moniquesha

[moniquesha]

pls give me the strength to continue… . 😟

sharing is NOT caring

prologue

Pair: College!Bucky x reader

Summary: You and your twin were nothing alike, except when it came to men. That one shared taste might be what tears you both apart.

Warnings: there are both of you here, violence, angst, fluff, filthy smut, cheating, pick me behaviour, crazy twists, had a hard time writing this.

Masterlist

a/n: my brain is dead for exfil, i need new things to write about. i hope u all enjoy this because this is so crazy when i was writing it <3

Your mother once dreamed of having a child, just one. Someone to love with all the vastness of her heart. But the universe had grander plans and blessed her with twins. Two heartbeats instead of one. Two souls so closely intertwined, even the stars paused to marvel.

From the very beginning, everything was shared. If your twin had something, you had it too–just in a different color. Matching dresses, different shades. One pink, one blue. Two bikes, one red, one green. There was never a favorite, never an ounce of favoritism. Your mom made sure of that. Her only rule? Share. Or, if that wasn’t possible, make sure you both have what you both want. Fairness wasn’t just a principle in your house, it was the foundation.

Your sister understood that. So did you. At least, at first.

But growing up meant growing into yourselves. Clothes? You liked comfort, she liked style. Food? You went for savory, she had a sweet tooth. Hobbies, sports–your paths started to diverge in subtle but definite ways.

You were different, and that was okay.

Until you realized there was one thing you both still shared, something that never stopped aligning, your taste in men.

And for some time, you wondered, what happens when fairness isn’t so easy anymore?

It’s summer break. Every person you know from college is either posting stories from a beach halfway across the world or floating through hazy, half-lit parties, chasing highs before fall drags them back to textbooks and lecture halls.

Meanwhile, you're here. At home. Sunk into the deep cushions of the living room sofa, a slight breeze drifting in through the open window. You have plans but vague, tentative ones, and the thought of just doing absolutely nothing today feels like a gift.

“The other set of twins are coming, by the way!” your sister yells from the kitchen, the clatter of dishes echoing her voice.

“The Maximoffs?” you call back, lazily scrolling through your phone before setting it down on your chest.

“Yup! And I heard Pietro has a new rideee.” Her voice lilts, trying to fish a reaction out of you.

You let a soft smile tug at the corner of your lips. “Well, if I'm in the mood,” you murmur, stretching like a cat, “then let's bless that ride.”

She flops onto the sofa beside you, both of you quiet for a moment, the hum of summer laziness settling in again.

Then you glance down. “Hey, where’s your bracelet?”

She pauses, surprised, instinctively brushing her wrist as if expecting it to be there. It’s not.

The gold bracelets, identical, save for the names engraved on them: Chloe and Y/N. It had been with you since you were seven. A joke turned tradition after the world kept confusing you two. Only your mother could tell you apart on sight, so she gave you those tiny golden markers, glimmering proof that you were each your own person, even if the world didn’t always see it.

“I must’ve left it upstairs,” Chloe says quickly, but there’s something clipped about her tone. Dismissive.

You study her for a moment. “You never take it off.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’m changing.”

Maybe. But something about her answer doesn’t sit right.

Before you can press further, a pair of familiar voices rings from outside, followed by the unmistakable purr of a souped-up engine pulling into the driveway.

The Maximoff twins have arrived.

And suddenly, doing nothing all day doesn’t feel like the plan anymore.

Wanda's face suddenly appears in the window, hands cupped around her eyes like binoculars. “What’s up, whore!” she calls out with zero shame, grinning at Chloe like it’s a warm-up for whatever unhinged things she’s about to say next.

Chloe grins back. “You’re late.”

Wanda shrugs, unbothered. “Fashionably. I brought snacks.”

Then her eyes flick to you, catching your slower movement on the couch. Her tone softens. “Hi, pretty Y/N. Coming to join us?”

You sit up slightly, hair tousled from the couch cushion, blinking against the sunlight that follows her voice into the room. “Might. If you’ve got actual snacks and not just a bag of Flamin’ Hot air.”

Wanda gasps like you’ve just insulted her ancestors. “Excuse you, Hot Cheetos are the fuel of summer legends.”

You smirk, but it fades quickly as you stand up and glance back at Chloe, who’s busy smoothing her hair in the hallway mirror, already in host mode.

You’ve always appreciated Wanda and Pietro. They were the first ones to welcome you and Chloe into the social ecosystem back at the dorms. Two wild cards instantly curious about the “new twins on the block.” But even then, the connection tilted. They clicked with Chloe faster. Louder laughs. Inside jokes. That natural twin-speak flow you never quite found with them.

Not that they don’t love you. They do. Just maybe not in the same way.

But you try.

You throw on a hoodie and follow the sound of Wanda’s laugh toward the front door, just in time to see Pietro leaning against his new car–sleek, shiny, and way too expensive for a college student unless he sold something illegal or charmed someone rich.

He spots you and smiles, something lazy and sunlit in his expression.

“Well, well,” he says. “The elusive twin emerges.”

You roll your eyes, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “It’s summer break, not a red carpet.”

He shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Chloe laughs from behind you, slipping past to greet him like it’s her cue.

And just like that, you’re back to walking three steps behind a trio you kind of belong to.

Chloe practically launches herself at Pietro, arms thrown around his neck like this is the reunion of the century. He catches her with practiced ease, laughing, the kind that makes people watching think oh, they're close.

And they are. No denying that.

But then Pietro shifts his arm, glancing at you over Chloe’s shoulder. “Come here, you too,” he says, and it’s not just polite–it’s easy. Like he means it.

You hesitate, just for a second. But you step in, your face pressed against Pietro’s shoulder for the briefest moment as his arm pulls you into the hug too. It’s warm. Secure. Nice.

