Latest Posts by greywritesthings - Page 2

Steve Rogers

Agent - angst smut fluff

Masterlist

Masterlist

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Peter Parker

Rules for requests

Agent

Steve Rogers x reader

Angst -> smut -> fluff

Warnings - fighting, guns, Breif mention of R being ex hydra, panic attack, Steve being cold to reader, reader getting into shit, PinV sex, fingering that’s it I think? Written in my notes app

Masterlist

Since you had moved into the tower Steve had seemed pissed off with you. Cold hard stares, conversations only when nessesary, half the time he wouldnt even take you opinion on the movie for movie night. Just generally keeping you at arms length.

You tried your best still, working hard to earn his trust and respect but nothing seemed to matter. You made friends with the others, including Bucky, you cooked with Wanda, watched movies with Bucky, trained with Nat, you even cooped up with Clint in the vents sometimes with Thors poptarts but steve was a whole different ballpark.

Natasha was down after a solo mission went awry, leaving her out of training for a few days, that was when you got the text

"Training room in an hour. - SR"

You thought you were going to be training with Clint, Tony or even Parker, you didnt think Steve would volunteer himself to train with you, especially given the last mission.

Flashback

You knew the mission was going to go either way, Steve wanted it to be a stealthy in and out but bucky was hell bent on the fact that you would get caught in a fire fight and given he knew the hydra base you were all dropping into you were inclinded to trust his judgement, and that caused even more friction between you and steve.

It was the middle of the well predicted fight that steve seemed to really get pissed off. You were on the otherside of the base, backed into a corner and not responding to comms, to focused on keeping yourself alive. Steve was yelling down your earpeice trying to get a response, bucky silently making his way over to you. You were by no means helpless in battle but an eight vs one put the odds against you.

You were in the middle of trying to climb out of the hole in the roof you had made when steve grabs your hand, you let him pull you up, firing final shots as he does, taking the last few agents down as you are pulled to your feet.

Once your on your feet and check that no other agents are around you you look up at steve, meeting his eye and seeing what you took as pure anger.

"What the hell were you thinking Agent!" He nearly yells at you, the title grating you. Steve made a point never to use your name, allways using Agent instead and it pissed you off.

"Trying to save my ass is what! I didnt intentionally corner myself into a one verses eight now did i!?" You yell back, frustrated, adrenaline lessening now the fight is over, leaving you with the rampant post fight anxiety.

Steve goes to respond when you feel a presence behind you and a hand on your shoulder, bucky, the man seemed to understand you without words. He gets steve to back off, you know hes argued with him over his treatment of you and you know it probably doesnt help your relationship with Steve but at times like these you were thankfull for the backup.

Your hands shake as your brain automatically counts the number of lives you may have taken, you never asked for confimed kills, trying your best to avoid killing when you could. You took enough lives as a hydra assasin.

"Cmon doll, back to the jet, Punk your driving" bucky says quietly, metal arm wrapping around your shoulder to ground you.

Once you were back on the jet you settled in the corner as best you could, knee bouncing, hand scratching at your arm at your eyes fixate on the wall. You cant hear anything, you could barley controll your breathing, on the brink of hyperventilating when a voice started talking to you, a hand on your shoulder that you assumed was bucky.

The voice talked you down through your panic attack, the memorys running through your head of hydra and the lives you took. The voice remained steady, the hand never leaving untill your breathing evened out and your knee stopped bouncing, then it left, unusual for bucky but you had assumed he had to help steve fly the jet.

End of flashback

You get changed and finish your hair so it wont get in the way of training and head down to the training rooms where you see Steve already is, along with Bucky in the corner.

"Hey Bucky! Captain" you greet as they both turn towards the sound of the doors opening and Steve motions you to the mat for sparring.

The first round between you goes well you thought, Steve had won out overall but you had put up a good fight, till he started critiquing you on every little misstep.

"Agent you really need to step it up, in position" He said as he readied himself again for the second round.

The second round goes much the same but you are sharper with your movements, more concentrated, till you here Bucky say somthing off to the side that breaks it for a fraction of a second and you dont see Steves foot coming for your ribs, doging too late and falling back with a gasp.

"Agent I said do better!" He barks at you already standing in position on the otherside of the mat as you stagger onto your feet, winded but overall fine.

"Sorry captain." You say through gritted teeth, aiming to win.

This time as steve expects you to hit high you fein asif your going to sweep your leg out to knock his from under him, as he ducks to block you jump up, wraping your legs around his head, pulling him forwards and over you, landing on his chest. You grapple with him, fighting for a hold on his wrists.

You notice he doesnt seem to be putting up a whole lot of fight but choose to ignore it, grabbing his wrists and pinning his hips down so he cant shift you off of him.

You hear the door close to the side of you and ignore it, focusing on Steve. You look him in the eye and for once you dont recognise the look in them. Your used to a cold hard stare thats masking anything underneath, this is somthing you havent seen.

His pupils are blown, blush covering his face, mouth slightly open as he breaths hard. "Well done Agent" he murmers, face so close to yours now.

The tension crackles in the air, the man you thought hated you, the same man you have had a growing crush on for a while now despite everything, the same man bucky had heard all about your growing feelings for, was now pinned underneath you, and if you had moved an inch you would have been able to feel his growing hard on underneath you.

"Wish you would stop calling me that, Captain" you murmer, keeping eye contact, sure that your expression is doing about the same as his right now.

Thats when he takes you by suprise, pulling his wrists free, grabbing your waist and rolling you under him as you gasp in suprise. "What would you rather, Sugar?" He leans in close to your ear as you blush even worse now, gasping softly.

Steve then moves faster than you can keep track in the haze your in, one second your pinned underneath him, the next your in his arms and being walked out if the gym towards his room.

"You drive me nuts you know? you allways have" he says as he gets to his room, pinning you against the door.

"Thought you hated me" you respond quietly, feeling him fully pressed against you, leaning your head down, shy now.

He places a hand under your chin, forcing your head to tilt up and you to make eye contact with him, "I didn't hate you, I just, I didn't know how to act with my feelings, I wanted to protect you so i kept you at arms length" he murmers, lips centimeters away from yours.

"Dont have to anymore Steve" you say, tilting your head to the side slightly, voice soft, almost begging for him to come closer.

And he does.

He finally connects your lips in a soft kiss, lips moving slowly against yours, one hand grabbing your ass tightly as the others thumb moves slowly against your jaw as your arms wrap across his shoulders.

Eventually you both have to pull away for air, forheads leaning on eachother as you catch your breath, just staring at eachother for a moment.

"You have no idea how long iv wanted that sugar, you okay?" He says, voice husky as he moves you off of the door and towards the bed, as you nod he drops you onto the bed, following after you as you move back upto the headboard.

You pull him down against you, hands tangling into his hair as you pull him in for another kiss, this time full of heat and need, you both let out you own moans as the kiss gets deeper, steve taking the opportunity to slip his tounge into your mouth, as his hips softly rut down against you.

Steve eventually pulls away murmering a soft "fuck" as you let out a whimper, his mouth trails down your neck, leaving kisses and hickeys as he went, still rutting his length down against you as his hands started to explore over your shirt. Eventually he reached the hem and tentatively reached underneath, when you didnt he reached further, pulling your shirt up, eventually up and over your head, quickly reaching behind your back and undoing your bra.

His mouth moved down too your breast, mouth covering one nipple while his hand pinched and twisted the other, making you moan and arch of the bed "Fuck baby please"you whine quietly as he lets out a low laugh.

"I know sugar I know" he says pulling away, quickly yanking his shirt over his head. "Strip for me honey" the words are soft but it sounds like an order.

You quickly pull off your remaining clothes and settle back down against the bed as you watch him strip down, paying particular interest to his leaking length that was now visible to you.

He climbs back onto you and leans into another heated kiss, pushing his way into his mouth, trailing his hand down to where you needed him most, fingers so close to where you needed him.

"Please baby please" you beg softly urging him on as his lips move to your neck, leaving more hickeys as he went. He finally moved he fingers to where you needed him, teasing you before pushing one inside making you let out a whine.

"Good girl, gotta get you ready for me yeah" he says as he pumps his finger in and out of you as your hips jerk up

He continues pumping and then adds a second finger as you pull at his hair, moaning softly as he talks you through it.

"Such a good girl f'me hm? My girl, Was so mean to you but dont worry Im going to make it up to you dont worry honey" He says as he adds a third finger, circling his thumb around your clit as you whine loudly, hands scratching up his back and into his hair, tugging as you feel yourself get closer to the edge.

"Please baby please fuck oh my god" you bable inbetween moans, so close to the edge just needing a little bit more

Thats when Steve curls his fingers just so, hitting that spongey spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your vision white as steve sucks on your tits once again as you cum on his fingers with a loud moan.

"Good girl, thats my good girl, my good little slut for me hm?" Steve says into the crook of your neck as he slows down, letting you ride it out, pulling out slowly, repositioning himself inbetween your legs do his length was nearly poking at your enterance.

"Please stevie, need you, need you baby" you start to whine when steve sheaths himself inside you fully before you can finish your begging leaving you breathless.

Steve gives you time to adjust to him inside you before starting to move, letting out a low groan and burying his head into your neck, biting down as you pull on his hair. He knows hes not going to last with the way you feel around him and you know you arent going to either.

"Fuck baby you feel so good, im not going to last long, such a good girl sugar, so tight" steve rambled on, talking you through it as he picked up his thrusts, hitting that perfect spot inside you bringing you closer to the edge.

As he nipped at your neck he reached down to your clit and rubbed small figure eights against it "you going to cum for me baby? Yeah you going to cum for me huh? Cmon baby cum for me wana feel you" he encouraged applying just a little more pressure as you tightened around him, cumming around him with a cry, leaving scratch marks up his back as you feel him cum inside you with a low groan as you come down, hot ropes of his cum hitting your insides.

You both lay there for a while in the quiet, both still breathing heavy as you recover before steve moves to pull out causing you to whine.

"Cmere you" he says with a small chuckle as he pulls out and rolls over, laying on the bed and pulling you ontop of him, reaching for the duvet to cover you both.

"I am sorry for being cruel to you sugar" steve says into the quiet

"You werent cruel, cold sure but not cruel but its okay, what would be cruel is not letting me sleep" you mumble into his neck, biting him a little.

He laughs a little "okay okay, you can sleep" he finishes as he pulls you closer, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of you lull him into sleep.

Since you had moved into the tower Steve had seemed pissed off with you. Cold hard stares, conversations only when nessesary, half the time he wouldnt even take you opinion on the movie for movie night. Just generally keeping you at arms length.

You tried your best still, working hard to earn his trust and respect but nothing seemed to matter. You made friends with the others, including Bucky, you cooked with Wanda, watched movies with Bucky, trained with Nat, you even cooped up with Clint in the vents sometimes with Thors poptarts but steve was a whole different ballpark.

Natasha was down after a solo mission went awry, leaving her out of training for a few days, that was when you got the text

"Training room in an hour. - SR"

You thought you were going to be training with Clint, Tony or even Parker, you didnt think Steve would volunteer himself to train with you, especially given the last mission.

Flashback?

You knew the mission was going to go either way, Steve wanted it to be a stealthy in and out but bucky was hell bent on the fact that you would get caught in a fire fight and given he knew the hydra base you were all dropping into you were inclinded to trust his judgement, and that caused even more friction between you and steve.

It was the middle of the well predicted fight that steve seemed to really get pissed off. You were on the otherside of the base, backed into a corner and not responding to comms, to focused on keeping yourself alive. Steve was yelling down your earpeice trying to get a response, bucky silently making his way over to you. You were by no means helpless in battle but an eight vs one put the odds against you.

You were in the middle of trying to climb out of the hole in the roof you had made when steve grabs your hand, you let him pull you up, firing final shots as he does, taking the last few agents down as you are pulled to your feet.

Once your on your feet and check that no other agents are around you you look up at steve, meeting his eye and seeing what you took as pure anger.

"What the hell were you thinking Agent!" He nearly yells at you, the title grating you. Steve made a point never to use your name, allways using Agent instead and it pissed you off.

"Trying to save my ass is what! I didnt intentionally corner myself into a one verses eight now did i!?" You yell back, frustrated, adrenaline lessening now the fight is over, leaving you with the rampant post fight anxiety.

Steve goes to respond when you feel a presence behind you and a hand on your shoulder, bucky, the man seemed to understand you without words. He gets steve to back off, you know hes argued with him over his treatment of you and you know it probably doesnt help your relationship with Steve but at times like these you were thankfull for the backup.

Your hands shake as your brain automatically counts the number of lives you may have taken, you never asked for confimed kills, trying your best to avoid killing when you could. You took enough lives as a hydra assasin.

"Cmon doll, back to the jet, Punk your driving" bucky says quietly, metal arm wrapping around your shoulder to ground you.

Once you were back on the jet you settled in the corner as best you could, knee bouncing, hand scratching at your arm at your eyes fixate on the wall. You cant hear anything, you could barley controll your breathing, on the brink of hyperventilating when a voice started talking to you, a hand on your shoulder that you assumed was bucky.

The voice talked you down through your panic attack, the memorys running through your head of hydra and the lives you took. The voice remained steady, the hand never leaving untill your breathing evened out and your knee stopped bouncing, then it left, unusual for bucky but you had assumed he had to help steve fly the jet.

End of flashback

You get changed and finish your hair so it wont get in the way of training and head down to the training rooms where you see Steve already is, along with Bucky in the corner.

"Hey Bucky! Captain" you greet as they both turn towards the sound of the doors opening and Steve motions you to the mat for sparring.

The first round between you goes well you thought, Steve had won out overall but you had put up a good fight, till he started critiquing you on every little misstep.

"Agent you really need to step it up, in position" He said as he readied himself again for the second round.

The second round goes much the same but you are sharper with your movements, more concentrated, till you here Bucky say somthing off to the side that breaks it for a fraction of a second and you dont see Steves foot coming for your ribs, doging too late and falling back with a gasp.

"Agent I said do better!" He barks at you already standing in position on the otherside of the mat as you stagger onto your feet, winded but overall fine.

"Sorry captain." You say through gritted teeth, aiming to win.

This time as steve expects you to hit high you fein asif your going to sweep your leg out to knock his from under him, as he ducks to block you jump up, wraping your legs around his head, pulling him forwards and over you, landing on his chest. You grapple with him, fighting for a hold on his wrists.

You notice he doesnt seem to be putting up a whole lot of fight but choose to ignore it, grabbing his wrists and pinning his hips down so he cant shift you off of him.

You hear the door close to the side of you and ignore it, focusing on Steve. You look him in the eye and for once you dont recognise the look in them. Your used to a cold hard stare thats masking anything underneath, this is somthing you havent seen.

His pupils are blown, blush covering his face, mouth slightly open as he breaths hard. "Well done Agent" he murmers, face so close to yours now.

The tension crackles in the air, the man you thought hated you, the same man you have had a growing crush on for a while now despite everything, the same man bucky had heard all about your growing feelings for, was now pinned underneath you, and if you had moved an inch you would have been able to feel his growing hard on underneath you.

"Wish you would stop calling me that, Captain" you murmer, keeping eye contact, sure that your expression is doing about the same as his right now.

Thats when he takes you by suprise, pulling his wrists free, grabbing your waist and rolling you under him as you gasp in suprise. "What would you rather, Sugar?" He leans in close to your ear as you blush even worse now, gasping softly.

Steve then moves faster than you can keep track in the haze your in, one second your pinned underneath him, the next your in his arms and being walked out if the gym towards his room.

"You drive me nuts you know? you allways have" he says as he gets to his room, pinning you against the door.

"Thought you hated me" you respond quietly, feeling him fully pressed against you, leaning your head down, shy now.

He places a hand under your chin, forcing your head to tilt up and you to make eye contact with him, "I didn't hate you, I just, I didn't know how to act with my feelings, I wanted to protect you so i kept you at arms length" he murmers, lips centimeters away from yours.

"Dont have to anymore Steve" you say, tilting your head to the side slightly, voice soft, almost begging for him to come closer.

And he does.

He finally connects your lips in a soft kiss, lips moving slowly against yours, one hand grabbing your ass tightly as the others thumb moves slowly against your jaw as your arms wrap across his shoulders.

Eventually you both have to pull away for air, forheads leaning on eachother as you catch your breath, just staring at eachother for a moment.

"You have no idea how long iv wanted that sugar, you okay?" He says, voice husky as he moves you off of the door and towards the bed, as you nod he drops you onto the bed, following after you as you move back upto the headboard.

You pull him down against you, hands tangling into his hair as you pull him in for another kiss, this time full of heat and need, you both let out you own moans as the kiss gets deeper, steve taking the opportunity to slip his tounge into your mouth, as his hips softly rut down against you.

Steve eventually pulls away murmering a soft "fuck" as you let out a whimper, his mouth trails down your neck, leaving kisses and hickeys as he went, still rutting his length down against you as his hands started to explore over your shirt. Eventually he reached the hem and tentatively reached underneath, when you didnt he reached further, pulling your shirt up, eventually up and over your head, quickly reaching behind your back and undoing your bra.

His mouth moved down too your breast, mouth covering one nipple while his hand pinched and twisted the other, making you moan and arch of the bed "Fuck baby please"you whine quietly as he lets out a low laugh.

"I know sugar I know" he says pulling away, quickly yanking his shirt over his head. "Strip for me honey" the words are soft but it sounds like an order.

You quickly pull off your remaining clothes and settle back down against the bed as you watch him strip down, paying particular interest to his leaking length that was now visible to you.

He climbs back onto you and leans into another heated kiss, pushing his way into his mouth, trailing his hand down to where you needed him most, fingers so close to where you needed him.

"Please baby please" you beg softly urging him on as his lips move to your neck, leaving more hickeys as he went. He finally moved he fingers to where you needed him, teasing you before pushing one inside making you let out a whine.

"Good girl, gotta get you ready for me yeah" he says as he pumps his finger in and out of you as your hips jerk up

He continues pumping and then adds a second finger as you pull at his hair, moaning softly as he talks you through it.

"Such a good girl f'me hm? My girl, Was so mean to you but dont worry Im going to make it up to you dont worry honey" He says as he adds a third finger, circling his thumb around your clit as you whine loudly, hands scratching up his back and into his hair, tugging as you feel yourself get closer to the edge.

"Please baby please fuck oh my god" you bable inbetween moans, so close to the edge just needing a little bit more

Thats when Steve curls his fingers just so, hitting that spongey spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your vision white as steve sucks on your tits once again as you cum on his fingers with a loud moan.

