall of Cyrillic met you, completely unreadable. You couldn’t help the exasperated sigh that left your lips.

“Remind me again why we’re the ones doing this? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to send someone who actually speaks Russian to help you? Or, I don’t know, someone who has the patience to teach you how to use a flash drive?”

He didn’t answer, just kept typing and clicking, as if the keys owed him money.

You crossed your arms, scowling. The only thing more miserable than being stuck in a concrete crypt was being stuck in one with him. When he was distracted, like now, he forgot to wear that usual look of thinly veiled disappointment. His brow furrowed in focus, lips twitching as he muttered to himself in low, clipped Russian. He looked—God help you—human. Not like the cold-hearted pain-in-your-ass who’d spent the last six months tearing you down. But like someone thoughtful. Careful. Quietly brilliant.

And stupidly, stupidly attractive.

You hated how your eyes lingered on the way his rolled-up sleeves hugged his forearms. The way the shadows danced over his cheekbones and the little groove between his brows. The way that little furrow deepened when something didn’t go his way, like he was trying to wrestle the entire world into submission with sheer concentration alone.

It would’ve been easier if he were just awful. Easier if you didn’t catch glimpses of something else beneath the gruffness. Something that made your chest tighten a little when you weren’t focusing. 

You swallowed hard, forcing your eyes to the screen. What was wrong with you?

The download bar finally appeared on the screen, crawling forward at a snail’s pace. You exhaled loudly, half in relief, half in impatience. 

“About time,” you muttered.

He shot you a look, cold and flat. “You wanna do it?”

You turned your back on him, pacing the room. Your nerves were coiled tight, the distant sounds of gunfire and explosions growing louder. The base was a pressure cooker and the damn download bar still hovered at 34%.

While you were busy taking your own turn brooding, the heavy metal door at the far end of the room slammed open with a deafening clang, nearly launching you out of your skin. Three armed H.Y.D.R.A. agents stormed in, rifles raised, eyes locked on target.

So much for the diversion. Clearly, it hadn’t been enough—or worse, H.Y.D.R.A. had seen through it. They must’ve realised it wasn’t a full-blown William-the-Conqueror-style invasion, just a cleverly dressed-up distraction.

“Company,” Bucky muttered, pulling his sidearm in one smooth motion.

You were already moving, instincts kicking in before your brain could catch up. You dove low, sliding across the slick concrete floor as a hail of bullets tore through the room. You grabbed the nearest overturned chair, dragging it into place just in time as metal pinged and sparked against it.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. A single, precise shot rang out, dropping the first H.Y.D.R.A. agent without a flinch. You didn’t stop to think. You surged forward, catching the second agent by surprise, your knee slamming into his gut with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. He doubled over, right into the crack of your gun butt across his temple. He crumpled, unconscious, before he hit the floor.

Then you saw the third.

Rifle up.

Aimed right at you.

“Get down!”

The shout was raw, sharp enough to slice through the chaos. You barely had time to turn your head before a body crashed into yours. His arm slammed into your torso, hurling you sideways just as the trigger was pulled.

The shot cracked like thunder.

Your back hit the ground hard, skidding across the floor. Pain flared along your shoulder, but it was nothing compared to the sound that followed, the harsh, guttural grunt that tore out of Bucky’s throat.

You twisted around.

He was down, gasping, clutching at his side and blood already soaking through the black fabric of his suit.

You scrambled back to him just as the final agent aimed again. Snarling, you fired three quick shots into the bastard’s chest before he collapsed in a heap.

The air went still for only a moment, then the ground trembled violently before you had a chance to assess the damage done to Bucky. Chunks of the ceiling cracked and began to rain down. Concrete groaned like a beast waking from a long sleep.

You turned to the computer, some unreadable symbols flashing across the screen, but you were quick enough to decipher that it meant the download was complete. Snatching the flash drive, you spun back to Bucky, who was trying to sit up, blood spilling between his fingers as he pressed them hard against the wound in his side.

“Get up,” you barked, crouching beside him. “We need to move, Barnes!”

—

The two of you had spent nearly two damn hours stumbling through the snow-blanketed mountainside, following the rough coordinates burned into your mind from the mission briefing. By the time the cabin finally came into view—half-buried in the snow, smoke long gone from the chimney—you were soaked to the bone and one more smart comment away from throttling him.

The escape had been messy, the H.Y.D.R.A base nearly becoming your tomb. You’d been forced to bolt through a collapsing back corridor, dragging the injured super soldier along with the last of your adrenaline. Between the debris, the gunfire, and the growing dark stain across his side, you weren’t sure how either of you had made it out. Worse still, you’d missed the quinjet extraction window by twenty minutes. The skies had turned black with storm clouds, wind howling across the range as ice and snow stung your cheeks. The base had finally picked up your call for aid on the mission-assigned satellite phone, but due to zero visibility and increased H.Y.D.R.A activity in the area, the replacement quinjet wouldn’t arrive until first light.

Which meant you were stuck together. In the cold. For the whole night.

The safehouse, at least, was still intact. A small timber cabin tucked between trees, barely standing but just enough. It had a lounge no bigger than a broom closet, a wood-burning stove long dead and cold, a bathroom you prayed had running water, and a single bedroom with a mattress that looked like it had seen better decades.

Your breath misted in the air as you slammed the door behind you, the wind nearly ripping the handle from your grip. Bucky collapsed onto the torn couch by the stove without a word, letting out a low groan that he probably thought you didn’t hear.

You should’ve made starting the fire your first priority. But one look at the blood soaking through Bucky’s side made that choice for you.

Now, kneeling between his legs with the remnants of the first-aid kit splayed out on the coffee table, whoever had been here last hadn’t restocked it properly. You glared up at Bucky as he shifted under your touch again. “Stop squirming.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you hissed, dabbing antiseptic across the wound with a gauze pad. “You keep flinching.”

“Because you’re digging in like you’re trying to punish me.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” you muttered.

He scoffed, muscles twitching beneath your hands as you pressed down. “Are you always this demanding?”

“Are you always this whiny?”

His glare was instant, eyes narrowed. “Is it your goal to piss everyone off?”

“I’m a fucking delight, and you know that.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “I think you’re mistaken. I definitely don’t like you.”

You lifted your brows, trying to keep your voice light despite the roiling mix of emotions spilling out. “You say that like you didn’t just take a bullet for me.”

You hadn’t even had the time to process it when it happened. The crash of his body slamming into yours, the sound of the gunshot, and the sickening thud of him hitting the ground. But now, with him sitting across from you, shirt dark with blood and a fresh gash still weeping crimson, the weight of it began to settle in.

He took a bullet for you.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Part of you expected him to twist it somehow, to throw it back in your face as some kind of lesson that you were careless. That you’d left an opening. That he had to clean up your mess. You were already bracing for it, the sting of snide remarks spread over weeks like salt in a wound, little digs during training about how you ‘owe him one’ or how ‘distractions get people killed’.

And yet... he hadn’t said any of that.

Instead, he just shrugged, wincing slightly. “I heal faster because of the serum,” he muttered, voice gruff but quieter than usual. “I’ll be back on the field faster than you ever could.”

You stared at him.

At the stubborn line of his jaw, the tight press of his lips as he tried not to show how much pain he was in. The way his hand gripped his side was too tight. The blood beneath his fingernails.

Why had he done that?

You weren’t always the easiest to get along with. You’d spent months pushing each other’s buttons, arguing, fighting, constantly locked in a cold war of insults and bruises. So why? Why would he throw himself into a bullet’s path for you?

It was hard not to feel... something. Flattered, maybe. A little shocked. And, against your better judgment, grateful. You didn’t want to be grateful—not to him, of all people—but your stomach wrenched every time you replayed the moment in your head.

You didn’t ask him to do it. And yet, he did.

And now he was pretending it didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t made a split-second decision to put your life before his own. What if that bullet had hit a little higher? His heart? His throat? His skull?

“Sure,” you drawled, trying to cover for your sudden silence. “Great excuse.”

“It’s the truth.” He muttered. 

He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on the floor and said nothing.

Which, somehow, said everything.

You stared at him for a moment longer, shaking your head as you tossed the bloodied gauze into the small bin beside the couch. The cold was starting to settle into your bones, your fingers stiff with it.

“Whatever. I’m going to try to find some firewood before we freeze to death.”

He glanced toward the boarded-up window, ice clinging to the edges. “You sure there’s any left out there?”

“Nope.” You pulled on your jacket. “But I’d rather get eaten by a bear than stay in here with you.”

You were halfway to the door before you paused, glancing over your shoulder.

“Can you get to that bed yourself, or do you need me to do that for you, too, super soldier?”

His answer came quickly, teeth clenched. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.”

You couldn’t deny the nausea in your stomach. Not from worry. Definitely not that. Just frustration. That’s all it was.

The wind nearly ripped the door from your hands as you stepped outside. Snow came in sideways, biting at your skin the second you crossed the threshold. You tugged your jacket tighter and trudged into the blizzard, squinting against the blur of white.

The woodshed was exactly where the briefing had said it’d be, about ten feet from the side of the cabin, half-hidden by trees. Or at least, had been. What you found instead was a crooked mess of collapsed timber and broken beams. Snow had settled deep into the heap, and every piece of wood you managed to drag free was soaked, the logs heavy with ice and rot.

You swore, breath clouding in the air.

You searched anyway, fingers numb, arms shaking. You tried the back of the cabin. Nothing. Even the branches scattered beneath the trees were too damp. No kindling, no dry bark, not even a damn pinecone. The cold was sinking deeper now, crawling down your spine and settling like an anchor in your chest. You didn’t want to push further into the wilderness, not in this weather and not with H.Y.D.R.A. agents crawling all over the mountainside. 

By the time you stumbled back inside and forced the door closed again, you could hardly feel your fingers or toes. Every limb ached like they were five seconds away from turning purple and black from frostbite. The cabin felt just as cold as the outside, but it was a momentary relief to be out of the wind that cut through your thick layers.

Bucky was on the bed, half-sitting up against the wall, the blanket pulled low across his hips. His eyes flicked up as you entered, taking in your dripping hair and shaking hands.

"Let me guess," he muttered. "No luck?"

You didn’t answer right away, just peeled your jacket off and dropped it near the door with a wet splat. “Everything’s soaked. The shed’s collapsed.”

He exhaled through his nose, chest deflating with the effort. “You’re freezing.”

You ignored him, stomping the snow off your boots. “I’ll live.”

“Not if you keep acting like a damn idiot.”

You turned to glare at him. “I’m sorry, which one of us got shot again?”

You crouched down, your knees protesting as you bent to untie your boots, but your fingers were too stiff, trembling from the cold. The laces had frozen slightly, the knots tight and uncooperative. You hissed through your teeth, fumbling and cursing under your breath as you tugged uselessly at them.

Bucky watched from the bed, arms crossed over his broad chest. He didn’t move to help, but you could feel his eyes on you. He tilted his head slightly and gave you a look that was half-concerned, half-exasperated, like you did this to yourself.

With a final frustrated yank, you freed your boot and kicked it off, followed quickly by the other. A damp string of muttered profanities trailed from your lips as you scrambled back to your feet, wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. 

“Which one of us,” Bucky spoke pointedly, breath fogging in the air between you, “went outside to play in a blizzard and came back looking like a drowned rat?”

You were shivering now, teeth on the verge of chattering, but you still squared your shoulders and stared him down, as defiant as ever. A bead of melted snow trailed down your temple. He stared right back.

“Get over here,” he said finally.

“Excuse me?”

“You need to warm up.” His tone was flat, too practical. “And the bed’s the only warm place in this shithole.”

“Oh, now you care about my well-being?”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. Just lifted the edge of the blanket.

You hesitated, eyeing the small mattress like it might bite you. "You’re the worst."

"And you’re still standing in wet clothes. Take them off and get in."

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“Not all of them,” he said, eyes rolling. “Just the top layer before you die of hypothermia. Stop being dramatic.”

With a theatrical sigh for good measure, you peeled off your wet sweater, leaving the thermal shirt beneath and then your pants. You did not check to see if he was watching you shivering in your underwear, cheeks flushed. You padded toward the bed like it was a walk to your own execution, hesitating again at the edge.

You tried—really tried—not to let your eyes linger on the broad plane of his chest, but it was impossible not to. His shirt was rumpled and half-untucked, the hem tugged up where he’d peeled it back to expose the bandage on his side. The white gauze was already marred with deep red, blooming in uneven patches that made you pause with something halfway between guilt and concern. Your gaze drifted to the sharp curve of his waist, the ridge of muscle visible beneath the bloodied wrappings. 