Chloe’s eyes flick to the side. You feel it more than see it. Just.. that little tick in her expression. The way her jaw shifts. Like she didn’t expect to share that moment.

“Well, Wanda,” she chirps, voice bright with a little too much sugar, “I call shotgun!”

Before Wanda can even breathe a protest–technically, it’s her car too. Chloe’s already in the passenger seat, flipping the visor down like she owns it. You blink, lips twitching into a soft, almost apologetic smile as you turn to Wanda. “Sorry you have to sit with the boring one.”

Wanda snorts, instantly looping her arm through yours like the two of you are conspirators in some harmless crime. “You’re not boring, Y/N. You’re just a calm soul.”

She leans in, nudging your shoulder with hers. “More calm than your sister, for sure. Like, a dangerous amount more. I respect that.”

You chuckle under your breath, but you don’t miss the way Chloe’s looking back from the front seat. Not glaring. Not angry. Just watching.

You climb into the back with Wanda, who’s already kicking her shoes off like it’s her personal limo, and Pietro starts the engine. The music's loud, the windows are down, and the sun is baking into the seats. Everything about this should feel light.

But there's a little knot twisting in your stomach. Because even if the day is perfect, you know one thing for sure:

Chloe definitely didn’t like that hug.

You know your sister better than anyone else in the world.

You know the voice she uses when she wants something. The way she curls her hair when she’s feeling insecure. The difference between her real laugh and the one she saves for people she wants to impress. You’ve lived her whole life right next to her–of course you know her.

And you also know that the rule your mother instilled, fairness above all, only really applies when your mom’s around.

When she’s not? Chloe changes. Not in big, monstrous ways. Nothing you could point to and say, “That. That’s the line.” It’s smaller. Sharper.

Like how your clothes start disappearing from your side of the closet, showing up on her Instagram stories. Or how she “borrows” your bracelet without asking your bracelet, the one with your name engraved on it, and then acts like you’re being dramatic for noticing.

She wears your favorite earrings on the night you were finally going to debut them.

She gets closer to your friends than you ever manage to. Laughs louder, pulls them in faster, and suddenly you’re on the outside of your own circle. But it’s Chloe. So you say nothing.

Because you love her. With your whole life. There’s no question about that.

At first, you told yourself it was just typical sibling stuff. Just the cost of being twins. She steals your clothes, you roll your eyes, and that’s the end of it. But it started to twist. To hurt.

Because when you try to wear her stuff? She reacts like you’ve crossed some sacred boundary. Gets defensive. Emotional. Sometimes even begs for it back, like you’re taking something essential from her.

Or when you get too friendly with her friends, the mood shifts. A quiet tension laces her tone. Subtle jabs disguised as jokes. A reminder that you’re trespassing, even when you didn’t mean to.

You gaslight yourself. Tell yourself she doesn’t mean it like that. That this is just how she shows love. That maybe you’re too sensitive.

Because Chloe would never hurt you. Not on purpose.

And you'd never hurt her either.

So you push the thoughts down. Smile. Nod. Let her keep the bracelet. Let her take the seat up front. Laugh when she calls shotgun like she always does.

But deep down, you wonder if it’s always going to be like this, loving someone who doesn’t always know how to love you back without taking a little bit of you in the process.

The car ride is filled with music and laughter, Pietro and Chloe singing their hearts out in the front while Wanda joins in, dramatically belting out lyrics like she's on stage. The energy is electric, but you? You just watch the sun dip behind the trees, painting the sky in soft pinks and deep oranges.

You smile to yourself. This is what you love about summer, not the wild parties or the buzzing chaos, but the break. The feeling of not being buried under textbooks, not having to measure your worth in grades and stress. Just existing, warm and weightless.

Then suddenly the car jerks to a stop.

Pietro twists in his seat, grabbing a pair of sunglasses from the glove box. “Welcome to the Carters,” he announces, sliding them on with a grin. “They throw the wildest parties ever. If I were you ladies, stay close to me or you’ll get lost.”

You glance outside. The house in front of you is massive like old money big. The kind of big that doesn't just say wealth but legacy. Windows spill colorful lights onto the well-manicured lawn, flashing with the beat of the music thumping from inside.

“Well, c’mon, guys! Move your asses,” Wanda urges, already stepping out.

Chloe wastes no time hooking her arm around Pietro’s, her smile bright, her grip possessive. She’s done it a million times before, but now you can’t help but notice the way she subtly presses closer to him.

You go to follow, but Wanda tugs you back, her hand firm on your wrist. Her voice is low but teasing as she leans in, eyes flicking over your hoodie.

“Okay, baby,” she murmurs, “You are not wearing a sweater inside.”

You blink at her, glancing down at yourself. “What? It’s comfortable.”

She scoffs, already peeling it off you before you can protest. “Exactly. And this is not a comfortable night! This is a ‘you look so good people regret their life choices’ night.”

The hoodie is gone before you can fight for it. You stand there, slightly chilled in the warm night air, and Wanda just grins, pleased. “Much better,” she says, looping her arm through yours like you’re her personal VIP guest.

Inside the house, the music gets louder, and the night ahead stretches long and uncertain.

The second the door swings open, it’s like stepping into another world.

Warm air, thick with the scent of sweat, cologne, and whatever someone's smoking in the next room. Music pulses through the floorboards, deep bass that vibrates in your chest, the kind that makes it hard to tell if it's the song or your heartbeat reacting.

The Carter house is packed. Bodies move in rhythm or stumble through rooms in search of their next drink or next mistake. There’s laughter, shouting, clinking glasses and flashes of neon lights that paint everyone in sharp reds, greens, and blues.

Wanda pulls you through the chaos, grinning like the chaos is home.