"Good girl, thats my good girl, my good little slut for me hm?" Steve says into the crook of your neck as he slows down, letting you ride it out, pulling out slowly, repositioning himself inbetween your legs do his length was nearly poking at your enterance.

"Please stevie, need you, need you baby" you start to whine when steve sheaths himself inside you fully before you can finish your begging leaving you breathless.

Steve gives you time to adjust to him inside you before starting to move, letting out a low groan and burying his head into your neck, biting down as you pull on his hair. He knows hes not going to last with the way you feel around him and you know you arent going to either.

"Fuck baby you feel so good, im not going to last long, such a good girl sugar, so tight" steve rambled on, talking you through it as he picked up his thrusts, hitting that perfect spot inside you bringing you closer to the edge.

As he nipped at your neck he reached down to your clit and rubbed small figure eights against it "you going to cum for me baby? Yeah you going to cum for me huh? Cmon baby cum for me wana feel you" he encouraged applying just a little more pressure as you tightened around him, cumming around him with a cry, leaving scratch marks up his back as you feel him cum inside you with a low groan as you come down, hot ropes of his cum hitting your insides.

You both lay there for a while in the quiet, both still breathing heavy as you recover before steve moves to pull out causing you to whine.

"Cmere you" he says with a small chuckle as he pulls out and rolls over, laying on the bed and pulling you ontop of him, reaching for the duvet to cover you both.

"I am sorry for being cruel to you sugar" steve says into the quiet

"You werent cruel, cold sure but not cruel but its okay, what would be cruel is not letting me sleep" you mumble into his neck, biting him a little.

He laughs a little "okay okay, you can sleep" he finishes as he pulls you closer, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of you lull him into sleep.

watching a movie at home circa like, 2001 was like

put your TV on channel 2 so the VCR will work

open up the clamp shell case that held the VHS that has that satisfying crrlikkkkkk

put in the movie

gdi it has to be rewound

press STOP and then rewind because its so much faster that way

start the movie and it takes a few seconds for the movie to actually start cause you rewound to the VERY beginning

FBI will get you if you illegally distribute or exhibit this movie

and then. because you forgot that movies are always so much louder than TV

COMING SOON TO OWN ON VIDEO AND DVD

QUICK LOWER THE VOLUME LOWER THE VOLUME LOWER THE VOLUME OH FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay crisis averted.

although. these ads are kind of quiet. a little hard to hear.....

better turn up the volume...

THX

they did it again

Its F1 this weekend im about to get INSUFFERABLE

i check tumblr on my phone like i read the newspaper and i am devastated

Oh my GOD i live this lil series i cannot wait for pt 3

Five Years That Felt Like a Millennium (2) — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x reader

Word count: 7,579

Summary: Baby Girl isn't doing too well after seeing Quentin.

Warnings: illusions and mention of violence, abuse, manipulation, and cheating, self-deprecation, fluff, flirting, angst

Note: I apologize for my absence. The response to the first part has been unbelievable! Thank you all so much. I hope I can do it justice.

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Happy Reading! 💜

Bucky didn't know a person could cry so much. Surely, the body must have surpassed a threshold ages ago for maximum fluid expulsion, but it seemed unlikely. Tears ran unbidden down Baby Girl's face, soaking into her white camisole, still wet from the lake. At least her body no longer wracked with sobs, which was a small accomplishment, he supposed.

He filled a glass with cold water. "Here, drink this."

Baby Girl's movements were almost mechanical as she took measured sips, slowly draining the glass. She stared at her reflection in the crystal, then abruptly stood, making Bucky hastily step back. Barefoot and half-dressed, she made for the front door.

Bucky blocked her path. "Where are you going?"

She went around him and reached for the handle, but Bucky intercepted her just in time, pulling her by the wrist. Her eyes were unfocused and wild, darting this way and that. "Hey!" She froze. "Hey," he said again, softer and with considerably less force. "What's going on in that smart brain of yours, huh? What are you thinking?"

"I need to find Quentin," she gulped. "I need to apologize to him. I need to make things right before he—"

She choked on her words, but Bucky knew her enough by now to predict what she would say next. "Before he what? Before he hurts Sam?"

Her face crumpled. "Maybe if I get down on my knees and beg, he'll forgive me, and things can go back to the way they used to be."

Bucky felt his previous anger return. Quentin Beck was a goddamn asshole because, in the span of a few minutes, he had managed to turn a bright and bubbly soul into an inconsolable mess.

"Is that really what you want?" he asked. "You want things to go back to the way they used to be?" Bucky already knew Baby Girl's answer, but he felt it was imperative for her to acknowledge out loud.

"No," she croaked. "Not really, but I don't have a choice. Quentin will hurt Sam and his family."

Bucky wiped the fresh tears from her face, letting his hands linger on her cheeks. "And what about you? He's hurting you. Are you not Sam's family?"

Baby girl began crying anew. Bucky carried her to the couch and held her close, letting her tears run down his bare skin. They sat like that until her breathing eventually evened, and her eyes drooped close. Bucky didn't dare move. Baby Girl was cradled in his arms and against his neck, legs stretched on the couch.

His eyes began to close, sleep slowly taking over, and he was going to let it. They both needed rest after the day's events, but sleep wasn't in his fortune. Bucky's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he startled awake, awkwardly maneuvering around to retrieve it without disturbing Baby Girl.

It was Sam. Bucky glanced down at the sleeping form in his arms. Dried tears painted her face, her eyes were puffy, and her nose red. Bucky's heart lurched in his chest, and he made a hasty decision—promise be damned, Bucky would fix this for her.

He answered the call. "Hey, Sam." And told him everything .

"Sam?" Bucky asked, after Sam had been quiet too long.

Sam sounded wretched with grief. "I knew something was wrong. I just never imagined..."

Bucky sighed, already anticipating the blame game. A family trait, he considered. "It's not your fault. Quentin Beck is to blame, and he will pay for his actions, I promise you." Though Bucky couldn't see him, he imagined Sam nodding his frustration. "Do you think you could get in contact with Congressman Lockhart?"

"Congressman Lock—why?"

"He owes me a favour," said Bucky, not mentioning that he had saved Lockhart's life. "How much are you willing to bet that Lockhart has met Quentin Beck before, and that Beck has probably left a less-than-savoury impression on the Congressman?"

"I don't understand."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Sam."

Sam was impressed. "I'll ask Torres to get us in contact."

Bucky smirked, feeling a satisfaction spread over him at the thought of Quentin Beck rotting in a jail cell. "You do that. When do you think you'll be back?"

Baby Girl shifted in his arms, and Bucky softened his voice. "Day after tomorrow? Alright, keep me updated." He ended the call.

"Who was that?" came a groggy voice. Baby Girl's eyes were closed, and she was in the process of waking up.

"Sam," Bucky answered, adjusting her in his arms. "His business is taking longer than usual. He and Sarah will be back in a few days.

Baby Girl pushed away from Bucky, sat up next to him, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes trailed to his chest and widened in mortification. "Shit, I'm so sorry. I drooled all over you."

When she reached over to wipe him clean, he grabbed her wrist. "Why do you make it a habit to apologize for things out of your control?"

She suddenly jerked away from him, putting ample space between them. "I can hardly help how I feel. If I feel sorry, I apologize."

"Well, don't." Bucky stretched his legs, groaning at the relief. "I'm a grown man," he teased, wiping his chest with the back of his hand. "I can handle a little drool."

Baby girl looked down at her palms, forlorn and despondent. "I'm a mess," she muttered.

"Yes, you are," Bucky responded quietly. She jerked her head in surprise, expecting him to dispute her. But she didn't need his false reassurances any longer. Bucky wanted the full weight of her circumstances bearing down on her so she might escape from the haze of melancholy and finally fight back.

Bucky looked out the window at the setting sun. It cast a beautiful golden glow over the two of them. "You should change into something comfortable," he told her. "There's a lot to talk about."

"Quentin was in one of my electives at school." Baby Girl was freshly showered and changed, wearing Bucky's sweats because she was out of clean clothes. They were enormous on her frame, which suited her well.

Bucky had also changed and was sitting across from her on the kitchen table, a warm cup of tea in his hands. It was something floral with a bitter note. He took his plain while she drowned hers in honey.

"Abnormal Psychology," she continued, "which is ironic because I diagnosed him with narcissism a few years into our relationship. I never told him, obviously. It wouldn't have ended well."

The conversation—long overdue—produced a painful pit in Bucky's stomach. He recognized it as suppressed rage, slowly building in potency and power. Bucky took a large sip of his tea, letting it burn his tongue so he might focus on anything other than the need to punch Beck's face.

"I tripped over his bag. He helped me up; apologized, and asked me to dinner."

Bucky couldn't help how bitter he sounded. "And you said yes."

She looked at him with dead eyes. "I wish I had. Then my life wouldn't have turned into a Shakespearean tragedy."

"That seems a bit bleak," Bucky snorted.

"But isn't it?" she implored. "Bleak? He was my first serious boyfriend; I moved in with him after two weeks and quit my job after a month. He didn't say 'I love you' until I threatened to leave him when I found out he was cheating. I pretended to look the other way when I found another girl's bra in our bed. I laughed when I saw lipstick stains on his collar. I gave him my virginity on my birthday, the day after I found out he cheated on me again. If that isn't bleak, if that isn't a tragedy, then what is? Perhaps it's the fact that I made excuses for him the first time he hit me. I told myself he was aiming for the wall, and I got in the way of his fist, but let's be honest, I was deluding myself."

Baby girl took a deep breath and dug her nails into the table. Her previous sorrow was replaced with unbridled anger. "I recognized all the signs. I knew he was using me—manipulating me! He even said so himself. We were at a party, and his friend said I was 'quite something.' Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean! Quentin said, 'She is, isn't she? But I gotta tell you, I'm not with her for that brain of hers.' I was standing right next to him! He and his friends undressed me with their eyes, and I just stood there and smiled!"

Bucky felt his rage simmering—at Beck, at the situation, at her . "Why are you blaming yourself? It's not your fault!"

Baby Girl pushed away from the table and paced around. "Don't!" she shouted. "Nothing you say will make this okay, Bucky. Nothing you say will make what I did okay!"

Bucky stood up as well, breathing heavily. He had known her less than a week but already felt burning concern on her behalf. "And what did you do?"

"Nothing!" she screamed, and her shrill voice echoed throughout the empty house. "I did nothing! Quentin threatened Sam, then once Sam blipped, he threatened Sarah and the boys, and I knew it wasn't a bluff because he had the connections to back him up. I knew, because I'm the one who helped him get those connections in the first place!"

Bucky sucked in a quick breath. "What connections?" Baby Girl had calmed somewhat after her brief yet brutal rant, and she sat down at the table, sipping her tea.

"What connections!" Bucky almost shouted.

Baby Girl startled. "I don't know! Businessmen, stockbrokers, a lot of Wall Street types. They paid attention to him when he had a pretty girl on his arm."

"Was that all?" Bucky probed.

Baby Girl shook her head. "There were a lot of government officials, too. I told you, remember? FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, Senators, UN spokespersons, congressmen, federal court judges—"

"Repeat that."

"Federal court—"

"No!" Bucky interrupted again. "What you said before."

"Congressmen?" Baby Girl huffed in annoyance. "I don't understand why that stood out to you the most. Are federal court judges not impressive enough for you, Bucky?"

Bucky ignored her snark and sat across from her. "Do you happen to know a Congressman Lockhart?"

Baby Girl paused before taking a sip from her cup. "Surprisingly, yes. Mr. Lockhart left a lasting impression when he didn't try looking down my dress every few minutes or shoving his hand up my leg."

"That's disgusting," he frowned.

"That's life," Baby Girl retorted. "Trust me, I had it better than most women."

Bucky shook his head, hating how she downplayed her struggles. "That's not okay."

Baby Girl scoffed without heat. "Like things were so much better in the forties. Right, Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky ignored any feelings the utterance of his title from her lips brought forth. "I didn't stand for that then, and I don't stand for it now."

Thankfully, she seemed to have mercy on him and let the topic slide. "He didn't seem to like Quentin much; Lockhart. He asked me a lot of questions, and I think he got suspicious when I couldn't answer anything."

"Like what?"

"Like what I do for work, my interests, how I met Quentin. I couldn't tell him anything without revealing how abusive Quentin was. He especially didn't like it when he found out I was Sam Wilson's adopted kid sister."

Bucky was intrigued. "What did he say?"

"Nothing. He ignored Quentin for the rest of the event, but right before it ended, he pulled me aside and..." she trailed off.

"What?" Bucky encouraged her.

Baby Girl looked at him with shame and guilt swimming in her irises. "Congressman Lockhart told me I was making a mistake. He told me Quentin was using me because of my relation to Sam Wilson. He told me men like Quentin were rotten to the core, and I should run the other way and never look back." She gulped. "I should've listened to him."

Bucky shook his head. "You made a decision. You couldn't have known."

She didn't hear him, seemingly playing the scene in her mind. "Then the strangest thing happened. Congressman Lockhart called a few days later to meet about the project Quentin had proposed. Quentin was ecstatic, as you can imagine. He was overly sweet with me that day." Her brows puckered in confusion. "But I never understood... Why warn me away from Quentin only to cozy up to him later?"

Bucky leaned back in his chair, thinking everything over, connecting the dots. "Congressman Lockhart is a good man," he said. "A good and clever man."

Baby Girl narrowed her eyes. "How do you know him anyway? What does he have to do with anything?"

Bucky hesitated. He didn't want to get her hopes up if his plan didn't work, but he also couldn't watch her beat herself up any longer. This girl, this beautiful and feisty girl, had Bucky wrapped around her fingers since she wrapped her arms around his waist that day on his bike. This girl, who laughed and cried and smiled and was never afraid to voice her opinion. This girl, who looked at Bucky with admiration in her eyes, who looked at his metal arm with gentle curiosity and without any of the disgust or malice he was used to. Who kept her questions light and discrete so as not to unsettle him. This girl, this beautiful and feisty girl, who made Bucky smile.

He would do anything for her. Even if it meant keeping his scheme a secret.

Bucky hesitated, not wanting to lie to her, but finding he had little choice. "I have a plan," he said. "To get rid of Quentin Beck for good."

And Bucky was presented, for the first time since their swim in the lake, a genuine and awe-filled smile, directed entirely at him.

"Lemonade?"

Bucky swam toward the deck, hoisting himself from the lake. Baby Girl was sitting on the edge, letting her bare feet skim the cool water. "You take such good care of me," Bucky teased. He gave a playful shake of his head, sending droplets of water her way.

Baby Girl shrieked and raised her hands to cover her face. "You ass!"

With a chuckle, Bucky leaned back on his elbow, reaching for the drink.

"And to think I brought you sustenance!" Baby Girl pushed a plate of fruit toward him.

Bucky picked up a fruit with a deep purple flesh and examined it with suspicion. "Is this alien food? It looks like something you might find in Asgard."

Baby Girl stared in awe. "You've been to Asgard?"

Bucky was still looking at the teardrop-shaped product. "Not yet," he declared confidently and bit into the flesh. Bucky paused a moment, staring at Baby Girl before taking a larger bite. "What the fuck? Why is it so good?"

Baby Girl laughed. "What, you've never had a fig before?" She grabbed one for herself and showed him a better way to eat it. "You pinch it at the top. Split it open. Fold it over, and voila!" She popped it in her mouth, groaning as flavour burst across her tongue.

"I thought it was some weird kind of plum!" Bucky exclaimed, grabbing another.

"Nope, just a fig."

"Just a fig, she says," Bucky teased. "And what's this?" He threw a shiny orange fruit in the air, catching it just before it smacked Baby Girl in the face.

She took it from him with an unconvincing frown. " This —is a persimmon. You know it's ripe when it's ready to burst. I like to pinch the skin like this—" she demonstrated by making an incision with her teeth, "and suck the flesh." Baby Girl moaned in delight. "I missed this."

Bucky intensely observed her, paying close attention to a drop of persimmon juice on her lip.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

Bucky reached over to wipe the juice with his thumb. "You're a mess," he said hoarsely. Then, he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it off as she watched him. "It's sweet."

She stared at him, soft lips parted and breaths uneven. "Did you think it would be sour?"

Bucky shrugged and picked up one for himself, following Baby Girl's instructions and getting a proper taste. When he was halfway through his fruit and Baby Girl was still gawking at him, Bucky realized he had taken the flirting a bit too far.

Satisfaction crackled in his muscles, and he twitched out a smirk. It was only a small accomplishment that he had retained some of his frivolous ways, but he was still proud. "What else do you have for me?" he inquired loudly, effectively diverting her.

Baby Girl quickly composed herself, dropping the rest of her persimmon onto the fruit plate. "Watermelon and grapes."

"Does the watermelon change colours, and do the grapes taste like cotton candy?"

"Change colours—No!" Baby Girl gawped. "You have a strong imagination." She suddenly turned thoughtful. "I was thinking of grabbing the cotton candy grapes, though. But they're too sweet for me."

It was Bucky's turn to gawp. "I was being sarcastic. Do cotton candy grapes really exist?"

Baby Girl smiled. "They've been around a while. I'll get you some next time."

Bucky reclined on his elbow, resting his head in his hand. "Next time. I like the sound of that." He caught her eye and asked her the burning question. "So, you've decided to stay?"

Baby Girl pushed the empty glasses and fruit tray away, lying back on the deck. From this angle, with Bucky hovering over her, the sun didn't burn her eyes. She smiled a sad smile. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"You always have a choice," Bucky replied fervently. "We would never keep you against your will."

Baby Girl shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Quentin will always find me. He's possessive of his things."

"You're not a thing . And he doesn't deserve you."

"Maybe I deserve him."

Bucky looked into her bright eyes, thinly veiled with tears. He understood the feeling of helplessness—the intense guilt that followed. Even now, after being pardoned and making amends, Bucky couldn't stop guilt from seizing him in the dark hours of the night, when he was most vulnerable and exposed.

He often looked around and wondered if he deserved the life he had been given, this second chance that none of his victims had the fortune of. On more of a surface level, Bucky understood he was as much a victim as any other. A prisoner in his own body. He, and he alone, knew the struggle he had put up for almost twenty years before finally succumbing.

Bucky looked into her bright eyes, thinly veiled with tears, and saw himself reflected in them. He saw himself as a younger man—a better man—waging a war against invisible demons, and he understood. Trauma left its presence in various ways, and the evidence of it was scattered all across her vulnerable physique.

Bucky reached for a strand of her hair. "Sometimes, the hardest prison to escape from is the one we build in our own minds."

Baby Girl turned her head to look up at the sky. "That sounds like something you'd hear at the therapist's."