It was distracting. 

He was distracting.

But what you tried hardest not to think about was the bed. Specifically, how absurdly small the mattress looked with him sitting on it, shoulders nearly brushing both edges. There was no way you’d both fit. You’d be pressed against him. Shoulder to shoulder, chest to back, knee to thigh. 

You swallowed hard and told yourself not to think about it.

But you were already thinking about it.

“Don’t make it weird,” Bucky muttered.

“I’m not making it weird.”

He let out a low, tired huff, the kind that told you he was in pain but too stubborn to say it. You rolled your eyes in reply, more at yourself than him, and climbed in carefully, slipping beneath the blanket with a reluctant shiver. The bed was warmer than expected. Or rather, he was. Bucky radiated heat like a furnace, the kind that seeped into your skin and made your limbs relax before your mind could catch up. You hovered near the edge of the mattress, body stiff, spine straight like it might help you keep your distance. But it was a hopeless attempt. The bed was tiny—criminally small, really—and with him taking up so much space, there was nowhere to go but closer. One wrong move and you’d be on the floor.

“God, you’re warm,” you muttered into the pillow, trying not to sound too affected.

“Serum,” he replied shortly, his voice rough with exhaustion.

Slowly, inch by inch, you gave in. The chill in the air made it too easy to justify. You shifted toward him, the blanket tugging between you as your arm brushed against his. Then your hip. Then your thigh. Until, somehow, your bodies were nearly flush. 

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t say a word.

And that somehow made it worse.

The silence settled between you, heavy and warm and intimate, like the air itself had thickened. You could hear his breathing, steady, but a little too deliberate. You could see his chest rise and fall from the corner of your eye. And worse, you could feel him. Every inch of him. The solid line of muscle at your side. The way your knees had somehow locked together under the blanket. How your forearm grazed his with every breath you took.

You needed a distraction. Desperately.

Reaching over to the nightstand, you snatched up the battered satellite phone, almost too quickly. The cold metal was jarring against your palm. For a moment, you considered activating the self-destruct protocol and blowing both of you up to end your shared misery. You flicked it on, the screen’s pale light casting long shadows across the room and across him.

Your eyes flicked over before you could stop them.

He was already staring at the ceiling, the faint furrow between his brows still present even in rest. His profile was defined in the low light, long lashes, strong nose, and the stubble on his jaw catching just a hint of light.

You forced yourself to look back at the tiny screen to check for any new updates.

Nothing. You were well and truly in for the night.

You scrolled to the mission briefing instead, flicking through the files to pass time, anything to distract you.

And then you saw it.

There, buried under the pre-mission notes, weather expectations, and extraction protocol, was a small addendum in the personnel request section.

Operation HARVEST: Agent Barnes, James B.Requested field partner: Agent 00149. Request approved.

You stared at it, the room suddenly quieter than it had been all night. 

That was your agent number.

He asked for you.

The same man who had spent the last six months grunting his way through every interaction, who seemed perpetually annoyed by your existence, who had made a point never to give you more than an ounce of credit, had explicitly asked to be paired with you.

You felt your throat tighten.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, as if he could sense your world shattering around you. His voice was low, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion 

You didn’t answer right away. You sat there, still curled under the heavy covers. The warmth of his body was helping, yes—but your blood was starting to simmer for a very different reason.

You turned slowly, holding the satellite phone up between your fingers.

“You want to tell me why it says on the briefing notes that you requested me as your partner for this mission?”

Bucky blinked once. His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“I asked you on the quinjet if you knew anything,” you went on, voice harsh now. “You told me it was a higher-up’s decision. You lied to my face.”

Bucky sighed through his nose, already bracing himself as he sat up straighter against the headboard. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Didn’t matter?” you scoffed, pushing yourself to your knees to face him, ignoring the goosebumps that rose as the blankets fell from your shoulders. “You picked me. You had me assigned to a mission with you, just the two of us, didn’t tell me, and then lied about it.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“You did lie.”

He dragged a hand down his face, slow and weary, but there was tension in the movement, an edge of frustration barely restrained. “I didn’t want you partnered with the other guys, alright?”

You faltered, unsure if you heard him right. “Excuse me?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“No, you can’t just say that and not explain—”

“Fine!” He groaned, exasperated. His eyes dropped away from yours, fixing instead on a knot in the cabin’s dark wood wall. “I heard them talking. Theo and a few of the other agents.”

“What?” you asked, voice tight. “What were they saying about me?”

He didn’t answer. The silence stretched, heavy and awful.

“Just say it,” you bit out.

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And it hit you square in the chest, something dark and protective burning behind his eyes. But it was reluctant, too, as if he hated that he was about to say it out loud.

His voice was low and rough when it came. “That you’re easy. That it’d be simple to get you into bed because you’re always asking for it. That you’re a slut. I gave them a piece of my mind and reported them, but I still don’t want you around them.”

You felt it like a punch to the gut.

Your breath caught, the sting behind your eyes immediate and hot. You blinked once. Twice. The words echoed, raw and ugly, and for a second, all you could do was try not to let them settle too deep. Not to let them stick.

You weren’t naïve. You knew you didn’t sleep around any more than anyone else your age. You knew that if the situation were flipped, if you were a man, no one would bat an eye. And still, the weight of it settled heavy in your gut, all twisted up with something darker. Dread. Shame. Fury. And under it all… that sick, crawling feeling that maybe Bucky had said something. Given them reason to think they could say it. That maybe he thought the same thing deep down.

That, maybe, to him, you were just some mess he had to clean up.

The words came fast, your voice shaking. “And what, you thought you’d ride in and defend me like some white knight? You know I could easily drop Theo, I could easily drop any of those assholes!” Bucky blinked, caught off guard, but you were already going, bitter heat rising in your throat like bile.

“You thought that would make it better?” you snapped. “You think that helps? They’re probably all laughing behind my back about how I can’t defend myself—”

“I wasn’t going to stand there and let them talk about you like that!”

“Why?” you demanded. “Because you didn’t want to hear it? Or because you’ve thought the same fucking thing?”

His eyes flared with disbelief, maybe even insult.

“I would never think of you that way,” he barked, and his voice cracked like thunder. “Let alone say it out loud. Because I’m not an asshole. Not like those guys you date.”

You laughed, blunt and hollow. “Why do you care who I date?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t come up with any words, but to your surprise, he exploded before you. “Maybe because you deserve better!” he shouted, the words ripping out of him before he could take them back.

The silence after that was suffocating.

You stared at him, heart hammering in your chest, a strange cocktail of feelings in your stomach that you didn’t care to identify. He sat there, breathing hard, his hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to speak again.

“Jesus,” you muttered. You weren’t foolish enough to believe him, to fall victim to whatever joke he was trying to play. “Give me a break.”

“I’m serious,” he mumbled this time. 

You turned your face away. “Oh yeah? Like you could do any better? Don’t be ridiculous.”

His breath hitched, like you’d slapped him. You could feel him shift beside you under the covers.

“You really think that?” Bucky asked in disbelief.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. But Bucky didn’t let it stay quiet.

“You want to know the truth?” he asked, voice low and rough, as if the words had been caged for too long in his throat. “Fine.”

You turned back toward him, uncertain what expression you were even wearing anymore.

“I’ve liked you since the first damn time I saw you,” he said. “Group training. You were paired with some agent twice your size, and you still knocked him on his ass.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“I thought you were… brilliant. And sharp. And confident. And yeah, beautiful too. You had this way of looking right through people—through me—and it scared the shit out of me. When they assigned me to mentor you, I panicked,” he said, with a dry, bitter laugh. “I thought if I pretended, if I was distant, if I acted cold, I could make it go away. Trick myself out of it.”

“But it just got worse,” he went on. “Every time I saw you smiling at some sleaze who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, every time I had to watch you flirt with some smug asshole agents, I wanted to break something. Because it should’ve been me.”

You shook your head slowly, stunned. “Bucky…”

“I hated watching you get your heart broken over and over again,” he said. “Hated seeing you walk into training after pretending like nothing happened. You didn’t deserve that. Not when I knew I could treat you better if I just had the fucking guts to say something.”

Your ribs felt suddenly too small for your body, bones pressing into your lungs.

“And now we’re stuck on a mountainside,” he said, his voice softer, hoarser, “and I’m here bleeding in a bed with you, still lying to you, still trying to act like it doesn’t kill me every time you look at me like I’m just your mentor who you hate.”

You gaped in stunned silence, heartbeat pounding in your ears. Bucky watched you expectantly.

No. No, that couldn’t be what he meant. Not really.

“I don’t know what kind of cruel joke you’re playing on me,” you finally said, voice shaking, fingers knotted in the sheets. “I don’t get it. You’ve spent this whole time being…”

“I’m being serious,” he said, eyes locked on you. “I don’t expect you to believe me. I’ve fucked this up too many times. But I swear on my life, I’m not playing a game.”

You stared at him, blinking hard. “So what, this entire time you’ve been an asshole because you were what, pretending? Pretending that you didn’t like me, pretending that you weren’t jealous, when you could’ve just talked to me?”

His silence was immediate. Heavy. It told you everything you needed to know.

Your chest rose and fell too fast. Your mind was spinning, flipping through every memory like a film reel: his cold shoulder, his clipped instructions, the scowls when you joked with someone else, the way he always hovered a few steps too close in combat zones. The way he always caught you when you fell. There had been moments. Tiny fractures in his mask. The way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The time he bandaged your hand without a word, but so gently it had made your throat tighten. The night you caught him staring at you across the gym like he was in pain.

How had you missed it?

“I need to…” You whispered, slumping back under the sheets, pulling the blanket higher around yourself as if it might guard you from the ache in your ribs. “We should sleep. It’s late. Evac’s coming once the sun is up.”

He didn’t protest. He just nodded once, jaw tight.

Neither of you said another word.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

—

You hadn’t seen much of Bucky since you were both airlifted off the mountain.

He’d been recovering from his wound, officially. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was avoiding you. No texts. No nods in the hallway. No eye contact across the cafeteria. Just cold silence.

Coward.

You’d spent the past week half-waiting for him to come to his senses. The other half had been consumed wondering what the hell you’d do if he did. Because yes, you found him infuriating. Yes, he was emotionally constipated and moody and had the charm of a brick wall. But he was also gorgeous in that tortured-soul, sharp-jawed, arms-too-big-for-his-shirts kind of way. He cared about you, in his own twisted Bucky way. He’d taken a bullet for you. Defended you. Chose you.

And now he was just… gone.

You were leaning against the wall at the edge of the main gym, arms crossed, purposefully not looking at Theo and the other assholes you had suspected Bucky had been right about, when you heard footsteps and someone cleared their throat beside you.

Yelena stood beside you, her smirk suspiciously wider than usual.

You turned, brows knitting in apprehension. “Hey.”

“Congratulations,” 

“For what?” You replied hesitantly, watching as her brows lifted in delighted surprise. 

“You haven’t heard?” Her voice was alarmingly gleeful, like she was especially thrilled to be the bearer of whatever news she was about to lay upon you. “Barnes finally accepted your mentor transfer request.”

Your heart flatlined for a second. 

“What?”

Yelena, oblivious to your distress, continued to dig further. “I don’t know what you did to him up on that mountain, but… damn. I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

“I didn’t ask for a mentor transfer,” you muttered, dread settling in your chest.

Yelena’s expression faltered. “Oh. Well, you have one now. You’re with Thor. They tried to pawn you off onto me, but you know, got my hands busy with the new group coming in—”

“Thor?!” You snapped, interrupting her spiel, “He’s a drunk! And he’s not even here half the time, too busy in Asgard—”

Yelena gave you a helpless shrug, and that’s when the doors to the gym opened and in walked the ghost of your week-long frustration.

Bucky was in full training gear, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, compression shirt clinging to him like a second skin. His hair was ruffled, pushed back half-heartedly like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it, a few strands falling into his eyes. The corded muscles of his arms were on full display, the glint of his vibranium arm catching the light with every step. He looked unfairly good, carved from grief and sleepless nights. But it was the way he wouldn’t look at you that struck harder than anything else. His jaw was tight, lips set in a permanent pout, that brooding scowl etched so deep it felt deliberate. He looked everywhere but at you, like you weren’t even there. 

Your blood boiled.

Without a word, you peeled yourself from the wall and marched toward him. He spotted you mid-stride, his posture tensing like he was preparing for impact.

“Hey—” he started.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, voice low and venom-laced.

“Not here,” he muttered, eyes flicking toward the other agents filtering in behind you. A few of them had already glanced over curiously, settling in for whatever show was about to unfold.