Chloe and Pietro disappear fast, blended into the crowd like they were meant to be the center of it. Chloe’s laugh rings louder than the music for a second, and you see Pietro throw his arm over her shoulder like he’s telling her something private. Something meant just for her.

You try not to read into it.

“Alright, drink first, survive later,” Wanda says, already handing you a red cup like she summoned it from thin air. You take it, hesitating just a little before sipping. It burns, in that warm, we’re-gonna-regret-this kind of way.

You wander a bit, sticking close to Wanda until someone pulls her into a dance circle. She gives you a “you good?” glance and you nod, slipping toward the edge of the crowd. You’re not ready to jump into the middle of it, not yet.

So you explore.

The house is insane. Tall ceilings, gold-rimmed mirrors, art on the walls that’s probably worth more than your entire tuition. You move through rooms where strangers are making out on couches, playing beer pong with champagne, or dancing like it’s the last night on Earth.

Then you hear your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there’s Pietro. Holding two cups, messy hair, flushed cheeks, and that smile.

“I was gonna find you,” he says, handing you one of the drinks. “Didn’t want you getting lost.”

“Would’ve been tragic,” you tease, accepting the cup.

“You’d be surprised how many people get lost at Carter parties,” he says, his grin widening. “I’ve had to drag Wanda out of a closet once. She claimed it was Narnia.”

You laugh, more genuinely than you expected. The drink helps. Or maybe it’s the way Pietro’s looking at you. Really looking.

“Where’s Chloe?” you ask, careful to sound casual.

Pietro shrugs, sipping his drink. “She ran into someone she knew. Went off dancing. You know her, she’ll reappear dramatically.”

You nod, but there’s something in your chest that tightens. Just a little.

“Come on,” he says suddenly, tugging your hand, “let me show you the balcony view. Best part of this house.” You hesitate but your feet follow. 

The crowd swallows you both for a moment until the hallway clears and the air opens up. He pushes open a pair of glass doors and you're outside, finally able to breathe. The backyard glows with string lights. The sky is almost purple now, the stars peeking through the haze of summer.

“It’s nice, right?” he asks.

You nod, leaning against the railing. “I didn’t think you noticed I wasn’t around.”

Pietro laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “I notice you more than you think.”

And there’s silence. Not awkward. Not loud.

Just still.

Inside the party roars on, but out here... something else is beginning.

“You know,” Pietro says, voice a little lower now, a little more honest, “I know you and Chloe look alike… but there’s this different glow about you.”

You laugh softly, your shoulder brushing his. “What, you a twin expert now?”

He grins, boyish and smug. “I am a twin, remember? I always tell Wanda I know more than her. I was born twelve minutes earlier, that gives me seniority.”

“Oh, of course,” you play along, eyes rolling. “The wisdom of twelve whole minutes.”

But then he quiets for a moment, gaze softening as he really looks at you.

“Can I?” he asks.

You blink. “Hm?”

He reaches for your hair, his fingers brushing your neck as he gently pulls the tie loose. The ponytail falls apart, your hair sliding over your shoulders like a slow-motion scene in a movie.

“There,” he says, smiling with something that doesn’t feel like flirting. “You’re beautiful that way.”

Your breath hitches just a little, not from shock, but from how gentle it feels. How safe. How unexpected.

The balcony air is warm, but the moment is warmer. And when you look at him, really look at him, you realize there’s nothing performative in his expression. It’s not a line. He’s not looking for a reaction.

He means it.

Inside, the music pulses louder, and you hear laughter echoing down the hallway, maybe Chloe’s, maybe not. But you don’t turn to check.

Because right now, Pietro is standing in front of you like he’s seeing you for the first time. And part of you wonders if this is what it feels like to finally stop standing in someone else’s shadow.

“There you guys are!” Chloe's voice cuts through the balcony air like a spark, all bright and sugary.

You and Pietro jolt ever so slightly, instinctively stepping a bit apart. Not guiltily, but not innocently, either.

She strolls up, practically glowing under the string lights, her energy big and breezy like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong. Her arms find Pietro’s waist like it's second nature, her chin hooking on his shoulder with that practiced kind of closeness that looks effortless but feels.. pointed.

“I can’t believe you left me, Pete!” she pouts, voice dipped in faux betrayal.

Pietro’s smile falters for a split second. “Sorry,” he says, casting a brief glance your way. “I came to look for Y/N too, you know.” His tone is light, but there's something underneath it. A reminder. Maybe even a nudge that She’s your sister, why weren’t you?

Chloe follows his eyes and lands on you. There’s a pause, like she's scanning for something she doesn't quite understand yet.

Then, she smiles. “Like the get-up, sis! You should really keep your hair down more.”

You offer a soft smile back. It’s meant to be kind. It is kind. But there’s this weird echo in it, like the words could mean “you look beautiful” or “who told you you could?”

Before you can figure it out, Chloe claps her hands together. “Well, they're doing shots! Let’s?”

She turns to Pietro, eyes wide and playful, clearly expecting him to come with her. He nods slowly, too slowly. Like his body says yes, but his mind is still back on the balcony with you. Like he doesn’t want to go. But he’s Pietro, and Chloe is Chloe, and saying no has never been the dynamic.

You watch as she tugs him gently toward the door, her hand still looped around him. Just before he disappears inside, he glances back at you. Not long. Not dramatic. But enough. He noticed the moment too. And now it’s floating in the space between the three of you, unseen but undeniably there.

You lean against the railing, cup in hand, and stare down at the glowing yard below, buzzing with students from colleges you’ve never heard of. You sip your drink slowly, letting the sharp taste settle on your tongue like it’s supposed to distract you. It doesn’t.

You’ve been drunk before. You know the haze, the heat, the sudden urge to sing and cry and confess your whole soul to a stranger in a bathroom. But tonight? You’re just floating in it. Present, but not in it.