"And I'm giving it out for free," Bucky smiled.

They both said nothing for a short while, enjoying the sun, and soaking each other's company.

"He used to tell me I was beautiful every day." Her brows creased. "Well, not exactly. He never called me beautiful. He called me hot, and sexy, and fire—" she suddenly scoffed. "I hated that. 'You look fire.' One day, even that stopped. I remember thinking he didn't love me anymore because that's what attracted him in the first place."

Bucky played with her hair, letting her say what she needed to.

"Objectively, I know I'm attractive. I was told often enough by his friends. But I haven't felt pretty in a long time. And it disgusts me that I needed his validation to feel good about myself." Baby Girl took a deep breath, shaking slightly from the overload of emotions. "Sorry."

Making sure she was looking at him, Bucky leaned his head down and kissed the corner of her mouth. Her skin was soft and warm, and he lingered a moment longer than necessary. "You're beautiful," he murmured, savouring her sweet scent. "Absolutely gorgeous."

Baby Girl stiffened under him, eyes widened with surprise, soft lips parted in exhale. She blinked furiously, grabbing her necklace in a white-knuckled grip—a dainty gold crescent moon with black detailing. "I feel very hot," she croaked.

Indeed, Bucky could hear her heart furiously pumping blood through her veins due to his risky kiss. He bent down and placed another, dangerously closer to her lips than the previous. "Let's cool you down then," he smirked, grabbing her around the waist and launching both of them into the lake.

He lost his hold on her as they submerged in the cool water. Bucky kicked off the bottom and broke the surface, looking around for her. Baby Girl emerged a moment later, mascara lines running down her cheeks and brows creased in a furious frown.

She wiped her face and scoffed, "You absolute ass!" When Bucky laughed at her, she splashed him with a large swell of water, which went into his mouth. He choked and sputtered between laughter, welcoming her gentle abuse with a large smile.

"You said you were hot," he rationalized. "I only wanted to cool you down."

Baby Girl intensified her attack, wading closer until she was on top of him, attempting to submerge his head. "You idiot!" she yelled. "My clothes are all wet!"

"Pity," Bucky sputtered, trying to grab hold of her, but she was relentless in her assault, flailing her limbs in reckless abandon.

"Die!" she shrieked, managing to clamber on top of him. She wrapped her legs around his neck and pushed him under, painfully pulling at his roots in the process.

All this time, Bucky could've easily subdued her. But where was the fun in that? When her legs tightened a smidge too much, and Bucky could no longer breathe, he finally put an end to their little game. He clasped his hand around her ankle and gave a gentle pull. Baby Girl fell from his shoulders with a dramatic scream, and realizing she had far surpassed his patience, began to swim away.

Bucky grabbed her ankle once more, keeping her in place. "You brat," he hissed. "I'll teach you a lesson."

Her panicked laughter brought a large smile to his face. Seeing her happy because of him; after the horrible week she'd had, filled Bucky with indescribable pride.

"No!" she giggled. "No more. I'm tired." In fact, she had stopped swimming and was struggling to stay afloat.

Bucky lifted her into his arms, ignoring her feeble protests. "That's enough games for today," he announced, carrying her dripping body inside.

After drying themselves and changing, they settled in the kitchen for dinner. Baby Girl sat on the island with her head resting on her arms, watching Bucky cook.

"Where did you learn that?" she asked when he expertly chopped onions without looking.

Bucky shrugged. "My Ma taught me the basics when I was little. She said cooking was a survival skill."

The girl smiled. "Smart woman."

"That she was," he sighed. "I learned some more in the army. Then, after I was pardoned, I found all this time on my hands and all these cuisines I wanted to try. YouTube is very handy for that."

"That it is." She walked to his side, watching him saute shrimp for the pasta. "You sure you don't want me to help?"

"Yeah, you sit your pretty ass down and relax."

"Yes, Chef!" Baby Girl saluted, not bothering to sit. She exclaimed in delight when Bucky flipped the pan one-handed.

"Wanna see something cool?" he smirked, grabbing a bottle of Cognac from the pantry. "Step back."

Baby Girl shuffled back, and Bucky poured some Cognac into the saucepan. He was so focused on the task that he didn't notice Baby Girl inch closer. Bucky tilted the pan, letting it catch fire, and a beautiful flame blazed powerfully in front of him. He turned, wanting to see her reaction.

She stepped away with a shout, arms raised to protect her face. The flame fizzled away as quickly as it had ignited, but she was still shaking in fear. She fell against the island counter, sliding to her knees.

Bucky turned off the stove and sank next to her, grabbing her arms. "What's wrong?" he worried. "Are you hurt?"

Eyes shut tight, she shook her head, but she was still trembling. "I'm okay."

Bucky didn't believe her. He lifted her up and set her on the counter, sliding between her spread legs. "Hey," he soothed. "What happened just now?"

She shook her head, eyes still closed. "I don't know, I—" Baby Girl exhaled shakily, trying to calm down. "I wasn't expecting—I thought. I'm scared of fire," she eventually admitted.

Bucky frowned. He vividly remembered the night of the bonfire, where she chased AJ and Cass around the large fire. There was no hint of fear on her face that night, no discomfort or hesitancy. He told her as such.

"I don't know. I think it's because the bonfire was out in the open. It was controlled and didn't feel as dangerous. But indoor fires..." She left the next part unsaid, but Bucky understood.

His flambé trick took her by surprise at such close proximity. For a moment, she was transported to her childhood home to relive that fateful night. Bucky hugged her tight, soothing her with kind words of affirmation. "You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you."

She clutched tightly onto him, burying her face in his neck, breathing heavily into his ears. "Sometimes I think I was supposed to die that night," she whimpered, making Bucky freeze. "I was supposed to die in that house with my family. But I didn't. I'm scared the past will catch up with me one day to finish what it started."

Bucky held on to her tighter.

"I'm scared I'll find myself in that house again, and no one will be there to push me out the window."

"That won't happen," he promised. "I won't let it."

She briefly said nothing, and Bucky worried he hadn't done enough to reassure her.

"Have you seen the house?" she suddenly asked.

"No," replied Bucky, running his hands through her hair. "But Sam told me it was nearby."

Baby Girl hummed. "It's on the far side of the lake, covered by trees. We shared the lake with the Wilsons. Did you know the house is still there? What's left of it anyway. They fixed the damaged parts and put it up for sale. I found out two years ago."

Bucky pulled away from her, meeting her gaze. "It's been up that long?"

"Longer," she replied. "It went up for sale six years ago, but no one will buy it. Who wants to live in a house where an entire family died?"

Bucky wanted to correct her. "You're not dead," he wanted to shout. "You're not at fault. You deserve so much." 

"If I had the money..." she shook her head and dismissed the thought.

Would she buy the house if she could? he wondered. The home where she grew up and created happy memories with her siblings.

Bucky thought about his house in Brooklyn Heights, which had been turned into a poor excuse of a strip mall. The house where he had sleepovers with Steve. Where Rebecca hosted her friends, and Bucky hid underneath her bed to try and scare them. Where he snuck in his prom date, Dorothy, through his bedroom window when his parents were out of town. The time he and Steve were playing baseball on the street, and Steve hit the ball straight through the front window.

Would he buy that house if he could? If it hadn't been bulldozed? He decided he would. He had the desire, and he sure as hell had the money.

"There's no point in dwelling on the past," he parroted. Occasionally, his new therapist offered advice that Bucky kept close to his heart. "You're alive to see another day. Make the most of it."

Baby Girl smiled softly. "You always know just what to say," she teased. "I will."

Bucky was consoled by her steady heartbeat and easy manner. "It's a god-given talent," he shrugged, instantly rewarded by soft giggles and an unenthusiastic shove at his chest.

Once the adrenaline from the scare dissipated, Bucky finally noticed their proximity. Her thighs were bracketing his, and his arms were caging her body. Their breaths mingled in the air between them.

"You're very modest," Baby Girl croaked, jerking away.

Bucky hastily turned to the stove, turning it on and resuming making dinner. "With good reason," he replied, clearing his throat.

He chastised himself while the shrimps finished cooking. Baby Girl had just gotten out of an abusive relationship. Now was not the time to be sweet on her—hovering so close he could smell her shampoo and the scent of her skin.

Wait. Was she out of an abusive relationship? Baby Girl had emphasized that she was only with Quentin because he threatened Sam, Sarah, and the boys. Except, that was no longer an issue as a plan was underway. Bucky knew it, Sam knew it, but did Quentin? Did Quentin assume that his dismissal from the Wilson Residence a few days prior was a fluke? If Quentin returned thinking he could whisk her away as if she owed him anything, he would be sorely mistaken. Bucky would make sure of it.

But where did that leave them? There was obvious attraction—though Bucky was unsure if it was appropriate to act on, considering the circumstances—and they were legal adults, but the path forward felt very unclear. While Baby Girl hadn't shown any unpleasant reactions to Bucky's past, she hadn't particularly reassured him either that it did not bother her. Was it fair to her to be caught up in his mess, along with her own?

So many questions, and yet the answers felt out of reach. Bucky turned around. Baby girl was sitting on the kitchen table, and she gave Bucky a smile that answered at least one question. 

Did she trust him? Her smile said, "Yes. Yes, she did."

Another day passed like all the others. Had it really been over a week since she arrived in Louisiana? Sam and Sarah were still away on "business," and the boys were still at their sleepover—ridiculous really—she knew it was summer break, but there had to be a limit. She and Bucky were still alone together.

Bucky. His name made her burn with embarrassment. Lately, anything and everything related to him made her temperature rise a few degrees. His smile, his presence, his proximity . His hands holding her tight to his chest. Embarrassment always closely followed such thoughts, though for reasons that deeply ashamed her because never, in the entirety of her relationship with Quentin, did she feel like this. Beautiful, and desired, and wanted, and free . Happy.

She had invested around six to seven years in her on-again, off-again relationship with Quentin Beck and never managed to blush as furiously as she did in the presence of Bucky Barnes. The White Wolf. War hero. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

While most girls gushed over Captain America in high school, Baby Girl cut out pictures of his best friend from her textbook and plastered them inside her locker. It was a stupid girl crush, one she quickly outgrew as she matured into a young woman. However, the fascination remained. During the past week, this fascination had transformed from a small, barely there spark to a blazing fire. The gruesome analogy was not lost on her, yet it was the only way to vividly describe her deepening feelings.

Bucky Barnes had lit her heart on fire. And that terrified her. Not because she was afraid of men after her relationship with Quentin, and not because of Bucky's unfortunate past, but because of her unfortunate reality. What did she have to offer a man like Bucky Barnes? She had nothing. No job, no prospects, no backbone with which to confidently regard the world. She had spent six years with an abusive man, and she could have left at any moment—could have gathered the courage to trust her brother Sam to take care of all of them. She hadn't taken the opportunity when presented with it, and there was this man, who hadn't been given any semblance of reprieve, and he was stronger for it.

So, no. While there was obvious attraction between them both, she was not sure it was appropriate to act on. She could never deserve the likes of him.

The path ahead was unclear, but somehow she knew he would be there to guide her. And when he chucked her into the lake that evening, laughing loudly at her temper, she smiled back, hoping her face screamed, "I trust you. I do." 

After an uneventful dinner, Bucky sheepishly announced he had to leave. "I forgot I promised Carlos I'd help with his car."

She raised an unimpressed brow, fixing him with a stern look. He had promised to take her shopping for a new phone, and while she wasn't looking forward to a ride on his death trap, she really wanted her games back. "I didn't know you were a mechanic along with being a war hero."

"I'm not a war hero," he responded mechanically.

The words burst from her lips. "If it weren't for you," she snapped, "Doctor Zola would've been on his merry way to design new techniques to destroy the human race. You stopped him. If that's not heroic, I don't know what is."

"I'm not a war hero," Bucky said again after getting over the initial shock at her outburst.

"But you're a mechanic?"

"I'm not that either," he huffed. "Mr. Thurow needs me to tow his car."

"Excuse me?"

"The company overcharges and always ends up damaging the vehicle. He asked me for a favour."

"Do we have a tow truck?" she asked.

Bucky raised his left hand. "I have a metal arm," he pointed out. "And super strength. I can easily tow a car."

Baby Girl was speechless. "How long will you be?"

Bucky checked his watch. "An hour? Less, if I manage to not get roped into game night."

"Game night? It's a weekday."

"Every night's a game night at the Thurow's," Bucky responded seriously. "We'll get your phone first thing tomorrow morning."

"Promise?" she asked his retreating figure.

"Promise," he replied. "Lock the door, alright? And keep the blinds down."

"Alright, Dad," she retorted, but he had already left.

Baby Girl took a deep breath. This was the first time she had been alone in weeks. She sat down on the couch and closed her eyes. A minute passed, then two, then three. Five minutes later, she opened her eyes and saw only thirty seconds had passed. She groaned from boredom and flopped over the armrest. She was loath to admit that she dearly missed Bucky. There was something in his air and manner of walking that brought peace to her inner turmoil.

She sighed, resorting to cleaning the kitchen, which was not dirty in the least. In the middle of her furiously scrubbing the countertop with a sponge, the landline chimed annoyingly from the other room. "Hello," she answered, twirling the cord with her pinky. "Who's this?"

"Baby Girl!" the jolly voice on the other line bellowed. "I was hoping you'd pick up."

"Sam!" The two talked, catching up on the past few days. It turned out Sam was in Washington. "How's Sarah?" she asked. "Is she enjoying her time away from the boys? They're lovely, but they can be a nuisance."

Sam grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

"What?"

"She's on a date," he groaned. "Look, I'm happy for her. But I didn't need to see her exchanging spit with a stranger."

"Poor you," she giggled. "And lucky Sarah! Wowza!"

Sam laughed on the other line. "It's great to hear you happy after so long."

"Hmm," Baby Girl hummed, feeling momentarily guilty. "By the way, I thought you and Sarah were going to New Orleans. What are you doing in Washington?"

"He didn't tell you," Sam said with surprise. "I thought he would."

"Tell me what?"

"I know about Quentin," Sam sighed. "I know you're still dating him."

Her breath got stuck in her throat. "He told you?" she asked in disbelief.

"Don't be mad at him," Sam pleaded. "I made him tell me."

There was shuffling on the other end. A loud sniffle.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry you felt like Quentin was the only one you could count on."

"What exactly did Bucky say?" Baby Girl questioned, thinking Sam was too calm about the situation.

"He said Quentin was blackmailing you to stay with him."

Baby Girl sighed. "Is that all? Did he say anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Like... nothing." She realized Bucky had not disclosed any of the more sensitive subject matter. Not the abuse, nor Quentin's impromptu visit. "It's nothing. I'm sorry I kept this from you."

Sam sighed heavily on the other line. "That's in the past. We can only move forward from here on out."

Baby Girl nodded even though Sam couldn't see her. "You have a good friend," she told him. "Bucky's doing a lot to help. He came up with the plan to distract Quentin with "bigger fish," as he put it. Quentin will forget all about me if he finds something more worthwhile. But I'm sure you know all about that."

"He said what? That's not what we planned!" Sam exclaimed. He swore under his breath. "I need to take this call. It's Congress—I'll tell you soon, alright? I'll call you right back."

"Sure," she said, slightly flustered. "I'll be waiting."

Sam ended the call, and she put the receiver down. The second she did, the landline immediately started ringing.

"What took you so long?" she joked with a laugh. "I've been waiting hours for your call."

"You have? I knew you missed me."

Baby Girl felt her heart drop to her stomach. The voice on the other line was not quite as deep, or quite as warm. It was low and raspy, eliciting goosebumps across her arms and bad memories across her skin.

She made to end the call, but his shrill warning stopped her. "You don't want to do that," Quentin hissed.

"What do you want?" she managed to ask between ragged breaths.

"Straight to the point, I see. You've really changed."

"Fuck you!" she seethed. "I asked you a question." She was surprised by her resolve, and so was he.

"What, you're swearing now? That's not the girl I know."

Her body was trembling with adrenaline. "Tell me what you want, or I'll end the call."

She could feel his anger through the line. "I want to talk to you in person."

"Over your dead body!" she yelled.

Quentin was oddly calm with his response. "No, not over mine."

It was so obviously a bait—one she couldn't help but fall for. "What do you mean?"

"It's a shame," he sighed, "that I'm meeting them for the first time under such shit circumstances. They're cute kids. Would've loved New York."

Time seemed to stop.

"Have you boys ever seen the Statue of Liberty? I'll take you once your Aunt comes back home. We can all go together."

There was a muffled noise, then the slam of a door shutting close. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over Baby Girl. Her muscles tightened painfully, and she collapsed onto the couch.

"No," she whispered.

Quentin laughed on the other end. "Cat got your tongue?"

Baby Girl closed her eyes, feeling tears of frustration well in the corners. This is why she kept her distance. This is why she wanted to go back to Quentin and back to New York. But she let herself hope in Bucky's presence, let herself believe that she could have a family while keeping her freedom. "You monster," she hissed. "Don't you dare touch them." But there wasn't any heat behind her words, only the bitter taste of defeat.

He tasted it too, and oh, how he reveled in it! Quentin laughed again, low and menacing. "I told you I wouldn't let you leave so easily. Meet me in person if you want to see your dear nephews again. And don't you dare tell anyone," he hissed. "This is between you and me."

Baby Girl ignored his warning and reached into her back pocket to grab her phone and tell Bucky. But her hand came back empty. She didn't have a phone; she didn't even have Bucky's number. And did she really want to risk the boys' lives by going behind Quentin's back? He didn't want them anyway, he only wanted her.

With tears burning her eyes and a fire blazing in her chest, Baby Girl asked, "Where do you want to meet?"

On the other end, Quentin smiled, knowing he had won.

Bucky reached into his back pocket and grabbed his phone. He scrolled through his contacts, realizing too late that he didn't have her number. His face fell, and he sighed deep and slow, garnering the attention of the room. Carlos Thurow had invited some friends for a game of poker and forced Bucky to play a round with them. That was four rounds ago.

"What's got you so down, Sergeant?" Carlos teased. "There a girl waiting for you at home?" The men laughed and cheered, barraging Bucky with questions.

He found himself smiling, and finished his beer in one swig. "I do, actually," he said, grabbing his jacket and walking to the door. "I should get going."

The men cheered him on, and Bucky left feeling light and tingly. It wasn't from the alcohol—Bucky couldn't get drunk anymore—it was her. His Baby Girl.