“Too late,” you hissed. “You requested a mentor transfer for me without even telling me?”

“I thought it was what you wanted.” You both knew he was lying, and he refused to meet your eye. This wasn’t about what you wanted. It was about him feeling embarrassed after his outburst on the mountain. 

“Oh, really?” You stepped closer. “Because I don’t remember asking you to make my career decisions for me.”

“I was doing you a favour.”

“Yeah? Maybe try talking to me like a normal fucking person, and then I’ll tell you what I want.”

His eyes flickered up, stormy blues locking onto your face. “And what is it you want?”

You stared him down, tilting your head slightly, weighing the war going on inside you.

You.

I want you.

The thought was immediate, impulsive, and so painfully real it made your chest ache. But you shoved it down, crushed it before it could breathe. No. That was stupid. Why the hell would you want him—this man-child who’d ghosted you for a week, who’d spent the last six months acting like every word out of your mouth was a personal offence, who seemed to find joy in making you feel like nothing?

But then again… maybe you both had been trying so hard to deny the truth, burying something under six months of thinly veiled insults and sparring matches that got too rough. Maybe he was pushing you away because he didn’t trust himself to keep it professional. And maybe you were just as bad, biting back, rising to the bait, pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered or the way his voice softened when you were actually hurt.

You had to know if it was real.

The shuffle of movement and muffled chatter around you signalled the start of group training, slicing through your heated stand-off. Agents around you began to pair off, leaving you and Bucky still locked in place, face to face, breath mingling.

You lifted your chin. “Be my sparring partner?” you asked, voice loud enough for the others to hear, but eyes fixed solely on him.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t flinch. Just nodded once, tight-lipped, like he’d been waiting for the invitation all along.

You squared off on the mat, bouncing on your toes, adrenaline already coiling in your veins. Bucky moved like a soldier, controlled, fluid, annoyingly graceful.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he muttered as you circled.

“I’m not,” you said, “Just testing a theory.”

He raised a brow. “What theory?”

You lunged, caught his arm, and twisted into a low grapple—just enough to draw him in.

His chest brushed yours. His breath hitched.

Then you kissed him.

Hard.

Your lips crashed against his mid-motion, stealing the next move right off his tongue. You felt him freeze, just for a heartbeat, before his hands twitched at your waist like he didn’t know whether to shove you away or pull you in. You felt the tension roll off him in waves. The way his body reacted was instinct. Shock. Hunger. 

His movements hesitated, and to your delight, despite the entire gym watching, he began to kiss you back. 

And that hesitation?

It was all you needed.

You shifted fast, breaking the kiss, then ducking low, hooking your leg behind his knee as you spun. In one fluid motion, you swept his legs out from under him and used the twist of your momentum to pull him down with you. He stumbled, off-balance, and you moved like lightning, hips snapping around his waist, thighs locking tight. You rotated with the drop, forcing him onto his back as you rolled with the momentum.

He hit the mat hard.

You were straddling him, thighs clamped around his ribs, palms flat on his chest. You smirked down at him, panting. 

Bucky stared up at you, winded, stunned, and very, very pinned. “That was dirty.”

You leaned down, your face just inches from his again. “So was your little mentor stunt. Call it even.”

Throughout the room, the entire gym was dead silent, staring. You gracefully dismounted him and marched off the mat, but Bucky scrambled up and followed you.

“Oh, now you want to talk?” you snapped as he caught up beside you.

“You can’t just kiss me and then walk away like that!”

“Why not?”

“You kissed me to mess with me.”

“I kissed you to see if you meant what you said on the mountain.”

The two of you burst through the gym doors and into the hallway. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. Bucky’s heavy footsteps were right behind you, his presence unmistakable, all coiled frustration and breathless anger.

A few agents stood frozen near the water station, others lingering by the mission board, all of them caught mid-conversation as they turned to witness the fallout. You were aware of the eyes on you, the awkward silence that followed, but you didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them gossip.

You stormed past them without pause as Bucky chased you like a dog on a leash that was just about to snap.

“You just kissed me in the middle of sparring,” he shouted after you, voice ragged and accusing. “In front of everyone. Is this a joke to you?” 

You didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. The elevator was too slow, too exposed. Instead, you veered to the stairwell and shoved the door open with enough force that it bounced off the wall. The clanging echo followed you as you started up, two steps at a time.

“Oh my god, would you just shut up already?” you snapped over your shoulder, breath catching as your hand slid along the metal railing, spiralling up the concrete stairwell. 

Behind you, Bucky cursed under his breath. “It was unfair.”

He reached for you and just missed your wrist. You yanked it away before he could try again, your skin buzzing with the ghost of contact.

“Isn’t that what you taught me to do? Use anything to my advantage?” you bit out, pushing through the next door as you reached your floor. The hall here was quieter and dimmer. You passed rows of familiar doors. Your apartment was at the end of the corridor, and every step toward it made your pulse throb louder in your ears. “What, you have a problem with me using my assets against you?

“Assets, huh? You know, you really are unbelievable—”

You let out an exasperated groan, cutting him back. “You kissed me back.”

That stopped him.

His boots scraped the floor as he slowed a few paces behind you, chest heaving, eyes wide with shock.

“What?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your key in the door. The metal clicked, and you pushed it open with a little more care this time.

“You kissed me back,” you repeated softly, almost to yourself this time and stepped inside. 

Bucky barged in after you.

“You don’t understand—I’m… I’m trying to protect you!” His voice followed you into the room, desperate. 

You kicked off your shoes without looking at him. “I don’t need protecting.”

“Would you just listen for once—” he snapped, shutting the door behind him. 

You rolled your eyes and started pulling off your shirt, tossing it onto your bed and turned to face him, arms crossed. “I am listening, you’re the one not listening to me.”

Bucky stood just inside the door, like he hadn’t decided whether to walk out or burn the whole damn building down. 

“I shouldn’t have told you that on the mountain, it was unprofessional of me.” His voice cracked as his words poured out faster than it seemed he could stop them, emotion thick in every syllable. “I requested the mentor switch because I don’t trust myself to keep pretending. I can’t control myself around you!”

You padded barefoot across the room to the small bathroom.

“How am I supposed to go on training you?” He muttered, gesturing vaguely in your direction. He was repeating himself now, rambling like a crazed man completely oblivious to your actions. “You pull that stunt in the middle of training, humiliate both of us in front of the others, and then act like it meant nothing? Jesus, I can’t even think straight when you—”

You peeled your leggings off and let it fall to the floor behind you.

“—and don’t even get me started on that assets comment! What the hell does that even mean? You can’t just go around weaponising your—”

You unclasped your bra and bent to turn on the shower. The hiss of water filled the room, steam already curling up the mirror.

“—I mean, are you even hearing yourself? You just, what? Decided to tackle and kiss me like it was some kind of training tactic?! That’s not even…Are you using my confession against me? God, you’re impossible, I swear—”

He looked up.

And stopped.

Mid-sentence. Mid-breath.

There you were, back turned, steam catching on the bare curve of your spine and trailing over the lines of your thighs, standing in nothing but your underwear.

His words died in his throat like a car slamming into a wall.

Mouth slightly open. Eyes locked. 

You glanced at him over your shoulder, saw the exact moment it hit him and raised a brow, feigning casual curiosity as you stepped toward the open shower door, letting the foggy heat billow around your legs.

“You joining me?” you asked sweetly. “Sure sounds like you need to cool off.”

He said nothing.

Just stared.

Like you’d just knocked the wind out of him for the second time that day. Just that haunted, hungry look in his eyes like he was trying to figure out if he’d died and gone to hell. Or heaven.

His mouth opened, like he had something to say, some half-assed rebuttal, some snarky comeback.

But no words came out.

Only a low, helpless breath.

“I wasn’t using it against you.” You clarified as you dragged your underwear down your legs, tossing them somewhere across the room. “I was seeing if you meant what you said.”

You stepped nto the shower, leaving him stood stunned in the bathroom doorway. A soft sigh slipped from your lips as warm water poured down your shoulders and back, washing away the dull ache in your muscles. For a moment, you simply stood there, facing the stream, eyes closed, the patter of droplets against your scalp soothing like white noise in a storm.

Then came the soft rattle of the shower door behind you. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was him.

The subtle swish of movement was followed by the cool press of metal against your waist, his vibranium arm snaking around you, cool against the heat of the water and your flushed skin. Goosebumps prickled instantly across your stomach, nipples peaking at the contrast.

You turned slowly, steam swirling around you in thick waves as you met Bucky’s eyes. His wet hair was slicked against his neck, droplets clinging to the dark strands and sliding down his jawline. Beads of water traced the line of his throat and the rise of his Adam’s apple, disappearing over the muscle of his chest. His hands found your hips, warm and solid, the grip almost possessive.

You tried not to look down, tried not to let your eyes drift to the answer to a question you’d been too proud to ask. Instead, a smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you stepped into him, letting your palms slide up the hard planes of his chest, past his dogtags and looped around the back of his neck.

“I think this is going to do the opposite of cooling me down,” he muttered, voice husky, half-lost beneath the steady rhythm of water hitting tile.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, and then you kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle.

Your mouths crashed together like you’d both been holding back for too long. Hungry. Desperate. Sloppy. The water only made it messier, lips sliding, catching, breath hissing as teeth grazed. He kissed like he needed to claim this moment before the world snapped back into place. You returned the kiss with equal urgency, fingers threading into his wet hair, tugging, needing more.

His hands slid down your back, firm, sure, guiding you until your spine pressed against the slick wall of the shower. You wrapped a leg around his hip, instinctive, needy, and he growled softly into your mouth as his hand dropped to support your thigh, holding you steady. You ground your hips into him, once, twice. His grip tightened, and the next thing you knew, he was lifting you, hands firm on your ass as he carried you effortlessly from the shower. The bathroom was thick with steam, fog curling along the edges of the mirror and dripping from the ceiling. Water trailed down both of you, soaking the tiles as he strode across the room.

Your back met the edge of the counter with a soft thud, followed by the chill of the fogged-up mirror behind you. The coolness shocked your skin and made your spine arch sharply, drawing a low noise from your throat. Bucky didn’t miss a beat. He was still kissing you, still swallowing your gasp as his hands ran down your thighs and urged them further apart.

He stepped in, slotting himself between your legs, his body flush against yours. The sensation of him made your head spin. Water from the still-running shower continued to hiss in the background, steam billowing out and filling the room like a cocoon. You were both soaked, skin slick and glistening, lips swollen, breaths short. Your fingers found the back of his neck again, anchoring yourself as he kissed you deeper, slower now, like he was savouring every second.

His hands slid down your hips and tugged you forward until your thighs bracketed his waist. You felt his cock, solid and insistent, pulsing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and your breath caught.

“I think I’ve dreamt of this moment.” He confessed between kisses, before consuming you again.

It took little resistance for him to push into you in one smooth motion. You weren’t just drenched from the shower. Your whole body sang from the shock of it, a strangled sound tearing from your throat as your fingers fisted in his wet hair. His mouth tore from yours with a ragged gasp, trailing down your jaw, your neck, leaving fire in his wake. Bucky braced a hand behind you on the counter, the other gripping your thigh, steadying you as his hips began to move precise and relentless.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” he muttered into the curve of your neck, voice wrecked. His lips brushed against your pulse, the edge of his teeth grazing the skin like he was half a second from losing control. “How many nights I told myself I couldn’t touch you... shouldn’t want you, couldn’t have you.”

You let out a breathless laugh that quickly turned into a gasp as his hips snapped forward again. 

“Keep going,” you rasped, one hand clawing up the curve of his back, the other buried in his hair. “Don’t stop.”

His only reply was a low, broken groan against your skin, like he was coming apart just from the feel of you wrapped around him. You locked your ankles behind him and rocked your hips forward, drawing him deeper. A spark of pleasure flared up your spine, making your head fall back against the fogged-up mirror..

“I tried so fucking hard to keep my distance.” He chuckled low against your collarbone, though the sound was strained, caught between shallow pants and a raw groan of need. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His vibranium hand slid between your bodies. His fingers found that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with gentle strokes, and your body jolted in response. An uncontrollable whimper left you as your thighs trembled around him.

“I’ve been dying to hear those sounds from you.” Bucky panted against your ear. 

You pressed closer to him, shaking legs tightening around his waist as you pursued his fingers. He chuckled at your poorly hidden desperation, chest vibrating from the sound. As his fingers swirled, cock pumping in and out, you felt your body clench involuntarily around him, drawing a moan from him. 

“Fuck, Bucky, ” you breathed, barely able to form the word as your pleasure surged, unrelenting and dizzying. “If I’d known this was what you were holding back, I would’ve pushed harder.”