There’s a hollowness that clings to your ribs. Not from the alcohol. Not from the party. From the fact that Pietro’s laugh still echoes faintly down the hall. From the way Chloe looked at you like she was complimenting you but also claiming her territory.

You’re not mad. Not even jealous, maybe. Just.. lonely.

“You lost?” a voice asks, light and girlish and unfamiliar.

You turn, slightly startled, and find a girl standing in the doorway. She’s blonde, with sleek straight hair tucked behind her ears and a surprisingly genuine smile on her face. She looks like she belongs here in a way you don’t, like this is her natural habitat.

“Oh uh no,” you answer quickly. “I’m not. I just like it here.”

She tilts her head, then walks out to stand beside you at the railing. “Yeah? You don’t think it looks too cliché?”

You glance around. The warm lights, the perfectly curated mess of a rich kid party, the air that smells like jasmine and cheap tequila. You think for a moment.

“I mean, I’m not exactly the ‘eat the rich’ type,” you say honestly, “But no. I don’t think it’s cliché. It’s really beautiful. Whoever owns this place must be kind. Letting people enjoy it like this, sharing the space. That says something, I think.”

The girl blinks, like she didn’t expect that kind of insight from you. Not here. Not at this kind of party.

“What’s your name?” she asks, a new kind of curiosity lighting her features.

“Y/N,” you reply. “You?”

She smiles, slow and a little amused. “I’m Sharon,” she says, reaching for your cup to clink it with hers. “Sharon Carter.”

You pause. And you blink. “You’re the Carter?”

She just grins and leans her elbow on the railing. “Guilty. Though technically this is my aunt’s house. She’s... well, she’s very generous when she’s overseas.”

You stare for a second, surprised but not intimidated. Sharon doesn’t carry herself like someone who wants to be worshipped, just noticed.

“Well, your balcony is stunning,” you tease gently.

“And your energy is refreshing,” she replies, tilting her head. “Let me guess, you’re not a party girl, but someone dragged you here?”

“Something like that,” you say with a small shrug.

Sharon nods knowingly, eyes flicking over your expression, reading it far too well for someone you just met.

“Well, stick with me,” she says, nudging you lightly with her shoulder. “You can ghost the party later, but for now.. I promise not all rich kids are terrible. Some of us even have snacks.”

Sharon leads the way, gliding down the grand staircase like she’s done it a thousand times. The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floors echoes in the large, open space, making everything feel important.

You follow behind her, trying to blend in with the crowd, but there's a noticeable shift. People don’t just glance at Sharon, they notice her. Eyes flick to her as she moves, some nodding in respect, others leaning in to say something. She’s a presence, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how little you belong in this world of polished socialites and golden smiles.

You catch a few glances thrown your way, and it’s almost like you’re the shadow following someone’s spotlight. You want to shrink away, to become invisible, but you can’t. You won’t, not when Sharon is beside you, calm and sure of herself.

She doesn’t even break a stride. It’s like she’s used to this.

As you walk through the crowd, her head turns just slightly to check on you.

“There’s an after-party after this,” she says casually, like it’s no big deal. “You wanna come?”

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. You’re not sure where this is going, if Sharon is offering out of politeness or actual interest in hanging out. Either way, you don’t want to feel like you're just tagging along.

“Really? I’m with my sister and two other friends,” you explain, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I don’t wanna leave them, really.”

Sharon’s eyes flicker with a touch of understanding, but her grin remains unaffected, like she didn’t even think twice about it.

“Well, that’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “Bring them along! The more, the merrier, right?”

Well, why not? Right?

a/n: no bucky yet, wait 4 him pls!

[moniquesha]

Hi, I just wanted to say that the ongoing work of yours, titled "sharing is NOT caring" is really good and I really like it. Not a request of anything, I just wanted to show my appreciation.

HI 🥹 thank you so much! i took such a long break because writer’s block hit me so quick while in the middle of writing this series. but i might just update later for you ❤️ your comments and insights mean a lot to me!!! thank you again and again and again ⭐️

[moniquesha]

sharing is NOT caring

second

Pair: College!Bucky x reader

You and your twin were nothing alike, except when it came to men. That one shared taste might be what tears you both apart.

Warnings: there are both of you here, violence, angst, fluff, filthy smut, cheating, pick me behaviour, crazy twists, had a hard time writing this.

Masterlist

The sunlight cuts through the thin gap between the curtains, painting gold stripes over your blanket. You roll to your side, groggy and still wearing the remnants of last night’s eyeliner. There's a familiar hum of movement, Chloe’s already awake. You hear her in the bathroom. The sink runs, the clatter of mascara tubes and hair ties filling the quiet morning. She’s humming something poppy under her breath, the same tune she’s had stuck in her head all week.

You sit up slowly, a dull buzz in your head from the drinks and dancing. Your phone lights up beside you on the nightstand: 1 New Message: Bucky Barnes. Before you can even open the message, Chloe walks back into the room, brushing her hair with that usual effortless bounce in her step. She’s already dressed, cropped tee, bows on her head, and that lip gloss she only wears when she’s aiming to turn heads.

“Good morning, sleepy,” she sings, pulling open your closet.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, stretching.

“Later. Waiting for Wanda’s reply,” she says casually, but her eyes flicker to your phone.

She hesitates just slightly, like she wants to ask something, but doesn’t. Instead, she grabs your denim jacket from the hook and shrugs into it like it’s hers. You watch in silence, another small thing she does without asking. “By the way,” she adds with a casual toss of her hair, “last night was crazy, huh? You and Bucky looked pretty close.” It’s said lightly, almost teasing. But there’s a sharpness buried under her tone, like a needle wrapped in silk. You stretch your arms over your head and toss your legs over the side of the bed, brushing off the weight of her question with a yawn. “It was just a party,” you say with a small smile, playing it cool. “Besides, I can say the same thing about you and Pietro. You guys looked pretty cozy yourselves.”