The walk to Sam's was warm. The stars were out, the sky clear, and the wind blew gently, ruffling the trees around him. Bucky took a deep breath, smelling the ocean air and the earthy trees, listening to the faint sounds of crickets chirping and owls hooting. A night had never been sweeter.

Once at the house, Bucky lightened his footsteps and creeped onto the porch, feeling mischievous and wanting to spook Baby Girl. The living room light was on, and he could see the television playing silently through the thin curtain. Bucky placed a hand on the door, frowning when it creeped open at the slightest touch.

Didn't he tell her to lock the door? And to leave it completely open? Delacroix was a small community inhabited by kind and lawful people, but there was a crazy ex on the loose. He expected Baby Girl to be more careful than that.

Bucky decided he would give her a proper scare for her carelessness and slipped through the entryway. He sneaked into the living room, arms raised like in the movies, and—

She wasn't there. Bucky quickly scanned his surroundings. TV playing, couch pushed askew, the landline dangling from its cord, the edge of the carpet flipped over as if someone had run over it. Bucky rushed to check the rest of the house, the bedrooms, the washroom—he even checked the lake. Nothing.

He went back to the living room, senses dialed to the maximum. There was no sign of a forced entry, and though a scuffle was apparent, there were no prints or marks that indicated there had been another person. Unless they covered their tracks. But then why leave the carpet overturned, the couch askew? Why make it obvious something had happened?

Perhaps Bucky was overthinking, and Baby Girl had run to the store to grab something. She had already proved herself to be impulsive and clumsy. It wouldn't be a huge stretch to believe she forgot to lock the door behind her in a hurry.

Except, she wouldn't have left without her wallet. Bucky bent down to grab her purse from under the coffee table, feeling dread engulf him at the sight. Palms sticky and breaths uneven, he looked around the room once more. This time, he noticed something he hadn't before, a hastily scribbled note peeking out from under the landline.

Bucky snatched the note, careful not to crease it.

"I'm sorry," it began. "I had no choice. He has the boys." 

Bucky's mind began to race with questions. Most namely, "Where?"

It was then that his senses picked up on something new. The faint scent of smoke. Bucky dropped the note and ran out the back, scanning the horizon. There, on the opposite side of the lake, a thick column of smoke billowed from behind the treeline. The beginnings of a large fire. Baby Girl's house was set ablaze, glowing brightly in the dark. Bucky's heart dropped to his stomach, and he ran.

Note: So... I lied. There will need to be another part.

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated!! 💜

@astrophileous @buckylovinglokivariant @casa-boiardi @crazyunsexycool @dancer3205 @dascarypicklerawr @drakelover78 @hallecarey1 @kandis-mom @marantha @marvelatthetwilight @marvelouslyunstable @ria132love @spookyparadisesheep @sunnyhummingbee @traderjoesmints

Remember people

If it doesnt make sense IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE COMICS

THEY WROTE IT 20 YEARS AGO

MARVEL COMICS

Please remember the comics guys pretty please

(And if one of you tells me bucky aint fit for congressman ill throw smth at you this is a PROMISE)

Anyway bye <3 <3 <3

Oh now this, this is a 10/10

Supposed Distraction

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: It’s Bucky’s birthday and you and your friends are planning a surprise party. That leaves you with the task to distract him while the others prepare.

Prompt 1: “I think we need to talk.”

Prompt 2: “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Prompt 3: “Kiss me.”

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: friends to lovers; reader is embarrassed and rather terrible at attempting to distract Bucky; Bucky is smug; Bucky is worried; Sam and Steve are idiots; feels; pining; tension; Bucky is a sweetheart

Author’s Note: This is another entry for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge by @elixirfromthestars ♡ I hope you’re not getting tired of me participating, my dear, but I couldn’t help it. Especially since you were the one inspiring me to write this about college!bucky. I'll have to thank you for that!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Masterlist

You always knock four times.

It’s instinctive at this point, muscle memory more than conscious thought. You don’t even remember when or how it started, but it's always fours knocks.

The door swings open within seconds, revealing Bucky’s easy and bright grin. He leans against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, hair slightly tousled, perhaps from running his hands through it. God, he looks great.

“Hey, doll,” he greets, voice warm. “You’re early.”

You arch a brow, stepping past him when he shifts to let you in. “It’s your birthday, Buck. What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone, huh?”

Bucky exhales a short sigh, but his smile stays in place. “Told you, it’s not a big deal.”

“‘Course it is, Buck,” you argue, almost indignant at the thought. Because if anyone deserves a day where people get to celebrate him, it’s James Buchanan Barnes.

But he doesn’t make much of his birthday. He doesn’t like attention when he hasn’t earned it.

It’s why he loves the mound, standing there under stadium lights with all eyes on him, but loathes things like this - birthdays, personal praise, anything that forces him into a spotlight just for existing. You suppose that’s just part of who he is.

You saw him earlier, in university. You shared one class today. He walked in a few minutes late, baseball cap pulled low, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

You had been waiting for him, barely able to contain your excitement as you nearly launched yourself at him in the hallway with a cheerful happy birthday, Bucky!

He had only blinked, slightly startled at your enthusiasm before huffing out a laugh when you crushed him in a tight hug. But he hadn’t complained, only chuckled softly, winding his arms around you and pressing his hands to your back, waiting for you to be the first to pull away again.

You told him he'd receive his present later the day with a grin and Bucky only rolled his eyes with a fond smile, letting you have your moment.

But what Bucky doesn’t know is that there is a surprise party awaiting him later, planned by you and your shared group of friends - because somebody has to make sure that today doesn’t pass like it is just another day.

Sam’s apartment is the only logical choice, given that his roommate dropped out and no one had rushed to fill the space yet. That means lots of room, plus an open invitation to make a mess.

The only issue is that Sam’s apartment is directly across the hall from Bucky and Steve’s.

Which means you have been assigned a very specific task - keep Bucky in his apartment until it’s time.

Not that you had much say in the matter. The moment the question came up about who would be the one distracting him that long, every pair of eyes landed on you.

You are his best friend, but - and that’s how you see it - so is everyone else. Still, they seemed to believe that you could hold his attention for long enough, that you could keep him engaged enough not to notice the shuffle of footsteps and suspicious voices beyond his door. That it would be you who he doesn’t mind having around, lingering in his space.

Honestly, you didn’t argue.

There is not a reason as to why you should. Any excuse to spend time with Bucky is a good one.

After all, you love the guy. But that’s a problem for another day.

You drop your bag on the worn-out armchair by the window, the same spot you always claim when you are here.

Bucky’s jacket is slung over the back of the chair, and the second your bag lands on it, the scent of his cologne drifts up - clean, something woodsy, something him. It distracts you for a second, but then you turn to face him again.

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans after closing the door again.

“Where’s Steve?” you ask casually, like you don’t already know he is across the hall, making sure everything is set up for the surprise. But you don’t know what he told Bucky.

“He said somethin’ about running some drills with the rookies, helping out the coach, or whatever,” Bucky answers, tilting his head in that unconcerned way. He slowly makes his way toward you. “Guess one of them nearly took his own damn head off trying to hit a curveball.”

One of your brows lifts amused. “And Steve’s the guy to fix that?”

Bucky smirks. “Well, y’know how he is. Someone fucks up a throw, suddenly he’s gotta be the one to teach ‘em how to do it right.” He shakes his head, like the whole thing is ridiculous.

“Yeah, sounds like Steve,” you state, trying to suppress a knowing smile.

You lean your hip against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, trying to keep it casual. The apartment is small, with the kitchen bleeding into the living space, a single couch, and a coffee table taking up a lot of the room. You love it.

“So, what do you feel like doing?” You tip your head toward him. “You’re the birthday boy, you get to decide.”

Bucky scoffs, lips curling, finding your antics amusing. But then, he actually seems to consider it. His hands slip from his pockets, arms crossing as he leans back slightly against the table. His gaze falls to the window. Sunlight spills in, casting golden lines across the floor and making your hair gleam.

“You wanna go get some ice cream or somethin’?” he suggests. “It’s warm out.”

You blink, caught off guard. Bucky isn’t usually the one to propose going out. It takes a little coaxing most days, a push to get him moving and leave his apartment to meet your group of friends somewhere outside. You wonder what he would have said if anyone else were the one distracting him.

But you can’t take him up on it. Because you can’t let him leave and potentially find out.

“Uh-no,” you say, a little too quickly, a little too firmly.

Bucky’s brows lift, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “No?” He huffs a laugh, shifting his weight onto one foot, arms still folded. His voice takes on that slow, teasing drawl. “You just asked me what I wanna do, doll. Thought I got to decide? Y’know, birthday and all that.”

You just started this distracting thing and you are already messing up. Great.

You scramble for a way to walk it back, to keep him here without making it obvious. “Yeah, you know, I just-” You glance around as if the answer is hidden somewhere in the room. “Why don’t we stay inside?”

Bucky watches you, eyes narrowing just slightly, trying to puzzle you out. He doesn’t look suspicious. But there is a curiosity in it.

“Why?” he drags the word out, tilting his head. “Something wrong with ice cream? We could also go get some tacos maybe-”

“No! Nothing’s wrong with ice cream.” You force a laugh, waving your hand dismissively. “I just figured we could chill here for a bit.” You bite your lip, then continue. “We could bake you a cake?”

You would love to face-palm yourself right now.

Why would you even say that?

There will be plenty of cake at the party. Cake that’s already been ordered, picked out, baked yourself, and waiting across the hall. And yet, here you are, offering something completely unnecessary, completely ridiculous.

God, you are terrible at this.

Bucky’s blue eyes are on you, considering, lips parting, about to say something.

Panic rises.

“Or not,” you blurt, stepping forward too fast, too sudden, hands coming up in a vague, dismissive gesture. “Yeah, maybe not. That’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”

You shift where you stand, fingers twitching at your sides. You don’t get nervous around Bucky - at least, not like this. But something hot and uncomfortable starts to creep up the back of your neck.

A slow smirk pulls at Bucky’s mouth as he watches you with so much amusement in his eyes, enjoying whatever the hell this is turning into.

“You alright over there, doll?” he asks, voice warm, teasing.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He tilts his head, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. “Cause you’re actin’ a little funny.”

You open your mouth, a retort or something like it ready, but Bucky suddenly leans in just a fraction, gaze sweeping over your face like he is searching for something. And yeah shit, you need to shut this down. Now. Or you’ll be a hot mess on the floor.

“Just forget it.” You shrug and then move away from him, toward the fridge, suddenly very interested in whatever’s inside. “You want something to drink?”

You don’t look back at him immediately, don’t give him a chance to see the way you feel your face warm up. Instead, you grab two small bottles of orange juice, shoving one in his direction as a distraction.

Bucky takes it easily, but that amused smirk does not waver a tiny bit. He is still watching you.

Bucky is no idiot. And if you’re not careful, he’s going to catch on fast.

You twist the cap of the bottle a little forcefully, the plastic groaning in your grip. The cold of it seeps into your palm, but it’s not enough to steady the way your heart is beating a little too fast. Taking a sip of the juice, you try to swallow past the lump in your throat.

He has always been observant. Even more so when it comes to you. You wish, just this once, that he'd be a little more dense.

“You gonna tell me what’s up with you today?” he asks, voice colored with curiosity, dipping just enough into concern that you flinch internally.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

It’s defensive, but all it does is amuse him. His lips curve, his brows shoot high, the lines on his forehead creasing in exaggerated surprise.

Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, his own bottle loosely held in one hand, he tips his head back and studies you. “That how we’re playin’ it, huh?”

You shrug, taking another sip of your juice, using the movement as an excuse to break eye contact. But you know it does not deter him.

Bucky makes a thoughtful noise, shifting his weight. “Y’know,” he drones out, tone lazy but eyes sharp and smirk sly. “Usually when people get all cagey like this, it means they’re hidin’ something.”

You shoot him a hopefully flat look. “Wow, Barnes. That’s some real detective work. You want to get a notepad? Maybe a magnifying glass?”

His smirk widens. He seems thoroughly entertained. You don’t like it.

“Depends,” he teases, leaning in just a fraction. “Do I need ‘em?”

Your pulse spikes. Bastard.

With an obvious eye roll that unfortunately lacks the conviction you tried to portray, you cross the room, shoulders set, and let yourself drop into the armchair where your bag still rests with a heavy thud. The cushions soften the impact. Trying to feign the usual comfort you feel sitting here, you tuck one leg under the other, leaning back. Your hands tighten around the still cold bottle of juice.

Bucky doesn’t move right away. He is still standing by the counter, bottle in hand, eyes never leaving you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you ask, reaching for the remote, already trying to steer this back into safe waters.

Bucky exhales through his nose, humor lining the corners of his eyes. His stance is easy and relaxed, but he looks at you like he knows something is off.

“Is this me deciding?” he muses, voice smooth. “Or are you just gonna tell me no again?”

There is no accusation in his tone, just that familiar Brooklyn drawl that makes everything sound like an inside joke.

He finally moves, dragging his body toward the couch. He doesn’t plop down like you did. He settles himself with intent and leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his entire focus trained on you like you are the most interesting thing in the room.

You swallow.

“You’ll get to decide,” you promise, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glances at the dark TV screen, then back at you.

“Nah,” he claims. “Let’s talk.”

Your stomach drops.

Bucky never lets things go when he is curious. You see the spark in his eyes, the glint of amusement, the way the corners of his mouth twitch with that smirk. He knows you are acting weird. Maybe he doesn’t know why, but he sure as hell knows something is up and he is going to dig.

You inhale deeply, fighting the urge to groan. But all you do is force a casual shrug, stretching your arms over your head before letting them drop back into your lap. “What do you want to talk about?”

Your fingers fidget with the label on the bottle, a nervous little movement you don’t mean to make. Bucky’s gaze flickers down to your hands and you freeze, immediately stilling them, letting the bottle rest in your lap and shoving your hands between your thighs.

His eyes snap back to yours, lips curving up.

“You,” he says simply.

You roll your eyes, feigning playful annoyance, because if you don’t, you might actually combust on the spot. “Oh, come on,” you scoff.

For the next few minutes, you actually manage to let a conversation drift to normal things. The familiar back-and-forth. You talk about classes, you being annoyed at that one professor who has a habit of trailing off mid-lecture, forgetting what he is actually supposed to talk about. Bucky tells you about his brutal morning training session that left half the team groaning like old men.

You bring up his next baseball game, the one you won’t be able to make because of an assignment, and Bucky whines.

He doesn’t just complain a little but rather goes on about it for minutes on end. Arms flailing, huffing dramatically, groaning like you just told him his dog died.

“You could just skip,” he protests, lounging back into the couch.

“I can’t just skip, Bucky.”

“But I need my lucky charm,” he laments, throwing his head back against the cushion as if this is some great tragedy.

You roll your eyes but there is warmth rising in your chest. “I’m sorry, Buck. But I did come to all your games last month.”

“Yeah, which is why you owe me,” Bucky retorts, sitting up again, gesturing with his hands. “I hit a homer 'cause you were there. What if I suck without you?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you laugh, but Bucky grumbles under his breath, not quite over it.

It starts to feel normal. Easy. You begin to believe that you might actually pull this off. That you can keep him here, keep him occupied, long enough for your friends across the hall to finish setting up.

But then a loud thump echoes from the hallway.

Your spine goes rigid.

Bucky’s head snaps up, his grin replaced with a furrowed brow.

Another thud.

Yeah, so, that was that.

You fumble for your phone and type out a quick text to Sam.

Y: What are you guys doing out there?

The reply comes almost immediately.

S: Just keep Barnes inside.

You would love to curse loudly right now. Because thank you for nothing, Sam.

Bucky is already standing.

“What are you doing?” you ask, standing up as well, your voice perhaps a little sharper than usual.

Bucky glances at you briefly. There is a tiny bit of concern in his eyes. “There’s something goin’ on out there.” He gestures toward the door. “Think I should check. Might be Miss Nelly.”

Something clenches in your gut.

Miss Nelly, the sweet older woman who lives next door to him and Steve. The one they always help carry groceries up the stairs. The one who has trouble with her hip sometimes. If Bucky thinks she might have fallen, or perhaps tried to carry something on her own, of course, he wants to check.

But that is not what is happening out there.

You rush to step between him and the door. “Let me check.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You wait here, doll. I’ll be back in a sec-”

But you don’t let him finish.

You throw the door open and basically slam it shut behind you before he can follow.

Yes, that was perhaps a little rude. Yes, that will probably only make him more suspicious. Yes, you could have come up with something better. But you certainly did not have the time to think about what exactly.

Right outside, Sam and Steve are standing there - in front of the open door to Sam's apartment where a chair lays with its backside on the floor - wide-eyed, looking about as guilty as two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

You would have laughed at the sight if not for the fact that you just slammed Bucky’s own apartment door basically in his face without an explanation.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” you hiss, voice low, exasperated.

Sam lifts his hands in a calm down gesture. “Listen-”

“No, you listen,” you snap, whisper-shouting, barely resisting the urge to grab them by their collars and shake them. “He’s two seconds away from walking out that door.”

Steve grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “We, uh, we miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated?” you repeat, eyes narrowing.

They both exchange a glance.

You sigh in frustration. “Where’s Nat?”

“Out with Bruce getting drinks,” Steve answers, folding his arms. “Wanda, Clint, and Laura are inside, decorating.”

“Look,” Sam starts, raising a brow. “We’re bustin’ our asses for this dickhead, and you’re the one who came up with the whole thing in the first place.”

“That’s not-”

“So you gotta do your part. Go back in and stall him some more” A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know - offer him a good time.”

Your eyes narrow, hands on your hips. “Sam.”

Steve sighs, shaking his head, but there is an unmistakable smirk tugging at his lips.

You glare at them both, spinning on your heel before they can make this worse, yanking the door open and stepping back inside the apartment.

Bucky is exactly where you left him.

Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. Lips parted slightly, caught between confusion and suspicion.

He is wearing that what the hell was that expression.

You swallow and shut the door more forcefully than necessary, the sound echoing slightly.

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just fixes you with a stare so focused, so piecing, seemingly able to look right through you. It makes you shift where you stand, suddenly hyper-aware of every nervous tick in your body.

“Alright,” he starts slowly, carefully, eyes falling to the door before turning back to you. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Not Miss Nelly,” you quip, attempting a light and assuring tone.

It does not work.

Bucky still doesn’t blink. His jaw works. He doesn’t buy a damn thing you’re trying to sell him.

“No, doll.” His voice is lower now, thoughtful, putting together a puzzle in his head. “What’s going on with you?”

You try to press down the lump in your throat.

“You’re actin’ real weird.” His words aren’t harsh, not even accusing. Just observant.

He cocks his head slightly.