Bucky’s rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming uneven and desperate, chasing the high he could feel coiling tighter in both of you. Your raw moans echoed around the small bathroom, rising above the hiss of the shower and the frantic beat of the slap of wet skin. Your climax broke over you like a wave crashing against the shore. Your entire body arched, legs trembling as you whimpered, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut. Pleasure tore through you like lightning, leaving your nerves sparking in its wake.

With a guttural groan muffled against your neck, Bucky followed you over the edge. You felt him twitch inside you, warmth spreading as he spilt into you, his hips stuttering erratically as he buried himself as deep as he could go. His arms tightened around you, as though he needed to hold you close to keep himself grounded.

For a long, breathless moment, you stayed like that. Tangled together, trembling, the heat of the afterglow. The water still rained behind you, forgotten, as you both came down slowly, limbs heavy and slick with sweat and steam. Then, slowly, Bucky lifted his head to look at you. His hair was plastered to his forehead in wet strands, water trailing down the lines of his cheekbones and along his jaw. His eyes, dark and hungry, searched yours with a mix of dazed satisfaction and something else. A flicker of awe, maybe. Or disbelief.

You gave him a slow, wicked smirk and reached up to brush a dripping lock of hair off his brow, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“I need you to pull that transfer request, by the way,” you murmured, voice low and rough with breath. “There is no way in hell I’m training with Thor.”

His lips twitched, a hoarse laugh escaping him, short and surprised. But the fire in his gaze didn’t fade. If anything, it darkened.

“I’ll pull it…” he said, voice thick with promise as his hands slid back down to your waist, “…when I’m done with you.”

From the way his fingers gripped your hips, you had a feeling that wouldn’t be anytime soon. 

---

hello! i no longer have a taglist because it got too long and was reaching the tag limit. if you want to be notified when i post please follow @artficlly-updates and turn on post notifications!

to many to count

Reblog if you've ever read a fic that was better than published books

my mom, after a long period of silence: what's on your mind?

me, who has been vividly imagining getting fucked disrespectfully by a middle-aged man: nothing :)

Ughhh I need this in a book

4 • Operation: The Party ... The After Party & Late Night Strolls | OPERATION: FAKING IT ...?

4 • Operation: The Party … The After Party & Late Night Strolls | OPERATION: FAKING IT …?

Description: Horrible politicians, a nosey Natasha & a very important question for Bucky during a game of Truth or Dare. Will you & Bucky finally share your feelings?

Pairing: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Female Avenger Reader

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: Cute Bucky, swearing, discussions of injury, guns, suggestive language, 18+, there's some rubbing & thumb sucking, (no smut yet).

A/N: I have been told to not apologise for the word count so I'm not! FYI, lets just pretend that the puppies in the pictures below are the same, there are not enough photos of Sebastian Stan with puppies on the internet! Also let me know if you spot the Lana Del Rey lyric.

Series Masterlist

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Turns out Tony did manage to find a ‘publishable’ photo despite making you look through each one pointing out all the tongue shots with a running total, he stopped counting after 47, you thought it was hot & he really wasn’t impressed when you emailed a select few to yourself. Once the photos hit the media they did the news rounds, people seemed genuinely excited & it seemed to quash any rumblings of the whole thing being fake. Fake, you hated that word, no matter how it all came about your feelings towards Bucky were as real as they come & the little family you two had forged was real, every day you were happy because of him. How is that fake?

Whatever purgatory your actual relationship found itself in you decided to just let it be, you wanted more but understood if you weren’t enough for him, either way you’d enjoy the closeness & kissing whilst it lasted. You had been spending all your time with him since your dinner date, Bucky used whatever excuse he could to see you, he would climb into your bed every morning after taking Burtie out for his morning bathroom visit & he would turn up at your lab most days to hang out whilst you worked, your productivity levels were at an all-time low but being snuggled up out of view of the security camera with your super solider & pup you didn’t care, Tony brought this on himself as far as you were concerned.

There were no further kisses since the restaurant due to lack of excuses, apart from when Bucky claimed he needed some of the lip balm you had just applied, despite questioning how licking it off your lips helped his own, you didn’t complain, you may have reapplied hoping for a repeat, which of course worked like a charm.

Bucky went weak at the knees at the picture you sent & practically abandoned the weights in the gym to get to you, he had to physically restrain himself when you were waiting for him having not changed. Once you threw yourself into his arms he felt how soft the fabric was & now all he wanted to do was fall asleep with his head in your lap & have you run your fingers through his hair as he snuggled into you.

Burtie watched all the bright lights of the drive thru with fascination & wiggled in excitement on your lap at the smells invading the car, he of course charmed the pants off Debbie your server & earned himself a bonus nuggie. You & Bucky took turns eating & holding your very eager puppy trying to munch on anything in sight, you kept trying to sneak him fries but Bucky would wrestle it from you before you got to him. You knew he was right, but it didn’t stop you sulking, you just wanted Burtie to love you, so would give him anything he wanted even if it was bad for him. 

You had recently fallen into a routine of late-night snacks & walks to tire Burtie out before bed so once you got back to the tower you grabbed a jacket & you both headed to the park. Summer evenings in New York were always your favourite, the heat subsides & channels of soft breezes travel through the skyscrapers, the Super Solider with his hand joined with yours always took these moments with the reverence they deserved, although not as quiet as Wakanda, he still felt the peace he associated with his time there wash over him each night. You were his peace, he could be on a battlefield with atomic bombs being dropped from the sky & one look at you would silence all the noise, you would eclipse all the horror surrounding him & beckon him to peace like a siren calling him to the depths of the ocean, he'd drown for you.

--

In true Tony Stark fashion, he decided your third operation would be at one of his infamous parties, there would be a lot of press in attendance & that was his entire excuse under the guise that it was a birthday party for the head of robotics assistant. Everybody bought it.

Unfortunately, part of Tony’s parties always included the bit where you had to find a dress, naturally Nat insisted on joining you on the search, you usually made a day out of it, you did try & protest her tagging along because you knew Tony had arranged a fitting at a boutique rather than ‘lowering yourself to an off the rack number’. She rolled her eyes at you once you made it clear that it would be a whistle stop trip because you had a super solider warming your bed with your dog & you wanted cuddles. 

The plush interior of the boutique was in complete contrast to the grey run-down street it lived on, rich purple velvets lined the walls with chandeliers that made your head spin when you contemplated how they changed all the bulbs, maybe Tony should send Peter to assist next time they needed replacing. You were both greeted with champagne & canapes whilst the room was prepared, colourful fabrics adorned every available surface & all of the dresses on mannequins lined up were breath-taking, but completely OTT for a party held by Tony Stark. The seamstress Valentina ushered you into the fitting room & led you to the pedestal in the centre surrounded by 360 degree mirrors, after discussing fabrics, style & occasions you would need dresses for she got to work with her measuring tape & very firm fingers contorting your limbs & body to her whim whilst she shouted out numbers to her assistant busily scribbling them down.

Natasha sat on the plush tub chair sipping on champagne whilst she watched on in fascination from the moment you set foot in the place, ‘Why has Tony done all this for you just for a party?’

You knew the interrogation was inevitable, you hadn’t been avoiding her as such, but you were spending so much time with Bucky it just naturally meant less with your other friends, so with her finally getting you one on one it was bound to happen ‘You know how he is Tash, I am his first born.’

‘True, but you usually just go to a store & buy your dress on his card, something isn’t adding up, is Bucky proposing or something? Although why would Tony care about that?’

You almost spat out your champagne at the ridiculousness of her statement, one, that wasn’t remotely what was going on & two Bucky wouldn’t ever propose to you like that, it would be far too flashy & attention seeking for either of you … not that you had thought about it at all. What kind of spy was she?

‘Fuck no, why would you think that & on what planet would he ask me like that?’

‘So, you’ve thought about it, I can tell from your face, such a public setting is so not Bucky or you for that matter.’

Fuck, maybe she’s better than you gave her credit for.

As Valentina continued measuring every single inch of your body you noticed your phone light up on the table next to Nat, being the nosey friend she was, her eyes homed in on it.

‘You got a text from Bucky Bear.’ She looked disgusted at herself for saying it.

‘Whaaat? Look at that man & tell me he’s not a big teddy bear.’

‘Not to me, but I’m not you, never were.’ She was so dismissive in her tone, but it was a pointed comment with something deeper behind it.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I may have drunkenly made a pass at him once & he very politely turned me down, his reasonings were logical but I knew they were a lie, he has an obvious tell. I always thought he was just into someone else, turns out it was you.’

‘Shit Natasha, you should have said if you were into him, I would have been your wing man, it definitely wasn’t me who he was into. Maybe he didn’t know you wanted that, he’s oblivious to those kinds of things, I’d have talked to him for you, he’d listen to me.’

‘hmmm’ her eyes narrowed, ‘why are you so adamant that he wasn’t into you? He clearly was, he always followed you around like a lost puppy. You’re saying you would have set me up with Bucky, the guy you’re with now so if you had & it had worked out between us you wouldn’t be with him now’

Shit.

‘Well, not now obviously but back whenever you did.’

‘So, you didn’t like him too? What changed?’ alarm bells were going off in your head, the truth could set you free of her interrogation, maybe just not all of it.

‘No, I could see he was hot I mean I have eyes, but I’d put him in the friend category knowing he’d never go for someone like me, but sometimes you look at someone close enough & realise that they’re the best person you know. Look, I know I’m a lot, most guys just go through me to get to you or get sick of me before they get to meet you, but I never get that feeling from him, he likes being around me, I try to rein it in for his sake, but I know he’d probably tell me if I was annoying him instead of just ghosting me or dumping me in the middle of a road trip to see the world’s biggest cowboy hat at the side of the road … or whatever.’ You shrugged your shoulders hoping the little pout would work on Nat as well, so she’d drop it, baring your soul & all your hang-ups to people sure was a downer. You felt heavy, like you just wanted to curl up in Bucky’s arms, safe & sound, the realisation that he was your comfort dawned on you, what would happen when this was all over, could you still go to him?

‘Who the hell did that & why didn’t you tell me?’ oh you made her mad, not good.

‘I knew you’d go after him with Bucky & the last thing you two need with the general public is a controversy over some idiot. Tony would flip, so I kept it to myself, Tony picked me up & we went to see it.’

You didn’t see her gaze narrow at your choice of words, you didn’t seem to care about their public image the day you made Bucky break into the funfair & go on all the rides after hours, so why would you care now? You were too busy retrieving your phone & checking your message from Bucky to notice her intense focus on you, he had sent the most adorable selfie with Burtie.

Natasha watched your face light up as you bounced on your feet presumably texting Bucky back, something wasn’t adding up & she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

‘Why did you have a meeting with PR & Tony last week?’

The room suddenly started heating up, ‘Nat what are you getting at?’ deflect, deflect, deflect, you would have to come clean eventually but not yet, you liked pretending with Bucky & having him glued to your side all the time, you didn’t want it to end.

‘What is going on? I can read you like a book, you were a beam of sunshine replying to him, then I ask a question & I can see steam coming out of your ears from you thinking so hard, something is going on, you would have said something about dating him, it’s all too sudden & weird with the moving into the tower to then move in together, meetings with PR, custom gowns Tony insists you have, ice cream on tap that only you & Bucky can have ...’

You interrupted ‘I asked for the ice cream.’

‘But why would he give you that & Bucky specifically?’

‘Bucky likes Ice cream, I wanted him to have something nice. Tony gives me whatever I want’ You gestured around with your arms to your surroundings.

‘You don’t want any of this.’

‘Why do you have such a problem with me & Bucky? Are you jealous that he didn’t say yes to you?’ Low blow, you regretted it immediately, Bucky didn’t go for you either, but it might stop her.

‘I couldn’t ever compete with you so no, I just wanted someone for the night, I knew he would be a good fuck so went for it.’

You cringed at her words hating that she thought of Bucky like that … like you do. ‘There’s nothing to compete with.’

‘That, that is exactly what I mean when I say something isn’t right. You say he’d never go for someone like you, there’s nothing to compete with, all the self-deprecating shit. But he did go for you, why are you saying that?’

You shrug, ‘I guess it’s hard getting out that mentality when you’re used to every guy you date using you to get to Natasha Romanoff, to never really want you, for you to never be good enough.’ Your eyes glossed over & you tried to blink away some tears, turning on the waterworks always got Nat off your back.