“Oh, c’mon,” she grins, spinning around to face you fully. “I know you have a crush on him. You want me to tell him about it?” You raise an eyebrow, keeping your tone light. “What, like a middle school note? ‘Do you like my sister, check yes or no?’” She grins wider. “If that’s what it takes.” Then she pauses, looking at you more intently. “But seriously, Y/N. You should go for it. He does look at you like you hung the moon or something.”

It sounds genuine. Her tone is soft, maybe even a little sincere. But it’s Chloe, and you’ve known her too long to not hear the echo of control laced beneath it. Like she’s giving you permission. 

You’re not that numb, but you’re not the one to immediately assume things either. “I don’t think he sees me that way.”

You hear her scoff about your comment, already halfway to the door. “Don’t act dumb now. We both know it’s not attractive.”

And with that, she disappears down the hall, your jacket still hanging off her shoulders.

You glance down at your phone, Bucky’s message still waiting.

you up? hope your head’s not a warzone. last night was fun.

You grab your phone and slip it into your pocket, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest. It’s a mix of curiosity and something else, something you haven’t quite pinned down yet. Chloe watches you, her eyes narrowing with that signature mischievous glint as she takes another sip of her coffee. She leans back on the counter, almost too casually. “You know, it’s so cool how Bucky only gave his number to you,” she says in the most sarcastic, drawn-out tone. “Guess I’ll just have to wait my turn, huh?”

You feel her words settle into the air like a challenge. The sharpness of her voice, the way she’s poking at you, it’s classic Chloe. You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that I’m sure everyone here was just falling over themselves to give you their number, right?” She pauses for dramatic effect. “I mean, I don’t think anyone else got that kind of VIP treatment.”

You try to stay calm, but it’s hard not to feel the subtle jab in her words. “Maybe I’m just more interesting than you think.” She laughs, tossing her hair back in that exaggerated way, like she’s the queen of the world. “Sure, sis. Just don’t get too carried away. It’s Bucky Barnes, not the prince of anything. He’s just a guy.” It stings a little more than it should, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you grab your jacket from the back of the chair, zipping it up slowly. “Well, I’m sure you’ll catch someone’s eye soon enough. Pietro’s been hanging around you all night.”

Her eyes flicker for a split second, just enough for you to notice. “Yeah, he’s a great guy,” she says quickly, as if she wants to change the subject. “But you.. you really are so into Bucky, huh?” You shrug, hoping to play it cool. “We’re just talking. Don’t read too much into it.” Chloe just gives you that smile, the one that’s just a little too knowing. “Sure, sure. Just don’t let it get to your head, okay?” You both know the game she’s playing, but you refuse to take the bait. “I’m gonna head out for a walk. I’ll be back soon.”

“Fine, go get some air or whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be here, waiting for my own life-changing phone call from Bucky.” You leave her in the kitchen, her words lingering behind you. But you pause at the door, your hand resting on the handle. The weight of Chloe’s words from earlier hangs in the air, and it’s been bugging you. You feel that confusion start to settle in your chest, like there’s something more to her words than she’s letting you on.

You turn back around, your voice softer than you expect. “Chloe. I don’t like him like that,” you say, your gaze steady on her. “We just met last night. You don’t need to keep pushing it.” Chloe looks up at you, her eyes narrowing slightly. There’s that smirk again, the one she wears when she knows she’s got you thinking. But this time, it’s a little too forced, like she’s trying too hard to keep the facade up.

“I mean it, Chloe. I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but I don’t need you making it into something it’s not.”

She stays silent for a moment, looking away and then back at you, as if deciding how much of this she wants to show. “You don’t have to pretend, you know. I know you’re into him.” Her voice softens a little, but there’s still an edge of something underneath. “But just remember… you don’t have to get all attached.” You frown, stepping back toward her. “Why would I get attached? And why does it matter so much to you?” The words slip out before you can stop them.

She looks at you then, a flash of something unreadable passing through her eyes. Her shoulders tense for a moment, and for a second, you see a different side of Chloe, a side that’s guarded. She crosses her arms over her chest, biting her lip as if she’s holding something back. “I just don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.”

“By him?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Chloe, I barely know the guy. Why do you care so much? You have Pietro anyways.” She’s quiet for a long moment, her eyes flickering to the floor and then back up to meet yours.

“I know,” she says softly, her voice quieter than usual.

“But sometimes, I feel like.. like I can’t always have what I want. I’m just making sure you don’t get too caught up in something that’s not as perfect as it seems.” You stand there, taken aback for a second. The sharp edge in her voice, the vulnerability hidden behind her words, all feels so unexpected. You’d never seen her so open about feeling like this before.

“I just want to make sure you don’t fall for someone who might not be what you think he is,” she adds, her gaze drifting off to the side. The silence between you feels heavy now, the tension in the room thick. You open your mouth to say something, but no words come.

What do you even say to that?

After a long pause, you decide to keep it simple. “Okay, but I’m not gonna avoid talking to him because you think he’s a threat or something like that.” You hold her gaze firmly now, not trying to sound harsh but needing to make your point. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

Chloe nods slowly, her expression softening, though there’s still a subtle hardness behind her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You sigh, frustrated by how complicated things are getting, and then you finally step out the door. You need some space to breathe, to think without her words lingering over you. The world feels different this morning, and you're not sure if it's the fresh air or the weight of this conversation. Either way, it’s time for a walk. Time to clear your head.

You step outside, letting the cool breeze hit your face, when suddenly your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, your heart lifting when you see the familiar name on the screen.