Why did the others think you could withstand the way his eyes root you to the spot without flopping down to the ground as a puddle.

You are so screwed.

You push yourself out of the conversation, walking over to the armchair again and trying to find something to keep you busy while plopping down.

“It’s nothing, Bucky.”

Your fingers curl around the juice bottle, bringing it to your lips, but the cold liquid doesn’t do much to cool the heat crawling up your spine. Your thumb works at the label, picking at the paper until it peels away in small, curling strips.

Bucky blows out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face before slowly making his way over to you.

Crouching in front of you, he braces his forearms on his knees, his eyes intently locked onto you.

The sudden closeness forces you to suck in a breath and your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hands.

His expression shifts again, humor creeping into the smirk on his mouth. “Doll,” he starts, voice light, amused. His hands slide up to rest on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. “Did you plan somethin’ for me?”

Shit.

Your next inhale is a little hesitant. The air thickens. “No.” It sounds too stiff.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He is smirking so wide. Enjoying this so much, the way you squirm in your seat before him.

You push forward, shaking your head. “No, Buck. I did not.”

“You sure?” He almost laughs.

“Yes, I just-” You are floundering, drowning in your own words. How can you save this now?

“I’m nervous.” Well, at least that’s not a lie.

Bucky’s expression softens immediately, his amusement fading into something quieter. He straightens up, tilting his head tenderly. His full attention is on you.

A gentle crease in his brows forms. “Why are you nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, lower.

And guilt hits you.

How do you get out of this?

But, hell, he is so close, too close. His eyes are so blue, too blue. His gaze is so intense, too intense. You are feeling hot, too hot - your brain isn’t working, it’s overheating, and your mouth is suddenly moving.

“Because.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Because I think we need to talk.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

The entirety of Bucky shifts and you just want the ground to eat you up right this second.

Because now he looks so worried. So genuinely concerned.

You feel yourself start to sweat. Where is this going? Why can’t you stop this? Why did you even start it?

Bucky’s face drops to a frown so deep, lines are forming. A hand of his moves, palm landing lightly on your knee.

“We can talk, doll.” His voice is even softer now, barely above a murmur. “Is something wrong? You alright?”

You just stare at him.

Your heart is hammering.

What the hell are you doing?

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your fingers keep worrying at the torn label, peeling off strips that crumple beneath your fingertips. It’s the only thing you want to focus on right now with Bucky’s proximity and his intense gaze.

But then his hands replace the bottle and he grasps your fingers, wrapping around them and stilling their fidgeting.

Something electric rushes through your veins so quickly, you couldn’t catch it if you tried.

This is getting way too serious.

Too intimate in a way that sends your pulse skittering up your throat.

You feel like a deer caught in headlights, your body tensing up, lungs forgetting how to work properly. Because this is veering dangerously off course, heading straight for a conversation you’re not sure you’re ready to have. You never thought you’d ever be ready.

But you started this. You walked straight into it with your own words, and there is no backing out now. So you might as well be honest now.

No time like the present.

Bucky must feel the way your hands begin to tremble in his hold, because he adjusts again, shifting closer, his knees pressing against the base of your chair. His thumbs trace over the backs of your hands. His frown deepens.

Why does he have to be so worried? It would make things so much easier if he remained casual and easy. But really, that’s how Bucky always is. Worrying so fast when it comes to you. You can’t really blame this on him now, can you?

His voice drops lower, soft as a whisper. “What is it, sweetheart?” His eyes are full and searching. “Talk to me.”

Air hitches, stalling between your ribs before pushing forward in a rather trembling exhale. Your lungs barely feel full. Your eyes dart away from his, searching the room, the floor, anywhere but him.

“Did I upset you? Is it something I did-”

“No!” you rush out, hastily. “No, you didn’t do anything, Buck.” God, now he even goes that far. This is bad.

Bucky softens a tiny fraction, but he keeps sweeping his eyes over your face, latching on the details, trying to study you, trying to read what this is about. “You can tell me, doll. Always. Whatever it is,” he coos so sweetly, and it makes you want to cry.

How do you even start this?

You open your mouth. You’re certainly not ready to climb the whole mountain, but perhaps you can try a small hill.

“Do you-” You swallow, trying to sound as if you are simply reminiscing. “Do you remember that time after your game last year when it started pouring the second we left the stadium?”

Bucky blinks at the sudden turn. Confusion enters his features but the worry only deepens. “What?”

You push forward, gaze fixed on the arm of your chair as if it might give you the courage you need. “You gave me your jersey, even though I already had a jacket and you were the one soaking wet-”

Bucky’s brows pull further together, his head shaking slowly, not knowing what to do with your words. “Doll-”

“You walked me all the way back to my apartment.” Your voice turns quieter as if you are speaking more to yourself than him. Perhaps you are. Saying those things out loud makes them seem so much more important. “And then you got sick for three days.”

His hands squeeze yours gently. “I mean- Yeah, I remember.” Confusion also settles in his tone. “But what’s that got to do with-”

“I don’t know,” you cut in quickly. “I just-” You exhale a deep sigh. “I think about that a lot.”

Bucky says your name like it is something delicate. Something that might slip away if he is not careful.

“Look at me, please.”

You try, but it’s hard.

It means staring into those impossibly blue eyes that see too much, that strip you bare without even trying, that try to coax something out of you, you didn’t even plan on letting go.

But you force yourself to lift your gaze and it is worse than you expected.

He is watching you with an intensity that makes you stop breathing. His stormy eyes are so full of concern, so desperate to understand what is going on in your head, searching every inch of your face.

His lips are parted slightly. His breathing is sharper. Uneven.

“What’s going on, hm?” he coaxes, so softly, so full of patience you don’t deserve. “What’s this about? You still feelin’ guilty?”

Your heart plummets like a stone.

“Doll, there’s no need to, alright?” His hands squeeze yours, grounding, reassuring. “We talked about this.”

God, why does he have to be so good?

His voice is so warm. Warm like sunlight, like home. It makes the sting behind your eyes grow stronger.

You don’t want to cry.

You don’t want to feel this way. Don’t want to ruin his fucking birthday like this. This is getting so out of hand right now, but what should you do? You are so tangled up in trying to figure out what to say, things you are too much of a coward to finally admit out loud.

Bucky notices your struggles. He sees them. Plain on your face. His thumbs brush over your skin in careful strokes. “And you took such good care of me.” His tone lightens, trying to pull you out of whatever hole you’re sinking into. “Remember that part?”

You nod, swallowing and swallowing but the clump of emotions stays stuck in your throat. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out flat, like you are detached from it. “I do. Sorry for bringing it up.”

Bucky’s lips press together, and then he sighs so deeply, his chest rises and falls profoundly.

“Doll,” he murmurs, straightening up, arms beside you tensing as though he is holding himself back from doing something. “That’s not what you wanted to talk about.”

He’s right.

“Darlin’, please,” he urges, and god, the way that word falls from his lips makes you shudder. His voice is barely above a whisper now, full of something genuine, something tender, something that makes him sound like he wishes you would just talk to him, and it makes you want to shrink down to something he can’t see anymore. “What is it?”

You could lie. Again.

You could laugh it off, steer the conversation away, keep pretending.

You could drag this out further until the others are ready, leaving him worried and slightly upset.

You could tell him the truth about the party.

Or you could finally come clean about the feelings you have held in your heart for so long. Feelings for your best friend.

Drawing in a breath, you straighten slightly. Your hands, still held in his, still shaking, squeeze back. His eyes never waver from your face, tracing the contours of your features.

You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help much. “Uhm,” you croak. “I- I wanted- I need to tell you something.”

His fingers twitch around yours. His features fall into a deep concentration. He doesn’t rush you. Just watches. Waits.

And god, his eyes are pools you never learned to swim in.

You look away, at the wall behind him. “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now, I guess. But-” You inhale a quivering breath. “But I was afraid. Because I don’t know how you’ll react.”

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His chest rises and falls deeply, almost mechanically. There is something almost spellbound in the way he stares at you, completely locked in, completely yours. The only sign that he has heard you is the subtle press of his fingers against yours.

His head dips in a nod for you to go on.

You wet your lips. “I, uhm-”

But then something catches your attention.

The door to Bucky’s and Steve’s apartment opens.

Painstakingly slow.

You stiffen.

Bucky is still so enamored with what you were saying, he doesn’t seem to notice at first. His back is to the door.

You see heads peeking through the small gap, cautious, bodies frozen in an awkward crouch as if that makes them less noticeable.

Steve and Sam.

They are trying to slip in without a sound, their movements so unbelievably slow, exaggerated. They resemble cartoon characters sneaking through a heist.

Sam motions at you wildly, gesturing at Bucky, at himself, at the hallway, mouthing something like distract him! Keep him busy.

They almost make it, but Bucky catches the small reaction of you, the surprise. His senses are too tuned in to every little thing about you and with his brows knit together, he shifts to glance over his shoulder.

You don’t think about anything.

Your hands rip from his, and before he can turn fully, before he can see those two idiots, you grab his face.

Bucky jolts, startled, his breath hitching audibly. His skin is warm beneath your palms, the sharp angle of his jaw fitting perfectly against your hands. His wide eyes snap back to you, dumbfounded, searching.

He blinks at you. Then blinks again. Then simply stares.

His lips part slightly, breath brushing over your skin.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

This is close. Too close. Closer than you’ve ever been. Well, but not closer than you’ve let yourself imagine. But having him here in reality is something else entirely.

Sam throws you a thumbs up over Bucky’s head and a wiggle of his brows and the both of them disappear from sight into the hallway.

But you just made this worse.

And you are still holding his face between your hands.

Bucky’s lashes flicker, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t fight it. Just stares at you like you’ve done something earth-shattering, like you’ve just rewritten every unspoken rule between you in a single, desperate motion.

Your pulse is a drum against your throat.

You see Bucky’s pulse thunder in his neck.

But he doesn’t move. You don’t move either.

He doesn’t breathe. You don’t know if you do.

He watches you. You watch him back.

“Doll?” Bucky practically breathes the question.

You swallow hard. Opening your mouth doesn’t help with finding words, so you shut it again. Slowly, you pull your hands away from his face.

But Bucky still doesn’t move.

His breath is still broken, his lips still parted, his brows still slightly drawn, stuck somewhere between surprise and something so deep, you’d be falling endlessly.

He is leaning in just the slightest bit, as though his body hasn’t quite caught up with his mind, not even realizing he is doing it.

And you hate the way your chest aches at the look in his eyes.

There is so much all at once and the more you stare, the harder it gets.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, dropping your gaze.

But there is movement in your peripheral.

Steve and Sam are creeping back out of the hallway, lugging something that looks like Bucky’s speaker system from his room.

And god help you, they are still moving at a snail’s pace, their motions so exaggerated, so painfully slow and obvious that you want to scream. You grit your teeth.

Fortunately, Bucky is still just staring at you, stunned.

The two are just about to reach the door, so close to getting through this ridiculous charade, when Sam’s end of the box bumps against the shoe shelf.

The sound isn’t loud, but it’s enough. Enough for Bucky’s head to instinctively turn toward the noise. Enough for his body to shift just slightly.

Your brain short-circuits.

Like completely.

Totally.

Lacking any sense.

Not only do you pull his face back.

You pull it in.

“Kiss me,” you blurt, and it’s not soft, not sweet, not anything carefully planted - it’s desperate, panicked.

Bucky’s whole face just goes wide, pure shock filtering out anything else.

Another bump.

You’re not sure Bucky even heard it, but your lips crash onto his with urgency.

Bucky freezes.

And when you say freeze, you mean freeze.

Every muscle in his body turns to stone. His hands flex before going rigid, floating in the air. His breath stalls. His spine goes straight, and the grunt he lets out - so low and gravelly, caught deep in his throat - reverberates into your mouth.

But behind him, Steve and Sam go as still. Dead silent.

You can feel them watching, their eyes practically bulging out of their skulls.

For a full few seconds, nothing happens.

But then, there is a shift. You don’t see it, but you know it. The way their disbelief turns into something smug - something amused and downright delighted. You feel the way Sam’s mouth probably stretches into that toothy and knowing, cocky-ass grin. You feel the way Steve simply looks happy.

You don’t pull away.

Instead, you wave one frantic hand behind Bucky’s back, motioning wildly, trying to get them to move.

You open an eye to see them still staring, Steve blinking rapidly, Sam grinning like a fool, nudging Steve.

But then, finally, they start creeping out of the room again.

They are gone now.

Bucky still isn’t moving.

He’s not breathing.

He’s not reacting.

And the tension stretches so tight, you swear the air could snap in half.

Because this isn’t just a distraction anymore.

This isn’t just a cover-up.

Your lips are still on Bucky’s.

Your hands are still gripping his face.

And his are trembling where they hover near your knees, as if he wants to touch you, wants to move, but his brain is still struggling to catch up with what is happening.

Then the tension snaps.

Bucky exhales against you.

It’s not just a breath - it’s a surrender. A sharp and shuddering exhale that stirs against your lips, warm and tentative, as if he is trying to feel what is happening, trying to understand the shape of this moment.

His hands flex and twitch against your legs, but he is hesitant, as if waiting for something, waiting for you to pull back, waiting for this to be some kind of mistake.

But you don’t pull back.

You don’t want to pull back.

And that’s when he melts.

He sinks into the kiss, his body softening, folding inward toward you. His fingers slide up your legs, brushing tenderly against the fabric of your pants before settling on your hips, cautious, like he doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want to take too much.

Then, his lips move. It’s a slow, searching motion, testing the waters, trying to figure you out. His mouth is warm, his lips so much softer than you imagined. And hell, did you imagine.

He makes a sound - low and unsure, a hum deep in his throat that vibrates against your lips. His movements are careful, almost disbelieving. Like he is afraid this will disappear if he lets himself want it too much.

But then something changes.

Your nails lightly run over his neck, thumbs over his jawline.

And you feel the exact second the hesitation snaps.

He pulls you in.

His hands tighten, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you forward to the edge of the seat, into his chest, his grip growing needy, desperate. He seems to have been starving for this, like something in him has just broken loose.

The kiss turns deeper, heavier, a push and pull of breath and movement. He kisses you with searching urgency, trying to memorize the exact shape of your mouth, the way you feel pressed against him, the way you taste.

His lips part, just for a moment, and then he dares to press in a little more, tilting his head, fitting his mouth more firmly against yours.

He makes another sound - this time rougher, needier - a groan that slips through the space between you.

You can feel the want in the way he kisses you, in the way he angles his head to take more, to taste more, and damn if it does not overwhelm you.

The way his fingers tighten their hold, his thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, needing to feel your warmth.

And the way he breathes you in, each exhale shaky, each inhale sharper, like he is drunk on this, on you.

Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tangling in the strands at the nape of his neck, and the second you pull just so slightly, he makes a sound.

A gravelly noise that shoots straight through you, heat curling at the base of your spine.

He is kissing you like he can’t help it anymore. As if he has been waiting for this exact moment, for you, for so long that he’s past the point of fighting it.

You thought he’d pull away. You thought he’d startle and demand an explanation, eyes sharp with suspicion, voice laced with confusion. But he doesn’t.

His lips only press more firmly against yours, his nose sweeping against your cheek, his chest rising and falling unevenly, breathing erratic as if he is just as lost in this as you are.

Your heart is hammering so violently in your chest, you think he must hear it, must feel it where your body is pressed to his. Your hands are slightly trembling, sliding to curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him. Because you have to hold on. You have to anchor before you fall, before you slip too deep into the intoxicating pull of him and lose all sense of self.

But maybe you already have.

Because he is kissing you as though he’s afraid this is a dream, testing the edges of reality with every careful, exploring movement of his tongue and lips.

He tastes like something warm, something safe, something like the orange juice you two have been drinking, something wholly Bucky. Every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours, is stealing a coherent thought from your mind.

This was supposed to be a distraction. This was supposed to be a lie.

But hell, it’s not.

It’s everything you’ve ever wished for.

When you pull away, both breathless and panting, his forehead stays against yours.

Your pulse is so fast, so fluttering, and you know he can feel it, the way it thrums in your chest, in your throat, in the slight tremor of your fingers still curled loosely in his shirt.

His hot and shuddering exhale fans over your lips and it’s maddening how much you want to taste them again, how much you want to fall right back into him.

You open your eyes.

His are already on you, so close, so intent, so devastatingly blue that they don’t help at all in trying to regain a healthy breathing rate. There is something in them, something soft and devoted, something awed, like he can’t quite believe you are real, that this is real.

A shiver works its way down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its way and Bucky sees it. He feels it. His grin widens, slow and boyish almost, something that makes him look young and light, like something is lifted off his shoulders.

Your name is a breath that leaves his lips with the kind of care reserved for wishes made on falling stars.

It sends another shudder through you, and his grin turns brilliantly wide.

“That the present you were talkin’ about earlier?” he breathes, voice still hoarse, still dazed.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. Smiling. Grinning. Like a fool. God, you can’t stop. It’s lifting your cheeks and making you feel giddy in a way you haven’t felt in so long.

“No,” you whisper back, voice airy.

“Don’t matter,” Bucky’s voice is full of affection, of something certain. His hands slide up, one cupping your jaw, thumb skimming over your cheek, the other finding the nape of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair. Holding you there. Holding you close. “Best damn present I’ve ever gotten.”

His tone is so sincere, so full of adoration, that your breath turns upside down, and you can’t do anything but feel the way butterflies are dancing in your stomach.

Heat floods your face and Bucky’s fingers flex against your skin, his smile turning impossibly brighter.

His eyes are shining with something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in them before. It’s breathtaking. It’s promising. It’s worshipful.

It’s everything.

You guess you owe him a little bit of an explanation.

There is guilt pooling in the hesitation before you speak. “Buck?” you start, voice quiet.

“Yeah, baby?” he drawls, and the way the new nickname rolls from his tongue so seamlessly makes your next inhale shatter midway, breaking into uneven pieces. You almost feel like choking.

His voice is so full of warmth, so soft, so fond. He is smiling at you and his eyes are sparkling as if you’ve just handed him the world. He is kneeling in front of you, patient and content, as though he’s got all the time in the world if it means spending it with you.

Something dizzying rushes through your veins, sparking at the base of your spine. You have to take a moment, a single, shaky pause to shove the giddiness down for later, to not let it explore the wide landscape of your heart and mind.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, still at the edge of the armchair. Your chest almost brushing against Bucky’s. “I, uh- I do have something planned for you.”

Bucky is beaming. His amusement spills over into something so brilliant and blinding. His entire face lights up, so open, so full of adoration that it makes a feeling of pure bliss explode in your chest, sending delightful shivers down to your toes and hell, you don’t think you can handle it.