‘Honey, you could ask that man to saw his arm off, get him to slap himself with it & he’d say thank you, he’s that gone for you. There is something more going on & you’re not telling me, fine, but know that you are good enough for anyone if you have deemed them good enough for yourself, because most of them aren’t even in the realm of deserving you, Bucky included. As for him not wanting you, that dude has a boner every time you’re in his lap which is 24/7 at the moment, I’m surprised he’s not fainted.’

Thankfully Valentina reappeared & put an end to Nat’s probing questions, you managed to stay on casual topics of discussions but felt so shitty for lying & accusing her of being jealous, there was literally nothing to be jealous about.

Bucky watched as you removed layer after layer of clothes stripping down to the sinfully tight shorts & t-shirt you made sure to wear for your fitting, something was on your mind, he could tell the second your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you stomped into the bedroom, once you had crawled into the warm cocoon he had maintained all morning & settled you let out a big sigh.

‘What’s wrong Bambi?’ he pulled you directly on top of him, it always thrilled you how he managed to manhandle you with such ease, he was so warm & held you firmly in place with your head tucked under his chin running his fingers up & down your spine, Burtie was curled up next to him giving you little kisses as you stroked him absentmindedly.

You shrugged, ‘Just feel like shit lying to Nat, she kept asking questions trying to find out what’s going on, she saw we went into a meeting with the PR.’

‘What lies have you actually told her?’ He really didn’t want to suggest letting the others in on the mission because then he’d have no excuse to pull you on to his lap all the time, he wouldn’t be able to stare at you all the time without anyone thinking he was being a creep. Once he worked out how to ask you to be his girl then it wouldn’t matter but for now keeping up with the façade in front of your friends meant he got the maximum time with you.

‘None technically, but I did accuse her of being jealous that you’re with me which is so dumb because you’re .. you’re not really.’ Your sentence tapered off at the end, you hated saying out loud despite it being true.

‘I dunno Doll, sort of feels like you’re with me right now.’ He squeezed you & placed a kiss on your head, ‘Why would she be jealous?’

‘Because she hit on you once.’

He chuckled at that, ‘I don’t think she did.’

‘Yeah she did, she said she tried to sleep with you because she thought you’d be a good…’ you stuttered saying it to him.

‘A good what Bambi?’

‘A good … fuck, you didn’t know she was trying to sleep with you?’ well that explains why he turned her down, you thought, he didn’t even know she was hitting on him. 

‘No.’

‘After all this I can have a word with her about it … if you want.’

‘Why would I want that?’

‘Dunno, Nat is like the ideal woman, most guys go for her or try to anyway.’

‘Natasha isn’t the one I want моя любовь (my love)’

‘oh, ok.’

‘Any way enough about her, you’ve not told any lies so don’t feel bad. She’s being too nosey. How was your fitting?’

‘Good, there was this fabric that I chose that will make me look like C3PO.’

‘You’d look amazing in a paper bag красивая’(beautiful)

‘Thanks Bucky Bear, can you believe she said you weren’t a big teddy bear too.’

‘I’m not, just for you Doll.’

You looked up at him ‘Just for me?’

‘You think I’m like this with anyone else?’

You shrugged your shoulders.

‘Well I’m not, only for you.’

You beamed at him, ‘If I asked you to chop off you arm & slap yourself with it would you do it?’

He laughed & did his nose scrunch thing that you loved so much, ‘where did that come from Bambi?’

‘Just something Nat said.’

He looked down at you as you looked up at him, your head still resting against his chest, ‘yeah I probably would, please don’t ask though.’

‘Never.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

You leaned upwards & nuzzled your nose into his jaw, Bucky held you tighter & leaned down to kiss you delicately, there wasn’t a camera or excuse in sight.

‘we should watch a movie, have you eaten?’

You were tucked back into his neck trying to stifle the smile spreading on your face, you were tempted to wiggle your hips to see if the other theory Nat had was accurate. 

---

Better late than never, right? The party was in full swing when you finally arrived, getting glammed up for an event felt almost like a workout with The Black Widow, you rejected Tony’s offer with great offence when he offered you a ‘team’ to help you, like you needed a team. Rude. You had hair removed, moisturised, preened, curled, makeup’d yourself to within an inch of your life, Valentina you discovered understood the assignment perfectly, the dress was stunning, a metallic gold almost chainmail type fabric sewn in a simple silhouette that fit you like a glove, dare you say you looked good. 

The black glittery floor sparkled like the night’s sky underneath the guests who had already taken to the dance floor, the up-tempo jazz number being played by the band complimented the buzzing atmosphere perfectly, the waiters were carrying trays of drinks amongst the sea of people & Tony Stark was lapping up all the attention of his sycophant yes men & the press hanging on his every word. A successful soiree in the eyes of Iron Man, he just needed the special guest to arrive, he had half an eye on the stairs most of the night so let out a relieved breath when you finally graced the room with your presence.

It was easy to spot your Super Solider at the bar when you scanned the crowd, he stood out in all his glory, tall, dark & handsome. The black suit he wore was tailored to his shape wonderfully, highlighting his broad shoulders & tapering down to his slim waist, whilst his trousers were strained from his gloriously thick thighs, topping it all off his hair was slicked back showing off every inch of his pretty face, he had you melting into a puddle on the floor, he looked so fucking hot. 

When he spotted you, his eyes lit up & a broad smile crossed his face, he was the most beautiful person you had ever seen, a claim that Bucky would dispute until the day he died seeing you in your gold sparkly dress, curled bouncy hair & flawlessly beautiful smile, you looked like a fucking Oscar. This was the perfect excuse to kiss you again, there were cameras everywhere & although he would have to control his hands & cock he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to connect his lips with yours again, he praised the lord you weren’t wearing red lipstick so that he could kiss you silly all night without ruining your makeup.

He made his way towards the bottom of the stairs where you met him, he took your hand in his & placed a kiss on your knuckles.

‘Hi Bambi.’

‘Hi Bucky.’

He was right in front of you as you stood on the first step, you were at eye level with the gorgeous man for a change thanks to the step & exceptionally high heels that you couldn’t wait to ditch, his arm snaked around you holding you firmly & as per the norm his lips were at your ear.

‘You look absolutely breath-taking Doll.’ You pulled back a little, so that you could see him in all his glory.

‘Thank you, you look so handsome.’ His scrunchy face smile made you want to cry it was so sweet, you couldn’t resist pinching his chin & as his hands brought you closer to him his eyes were focused on your lips.

‘I think we should kiss now … for the cameras.’

Nodding eagerly at him you hadn’t even noticed all of the eyes that had been focused on you since your arrival let alone the cameras pointing in your direction.

Your lips met, somewhat respectfully for a public place, you’d lost count of how many kisses you had shared at this point but each one somehow felt different than the last, this one was long, tender with just a smidgen of desperation conveying how much you both missed being connected to each other, you decided right then & there that the right amount of time between kisses was 0.165 seconds not days like the torture you had just endured.

Tony rolled his eyes after he witnessed the first kiss & you clearly giving Bucky an excuse for another the way he went in on you for the next, he did believe you when you said nothing had happened, but he felt more uneasy at that, than if you had. You two were oblivious to the feelings you shared & he wanted to knock your heads together to get you to see sense.

Having remembered you were in a public setting you retracted your tongue from Bucky’s mouth & with his firm arm around your waist he plucked you off the step, turned around & placed you on the floor with a kiss on the nose. He brushed his hand down your arm & weaved his fingers through yours then headed towards the bar with you in tow where you friends were gathered.

‘Lady Tiny, you look simply wonderful tonight.’ 

‘Thanks sparkles, you too.’ You reached up to Thor to give him a hug but with Bucky not letting go of your hand it was an awkward half hug & he made sure to swiftly pull you back to his vicinity after.

He practically growled ‘Let me get you a drink Doll.’ into your ear

‘I’ll have a watermelon paloma please.’ You waited at the bar whilst your drink was being prepared, Bucky snaked his arms around you & leaned his head on your shoulder. If people didn’t know you were taken before Bucky sure was making it obvious, your feminist ideologies regarding possessive men were being firmly overruled by your inner cavewoman wanting him to take you right there on the dancefloor so everyone knew who belonged to. Not that he would.

Even with a Bucky shaped barnacle attached to you, you were enjoying catching up with your friends & wider colleagues that you didn’t get to see very often, Tony interrupting the festivities irritated you no end, ‘Bonnie, Clyde you’re with me.’ You rolled your eyes at the thought of being paraded round the higher ups like you were a show pony, unfortunately it was part of the gig, your least favourite part but you plastered on a smile & held out your hand to Senator Graham. 

Instead of shaking he went in for the kiss, his damp lips on your knuckles made you shudder & Bucky was practically on the verge of swinging for him before you retracted your hand, whipping it on Bucky’s suit in disgust, his arm was quick to secure you to his side.

You knew politicians were awful people, but this guy was the worst, anything that came out of his mouth had your skin crawling & your eye twitching with rage, how Tony could associate with these monsters was beyond you, he did look horrified at some of the statements but the Senator somehow managed to surpass the previous one in tactlessness each time.

Unfortunately, he decided to be bold with a question pointed at you ‘I’m just curious, all eyes are on you this evening, you’re an avenger, I’m told highly intelligent, you could have any guy you wanted. Why him?’

Bucky was squeezing your hand trying to get you to focus on him & not the rage you felt was currently on the brink of spewing out.

You gritted your teeth trying to form some words that didn’t get you arrested, ‘You speak about him as though he’s not here, not human?’

‘Some would think an assassin who was responsible for the deaths of countless people isn’t.’

‘Doll, it’s fine. It was nice meeting you sir.’ He sounded so defeated & so incredibly belittled.

‘Could you be ruder to my team Graham?’ Tony was mortified that someone would speak about Bucky that way, yes, he had his issues at first, but it didn’t take long for him to recognise that Bucky wasn’t the man that killed his parents, he was a victim just as much as his parents were.

‘No, it’s not Bucky.’ You narrowed your eyes at Senator Graham ‘this man is without doubt the bravest person I have ever met, he’d lay down his life for me without question, hell he’d do it for you because he’s inherently a good man. He was tortured for 70 years because he was left behind by his comrades, presumed dead & I can’t imagine how many times he wished he were when Hydra we’re breaking him, I’ve read the files, I know how long it took them. He’s stronger than me & I have no doubt he’s stronger than you, you would have snapped like a twig. So, lets see, brave & strong, he’s caring, loyal, he protects me & let’s face it the most gorgeous man in the room, he makes me laugh & he puts up with me. He's worth a million of you. Also, FYI, the serum enhances EVERYTHING.’ You wiggled your brows whilst Bucky looked proud of himself, god he loved you so fucking much, it was bursting out of him at this point.

‘Night Graham it was a displeasure to meet you. ’You grabbed Bucky & walked away, his arms were around you & he pressed himself to you firmly with his head at the back of your neck.

‘You didn’t have to say all that Bambi.’

‘Yes, I did, there wasn’t one single lie in what I said … & I just assumed the serum thing.’

‘I was already enhanced before the serum darlin’ He pressed further into you & you lost all feeling in your legs. ‘Come dance with me sweetheart.’

You felt like you were floating, fuck living in reality, you could just stay in this version of your life where you were Bucky’s girl & he made your stomach explode with butterflies at every touch.

You danced & drank & laughed & kissed until you were being dragged upstairs by the others, neither you or Bucky wanted the event to end because you had free reign to be with each other to your heart’s desire, all the excuses were lined up every time ready for your lips to meet.

---- 

The lounge lights were dimmed when you all gathered back together having changed from your formal clothes into your comfies, you had some fluffy socks, ribbed leggings & Bucky’s hoodie on, all he wanted to do was feel what was underneath when he saw you in it, he suspected nothing. Although people vied to be invited to one of Tony’s prestigious parties very few knew about the after parties & even fewer were invited, this was strictly reserved for the team & Burtie of course.

It was more like a family debrief post party than a party, everyone would relax, share some drinks & gossip about who hooked up earlier in the night, occasionally it would get wild with drinking games & it would seem Natasha was up for the latter this particular evening.

‘Roll up, roll up, roll up, shots for us mortals, Asguardian Ale for the God & Super soldiers, spring water for the puppy, it’s truth or dare time.’

Your eyes immediately found Bucky’s, shit. He had taken a seat on the armchair in front of you & pulled you onto his lap, ‘It’s ok Bambi, relax.’ he snuggled you further into him & brushed some hair out of your face. 

Of course, the first spin landed on him, Natasha seemed to take up the maestro role with vigour, ‘Ok Buckaroo, what changed things with Bambi? What moment did you think ‘I want to fuck her’ rather than be her friend?’  You rolled your eyes & didn’t miss the shift of legs under you at the question.