“Ava,” you mutter to yourself with a smile, instantly feeling at ease. Ava Starr, your online friend. You've been chatting for months, sharing everything from your worst days to your weirdest thoughts. Even though she lives halfway across the continent, it feels like she’s always right there with you. She’s that one person you never have to share with anyone else, a rare gem in the vast ocean of online connections.

You swipe to answer, grinning as her voice fills your ear.

“Hey, you! How’s the world treating you today?” Ava’s voice is as warm as always, that familiar tone of hers making you feel like you’re back in a cozy space. It’s like a breath of fresh air.

“Hey, Ava! Things are... complicated, but I’m surviving,” you respond, your voice light. “What’s up with you? How’s the other side of the world treating you?”

Ava chuckles. “You know, same old. Just surviving the last semester, honestly. But you know what? I had this crazy idea for something, and I need your opinion on it.”

You walk a little further, smiling at the thought of her reaching out for your opinion. “Ooh, I’m all ears. Hit me with it.”

“Alright, so I’m thinking of making a big change. I don’t know, maybe moving to a different city. Something completely random, just to shake things up,” she says with excitement in her voice. Her words pull you into the moment, making everything else seem so far away. It's just Ava. Just the two of you talking, like no distance, no barriers. You can feel the comfort of knowing she’s only yours to talk to in that way. The kind of connection you cherish.

You walk for a little longer, enjoying the conversation and the ease that comes with talking to Ava. The world feels a little smaller when you’re talking to her, like nothing else matters but the connection you share. As you stroll down the street, your phone pressed to your ear, you feel the weight of the world lift just a little. No judgment, no complications.

“So, what’s got you thinking about shaking things up?” you ask, genuinely curious. “I mean, I get it, but what’s the plan?”

Ava pauses for a second, and you can almost hear her smile through the phone. “Well, I’ve been feeling like.. I don’t know. Like I’m stuck in a loop. Everything’s predictable, and I’m not really doing anything with my life, you know? I just want to change something, anything.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. You get it. You understand exactly how she feels. “Yeah, I totally get that. Sometimes it’s like you wake up one day and realize you’re not where you thought you’d be. Not really in control of things.”

“Exactly!” Ava exclaims, clearly relieved that you understand. “So, I was thinking, maybe I should just pick a random city, buy a ticket, and go. No plan. Just… go and see what happens.” You laugh, the idea kind of crazy but in a good way. It sounds like something you’d love to do, too in the future. “That’s bold. But I love it. Maybe I should join you. We could be random city-hopping buddies. Can you imagine?”

She laughs along with you, the thought making both of you giddy with excitement. “You’d be down for that? I swear, we’d make the perfect chaotic duo.”

“I mean, why not?” you reply with a chuckle. “We could just go for it, see what happens. Worst case scenario, we end up lost in a city with no plan, no way to get back home, and I guess we just find a way to make it work?”

Ava laughs, her voice a little softer now, like she’s imagining the possibility. “I think we’d figure it out. We always do. And besides, who else would have my back like you do?”

Your chest feels warm at her words. “Same goes for you, Ava,” you respond, your voice sincere. “I’d be there for you too.”

The conversation continues for a little while longer, both of you laughing and joking about the wild adventures you could have. And that thought, the idea of stepping into the unknown with someone who understands you like no one else does, makes everything else seem a little less important.

You step off the curb, lost in thought, and barely register the sound of screeching tires before a car nearly clips you. You jump back just in time, heart thudding in your chest. The driver’s door flies open and Pietro rushes out.

“What the fuck, Pietro!” you yell, still shaken, eyes wide.

He’s already at your side, hands out like he wants to steady you, but you push him away slightly, needing a second to breathe. ““What the hell! Why are you even here? What are you doing in our neighborhood?” you ask, voice ragged.

He runs a hand through his hair, guilt written all over his face. “Chloe texted me. Said you and her had a big fight and asked me to come over.”

You stare at him, stunned. “What? What fight?”

Pietro blinks, just as confused now, his brow furrowing. “She said you stormed out. That you were upset, wouldn’t talk to her, and she made it sound serious. She was panicking so, I just got in the car and drove.”

You stand there, breath still shaky, the rush of adrenaline slowly wearing off. Your mind races. There was no fight. Sure, things have felt tense, but you hadn't even said anything to Chloe before leaving. Not really. “I didn’t storm out,” you mutter, trying to piece it together. “We had a weird moment, but I just said I was going for a walk. She didn’t even answer me.”

Pietro looks down the street, like trying to process something he doesn’t quite understand. “Then why would she..?” You both fall silent for a second, the tension between you thick and confusing. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, softer now. “I didn’t mean to hit you or shock you. I should’ve called first.” You nod slowly, the tightness in your chest starting to ease. “It’s okay. Just.. you know how much Chloe can overreact. Don’t forget about that one time at your parents house.”

He studies your face for a long beat. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m starting to realize that.”

You both stand on the sidewalk, the city moving around you like background noise. Pietro shifts his weight, eyes still trained on you. “So... what was it even about? Why’s she acting like that?” You hesitate, debating how much to say. But something about the way he's looking at you makes it hard to keep dodging. “It was about Bucky,” you admit.

Pietro’s expression changes. Subtly, but enough. His shoulders stiffen, jaw ticks just once. “Barnes?” he asks, like maybe there’s more than one Bucky you could be talking about. You nod. “He gave me his number. That’s it, really. Chloe’s just being weird about it. Joking like I have a crush, pushing the idea, then acting strange when I brush it off.”

Pietro looks off, jaw tight, running his hand through his hair again. “Huh.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “What?”

He shakes his head a little too quickly. “Nothing. Just didn’t know you were into guys like him.”

Now it’s your turn to stiffen. “Guys like what?”