“Oh, do you?” he muses, dragging the words out slow and teasing. There is something beneath the syrupy sweetness. Something like mischief. His brows raise, eyes glinting, his lips twitch, and you know he is about to be a menace.

Tilting his head, Bucky feigns deep thought, but his eyes stay on you at all times. “Would that involve two idiots tryna sneak around behind my back?”

You blink at him.

Bucky’s grin turns wolfish and he bites his lip to suppress a laugh.

“You were actin’ all off from the beginning, doll. Knew somethin’ was up,” he states, voice a little softer, until he turns on his playful teasing voice again. “Flawless execution, sweetheart. Didn’t notice a damn thing.”

Groaning loudly, you press your hands to your face and Bucky lets the laugh out. It’s full-bodied and wholehearted. His chest shakes, his shoulders lift, his body tilts into it. And it’s such a good sound, such a lovely sound, so rich and free. It makes your own lips curl despite the frustration of the ruined surprise.

Bucky reaches up to gently pry your hands away from your face. His grip lingers, thumbs tracing over your knuckles, his touch so easy and natural.

His expression gives way to something soft. He bites his lip again, before bringing your hands up and kissing them softly, twinkling bright blue eyes trained on you and the deep flush that spreads along your cheeks.

Perhaps Bucky Barnes finally has a reason to start celebrating his birthday.

“But oh baby! Your smile.. Felt like warm sunshine after a heavy storm.. Overdose of it, is still not enough for me..”

- Zankhana

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐆𝐮𝐲

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → nakedness, suggestive, 18+

Summary → Peter gets really giddy when he sees your boobs.

A/N - was inspired by @webslingingslasher 's this little blurb

You stepped out of Peter’s bathroom, towel in hand as you gently dried your hair, water droplets still lingering on your skin. The air in his room was warm, comforting, and the sound of a movie quietly played on the TV. You stood by the edge of the bed, your eyes naturally drifting toward the screen where Peter had his focus locked—well, until he caught sight of you in his peripheral vision.

He shifted slightly, trying to refocus on the TV, but his mind couldn’t quite settle. His gaze kept pulling toward you, and you noticed how his eyes flickered in your direction, widening for a moment.

“What?” You asked, confused but amused as you caught him staring out of the corner of your eye.

“Nothing,” he stammered quickly, eyes darting back to the screen. But his mind wasn’t there at all. Not when his peripheral vision picked up something else—a peek of skin, the curve of your boobs just barely in sight as you moved to grab something from his nightstand.

Peter turned his head, and in that instant, his brain short-circuited. You weren’t wearing a shirt. In fact, you weren’t wearing anything at all.

"Whoa—" His voice cracked a little, and his whole body froze in place.

You didn’t seem to notice at first, casually sitting down on the bed next to him, stretching out like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Is this... are you asking for sex?" Peter blurted out, his face already turning red as his eyes stayed glued to you.

You laughed softly, looking at him like he was overreacting. "No, just hanging out, why?"

His eyes flickered down to your chest, then back up, his mouth slightly open. "Your boobs are out. Like, I’m looking at them."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a playful smile. "Peter, I’m literally butt-ass naked."

"Yeah, I know! But like—" His hands gestured toward your chest, unable to look away. "Your boobs. They’re just out right now."

"And? You’ve seen them a million times!"

Peter was quiet for a second, clearly struggling to process the situation. "Yeah, but… they’re just there. And you’re chilling, like, I can just look at them."

"Peter," you chuckled, giving him a light shove. "Stop acting like a child."

"I did nothing today, and I’ve been rewarded with free boobs," he continued, not even hearing your words at this point. "Holy shit, I’ve never been luckier than this moment right now."

"You're such a dork," you said, shaking your head with a grin.

Peter blinked, eyes wide, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Is this a thing? Are we doing this now? Like, am I lucky enough to get this for the rest of my life?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes but secretly loving how giddy he was. "Oh my god, Peter."

He finally pulled his eyes away from your chest to meet your gaze, his expression still one of awe. "Seriously, I’m the luckiest guy ever. You don’t even know."

"Peter," you said, raising an eyebrow, "I’m right here. I think I know."

But Peter was in his own world, his grin wide and goofy. "I mean, I’ve loved you for a million reasons, but this—this is just the cherry on top."

You snorted, giving him another playful shove. "Okay, calm down, Parker."

Peter scooted closer to you on the bed, still unable to hide his amazement. "Are you sure this isn’t some weird trick to get me to do something?"

You laughed again, leaning into his side. "No, Peter. Just hanging out."

He let out a sigh of relief, but his eyes flickered back down, unable to help himself. "God, I love you."

"You love my boobs," you rolled your eyes.

"That too!" Peter admitted, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder. "But I love you way more."

You felt your heart swell at his words, but you kept the teasing grin on your face. "Better."

Peter laughed, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, his hand resting lightly on your arm. "Seriously, though. This… this is the best day ever."

You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. Being with Peter, even in these silly, casual moments, made everything feel perfect.

"You're ridiculous," you said softly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

Peter leaned into you, still grinning like he couldn’t believe his luck. "Yeah, but you love it."

Peter bit his lip, trying to contain his excitement but failing miserably. His wide, boyish grin returned as he looked at you. "Can I… massage them?"

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you leaned back slightly, crossing your arms. "You're just searching for a reason to touch them."

Peter chuckled nervously, shrugging his shoulders like he was caught red-handed. "No.... okay yes, but… you can’t blame me, right? I’m only human!" His eyes darted between your face and your chest, barely able to keep still.

You let out a light laugh, shaking your head at how easily flustered he got around you, even after all this time. "You are so predictable, Pete."

"Hey, in my defense," he said, sitting up straighter, "you’re literally naked, and I’m trying to be a good boyfriend here by, you know, helping you relax. Massages are relaxing!"

"Is that so?" You teased, leaning a little closer to him, watching as his eyes widened at your movement. "So you're offering to help me relax, huh? Not just trying to cop a feel?"

"Totally!" Peter grinned sheepishly, clearly knowing you saw right through him. "I’m all about helping, nothing else."

You playfully rolled your eyes, leaning back against the pillows, still not entirely convinced. "Uh-huh, sure. What kind of massage are we talking about, Mr. Parker?"

His eyes brightened instantly, and he shifted on the bed, eager to make his move. "Like, a really good one! I’ve been practicing my technique, you know. I could help with any tension you’ve got—neck, shoulders, or… y'know… boobs"

"Peter," you laughed, raising a hand to cover your face, "you really are something else."

"Come on, please?" He practically begged, his face adorably eager as he reached out his hands, hovering them just above your chest as if asking for permission. "You know it'll feel amazing."

You sighed dramatically, though a playful smile tugged at your lips. "Alright, fine. But if this is just a clever excuse to—"

Before you could even finish, Peter’s hands gently cupped your breasts, his touch tentative at first as he gauged your reaction. The second you didn’t protest, he relaxed, his grin widening.

"Okay, this is awesome," he whispered, his hands moving carefully as he started massaging your skin in soft, slow circles. "I swear I’m being professional about this."

"Uh hu, sure you are," you said, but you couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped your lips as his warm hands worked their magic. You hadn’t expected him to actually be good at it.

"See? Told you I’m good at this," Peter murmured, clearly pleased with himself as he gently kneaded your skin. "I mean, I could do this all day."

You chuckled, feeling his excitement through his careful movements. "Yeah, I can tell."

Peter leaned in, his breath warm against your neck as he spoke. "Can we make this a regular thing? Like, I get to massage you every night?"

"Now you’re definitely pushing it," you teased, swatting his arm.

"But I’m serious!" He insisted, his grin still in full force. "It’s a win-win, right? You get a massage, and I get—"

"To touch my boobs," you finished for him, smirking.

"Exactly!" Peter said, nodding as if this was the most logical argument in the world. "Everybody wins."

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his adorable persistence. "You're lucky you're cute, Parker."

"I know," he whispered back, his grin softening as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "I’m the luckiest guy in the world."

His hands continued to move slowly, more focused now as he massaged your skin with just the right amount of pressure. You felt your body relax under his touch, your playful banter giving way to a comfortable silence.

"Okay, okay," you finally murmured, your voice soft as you melted into the pillows. "You might’ve been right about this massage thing."

Peter chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "Told you."

You closed your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the moment. His hands were warm, gentle, and filled with affection. This wasn’t just about him copping a feel—it was him loving you in his own silly, adorable way.

"Fine," you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips, "maybe we can make this a regular thing."

Peter’s eyes lit up with excitement, his grin spreading wide as he kissed your cheek. "Best. Day. Ever."

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

the priest writing down masurbate. the chorusing nuns. the flash of ankle. we're so back

when doms coo out a soft ‘there you arreee’ the moment their sub finally gives in and starts whimpering, gasping, making the prettiest noises while being absolutely ruined >>>

😔

blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff… whatever you say gorgeous

Me after the 5 minuete lecture break

tag you're it

bucky barnes x fem! reader

a/n: this took me 5 days to write and GOD it was hard. the ideas were running around my mind like crazy tho. but I had fun writing this. i cant wait for the rest tho. enjoy your reading and do your thing girl. HAVE FUN YALL! 🙏 (HES SO PRETTY IN THAT GIF OH MY GOD AAAAAHHHH 😻😻😻)

word count: around 4k?

warrnings: blood, guns, sad max, shadow (shes a warning okay?), trauma from the past and yeah.

prologue part i

Max’s grip tightened around the steering wheel, his mind spiraling. 'five years. five damn years, and this guy figures it out in a week? how the hell does he do it? while I’ve been chasing dead ends, he’s been living his life like it’s nothing. maybe I just suck at this. maybe I should’ve done more. maybe I could’ve stopped them. maybe... maybe I could’ve saved her.'

he slammed his fist against the wheel, the pain sharp but grounding. "this is my fault. It always has been," he muttered.

his thoughts were like wildfire, scorching everything in their path. the guilt. the rage. the self-loathing. but the one thing that always stuck with him was the pain of not being able to protect her—of failing his older sister.

pulling into the parking lot, Max forced himself to take a deep breath. the weight on his chest didn’t lighten, but he fought it down. he grabbed the croissant and locked the car, hoping the small gesture would at least make the meeting feel somewhat normal, plus hungry sam isn't on his list. he doesn't like that sam. so maybe if he could get through this conversation with Sam, he could push forward.

Max walked into the café and immediately spotted Sam, who was sipping his coffee and already looking as annoyed as ever. Max barely had time to open his mouth before Sam threw a sarcastic jab his way.

“every damn time. I show up on time, wait half an hour like an idiot, and then you show up like a lost puppy after an hour and a half. why, Max? What’s the deal? am I just supposed to be the fool in this partnership?” sam teased max.

Max, still a bit tight from his thoughts, handed Sam the paper bag with the croissant. Sam’s sarcastic tone didn’t faze him at all.

smirking to himself he knew that sam hated when he was late. “yeah, yeah. you’re lucky I remembered. figured you might need something to stop complaining.”

when he sat down, Sam eyed him, raising an eyebrow as he took the croissant and unwrapped it. “shit. you actually remembered something. pistachio, huh? guess you’re not as useless as you look.”

frowning, but clearly amused, max replied “it’s pistachio, dipshit. i’m not gonna bring you chocolate. you’ve got a weird obsession with that stuff.” and when he says weird he means it. seriously that guys obssession with pistachios is insane.

once when they were watching a movie, sam took a whole ass bag of pistachio's just to munch on them while watching the movie. till this day he has a serious trauma from it.

taking a bite, looking up at Max with a mischievous grin, sam said “you’re right, pistachio’s better. you actually do have taste. i'll admit that much.”

"yeah no shit. seriously when is that obsession going to stop, man? its concerning for both your health and mine." max shook his head trying to shake off the flashbacks he had.

sam eyed max offendedly and shook his head in disbelief. "you're one to talk kid. look your obsession with those drawn girls? now thats concerning. actually now that we are talking about it, why dont you have a girlfriend to bring you back to the place you're supposed to be, huh?"

feeling his cheeks getting hot, max tried to change the subject of the conversation and get to the real point. "that doesn't makes and sense right now. we are not here to talk about that, but something else."

sam chuckled because he knew he hit a weak spot and to be honest? he did not care. hes older than him for gods sake. 'kids these days man. always in the trouble.' he thought to himself.

as they sat down, Sam tossed a thick file of papers on the table. max’s frustration was starting to bubble over again, especially at the sheer amount of paperwork.

annoyed and tired from all the teasing, but with a clear sarcasam in his voice he asked “why the hell do you still do this, Sam? why not bring a tablet or something? you could make this whole thing easier. we’re not in the 90s, man. this isn’t your high school history project.”

smirking while munching on the croissant, sam teased “i like the paper, alright? old school. you should try it sometime.”

Max couldn’t help but roll his eyes. there was always some excuse for everything with Sam.

“whatever. but you still haven’t told me anything useful. we have a lead on her or what?” max asked in curiosity.

Sam leaned back, wiping his mouth, and pushed the folder closer to Max.

more seriously now sam said “you’re right. I’m not here to screw around. I found something that might actually help. hydra’s been holding someone, and it lines up with everything we’ve been looking for. could be her.”

Max paused, staring at the papers for a long moment. It was hard to believe after all this time. Was this real?

gritting his teeth, a little frustrated “you know how many times I’ve heard maybe it’s her, Sam? we need something concrete.”

leaning forward, tone more intense “I know. but this is more than just a maybe. they’ve been shifting people around, and this one’s high priority. we get in, we get the intel. then we plan how to get her out. we’ve got one shot at this.”

Max’s face hardens with determination as he flips through the papers, his pulse picking up at the thought of her possibly being so close. but his mind is also spinning—this time could be different, but there’s a lot on the line.

Max sighed, rubbing his temples, feeling the pressure building. He glanced at Sam, who was already pulling out his phone to make calls.

“alright, what’s the plan? how do i get in? how do i find her?”

grinning a little, still working the phone sam said “you do the running around, make sure Hydra’s too busy with you to notice me hacking into their systems. i’ll handle the details. you get the glory.”

nodding with a smirk, max replied “you know, I love it when you act all calm and smart. it makes me look even cooler when I’m the one doing the real work.”

without missing a beat, not looking up from the phone “yeah, sure, Max. you’re definitely the one doing the work. just don’t blow everything up before I finish the plan.”

grinning as he stands up, max teased “don’t worry, I’ve got this. you just focus on not getting us caught.”

Max turned to walk away, but Sam’s voice called after him.

almost mockingly sam teased back “don’t get yourself arrested, alright? I’m not bailing you out again.”

grinning as he leaves, like a mantra, max says “you say that like it’s not part of the plan.”

chuckling to himself, Sam walked away and drove off, leaving Max alone with his thoughts.

'am I really going to do this? am I really going to find her?'

the doubt gnawed at him, but deep down, he already knew the answer. "God, I hope so. I really do."

fifteen years apart, and still, his sister was the most important person in his life. he had looked up to her when they were kids. he still did—even after she was taken away.

Max sighed and got into his car, starting the engine as he pulled onto the road.

traffic was heavier than usual—clogged, but not fully stopped. he weaved forward slowly, his fingers tapping impatiently against the wheel.

then, he noticed them.

two men in police uniforms were moving between cars, asking questions and checking IDs. it looked routine enough, but something about the way they carried themselves put Max on edge.

his turn came faster than expected. one of the officers approached, leaning down slightly.

"ID, sir."

Max handed it over without a word, his muscles tensing the moment the officer’s eyes locked onto his. there was something in his gaze—something too sharp, too focused.

the man barely glanced at the ID before reaching for his walkie-talkie.

he turned slightly, murmuring something too quiet for Max to hear.

Max’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. What the hell is happening?

the officer’s body language changed—his movements slow, deliberate, as if he were both careful and calculating. his fingers curled tightly around the walkie-talkie, knuckles slightly white.

Max furrowed his brows. He had seen men act like that before. not cops. Soldiers. operatives trained to stay alert at all times.

his instincts screamed at him.

something isn’t right.

should he ask what was going on? play it cool? worst-case scenario—run.

subtly, he adjusted his posture, keeping his breathing steady. his gun was still tucked safely under his seat. If things went south, at least he wasn’t unarmed.

after a few seconds that stretched too long, the man turned back to him, nodding stiffly.

"thank you for your service, sir. you can go."

the words sounded polite, but there was a sneer beneath them. like the man knew something Max didn’t.

Max didn’t hesitate. he nodded, muttered a quick "yeah, sure," and pressed on the gas. but as he pulled away, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.

the officer was still watching him.

and then, he spoke into the walkie-talkie again.

while driving, max looked at his rearview mirror and checked if the police man was still looking at him and every time he turned around he did.

stopping on a red light he reached for his phone to call sam and after fourth ring he answered.

"what do you need right now huh? that talk wasnt enough good for you? or you just need an advice how to bag a real girl instead of looking at those drawn girls youre drooling?" sam teased hoping it would cheer him up a little bit, but max wasnt in the mood. after that stunt hes more on the edge than he ever has been.

"Sam, something's happening. Something bad, man. And it’s not good."

Gripping the wheel to the point his knuckles were white, Max kept glancing at his rearview mirror. The so-called cop was still there, still watching, still talking into that damn walkie-talkie.

"I don’t know what it is yet, but I can feel it. They’re onto me."

His pulse was hammering in his ears as he pressed down on the gas, trying to put some distance between him and whatever the hell was about to go down.

"I think it’s Hydra."

Static crackled over the line before Sam’s voice finally came through, sharp and laced with concern.

"Where are you, Max?"

"Still stuck in traffic, but I’m moving. Listen, if I don’t call back in five minutes—"

A sudden screech of tires behind him made Max whip his head around. A black SUV had just pulled out of a side street, merging into traffic fast. Too fast to be normal.

"Shit," Max muttered under his breath.

His grip tightened even more.

"Sam, I think I’ve got company."

There was a pause, then a sigh. "You sure?"

"Not yet." He took another turn. The SUV followed. Shit. "But I will be soon."

Max’s mind raced. If this was Hydra, then this wasn’t just some random tail. They were waiting for something—for the right moment to make a move.

"Alright," Sam’s voice was calmer now, more focused. "Listen to me. Don’t freak out. Don’t run. Not yet."

Max gritted his teeth. "Wasn’t planning on it."

"Good. If they’re following you, they’re waiting for confirmation. They don’t know if you’re actually you yet. Don’t give them a reason to be sure."