‘Seriously Nat?’ Steve was blushing at her terminology.

‘What? I want to know what he loves about my friend, I haven’t approved of this yet so there’s a few things I need to know.’

You knew what she was trying to do, it was sort of sweet, but Nat didn’t do sweet, so you knew there was an ulterior motive to it.

‘What do I love about her, do you have a notepad? What changed? I opened my eyes one day & saw someone who I would do anything for, no matter how ridiculous.’

Without pause Natasha stated matter of factly ‘We’d all do that for her.’ 

‘Hear hear.’ You smiled at your friends, family all raising their glasses & lingered on Tony for everything he’d done for you.

‘Ok, I’d kill anyone of you to save her, without a second thought.’

Her eyebrow shot up ‘Steve included?’

With a single nod he confirmed ‘Steve included.’ Your eyes found Steve across the coffee table & saw the fondness he held for his friend, there was no malice in the look, he almost looked proud of him. Suck it Rogers, you’ve been replaced.

Bucky bent forward & span the bottle, being that you were sat in his lap you folded over as he did it, his broad chest pressed against you & he couldn’t help peppering kisses up your spine as you both moved back into your previous position. You shifted your legs desperate for some friction which Bucky noticed & as he guided you back to his chest his hands made their way underneath your jumper & he held your waist, the contrast in temperature between his hands set your skin on fire.

The bottle span all the way around the table typically landing on you.

You giggled knowing Bucky would be asking you the question ‘Truth’

He playfully tickled your sides whilst he came up with his question ‘What do you love most about me Bambi?’

‘Yawn, boring. What does Bucky like in bed?’ you knew Nat would be after salacious details.

You smirked knowing how annoyed she would be with your answer ‘Movies, pizza & cuddles.’ You could feel Bucky nodding his head behind you laughing at you outsmarting the former assassin.

‘Correct answer kid.’ Tony doffed an imaginary hat to you & you twirled your hand to him like you were both Victorian aristocrats. 

You tipped your head to the side to answer the original question ‘& the thing I love most about you is how safe & cherished I feel whenever we’re together.’

As you leant forward towards the bottle Bucky held you in a tighter grip, you turned back to him & the look in his eyes took your breath away, dare you think it was love? He placed a languid kiss on your lips, softer than any kiss you had shared, so relaxed & natural as if you had been kissing him all your life. When his grip loosened slightly you wriggled out of his grasp & span the bottle, again it went past all the other players & landed on Bucky.

You rolled your eyes ‘Is this thing rigged?’

Quick as a flash Natasha answered arousing further suspicions ‘Nope.’

Having replaced his hands underneath your hoodie higher up than before you could feel your heart rate picking up, he nuzzled into the back of your neck & in his deep quiet voice he made his choice.

‘Truth Bambi.’

You wiggled on his lap in thought, ‘Mmmmm’ his grip on you tightened & as he removed one hand from your side he grazed your nipple with his vibranium finger, your breath hitched & your thighs clenched together from the sensation. He brushed your hair off one shoulder, so he had some available skin to place his lips & his hand returned to your body. If he moved it higher he could cup your flesh fully, you were desperate for this man & as much as you loved sharing a bed you wanted a night to yourself & your imagination to work out these frustrations.

Sam interrupted your sinful thoughts with one of his own.

‘How many rooms have y’all christened?’ The whole room practically groaned.

‘None.’ You answered for Bucky.

‘Take a shot, you lyin’.’ He was gleefully pointing at the pair of you.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘I just want to know what not to sit on.’

‘I told you none, I’m a good girl’ you felt Bucky shift underneath you & you couldn’t help a glance back to him, if you weren’t already turned on, the look on his face would have you dripping in an instant. A quick flick of his wrist & the bottle finally landed on someone else leaving you & Bucky a private moment.

He whispered into your neck ‘What does Sam’s question mean Bambi?’

‘He was asking how many rooms have we had sex in’

‘Oh’ he couldn’t help thinking that answer would be changing very quickly if you looked at him like that again, he pulled you back to his chest & wrapped both arms around you & you rested yours against his, he was trying to control himself but with you sat directly on his cock constantly wiggling around it was proving a challenge.

The game carried on with some other participants in the next few rounds, you discovered Thor cried when he watched Moana twice, Bruce once went full hulk during sex when she decided that choking him was a good idea, thankfully the woman was fine, the first time Steve had sex after being defrosted he lasted 18 seconds & Scott has a teddy bear he sleeps with every night called Mr Cuddles. You were enjoying your reprieve until it landed back on you. The bottle giveth & the bottle taketh away all dignity.

Hesitantly you grumbled ‘Truth’

Natasha didn’t hesitate ‘How did you get shot?’

Your eyes widened fuck ‘Ok, dare’ you stuck out your tongue. 

‘Ok Bambi, I dare you to tell Bucky & the group how you were shot.’ Crumbs, damn those street smarts, her smug look was your least favourite, only Tony & Nat knew how you were shot & you made them promise not to tell anyone else so this humiliation would be worse than just confessing it to Bucky, everyone would know. You were sure they’d have a secret vote to kick you off the team after this, Bucky would be on your side because duhh, Tony too but you doubted there would be any more when they realised what a dumb ass you were.

‘No fair.’ You pouted & crossed your arms, you could feel Bucky’s thumb stroking your scarred skin under your hoodie & comforting you as always. Ugh you loved him so much.

‘You can tell me sweetheart, I might have to hunt them down afterwards & teach them a lesson, but I won’t think any less of you. Promise.’

You turned to him to look him in his eyes ‘Promise?’

‘I promise darlin’’ he hooked his pinky finger in yours.

‘Ok fine.’ Bucky sat you both upright with his chin resting on your shoulder, he held you tightly trying to reassure you that he would be right here with you, although he would have to control his overwhelming need to find whoever did it & harm them. 

‘So, I was in the field when it happened.’ You recalled. ‘On a mission with Tony & Nat doing some reconnaissance, it was a typical hydra hideout at first sight, so I hacked the door mechanism to get us in the base & we quickly realised what there were agents still active, lots of them’ Bucky’s heart rate picked up at the mention of Hydra, he placed a kiss on your shoulder in attempt to self soothe, he thought that he couldn’t hate them more but to know they hurt the woman he loved was triggering his rage. 

Before continuing you reached to the back of Bucky’s neck with your hand to play with his hair, you noticed how tense he got when you mentioned his former captives, ‘& you all know I don’t really do combat type missions, so I was a bit nervous right because I was armed & I hate guns. So, we’re there all guns blazing or ‘flickering’ for me as Nat kept saying shooting the idiots, Tony kept telling me off every time I shot an agent which was pissing me off.’ You narrowed your eyes at him.

‘Kid, you kept shouting ‘that’s for Bucky mother fukka’ & giving them the finger, it was a tad distracting.’

Bucky squeezed you tightly, smiling from ear to ear, you were an actual angel, you glanced back at him smiling knowing how much he would have loved you doing that despite it giving away your position to anyone within earshot.

‘Anyway, I was on fire right, pow one guy down, pow another, I tripped over one of them but that was ok, my knee kind of hurt but hey they didn’t expect someone on the floor so pow got one in the ankle.’

‘I mean it was kind of amazing, she was like a beached whale wriggling about with a gun shooting anything in sight.’ Nat laughed recalling the memory.

 ‘Firstly, whale? ouch, I prefer to think that I looked like an elegant mermaid. But yeah, I deserve a medal of honour or something for that day, anyway so we swept the base, I got a few more ‘James Buchanan Barnes sends his regards.’ pow’s in, no finger, kept those ones classy.’ Bucky was giggling behind you, he could listen to you talk all day, you could read him the fucking dictionary & he would be in heaven but your stories no matter how wild & long were always his favourite.

‘So yeah, we completed the mission, got the information & then headed back to the quinjet.’

‘Wait, so how did you get shot?’ Steve looked at his whits end, he rarely listened to you recalling missions due to all the tangents you found yourself going off on, so waiting for the actual information was a massive test of his patience.

‘Oh, so we were walking back to the quinjet right & Tony was blasting some AC/DC so naturally I started air guitaring … with my gun, turns out the safety was off & I shot myself.’ You shrugged, you felt Bucky shaking with laughter whilst your friends were uncontrollably laughing at you, Scott actually fell on the floor. You pouted, ‘It hurt’. Bucky managed to stifle his laughter pulling you off him so that you were standing between his legs, he slowly lifted his hoodie & gently placed a soft kiss on your scar.

‘Better?’ 

You were rendered speechless & could only muster a nod before he pulled you back to his lap, Tony was watching you both thinking you were idiots hoping the next time it landed on either of you he would force a confession from you both.

-

You were more than drunk, everyone was feeling the shots & Ale, Bucky was particularly handsy & having ventured even higher north under your hoodie after discovering his assumption was correct & that you were braless his hands were almost cupping you, teetering on it, painfully so. Somehow the game hadn’t descended into complete chaos, but Tony had stormed up to his apartment after a particularly embarrassing question you had asked muttering something about how he didn’t get to ask his question. Like you weren’t going to bring up the knowledge that he subscribed to the onlyfeet website, you had acquired the information & had been sitting on it since seeing his credit card bill when Pepper was questioning your $10,000 donation to a petition to bring out a mustard topped hot dog emoji. She thought it was an unreasonable expense, you argued it was vital because that was Bucky’s hotdog order & he got mad with the sole ketchup option. Perfectly reasonable you thought & guess what, there is now a hotdog emoji with mustard, you’re welcome world.

The bottle landed on Bucky again, the group seemed to have run out of steam with their probing questions about the two of you, you realised that you’d never actually told them you were dating Bucky, they just assumed, so you hadn’t actually told them a single lie at any point, Bucky said the moving in one so every question you answered was answered truthfully but the question on your lips had been gnawing at you for days, chipping away at you in the back of your mind whenever Bucky held you or kissed you, it needed answering & you were just drunk enough to ask it. 

You were suddenly shy, you wouldn’t ever ask it without some form of alcohol involved for fear of humiliation, but you hesitantly turned to him, ‘k I’ve got a question, but gotta be private.’

You looked over you shoulder at Natasha winking in her direction, you knew she would allow it if she thought you were whispering a filthy sex related question, it wasn’t but you didn’t want anyone else hearing what you were so desperate to ask.

You straightened up, slightly wobbly trying to balance yourself on Bucky’s leg, when he worked out that you were trying to face him he picked you up by your waist, turned you around so you were straddling his thighs, he sat up to meet you upright & you draped your arms over his shoulder, his hands pulled you forward with your butt cheeks, your centre dragging deliciously against him in the process & your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure.

His lips found your neck & he slowly dragged them across your skin to your ear, you definitely were moving your hips & for once he wasn’t stopping you ‘I don’t remember sayin truth doll.’ His dominating tone had you tingling, you couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be on your knees for him whilst he told you exactly what to do & how he liked it doing.

You held his face in your hands to look him in the eyes, he could see the desperation in your eyes for whatever you wanted to ask him, you whispered ‘Say it.’ 

‘Truth.’

You leaned in placing your mouth at his ear, his arms protectively wrapped around you, he knew what you were about to say was only for him & he didn’t want anyone else in your bubble. He knew it wouldn’t be anything rude from the overexaggerated way you winked at Nat, you were so smart you could play the best of them like a fiddle even when drunk.

‘Bucky Bear?’

‘Yes Bambi?’

‘Do you think .. that… if..’

‘Ask me sweetheart, you can ask me anything.’

 You gulped & let out a shaky breath, now or never.

‘If … if I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?’

He pulled you away from his ear, your head clutched in his hands, he should have been jumping for joy, you literally asking to be his girl, the thing he was too afraid to do but why would you ask it like that? How could you think he would want anyone but you, that you weren’t pretty enough? He could see your eyes glossed over & he didn’t hesitate to pull your face to his & smash his lips to yours, you could hear everyone whooping & hollering at the show you were giving them as he put everything he had into kissing you, pulling you as close as you could get to him. 

‘Good practice kiss.’ You whispered against his lips.

‘That wasn’t a practice Bambi.’ He followed up with a tender kiss before he rested his head against yours. ‘You are the dumbest smart person I’ve ever known, been trying to show you that I want you to be my girl & that I fucking adore you, you know that Bambi?’