He opens his mouth like he has an answer, then stops himself. “Forget it,” he says, looking anywhere but at you now. “It’s not a big deal.”

But it feels like one.

You cross your arms. “Okay, you’re acting weird now too.”

He exhales through his nose, a mix of frustration and something else you can’t quite place. “Just.. look, Barnes has a rep, okay? Not bad, just that he's not always subtle. Especially not at parties.”

You look at him, trying to read between the lines. “You mean he's a flirt.”

Pietro shrugs. “Maybe. I just don’t want you getting dragged into some drama with your sister because of a guy like that.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t answer that, just looks away again, hands in his pockets. Pietro kicks a loose pebble on the sidewalk, jaw clenched. “Forget it,” he says under his breath, clearly shutting the door on the Bucky topic. “Whatever. It’s your life.” You blink, surprised at how quickly he pulled away emotionally. One second guarded, the next cold. You barely get a moment to think before he shifts again, voice sharp with curiosity. “So what’s up with Chloe, really? Why the sudden interest in Bucky too?”

You pause, arms still folded, protective of your thoughts. “She’s always been a little possessive,” you admit carefully. “Not just with people, but with things. Clothes, attention, even my own friends sometimes. I guess I just  always made excuses for her.”

Pietro nods slowly, lips pressed together. “Yeah. I’ve noticed stuff, but I didn’t want to say anything. Thought maybe that’s just how you two are.”

“It’s different when Mom’s around,” you add quietly. “She keeps things balanced. But when it’s just us she stops playing fair.” Pietro sighs, his voice softer now. “I get it. Wanda and I, we’ve had our fights too. But I’ve never seen her try to control me like that.”

You glance up at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “So you believe me?”

His gaze meets yours, steady now. “Yeah. I do.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate that but I have to head back and talk to her about dragging other people into petty arguments.” You shrug, rubbing your arms like you're trying to shake the tension off. “This is just typical Chloe. Maybe it’s nothing.”

Pietro watches you for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. If that’s what you want.” He gives a small, crooked smile, almost supportive, but laced with something unreadable. “You’re probably right. Still, if she says something else weird, or tries to twist stuff again, don’t let it slide, okay?”

You glance at him. “Since when did you become my big brother?”

He shakes his head in disgust, almost cringing at the words you just said. “Cmon, Y/N. Jesus.”

You arch a brow at him, caught off guard. “Wow, okay. That was a little aggressive.”

Pietro sighs at himself, running a hand through his hair. “No, I mean. Ugh, I didn’t mean it like that. Like god, no. I don’t see you as my sister.” You tilt your head, curiosity peeking through the edge of your sarcasm. “And what do you see me as, exactly?” He meets your gaze, a flicker of something more serious behind his eyes. “Someone I like talking to. Someone I’d never call a sister.” There’s a beat of silence, charged but uncertain. You shift your weight on your feet, torn between teasing him and acknowledging the tension.

“..Right,” you say softly. “Good to know.”

He swallows, then gestures again at the car. “So.. ride or walk?”

You shake your head gently. “I’ll walk. Need to clear my head a bit before I talk to her.”

Pietro nods, clearly respecting your space now. “Alright. Be careful. And hey, if it gets too much, call me, yeah?”

You manage a small smile. “I’ll think about it.”

He lingers for a second longer, like he wants to say something else, but then just gives you a quick nod and heads back to his car. The engine hums to life, and you watch as he pulls away, the moment still lingering like humidity in the air.

You stop walking. Your feet closer to home but your thoughts are moving away from the confrontation you have to face. But your hands are still shaking from nearly being hit. By Pietro, no less. Everything feels off today. So when you hear the car slow down again behind you, your heart stutters. Pietro pulls up next to you, leaning over to the passenger window.

“Change your mind?”

You hesitate for a second, then wordlessly open the door and get in.

He doesn’t say anything at first. The silence between you is heavy but not uncomfortable. He just drives no destination, just motion, letting the wind slip between the two of you like it’s wiping the slate clean. Finally, you speak, eyes fixed ahead. “I feel guilty.”

“For what?” he asks gently.

“For leaving her behind,” you murmur. “She’s my sister. She might be overbearing or weird sometimes, but she’s still Chloe.”

Pietro exhales through his nose, nodding slowly. “I get that. But Y/N, not all the time you're going to be there for her.” You glance at him. He continues, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “You gotta live a life without your twin. She’s not your shadow. And you’re not hers.”

Your chest tightens. “Feels wrong.”

“Yeah,” he says. “At first. But freedom always feels weird when you’re used to carrying someone else.” He looks over at you. “Let her figure herself out. And you; figure you out. What you want. Who you like. Who makes you feel seen.”

You blink, his words sinking deeper than you expect. The silence returns, but now it feels like something new has opened between you. “Wanna get coffee?” he asks, breaking the quiet. You glance at him and smile faintly. “Only if you let me pick the music.” He grins. “Deal.”

The coffee shop is small, warm, the kind of place that smells like roasted beans and vanilla syrup. You and Pietro sit by the window, sipping slowly, talking about random things, classes, summer plans, anything that doesn’t involve your sister or guilt. When you’re done, you step out into the sunlight, and Barnes & Noble gleams next door like a gentle invitation. You smile and nudge Pietro with your shoulder.

“Ten minutes,” you say.

“Ten minutes,” he repeats, rolling his eyes with a grin. “Sure. That’s what everyone says before they get lost in the fiction aisle.”

Inside, it’s quiet. Cool air greets your sun-warmed skin, and you drift toward the new arrivals while Pietro trails behind. His fingers graze over hardcovers, eyes scanning blurbs, but you feel his presence close. It’s a comforting thing.

“Well, well. Look who finally decided to step inside my empire.”