Max’s grip loosened just a little. Sam was right. If they knew, they would’ve already acted. Right now, they were just watching.

Waiting.

"Okay," Max muttered, switching lanes casually. The SUV mirrored him a second later.

Yeah. He was definitely being followed.

"Sam," he said, voice lower now, "I really, really don’t like being watched."

"Yeah, well, try not to look so damn suspicious, genius."

Max huffed, rolling his shoulders. "Any advice, smartass?"

"Yeah. Keep driving. Act normal. And get somewhere public before they decide to make a move."

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"Public, huh?"

His eyes flicked to an upcoming intersection. A plan was already forming.

"I know just the place."

"wait what do you mean? youre taking your other buddies to the secret places too? damn man thats cold. and here I thought i was your best friend. thats cold man." sam said offendedly.

Max rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on the wheel.

"Yeah, yeah, now shut up—I’m trying to concentrate."

"Fine, but just so you know, my feelings are deeply wounded."

Max ignored him, making a sharp turn onto a side street, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. The black SUV was still there.

Still following.

The tension in his gut coiled tighter. They weren’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"Still got that feeling something bad’s about to happen?"

"Oh, absolutely."

Max’s knuckles were white against the wheel, his heart hammering as the so-called police car sped up behind him.

the sirens weren’t blaring.

that’s how he knew something was seriously wrong.

before he could react, the car slammed into him from the side.

“shit—!” the impact sent his car spinning, tires screeching against the asphalt. he yanked the wheel, trying to gain control, but the car was skidding—swerving—going straight for a row of parked cars.

and then— gunfire.

bullets ripped through his windshield.

“FUCK—” Max ducked, hands still gripping the wheel as glass shattered around him.

his earpiece crackled to life."MAX? MAX, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

"OH, I DON’T KNOW, SAM, MAYBE THE FACT THAT I’M BEING HUNTED LIKE A GODDAMN ANIMAL?!"

more bullets. more fucking bullets.

Max reached under his seat, grabbing his gun while still trying not to die.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? GET OUTTA THERE, MAN!" sam was stressed and sam is never stressing like this.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK I’VE BEEN TRYING TO DO, DIPSHIT? YOU’RE NO HELP AT ALL!"

Max yanked the wheel hard right, his car screeching around a corner. he wasn’t outrunning these guys—he needed to lose them.

he swerved into a crowded market street, narrowly avoiding a fruit stand. people screamed, diving out of the way. the Hydra agents weren’t slowing down.

and then he saw it— someone standing in the middle of the street.

dark tactical suit. black mask. rifle raised.

aiming right at him.

Max’s stomach dropped.

"Son of a—" BOOM. a bomb rolled under his car. a fucking bomb. Max didn’t think—he acted.

he threw himself out of the car.

the explosion sent him flying, heat licking at his back as his car flipped—twice—

before crashing onto its roof.

everything spun. pain shot through his ribs. his ears were ringing.

and when he looked up— the masked figure was standing over him. gun aimed right at his head.

fuck.

he reached for his gun— but the figure kicked it away.

the person,  now standing right in frint of him, spoke in a slow voice "не такой быстрый солдат."

Max swallowed thickly, mind racing.

he was unarmed. he was injured.

and this person— whoever the hell they were— was about to put a bullet in his head, but when they took a step closer-Max was already moving.

he lunged—grabbing a jagged piece of metal from the wreckage—and threw it.

It wasn’t a perfect shot. but it was enough.

the masked figure dodged—just barely—giving Max the one second he needed.

he ran.

ducking into the crowd, he kept his head low, weaving between people. He could still hear Hydra agents behind him, still felt the masked figure’s gaze burning into his back.

his earpiece crackled. "MAX?! WHAT HAPPENED?"

"change of plans buddy, im bringing the hell to you" max whispered

"FUCKING—WHY?!"

Max grinned despite the blood in his mouth. "because I think I just pissed off Hydra’s best assassin."

and she really, really wants me dead.

ONE HOUR LATER

By the time Max made it to Sam’s place, he was barely standing. His legs felt like cement. His ribs? Probably cracked. His head? Pounding.And the worst part? He had to walk the whole damn way here. An hour. On foot. Bleeding.

He slammed his fist against the doorbell and leaned against the doorway, gasping for air. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but his injuries? Way worse. His ribs throbbed under his torn hoodie, an ugly purple bruise spreading across his side.

His entire body screamed for rest, but his mind was still stuck in that moment.

The masked assassin. The bomb. The gun pointed at his head.

He swallowed hard, pushing the thought away.

The door swung open, and there was Sam—arms crossed, shaking his head.

“Jesus, Max.” Sam looked him up and down, unimpressed. “You’re always getting yourself into some dumbass situation.”

Max groaned, shuffling past him and immediately collapsing onto the couch.

Sam watched, unimpressed. “How are you still alive?”

Max waved a weak hand in the air. “I’m built different.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but a small smirk tugged at his lips as he walked toward the bathroom. “I swear, man. You’re like a goddamn cockroach.”

“Yeah, well, this cockroach just died and you weren’t there to help me. That’s low, Sam. Real low.”

Sam’s voice echoed from the bathroom. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe because I was screaming at you to get the hell out and you weren’t listening?!”

Max exhaled a tired laugh, running a shaky hand over his face. His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt.

A minute later, Sam returned, first aid kit in hand. He plopped down beside Max, flipping it open. “Need help?”

Max took one look at him and scoffed. “What, you wanna kiss it better?”

Sam shoved the gauze at his chest. “Fix your damn face, dumbass.”

Max chuckled weakly, winking as he grabbed the gauze and started patching up his busted eyebrow.

But then—Sam’s expression changed.

Something more serious.

He watched Max carefully. Too carefully.

“How’d they find you?” His voice was low, tense. “You’re careful. You don’t slip up. You don’t leave tracks. Did you—?”

Max immediately shook his head. “I didn’t do anything, Sam.”

Silence.

Sam didn’t look convinced.

Max swallowed, his hands suddenly trembling.

His voice was quieter when he spoke next.

“…Sam.”

Something about the way he said it— soft, uncertain, almost afraid— made Sam’s posture stiffen.

Max exhaled shakily, his jaw clenched.

“I think I found her.”

The words hit the room like a bomb.

Sam’s breath caught. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Max turned to him, and for the first time in a long time—his eyes were glassy.

Raw. Torn between hope and devastation.

Sam opened his mouth. Closed it.

“…Max.”

Max looked down at his hands. “I don’t know if it was really her, but—” His voice cracked. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his blood-matted hair.

“I think—I think she tried to kill me.”

And just like that—the world stopped.

The silence between them was heavy.

Max felt it—the way Sam shifted uncomfortably. The tension in his shoulders. The way he didn’t know what to say.

Max exhaled, forcing a chuckle as he adjusted his position, setting the first aid kit aside. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Sorry, man,” he muttered, pushing himself off the couch. “Didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Sam immediately shook his head. “No, Max, it’s alright.”

But Max was already walking away. His throat felt dry, tight. He needed something, anything to pull his thoughts away from this.

He poured himself a glass of water, gripping the cup a little too tightly.

Sam hesitated, then exhaled. “Sorry that happened, man.” A small pause. Soft. Honest. “Wish I was there to save your ass.”

Max let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah, huh.” He took a slow sip of water, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “And listen to this—I’m not even sure if that was her.”

His voice wavered.

Sam froze.

Max scoffed bitterly, rubbing at his face. “I don’t even know if that person was my sister. Or—or if that person was even a woman.”

He felt it before he realized it.

Tears. Hot, angry, silent. Grief clawed at his chest, raw and relentless. It wasn’t fair.

He had spent years—years—searching for her.

And now?

Now she was nothing but a shadow with a gun to his head.

He let out a hollow laugh, voice breaking.

“Sam… I—” His breath hitched. His hands clenched at the counter. “I don’t even know my sister.”

And that? That hurt worse than any bullet.

Sam didn’t hesitate this time.

He got up, crossed the room, and pulled Max into a hug.

Max stiffened, but only for a second.

Because, god—he needed this.

He let himself sink into it, gripping the back of Sam’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

Sam didn’t say anything.

Didn’t tell him it’d be okay. Didn’t promise him things he couldn’t guarantee.

He just held him.

Because what else could he do?

Max’s hands clenched in Sam’s shirt, his voice a low, shaking whisper.

"I’m going to kill them all. Every last one of them. One by one."

Sam stiffened. He’d heard that tone before.

A promise. A death sentence.

Sam tightened his grip around Max and pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes.

"And I’m here to help you, buddy. Alright?" His hands gripped Max’s shoulders, grounding him. Holding him up. "Whatever you need—I’m here."

Max stared at him for a moment, really looked at him. And he realized—this man had been by his side through all of it.

The good, the bad. The moments where Max could barely hold himself together.

Sam had been there. Always.

A choked chuckle broke through Max’s lips. He wiped at his face, forcing the tears away. Enough of that.

"Yeah, well… we better get on with it soon," he muttered, straightening up. "Because I swear to god, Sam, I wanna feel their faces on my knuckles, y’know? Like Captain America. But the bad guy version."

Sam snorted, shaking his head as he clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, dipshit. We’ll get to that." His voice softened. "But first? Clean yourself up. Get some rest."

Max frowned. "I’m fi—"

Sam pointed. "You walked in here with your head gushing blood. Go. Now."

Max huffed but didn’t argue. He muttered something about "bossy assholes" under his breath as he grabbed the first aid kit and disappeared down the hall.

Sam let out a breath, running a hand down his face. Jesus.

Max collapsed into bed, staring up at the ceiling, his whole body aching. His mind racing.

He had found her.

And he had lost her all over again.

His fingers curled into the sheets, his breath unsteady.

'I promise you—I’m going to save you. No one is going to stop me. Just wait for me. Please.'

His eyelids grew heavy.

Darkness pulled him under.

MEANWHILE

3 HOURS EARLIER

She stood still. Back straight, shoulders squared, breath even.

The suit was tight. Heavy. But it felt like nothing.

Because she felt nothing.

She had been given her equipment—knives, firearms, explosives—all perfectly placed, strapped to her like an extension of her own body. Like she had been born to carry them.

She hadn’t been born for this.

But she had been made for it.

And now, she stood in front of Vasily, waiting. For the command. For the only thing that mattered.

The girl she was before? She didn’t exist anymore.

The only thing left was this.

Cold. Ruthless. Empty. A weapon with one purpose.

To eliminate Max Harrison. Her brother. But she didn’t know that. She wasn’t allowed to know that.

Vasily took a step forward, studying her with sharp, hungry eyes. His voice was smooth, calculated. Testing her. Waiting for weakness.

“Тень?” Shadow?

Her response was instant. Programmed.

“Готов подчиняться.” Ready to comply.

Not a flicker of hesitation. No fear. No anger. No doubt.

She was perfect.

Vasily’s lips curled into something almost amused.

"Устранить цель. Медленно и устойчиво." Eliminate the target. Slow and steady.

He was watching her. Waiting for a crack in the armor. For a flicker of resistance.

Because he wanted her to break.

If she broke, he could put her back together again.

If she cracked, he could rip her apart and rebuild her.

Just like before.

But there was nothing.

No hesitation. No flicker of recognition.

Only the mission.

Only the orders.

“Да, сэр.” yes sir

And then she was gone.

To do the “right” thing.

She wasn’t alone. He was there, too. The infamous Winter Soldier. Silent. Unmoving. A shadow carved into flesh and metal.

Different mission. Same purpose.

Cold. Distant. Focused.

There was nothing behind his eyes. Nothing but the mission.

Just like her.

She turned her head slightly, her voice steady. Unshaken.

"Солдат." Soldier.

His response came instantly, without thought.

"Тень." Shadow.

No warmth. No familiarity. Just recognition. Just an echo of something long gone.

Because once, before all this, people had looked at them and said they were meant to be.

Perfect for each other.

But the universe had other plans.

It had torn them apart, piece by piece. Rebuilt them into ghosts. Into weapons sharpened to the breaking point.

And now?

They were together again—but not as people..As something else entirely.

Because it wasn’t like they had a choice.

And soon, the world would feel the weight of what they had become.

I’ve Got Your Back - {Part 1}

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky meets you, a student making ends meet at an over-priced convenience store. Despite being afraid of entering the world of romance again, you just seem to …understand each other. Maybe there’s more to them both than they originally thought.

Warnings: age-gap. Angst. Workplace bullying. Language.

Bucky Barnes stepped inside the convenience store. The fluorescent lights buzzed above him, illuminating aisles stacked with overpriced snacks, crappy. The smell of mop-water sat in the air.

He hadn’t really planned on stopping by. But a craving for something sweet had led him here, the tiny corner store tucked between a laundromat and a liquor shop. A couple of kids loitered by the slushie machine, arguing over which flavor was superior, while a man in a wrinkled suit debated over cigarettes behind the counter.

And then, there was you.

You stood at the register, expression caught somewhere between tired and vaguely annoyed—not outright rude, just carrying the weight of someone who’d had a long day. Bucky knew the look well; he saw it in the mirror more often than not.

He didn’t expect much interaction beyond the necessary exchange of goods and payment. But as he approached, a voice from the back interrupted the quiet monotony.

“Y/N! Are you fucking serious? I told you to restock aisle four, not stand there like a damn statue!”

Your spine stiffened at the harsh words. From the back room, a squat man in an ill-fitted polo stomped out, glaring at you with the disdain of someone who’d long since lost any patience for basic human decency.

Bucky noticed the way your eyes momentarily glossed over, how your fingers curled slightly against the counter before you took a steadying breath.

“I did restock it, Mr. Carl,” you replied, voice even but quiet. Bucky swore he saw a glassy sheen in your eyes. “I was just about to—”

“Don’t give me the excuses, girl. If I have to tell you one more time—”

“That’s enough.”

The words left Bucky’s mouth before he could stop them.

Both you and your boss turned to look at him. Your eyes widened slightly, surprised, while Carl just narrowed his, sizing up the stranger who had the audacity to interrupt his evening tirade.

“And you are?” Carl scoffed, crossing his arms.

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “A paying customer who doesn’t appreciate seeing people get treated like dirt for doing their job.”

Carl let out an incredulous huff but, perhaps noticing the sheer muscle and steel beneath Bucky’s jacket, decided not to push it. With a dismissive wave, he muttered something about ‘lazy employees’ and retreated to the back.

You let out a slow breath and glanced at Bucky, something between gratitude and embarrassment flickering across your face.

“Sorry about that,” you murmured, ringing up his purchase. There was a twang in your voice, an accent that seemed a mix-match.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, shaking his head. “You okay?”

You hesitated. Bucky recognized that too—the reluctance to admit that things weren’t fine, even when they clearly weren’t.

“I’m fine,” you said, forcing a small smile. “Been through worse.”

Bucky nodded, respecting the boundary but not quite believing you. He tapped his fingers against the counter, considering his next words carefully.

“You need me to rough him up a little?” he asked, only half-joking.

A surprised laugh burst from your lips before you could stop it. It wasn’t much, but it was genuine, and for some reason, that made Bucky feel lighter.

“Nah,” you said, shaking your head. “As tempting as it is to see Carl get launched into a snack display, I don’t think that would help my employment status.”

Bucky smirked. “Fair point.”

He took his bag, but instead of leaving, he lingered for a second. Then, in a softer voice, he added, “Seriously though… if you ever need help, I’m around.”

There was something in his tone—something solid, reassuring. A promise.

You met his eyes, seeing not just the war hero or the former assassin, but someone who understood. Someone who didn’t just say things to sound good, but meant them.

“Thank you,” you said, and the sincerity in your voice made him realize that maybe, you were telling the truth when you said you’d been through worse.

He gave you a single nod, the kind that said more than a hundred words ever could. Then, with a quiet goodbye, Bucky turned to leave, his heavy boots echoing against the linoleum floor. As the door chimed shut behind him, you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth spread through your chest. It had been a long time since someone had stood up for you like that—if ever.

The rest of the shift dragged on, the weight of your boss’s words lessened slightly by the brief encounter with the mysterious customer. You found your thoughts drifting back to Bucky’s face—his concerned eyes and the gentle curve of his mouth when he’d offered to help. It was a small gesture, but in that moment, it felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning person.

When your shift finally ended, you stepped outside into the cool night air, letting it wash over you like a wave of relief. The neon lights of the store sign cast a garish glow on the empty sidewalk, but it didn’t feel as lonely as it usually did.

As you began the short walk home, you noticed a figure leaning against the wall of the adjacent laundromat. It was Bucky, arms folded over his chest, watching the world pass by. He pushed off the wall when he saw you, his eyes lighting up in a way that made your heart stutter.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You okay to walk home?”

You nodded, surprised by his concern. “I’m fine. I live just a few blocks away.”

“Okay,” he said, falling into step beside you. “I’m in no rush, and I don’t like the thought of you walking out here by yourself after what I heard in there.”

The gesture was unexpected, but somehow comforting.

“Thanks,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden rush of emotions. “Did you wait here this whole time just to check I got home okay…?”

Bucky shrugged, his shoulders shifting beneath the leather jacket. “Call it a gut feeling. Besides, it’s the least I could do after that show back there. No one should have to deal with that kind of crap at work.”

You couldn’t argue with that. As you walked side by side, the silence stretched comfortably between you, filled only by the distant sound of passing cars and the occasional chuckle of a couple leaving the liquor store.

“So, what’s your story?” Bucky asked, his gaze scanning the street as if expecting trouble. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course. I get the feeling you’ve got a bit of a history with that guy.”

You sighed, looking down at your worn-out sneakers. “It’s nothing special. Just a dead-end job, trying to make ends meet while I figure out what I want to do with my life. Carl’s always been a bit of a… character, but he pays the bills. Or at least, he did before tonight.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to you. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, a hint of sadness in the movement. “I think that might’ve been the last straw. I’ve been looking for something better for a while now, but it’s hard to find something that fits with my school schedule. Plus, I can’t exactly quit without another job lined up, you know? But I feel like shit there.”

Bucky nodded, his expression empathetic. He’d been in tough situations himself, had to make choices that weren’t ideal.

“Well, if you ever need a reference or anything, you’ve got my number now.” He fished out a piece of paper and scribbled down a string of digits. “And if he ever gives you grief again, just remember, you’ve got backup.”

You took the paper, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The thought of having someone like Bucky on your side was oddly comforting. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

As you approached the turn that led to your apartment complex, you felt a twinge of sadness. You didn’t know much about him, but there was something about his presence that made you feel less alone in the world. But you knew that this was the part where you said goodbye and went your separate ways.