You shook you head as he ran his thumb over your lip, ‘you’re perfect, too good for me, too god damn sweet.’ He softly parted your lips, pushing his thumb into your mouth, you slowly latched around it, taking it deeper & sucking it, his eyes fluttered shut & he swore he was about to cum in his joggers just from this. Thankfully the others had lost interest & you two were left in your own little world, no one could see what you were doing with your body blocking the view of the fucked out Super Soldier you were currently sat on. ‘Fuck Bambi, you gonna be my good girl?’ with his vibranium hand he pulled you back & fourth on his lap, you could feel his hard length rubbing against your folds, the friction felt like every nerve in your body was being set alight. His eyes were dark watching you suck on his thumb & writhe on his lap looking so fucking fuckable.

You nodded as his lips were back at your neck trailing kisses up to your ear, you let out a quiet moan which was music to Bucky’s ears, he wanted to know what you sounded like when you were cumming on his cock, in his mouth, on his fingers.

‘You think I’d be this hard for someone who wasn’t the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, someone who makes my heart stop every time they look at me, someone who I have to tear myself away from at times just to not fuck them senseless every second of the day.’ He pulled his thumb away from your mouth, his hand stroked up your side underneath his hoodie, fuck he loved you wearing his clothes, they moved higher & higher until he was cupping your flesh, his damp thumb toying with your nipple.

‘Well you do Bambi, my sweet baby girl, you’re mine.’

At those words your lips were melded together again, with his prosthetic palm firmly against your back he stood you both up from the sofa, ‘Bedtime Bambi.’ Without thought your legs were crossed behind his back, you plucked Burtie out of Scotts’s arms when Bucky lowered you to collect your puppy before marching out of the party, completely unashamed of the obvious erection he was sporting.

With Bucky pinning you against a wall every 10 steps to kiss some part of you, the walk back to your room was slow, his stubble stung your skin & the thought of it doing the same thing between your legs made you grind down on him the whole way. 

He slowly lowered you to the bed once you put Burtie down for the night, his whole body covered you & the combination of warmth & pressure had you in a trance, you always felt so safe with him, the prospect of your relationship changing after tonight didn’t worry you, it excited you like nothing else. You were his, he was yours.

He managed some sentences between kisses ‘We can do anything tonight, we’ve both been drinking, I’m not that kind of guy.’

You were so turned on by him you couldn’t help but sulk, you didn’t need to be sober to know this was what you wanted. You were protesting in your head trying to find a way to say it without sounding desperate.

‘Don’t you dare pout Bambi, thought you were going to be a good girl, my good girl’

You whispered, ‘I am your good girl.’

‘Then you need to know that it’s killing me to not fuck that pout off your face, to show you everything I’ve dreamt of doing whilst touching my cock every god damn minute of the day that I’m not with you.’ He rolled his hips into you hitting you right on your centre, the moan you exhaled could send Bucky to the grave it was so sinful.

‘That’s what you’ve been doing?’

‘Yes darlin’’ he leaned back in with a tender kiss.

‘That’s hot’

‘Glad you think so, do you touch yourself & think of me?’

‘Yes… all the time’

‘Fuck, I shouldn’t have asked that. Let me take you out on a date, one I can plan. Just you & me, then I’ll bring you back to my place & fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight.’

‘Please touch me Bucky.’

‘Oh I love the sound of you begging for me … ‘

‘Please Sargent.’ You sounded desperate, you were desperate feeling this man’s length pressed against you.

‘Fuck Bambi.’ His resolve was crumbling quickly but he needed to do right by you, he had the rest of his life to have sex with you so one more night wouldn’t kill either of you, when it did happen he wanted to take his time, make sure you remember every touch every word he said when he worshiped you like you deserved. He doubled down & pulled away.

‘Let’s get some sleep darlin’, I’ll still be here tomorrow & every night after if you’ll take me.’

Your eyelids were getting heavier & you nodded, maybe you had more drinks than you thought. He shimmied you out of your leggings & you managed to get Bucky’s hoodie off over your head leaving you just in your panties.

He took the sight of you in, ‘Fuck, you’re perfect.’ He couldn’t help his hand reaching out & kneading your chest, toying with your nipples, he wanted to put his mouth around them.

‘Your turn.’ You felt so shy saying it, you knew nothing was happening tonight but seeing each other so bare was thrilling for you both, to be able to lie in each other’s arms completely exposed felt even more intimate than having sex would.

You watched in awe as Bucky stripped down to his boxers, ‘You’re so beautiful.’ You gently caressed the scarred skin, tracing down to his abs, his breath hitched the lower you went & it took all your strength not to touch his cock.

He pulled back the covers & waited for you to get into the bed first, once you had situated yourself he slid in behind you & cocooned you with the blanket making sure every inch of you was covered. He was still hard & you could feel him pressed against you, a wiggle of your hips had him groaning.

‘Bambi.’ His warning came out has a half moan half whine, it was exhilarating turning this big man into a moaning mess behind you.

‘What? I’m just getting comfy.’ You continued wiggling & toying with him, his hands held your hips & you could feel him pushing his into yours.

‘Sleep time, don’t make me go to my room.’ You ceased your movements & giggled at his very hollow threat.

‘I’ll be good. Promise.’ One last wiggle & you shut your eyes smiling as Bucky groaned behind you.

‘Night Bucky.’ 

‘Night Bambi.’

A/N: That hot dog petition is a real online petition!! Thank you for reading, your comments & feedback always make my day!!

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by TrekChik

Red Sox pitcher Bucky Barnes is having a shitty year. He’s four years into his five-year contract and if he doesn’t get his shit together soon, he’s gonna be traded, he’s certain of it. In just three months of play, his ERA is creeping up towards six, his strikeout count is low, and he hasn’t won a game in his last three starts. To make matters worse, he’s at odds with the team’s catcher, Brock Rumlow.

Words: 4336, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow

Relationships: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Baseball, Baseball Idiots, baseball pitcher Bucky Barnes, baseball catcher Steve Rogers, pitchers and catchers, Pining Bucky Barnes, Steve is savvier than Bucky realizes, Boys Kissing, Frottage

oh my. pls congressman sergeant james. pls.

Security Clearance

Title: Security Clearance

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Former SHEILD!Female Reader

Summary:  When a long day of political chaos leaves Congressman Bucky Barnes teetering on the edge, the last person he wants watching him is you.

Word Count:  3.8k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Rough sex, aggressive dominants, biting, bruising, possessiveness, Semi-public setting (gym), Mutual physical aggression (consensual, Breathless dirty talk, Workplace-adjacent setting (Congressman x Bodyguard dynamic)

A/N:  Want to get this out before Thunderbolts* 

You hated this suit.

Not because it was tight or unflattering, but because it made you feel like part of the machine again. Like some cog wheeled into place after being discarded years ago. The synthetic fibers clung to your skin like old duty-like expectation. It itched in a way you couldn’t scratch. You weren’t SHIELD anymore, hadn’t been for years, but when the government needed someone with a little edge, a little blood on their hands and a spotless record on paper, your name still came up. So here you were-again. A private contractor with federal strings tied tight around your wrists. They called it security clearance. You called it a leash.

That’s how you ended up here, standing in the corner of a polished D.C. office suite, the walls too white, the air too cold, watching Congressman James Buchanan Barnes slowly come apart at the seams.

He didn’t like you. That much was obvious.

You didn’t blame him. You were a shadow in his periphery, always there. At hearings. At dinners. In hallways with nothing but silence between you. You were the person who never flinched under his stare, the one who didn’t try to smile or play politics. Your job was simple: observe, protect, report. And sometimes, control.

You were a living, breathing reminder that Bucky Barnes wasn’t as free as the country he served.

But truthfully? You weren’t sure he hated you as much as he hated what you represented. The collar he couldn’t shake. The watchdog the state had assigned him in the form of someone with matching ghosts.

Bucky Barnes was a former assassin turned polished representative with a jawline sharp enough to make headlines and a gaze that could still freeze a room. That was before today. Today, his hair was disheveled, his jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. His eyes-stormy, bloodshot, heavy-lidded-burned with something you hadn’t seen since the field: unspent violence.

His tie hung loose around his collarbone, his sleeves rolled up past the elbow. The flash of metal from his forearm caught the light with every furious step he took across the office.

You didn’t need enhanced senses to pick up the tension bleeding off him in waves. It was in the twitch of his fingers. The restless pacing. The way his mouth moved soundlessly before finally giving voice to his thoughts.

"Need to hit something before I hit someone," he bit out, ripping the rest of his tie off like it offended him. He didn’t look at you. Just turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

You gave it two beats.

Then pushed off the wall and followed.

~#~#~#~#~#~

The gym was cold and empty. Just polished floors, the faint smell of leather and sweat, and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You stepped inside and paused just past the doorway, letting the door shut behind you with a soft click.

Bucky was already moving, disappearing into the changing room without a word. You stayed where you were, arms folded, leaning back against the wall as you let the silence stretch. A few minutes passed, and then he returned.

He’d stripped down into a plain black workout tee and loose dark sweats. Gone was the suited congressman-the image scrubbed away along with the tie and the tension. This was the man you remembered from field briefings in shadowed corners of SHIELD operations-lean muscle, taut lines, a low-simmering fury barely restrained beneath his skin.

You turned away from him, scanning the open gym floor as he began wrapping his right hand in athletic tape. Methodical. Focused. The sound of the tape unraveling was sharp in the quiet.

You started walking, slowly pacing the perimeter of the space, each step steady. You moved like you were still checking for exits, still measuring threats. It was instinct. Habit. You let your fingers skim along the wall padding. The air smelled like sweat and adrenaline and rubber.

Then the first thwack hit the air.

You stopped walking.

Bucky was hammering the punching bag. Sharp, brutal strikes. The kind that made the chain rattle and the leather creak. The kind that left bruises if anyone got in his way. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was still worked up. His grunts came short and clipped, not satisfied. Not eased.

You slowly turned back to watch him. He kept going. Harder. Faster. Each strike was more violent than the last, fists hammering the bag like it had personally offended him. You could almost hear it in his breathing-the way his exhales shortened, the growl that hovered behind each grunt. The bag wasn't working. If anything, it was winding him tighter.

You didn’t need to see his expression to know the storm inside him was getting worse. His punches turned more erratic. Sloppier, even, like control was slipping.

Then came the sharp exhale-a frustrated huff that echoed too loud in the empty space. He dropped his arms, the bag swaying slightly from the abuse, and turned toward you like he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

His eyes were fire when they met yours.

"You got anything under that you can fight in?" he asked, voice still sharp, still clipped.

You crossed your arms and raised a brow. "We're not suppose to engage the client, Sir.."

His jaw ticked. "I thought you had to follow directives?"

"Charming." You snorted muttering under your breath. 

Still, you considered it. It had been a while since you’d had a proper spar. The last few agents assigned to Bucky’s rotation had all been too stiff, too careful. The second you got aggressive, they called you 'too much'-like they didn’t sign up to be knocked flat. Bucky, though... Bucky could take a hit. More than that, he wanted one.

With a sigh, you rolled your eyes and slowly began stripping off your blazer. Then your shirt. Underneath, a fitted black tank hugged your torso. "This work for you, Congressman?"

He just turned to dig in his duffel before tossing a pair of grey sweatpants at you.

"Wear those. I don't want to get billed for ruining those pants." 

You rolled your eyes but changed, your slacks hitting the floor before you stepped into the pants he gave you. Slightly too big. Smelled like him. Looking up Bucky back was to you while you'd been changing. 

You met him on the mats, both barefoot. The floor felt cool beneath your feet, the air thickening between you in slow increments. Barnes rolled his shoulders back, the faint mechanical whirl of his metal arm filling the silence like a warning. Then came the pop of his neck as he tilted it side to side, eyes still fixed on you, unblinking.

For a moment, nothing moved. Just the subtle twitch of his fingers, your mirrored stance, the tension coiling between you like an elastic band stretched tight. You studied him-really looked. The way his shoulders stayed high, rigid with barely leashed frustration. How his jaw was still locked, even now. He wasn’t fighting to warm up. He was fighting to keep something inside.

You could see it-every inch of him wound tight like a spring, controlled only by discipline and sheer force of will. He wasn’t here to spar. He was here to unload.

Fine. Let him.

It started controlled-simple drills, practiced maneuvers. The kind of opening movements you’d run a hundred times before. You both circled, feet light on the mat, trading calculated strikes. You blocked, countered. Tested. Pushed. Watched him do the same.

He was sussing you out.

You let it build. Let him think maybe you were holding back, maybe you were just a suit who couldn’t take a hit like you used too. But the second he shifted forward with more speed, you welcomed it. Met it. Matched it. Dared him to give you more.

You weren’t made of glass.

If Bucky wanted a moving target, you’d give him one.

His pace turned aggressive. The precision in his movements gave way to something harder, more visceral. Each strike he threw was faster, heavier-like he wanted to knock the air out of you, like he needed to feel the hit deep in his bones. You answered in kind. Your footwork shifted from reactive to dominant, testing his limits with sharper counters and quicker feints. Hits landed with satisfying thuds, echoing off the gym walls like thunderclaps.

You ducked beneath one wide swing and jabbed hard at his ribs, earning a grunt. His metal arm caught your next strike and shoved you back with enough force to make your heel skid along the mat-but you didn’t hesitate. You recovered fast, twisted low under his reach, and drove a solid kick into his stomach. The contact thudded through your leg and up your spine. He grunted again-not in pain, but with a glimmer of satisfaction flashing through his eyes like you’d finally given him something real to work with.

He grinned.

You hated how good it looked on him. Like he was finally enjoying himself. Like he hadn’t looked that alive in weeks.

You went for his legs. He anticipated it, but not fast enough. He hit the mat with a solid thud that reverberated through the floor, the sound sharp in your ears. Your body reacted without hesitation-knees planted to either side of his waist as you straddled him, sweat-slick and breathing hard. Muscles burned deliciously with effort, your limbs trembling slightly from exertion. You were already flushed, heat rising under your skin, blood thrumming loud in your ears.

Then he moved. A quick twist of his hips and you were airborne for a half-second before he flipped you like a coin. Your back hit the mat, air whooshing out of your lungs.

The fight bled into something else.

Now he was above you, chest heaving, face flushed, dark hair falling loose across his brow. His breath hit your jaw, hot and ragged. Your own lungs worked double time trying to keep up, chest rising and falling with each greedy gasp for oxygen. Your skin was tacky with sweat, the sting of motion and contact still rippling through your body. Every muscle screamed with effort, every nerve buzzing with the high of adrenaline.

You felt alive. On fire.

And you stared at each other, unmoving. That flicker in his eyes-once analytical, maybe even annoyed-had burned down into something molten. Something wicked. Something hungry.

"You wanna fight," he growled, voice like sandpaper and smoke, "or you wanna fuck?"

You didn’t answer.

You grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him down into you like you were daring him to find out.

The clothes went fast. His hands were everywhere, rough and demanding. He yanked your top off so quickly the friction dragged hard across your skin, leaving it tender, raw in spots-but you didn’t care. You were already burning, already writhing beneath the heat rising in your veins. His shirt was next, flying across the room like it had offended him. Skin met skin, fever-hot, slick with sweat.

You didn’t even make it upright. You rolled together across the mat, limbs tangled, lips locked in something closer to a snarl than a kiss. You shoved him back with your forearm; he pulled you down by the waist. The padded floor caught your shoulder as you twisted under him, teeth grazing his jaw. You ground your hips up into his like you were trying to fuse with him, dragging a growl out of his throat.

The need had been simmering since day one-and now it boiled over.

He broke the kiss just long enough to push your bra up and out of the way, rough fingers palming the swell of your breast before his mouth sealed over your nipple. He sucked hard until you gasped, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. You arched into it, one hand buried in his hair.

Then his hand was dragging down, fast and possessive, running over your stomach and dipping under the waistband of your borrowed sweats and underwear in one fluid motion. The cold of the vibranium shocked you as his fingers slid between your legs, bold and greedy. 

"Fuck… you’re wet already."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you panted, nails digging into his waist. "Just.. sweat.." 

He laughed, low and dangerous, then sat back on his knees, eyes devouring you like he was already tasting you in his head. In one sharp motion, he shoved your borrowed sweats down. He didn’t hesitate. One rough yank sent your pants halfway down your thighs, and then he was grabbing your hips, dragging you against him like he was starved for it. You grunted, twisting with him as you rolled over, bodies grappling for dominance even now, forcing your pants off to give your legs a full range of motion. 

You clawed at his skin biting down hard on Bucky's neck, marking him, dragging a sound from deep in his chest that was nothing short of feral. He hissed, teeth bared, his hands fumbling with his own waistband before he shoved his sweats down just far enough to free himself.

You didn’t get a warning. No teasing. No buildup.

He shoved into you with a growl, thick and deep and unforgiving. You gasped, the stretch stealing your breath and making your spine arch. He filled you to the hilt, every inch forcing you open until your walls fluttered around him, squeezing back instinctively. The friction was filthy, the burn sublime, your cunt gripping him with a desperate kind of greed.

"Fuck..." he snarled against your cheek, his voice shredded, ragged with the restraint it was costing him not to completely lose control.

You could feel the power in him, muscles tensed like coiled wire as he bottomed out, holding still just long enough for your body to adjust-but it wasn’t nearly enough. Your hips rolled up, instinctive and greedy, chasing the sensation like you needed more of him. Needed him to move, to wreck you. He responded immediately, a brutal snap of his hips that punched a sharp cry out of your throat, the sound swallowed by the thick, humid air.

You dug your heels into the mat, bracing, pulling him deeper as you arched up into every thrust. Your nails raked down his spine, dragging welts along sweat-slick skin. Your cunt clenched hard around him, squeezing tight like you never wanted to let him go, like your body was just as desperate as he was to keep him buried deep inside. He felt massive, every stroke grinding against your sweet spot, slick and devastating.

"Christ..." you gasped, voice wrecked, torn straight from your chest like gravel. You rocked back against him, eyes fluttering, your whole body a raw, trembling thing.

His breath hit your neck, hot and ragged. "You like that?"

You could barely answer, too strung out on the push and pull of his body-but you weren’t yielding. Not completely. One of your hands wrenched free of his grip and tangled in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to crash your mouth to his. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a challenge. A bite.

He snarled and surged forward, dragging you down to the mat fully, but you fought him for every inch of control-hips rolling up to meet his, mouth dragging along his jaw to nip at his throat, your legs locking tighter around his waist. You bit down hard on the hinge of his shoulder, grinning at the guttural sound it tore from his chest.

His hands found yours again, slamming them above your head, pinning you like a wild thing beneath him. But you didn’t go limp. You writhed, arched, snapped your teeth at his throat like you wanted to devour him.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, voice raw and wrecked. "You want to be on top that bad?"

"And let you have all the fun.." you hissed back, eyes blazing.

When he drove into you again, it wasn’t just lust-it was a challenge met, a battle accepted. A dare between beasts. It was teeth and sweat and the raw scrape of skin on skin. Moans caught between gritted teeth. Fingernails carving stories into flesh. Each thrust came with a brutal rhythm, deep and fast, his hips slamming into you with force that rattled through your bones.

You took it. Gave it back. Your cunt squeezed around him like a vise, greedy, refusing to let him retreat. You met him thrust for thrust, voice hoarse and wild, breath panting out curses and gasps.

"Come on, Barnes. You wanted a fight-fucking take it."

He snarled like an animal, dragging his mouth down your neck as he ground against your sweet spot. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"You should be so lucky," you spat as his teeth meat your skin. 

Your thighs trembled with the effort, but your fire didn’t fade. You rocked up hard, lips dragging along his jaw before sinking your teeth into his neck again, marking him with pride. You felt his cock twitch in response.

"You're not the only one who likes to bite, Barnes," you growled into his ear.

He hissed again, head tipping forward, the movement desperate. His hands fumbled, trying to grab your hips, trying to hold you still as you took control of the rhythm, riding him from beneath with nothing but fury and fire and hunger.

"You’re fuckin’ feral," he panted.

"You love it," you breathed, grinding harder.

"Yeah," he gasped. "Yeah, I fuckin’ do."

You weren’t being fucked. You were fucking him back. And he loved every damn second of it.

His pace turned punishing, hips slamming into yours with an obscene, wet sound. The mat beneath you squeaked with the force of it, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing loud in the gym. You couldn’t stay quiet-not when he was grinding into you just right, hitting that perfect angle with brutal consistency.

Your body jolted with each stroke, every nerve ending flaring as friction sparked raw heat beneath your skin. The stretch had your mouth falling open, your breath coming in faster bursts as your muscles twitched, clenching around him. Heat bloomed at the base of your spine, thick and molten, curling tighter with every brutal snap of his hips until it was all you could do to breathe.

"Fuck-god yes-"

He didn’t stop. Didn’t soften. He just growled, pulled out with a curse, and flipped you over in one effortless move, dragging your hips up until you were on your knees, chest still pressed to the mat.

"Thought you were tough," he rasped, voice scraping hot against your ear.

You barely caught your breath, heart hammering in your chest, your body still twitching with aftershocks, when he grabbed your hips and shoved back inside you from behind in one brutal, claiming thrust. The impact rocked you forward with a gasp, your hands bracing against the mat to keep from collapsing.

"Fuck, Bucky-"

His hips snapped forward, dragging a broken moan from your lips. "Say it again," he growled.

"Fuck, Bucky!"

He was deeper like this-thicker, overwhelming. You choked out a moan as your walls clamped down hard around him, the sound raw and broken. One of his hands wrapped tightly around the back of your neck, keeping you down, the pressure firm but grounding, while the other dragged between your legs with unrelenting purpose. His fingers found your clit and began rubbing ruthless, tight circles that made your entire body jump.

"That’s it. Give it to me," he murmured, low and possessive.

You bit down on your own forearm to stifle the sound building in your throat, but it was useless. The sensation was too much, too fast. The drag of him inside you was merciless-slick and raw, every stroke grinding against your tender walls, forcing you wider with each thrust. The sound of your bodies colliding was obscene, wet and rhythmic, as though he was carving himself into your core with every brutal snap of his hips. He didn’t just fill you-he overwhelmed you, like his cock was made to split you open and stay buried until you forgot anything but the pulse of him pounding into that aching spot deep inside. Your muscles tensed-shoulders, thighs, back-locking up like you were going to snap in half.

"I’m gonna-shit-Bucky, I’m-"

Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train-merciless, sudden, all-consuming. Your vision went white at the edges as stars burst behind your eyelids, a raw scream tearing from your throat. Your body locked up, then convulsed, wave after wave of climax pulsing through you with maddening intensity. You twitched, your thighs quaking, your cunt spasming tight around him as overstimulation clawed at your nerves. A sob caught in your throat as he kept going, dragging every ounce of sensation from you until your muscles gave out entirely.

Behind you, Bucky snarled your name like a curse and a prayer, barely holding on. He slammed into you one final time and froze, his entire body trembling with restraint as your cunt clenched and fluttered around him, milking him with rhythmic, desperate spasms. His head dropped to your back, and for a moment he couldn’t even breathe.

"Fucking-god, you feel unreal," he choked out, hips giving a helpless jerk as he tried not to lose it too soon.

His hips jerked erratically, cock pulsing thick inside you. You felt the twitch and heat of him spilling deep, his release pushing you into another soft, shuddering aftershock. He bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave an imprint, muffling his cry as his orgasm tore through him.

"You’re mine," he gasped, nearly inaudible, more instinct than declaration.

Your body gave out first. You slumped to the mat, arms too weak to hold you up. "You..you think you won that fight?" you panted, half-laughing, half-broken.

He followed you down, still buried inside, both of you breathless and slick with sweat. For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the quiet creak of the gym around you.

He sagged over your back for a long moment, still inside you, both of you panting, sweat dripping from his forehead to your spine.

Eventually Bucky pulled out with a groan and flopped beside you, still catching his breath.

Neither of you spoke.

Not yet.

"Think anyone heard that?"

You let out a dry laugh, turning your head slightly where it rested against the mat. "If they didn’t, they’ll see the marks tomorrow."

He let out a rough sound beside you, one arm flung over his eyes like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "Gonna have to bullshit my way through a morning meeting."

"Not my problem," you said, still breathless but smiling. "I don’t recall you complaining."

"I’m not. But if I stand, I’m going to fall."

You snorted, finally shifting enough to flop onto your back, your chest still rising and falling. "You going to get in trouble?"

He rolled his head toward you, expression unreadable but softer around the edges. "Probably. You?"

You exhaled slowly. "Definitely."

A pause stretched between you, thick with the weight of what just happened. But when he passed you your tank, his fingers brushed yours-slow, warm, deliberate. Like he wanted you to notice.

"Same time next week?" he asked, a flicker of something more in his voice.

You met his gaze, smirking.

"Sooner."

TAGS: @ruexj283, @yesiamthatwierd, @trojanaurora, @hextech-bros

y’all this is so pretty, it’s like a dream mood board. i want it on my wall

hope you like pink

when you just finished one of the most beautiful fics ever written and you see that the author has a masterlist full of other fics

*watches a fictional man bloody, bruised, beaten, and dying* ahh yes the female gaze

REBLOG if you have amazing, talented WRITER friends.

Because I certainly do, and I love every single one of them and their work.