“This is me,” you said, pointing to the dimly lit building. “Thanks for walking me home, Bucky.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the worn-out stairs leading up to the entrance. “No problem. Stay safe, okay? Wait…how did you-”

You smirked, holding up the receipt from the store. “It’s my job to remember faces and numbers, even if it’s just for the night. Plus, yours is pretty hard to forget. War hero, and all”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, a ghost of a smile. “Well, I guess that makes me pretty memorable.”

You nodded, tucking the paper into your pocket. “It does. Thanks again, really.”

“Take care, Y/N,” Bucky said, giving you a small salute before he turned and melted back into the shadows of the alley.

The night felt eerily quiet once he was gone, the echo of his footsteps fading away into the distance. You climbed the stairs, the chill of the evening seeping into your bones and unlocked the door to your apartment. Inside, the warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the outside world. You threw your bag onto the couch and kicked off your shoes, feeling the weight of the day finally start to lift. As you padded over to the fridge, the cold floor tiles biting at your socks, you pulled out the leftover pizza from the night before, the cheese congealed into a sad, greasy mess. But it was food, and that was all that mattered right now. All that you could budget for.

As you heated up your dinner in the microwave, the glow of the screen casting a soft light across the kitchen, you couldn’t shake the image of Bucky’s face from your mind. The way he looked at you - like he truly saw you - was something you hadn’t experienced in a very long time. The microwave beeped, snapping you out of your thoughts. You took a bite of the lukewarm pizza, the cheese pulling away from the bread. But somehow, it tasted a little less disappointing given that your night was accompanied by a nice guy… and a small spark you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You sat at the small table by the window, looking out into the quiet street. Sometimes a car passed by, their headlights painting streaks of light on the pavement. You found yourself wondering about Bucky’s life. What led him to be so kind? What made him want to protect someone like you from a simple act of workplace bullying? The curiosity grew, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself that you should be grateful for the brief respite from your reality and not overthink it.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. You glanced down at the screen, expecting a notification from a class group chat or a text from a friend complaining about their day. But instead, you found a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Y/N, it’s Bucky. Just checking in. How are you holding up?

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, especially not from someone like Bucky Barnes. You know, handsome. Sweet. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Just the thought of answering gave you a flutter in your chest.

You: Hey, I’m okay. Thanks for checking in. It’s been a long night.

Bucky: No problem at all. Just wanted to make sure you’re not letting that asshole get to you. You deserve better.

The bluntness of his message made you chuckle around a mouthful of pizza. It was refreshing, the way he didn’t mince words. You chewed thoughtfully, considering how much of your situation to share with him. After all, he was basically a stranger.

You: I’ve had worse days, but thanks for caring. I’ll be okay. Just trying to keep my chin up and move on.

The phone vibrated again, the screen lighting up with another text from him.

Bucky: That’s the spirit. Ever need someone to vent to, I’m here. Or, you know, to help you move some furniture. I’ve got strong arms and not a lot of plans.

The offer made you smile wider. It was almost a vague way of saying he wanted to see you again, despite being a blunt man he could bring himself to ask you out. It was laughable, in a way.

You: Haha, I’ll keep that in mind. I actually do have an old bookshelf that’s been giving me a hard time.

Bucky: Perfect. I’m your man. Whenever you need it moved, just let me know. No strings attached. Unless you want to grab some coffee first.

The suggestion was casual, but it hung in the air, charged with something more. You chewed on your lip, contemplating his offer. It wasn’t just about the bookshelf; you knew that. But the idea of seeing Bucky again, of sharing a moment that didn’t involve work or the stale air of the convenience store, was tempting. You hadn’t had a decent conversation with anyone in what felt like forever.

Coffee sounds good - you replied, trying to keep your excitement in check.

Bucky: Great! How’s tomorrow afternoon around 3? I can swing by with some muscle and a decent taste in caffeine.

You nodded to yourself, feeling a rush of blood to your face. It wasn’t a date, but it was something. Something outside the routine of your life. Something that had the potential to be more than just another forgettable encounter.

You: Tomorrow at 3 it is.

Bucky: Looking forward to it. Get some rest, and don’t let Carl ruin your night.

The conversation ended with a promise to meet, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe had just handed you a gift-wrapped opportunity for a new beginning. You spent the rest of the night scrolling through job listings, a renewed sense of determination burning in your chest. Maybe you didn’t need to settle for the same old crap anymore. Maybe there was more out there.

The next day dragged by with the excitement of a snail race. You found yourself checking the time on your phone every few minutes, counting down the hours until you could see Bucky again. It was ridiculous, really. You barely knew the guy, but he’d left an indelible mark on you with his kindness and protective nature.

Finally, the clock struck 3, and you felt your nerves begin to fray. You’d chosen your outfit with more care than usual, opting for a simple black dress that fell just above your knees and a light cardigan to ward off the chill of your ill-heated apartment. It was cleaner than it had been in weeks, the bookshelf sitting awkwardly in the middle of your living room, a clear indicator of the ruse you’d concocted.

When the buzzer rang, you took a deep breath and opened the door. Bucky stood in the hallway, dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, looking every inch the hero from your childhood comics. He held up two steaming cups of coffee, the aroma wafting into the room.

“Peace offering,” he said with a wink, handing one to you.

You took it gratefully, feeling your nerves dissipate a little. The warmth of the cup felt good in your hands. “Thanks,” you murmured, taking a tentative sip.

He stepped inside, surveying the bookshelf with a nod of approval. “Looks like it’s seen better days.”

“It was my grandmother’s. I just can’t seem to part with it,” you said, feeling a twinge of nostalgia.

Bucky set his own coffee down and rolled up his sleeves. “Well, let’s get to work then.”

The process of moving the heavy, cumbersome piece of furniture was surprisingly easy with his help. You directed him where to push and pull, and together, you managed to maneuver it into the perfect spot. It was a small victory, but it felt significant, a symbol of progress in a life that often felt stagnant.

Once the bookshelf was in place, you sat down on the couch, breathless and laughing. Bucky followed, his smile reaching his eyes as he took in the now organized space. He handed you back your coffee, and you took a grateful sip, watching him as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“So, what’s the story behind the books?” he asked, gesturing to the eclectic mix of novels and textbooks that now lined the shelves.

You shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious. “They’re just my escape. Sometimes school gets overwhelming, and I just need to lose myself in a good story.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the spines before meeting yours. “I get that. Sometimes, when I’ve had enough of my own head, I’ll read for hours. It’s like…going on an adventure without leaving your couch.”

You shared a knowing look. “Exactly. And my couch is pretty comfy for traveling the world.”

Bucky’s smile grew a little sad. “Or escaping it, huh?”

The air in the room changed, thick with unspoken understanding. You both knew what it was like to carry a past that weighed heavier than any book. You took a deep breath, deciding to let down your guard a little.

“Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with other people’s problems than my own. And the ones in books have a better chance of a happy ending than the ones in real life.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “But you can’t live in someone else’s story forever, Y/N. You gotta write your own sometimes too.”

You looked away, feeling the weight of his gaze. It was a gentle push, but it was a push nonetheless.

“I know,” you said softly. “I’m just…scared to mess it up, you know?”

Bucky’s hand found yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You won’t. And if you do, that’s what the backspace button’s for. Just keep going.”

The warmth of his hand was like a balm to your soul, a silent promise of support. You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the beginnings of something unfurling in your chest - hope, perhaps?

You both sat there in silence for a moment, sipping on your coffee, the quiet hum of the fridge the only sound breaking the stillness.

“So, what’s your story?” Bucky asked, curiosity etched in his voice as he took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

You took a deep breath, unsure how much of your life you wanted to unpack for a man you’d only just met. But there was something about him that made you feel safe, like he could handle whatever you threw at him. “It’s not much to tell, really. Just trying to get through school, work to pay the bills, the usual stuff. My parents aren’t around, so it’s all on me.”

The sadness in your voice was palpable, and Bucky’s expression softened. He knew what it was like to be adrift in the world, carrying the weight of responsibilities that were never meant for one person.

“What about your friends? They help you out?”

You shrugged. “They try, but everyone’s got their own lives. It’s hard to juggle it all. And Carl…” You trailed off, not wanting to dwell on the sour note he’d left you with the night before.

“He’s not worth another thought,” Bucky said firmly. “You’ve got more important things to focus on. Like what you’re gonna do after you graduate.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to be a counsellor. I’m studying psychology.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing. You’ll be great at it. You’ve already got the patience and strength to deal with people at their worst.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. “Thanks. It’s just what I’ve had to learn to do, I guess. Can I ask you something a bit stupid?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his grip on your hand not loosening. “You can ask me anything.”

“How did you become so…” You paused, searching for the right word. “So…good?”

He chuckled, a sound that was surprisingly warm and full of life. “It’s not something you just become, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of bad stuff. Done a lot of bad stuff. It’s about making choices, every day. Choosing to do the right thing even when it’s hard, even when it’s scary. And I’ve had a lot of people help me along the way. Like Steve… Captain America, I mean.”

The mention of his friend brought a wistful look to his eyes, and you felt a tingle of curiosity about the stories he must have, the adventures he’d been on.

“I just…I mean, I’m not gonna trauma dump on you or anything but sometimes I just feel like I…can’t make up for anything…” Your voice drew out.

Bucky’s thumb made small circles on the back of your hand, a gentle reassurance. “You fascinate me.”

You looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the floor before meeting yours again. “You look so sweet. I..obviously you are. But, I can tell there’s something else going on. That something happened….”

You felt your eyes well up, unsure if you wanted to let go of the dam of emotions you’d held back for so long. But the sincerity in Bucky’s voice, the way his thumb kept caressing your hand, made you feel like maybe, just this once, it was okay to be vulnerable in front of him.

“It’s just… I’ve made some mistakes,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Big ones. Ones I’m not sure I can ever fix. It’s hard to…move on from that.”

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, the warmth in them unwavering. “We all have regrets, Y/N. Hey, we all know I do. But that doesn’t define us. It’s what we do next that counts. And you, helping people, that’s a pretty noble next step, if you ask me.”

You took a shaky breath, his words resonating deep within you. “Sorry.” You giggle softly, “This is a bit dark for a first…whatever this is.”

“It’s okay to be real. Sometimes that’s all anyone can ask for.”

Bucky’s words surrounded you like a warm embrace, his grip on your hand a silent reminder that you weren’t alone. The room felt a size smaller, but not in a suffocating way - more like the comfort of a blanket on a cold night, wrapping you in a cocoon. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your secrets threatening to spill out.

He could see a look of guilt spilling over your features suddenly.

“Bucky, I’m a bad person.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. You hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but there it was, hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Bucky’s thumb stopped moving. He studied you, his gaze intense but not judgmental. “You can’t believe that, Y/N. You’re not. Everyone makes mis-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “No, Bucky. You don’t understand.”

The silence grew heavier, the air thick with the unspoken words. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for his judgment, his pity. But all you found was his hand tightening around yours, a silent declaration that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I was trained in the Red Room.”

It was a whisper, the weight of the confession making your voice tremble.

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, the warmth in them never fading. “The Red Room?” he repeated, his voice low and measured. You nodded, the words feeling like lead in your mouth. The Red Room was something you’d buried deep, a chapter of your life you’d hoped never to have to re-open. But here you were, in the dim light of your small apartment, sharing it with this stranger. He deserved to know. He deserved the option to walk away and never look back at the twisted world he’d barely escaped the first time.

He was quiet for a long moment, his hand still wrapped around yours. The tension grew, a symphony of unspoken questions and fears playing in the air. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, the thumping rhythm echoing in your ears. Was he disgusted? Would he leave now?

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, looking for the truth in the shadows of your irises. “The Red Room,” he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like a dark secret. You could see the recognition in his eyes, the understanding of what that meant. “You were a widow.”

It was less of a question than a statement.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your past pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The air grew colder, and you found yourself shrinking into your cardigan, as if it could offer some kind of protection from his judgment. But instead of recoiling, Bucky leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“How’d you get out?” His voice was gentle, the question not one of accusation, but of genuine curiosity.

You took a deep breath, feeling the walls of your chest constrict around the words you hadn’t spoken in years. “Natasha and Yelena…they found me. When they took the Red Room down. They…freed me.”

Bucky’s grip on your hand grew stronger, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the understanding dawn in his expression, the knowledge of what it meant to be plucked from the hell you’d been living in and thrust into a world that didn’t make sense anymore.

“Bucky, you….I think you should go.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, the tremble in it clear as day. You couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, the guilt and fear of what he’d think of you now that he knew the truth too much to bear. You didn’t expect him to stay, not after what you’d told him. But the way he looked at you, with a mix of empathy and something you couldn’t quite name, made you hope.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N,” Bucky said firmly, his thumb still caressing the back of your hand. “You’re safe here. With me.”

But the dam had already broken. Tears spilled from your eyes, a silent cascade that painted tracks down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed to hear that, how much you’d needed someone to remind you that you weren’t the monster you felt like. You hadn’t expected to find that in the arms of a man who’d been through his own brand of hell.

But here you were, crying in front of him, letting the pain of your past spill out in a messy, human way.

——————————————————————————————————

I’m hoping this series will be intriguing for some of you fabulous readers! 🫶

Sometimes learning Spanish involves getting burnt out and discouraged and feeling like you're never going to be fluent and staring emoly at the ceiling until you try again

bodies should never ever hurt when i’m trying to sleep. like girl literally just turn off. that’s enough

So

You know that wolverine fic i said would be out soon?

Im a fucking liar

Im currently ✨️moving✨️ so everything is up in the air and *a* fic will be posted ASAP

itll be gambit / wolverine or deadpool

Currently sat in here waiting for it to start for the 11th time (tix are £5 out here in the english countryside!)

guess who fucking spent more money on tickets just to see gambit alive again in the cinema unlike in xmen '97

Lets break back into the swing of things!

send me “have you evers” and I can only reply with “yes” or “no”

THIS is whomst the Williams team is screwing btw. If you even care

Fair Play

Oscar Piastri x Reader x Logan Sargent x Liam Lawson

Genre: fluff and crack (Look! I can write fluff!)

Summary: The quartet try to have a fun night out which lands them a trip to the emergency room.

Warnings: a hospital trip and Liam being an absolute menace

Notes: For @bad268, I hope you like it! I would like to point out that I've been to maybe two fairs in my life so this might be inaccurate.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Going to a fair is not something the group gets to do often. The racing season keeps them all busy. The quiet moments are few and far between.

But it's summer break, and they have time to indulge themselves for a night. A nice relaxing night to forget about things and just enjoy each other's company. Like nothing could possibly go wrong.

How wrong they were.

"Haven't been to one of these in forever." Logan pulls his sweatshirt over his head. The colder air of the night breeze ruffling his hair.

Oscar, determined to stay in his eternal summer, is in his usual attire. "Have any of us ever been?"

"I've been a couple of times when I was younger." Says the female. Liam is spinning her around as they attempt to walk forward. "I was terrible at all the games and never won anything, though."

The three boys stop in their tracks. There is a playful smirk on each of their faces. "I swear, if you three make this a competition, I will lose it."

Liam drops his mouth open in feigned exasperation. "What if the intent is to be corny and win you a prize or something!"

"Well then, that's fine. I won't say no to being spoiled."

Liam hands her off to Logan as they make their way inside. The American is the gentlest of the three. He always makes himself available for comforting hugs.

The boy's beeline straight to where the games are. Not even sparing a glance in the direction of anything else. Typical competitive spirits. Three weeks with no racing means they have to get it out somehow.

She looks at Oscar in a desperate attempt to get his attention. Liam and Logan have launched themselves into another game and are not currently paying attention.

"What do you say to ice-cream, Osc?"

"I say lovely."

The two signal to the other boys and say they'll be back. Already wrapped up in their activity, they pay them no mind. Liam is gesturing wildly with his hands. A good indicator they won't notice they are even leaving.

"I feel like this is a bad idea."

"What is?"

"Leaving them on their own."

Liam and Logan are staring down some kind of bebe riffle shooter game. Not because of the game itself, but because of the prize they could potentially win.

The massive teddy bear sits behind the counter, taunting them. It's begging to be in the arms of another. Specifically, in the arms of their girl. It's begging to be cuddled by her.

"This should be easy for you, Lo!" Liam snickers and takes up a spot. "Being American and all."

Logan rolls his eyes, face completely blank. "Yes Liam, your over used joke is so funny and I'm laughing so hard." He can't keep the straight face for long and both boys end up laughing at themselves.

Liam picks up the rifle and is instructed to take a test shot. He attempts, with nothing to show for it. Logan descends further into laughter.

"Would you like a hand from someone who knows guns?" Liam groans as Logan takes a step forward.

"Maybe it's jammed-"

The plastic gun makes a clicking sound. Logan lets out a yelp and clutches his wrist. "Liam..."

"Logan, listen, we can talk this out!"

"You asshole! You shot me!"

In the distance, the other half is carrying back ice-cream for them. The sudden yelp causes the female to startle and nearly drop the two cones she is holding.

Oscar is somewhere between a laugh and a pained sigh. "I told you it was a bad idea."

She takes another lick from her ice-cream and look directly into Oscar's eyes. "I regret nothing."

Liam is trying desperately to fight back a laugh as the group converges together.

The female ditches her ice-cream in Liams hands and inspects Logans wrist. "You hurt the baby, Liam! How could you?”

“Y/n, he’s the oldest.”

“Doesn’t matter! Liam hurt the baby.” She begins to walk away with the boys in tow. “We’re heading to emergency because I don’t feel like hearing about this from Alex if Logan is hurt.”

Liam is trying to drive while Oscar sits passenger side still holding ice-cream. It’s dripping down his fingers at this point. An entertaining sigh to the two in the back.

Liam looks over at a red light, leans in obnoxiously close, and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hey Osc, can I lick it off your fingers?”

“Liam, I swear to god-“

The light turns green and Liam is once again speeding off to the nearest A&E.

The wait inside is long enough for them to actually finish the melting treat. People give them weird looks, but they are wrapped up in their own little bubble and couldn’t care less.

The nurses all giggle as they retell the story of what happened. The injury is hardly serious, but they wrap it all nice anyway. They ask if Logan would like a band aid at one point and he just groans (he whispered yes right before they left).

“You realize nobody is ever going to believe us, right?” Oscar looks towards Logan’s hand with raised eyebrows.

Logan groans again. “Do they have to? Could be our secret.”

As the female lifts Logan’s hand to her mouth to ‘kiss it better’, she leans over to whisper to him. “I don’t we can hide this one, babe. You have a crayon band-aid on.”

“Yeah, no, I’m telling everyone about this.”

“It was your fault!”