You turn at the voice and see Bucky leaning casually against a nearby shelf, a smirk on his lips. His hair’s a little tousled, and he’s dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, but the way he looks at you. Calm, amused, observant, sends a small flutter through your chest.

You blink. “Your what?”

“My empire,” he repeats, chuckling. “Barnes and Noble? And hey, you haven’t replied to my text. I never thought you’d be a ghoster.” He teases, showing his perfect white teeth.

“You’re joking,” you say, not sure if you’re stunned or impressed.

“Nope. My great-grandfather is the Barnes. The ‘Noble’ guy was just his friend. The name stuck. So technically, I’m royalty here.” He taps a shelf like he owns it.

Beside you, Pietro shifts, standing just a bit straighter. His jaw flexes, not enough to make a scene, but enough for you to feel the subtle shift in energy.

“That’s actually cool,” you admit, a laugh escaping. “Sorry I didn’t text back. Today’s just been chaotic.” 

“I figured,” Bucky says, gaze flicking briefly to Pietro before landing on you again. “But hey, since you’re here now, maybe I can help you find something.”

“I think she’s got someone helping already,” Pietro says casually, but his voice has that edge, the one you recognize from when he’s pretending to be totally fine with something. Bucky raises his eyebrows, then gives you a smile, soft this time. “No pressure. I just figured I’d offer.” You stand between them, caught somewhere between amusement and awkwardness, heart beating just a little too fast. You could cut the tension with a hardcover.

As Bucky gives you one last look and a playful salute before heading toward the register, you glance up at Pietro. His arms are crossed, gaze fixed on the spot Bucky just vacated, his jaw still set a little too tight for comfort. You nudge him gently with your elbow and lean in, voice low enough so only he hears, “Don’t be a jerk just because you heard stuff about him.”

Pietro scoffs under his breath, not looking at you right away. “It’s not just stuff. He’s got a reputation, Y/N.”

You narrow your eyes. “And you trust rumors more than me?”

That makes him glance at you. He hesitates, then sighs, weighing his hands like he has other options. “No. I trust you..” He trails off, searching for the right words. “I just don’t like the way he looked at you.” You pause. That catches you off guard, enough to make your breath hitch slightly.

You soften. “He looked at me like I was a person. Calm down, Maximoff.”

Pietro doesn’t say anything for a moment, and when he does, his voice is quieter. “Okay. Fine.”

You both stand there in the aisle, the scent of new books hanging between you, the low hum of the store filling the silence. “Still,” Pietro says eventually, teasing again but not completely letting go of whatever’s bothering him, “I’m picking the next book. You’ve got too much poetry on your shelf.”

You roll your eyes, but smile. “Fine. Just no self-help books with titles like ‘Be the Thunder’.”

You now stand outside the bookstore, leaning against the brick wall as you wait for Pietro to finish his phone call with Wanda. The air is light but your mind isn't. You think about the problems you have to face when this day ends and before you can spiral further, a voice from behind startles you.

“Your boyfriend already left?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Bucky,” you say flatly, though not without humor. “And, uhm. Cool revelation with the store, by the way. That means you’re filthy rich.”

Bucky chuckles as he steps beside you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Filthy rich,” he repeats, amused. “That’s a strong assumption. I’m not the owner, just the heir to a bookstore empire. Very intimidating, I know.”

You smirk, still watching the street as Pietro paces nearby with Wanda on the phone. “Guess that makes you the soft kind of rich. The paperback prince.”

Bucky laughs at that, tilting his head to look at you more closely. “Paperback prince. I’ll take it. Better than ‘guy who got ghosted after giving his number’.”

You glance at him, slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t ghost you.”

“No?”

“I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not exactly making this easier.”

“I don’t want to make it easier. I want to make it real.” Bucky shrugs, eyes following a car driving by. “You were cool. Real cool. I like that. I still do.”

Before you can respond, Pietro walks over, shoving his phone in his pocket. He doesn’t interrupt, but his presence next to you is obvious and tense.

Bucky nods at him, unfazed. “Tell your not-boyfriend I said bye. Or see you around if Sharon has another get together.”

Then he heads off down the street, not rushing, but not waiting for anything else either.

You and Pietro stand there quietly for a second. He lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Guy’s got lines.”

You hum in reply, watching Bucky’s back disappear into the crowd. “Maybe. But at least he says what he means.”

You glance at Pietro as the two of you start walking back to his car again, the distant sounds of the street fading into a background hum. “What did Wanda want?” you ask casually, though part of you already suspects the answer.

Pietro sighs, long and tired. “Chloe called her. Crying.”

You stop in your tracks.

“She scolded me for saying I was going over when I wasn’t. Then I told Wanda I was with you and, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. I think Chloe knows by now.”

The guilt you had been working so hard to shake off creeps back in like a slow chill. It settles in your chest and you swallow hard. You look straight ahead, not at Pietro.

“Oh.”

You don’t have to say more. He gets it.

“She’s your sister,” he says, gently now. “And yeah, maybe she’s dramatic. But you need to tell her that she’s being too much sometimes. That means you care. I know you do.”

“I do,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then, quietly, “You can’t keep setting yourself on fire to keep her warm.”

You nod, but it’s hard to swallow that truth when your heart screams otherwise. You love your sister to death, sometimes being mad at her just hurts you more than it should.

“Should I go back?” you ask, unsure.

“Only if you want to. Not because you feel like you have to.”

a/n: chloe reminds me of a friend i once treated like my twin too, yikes!

[moniquesha]

real people

chapter twelve

18+

you're popular among horror fans. he's well-respected among film critics. though you work in the same industry, you couldn't be more different - but your managers think a pr romance is just what your careers need.

warning: actor!bucky x f!actress!reader, mature themes, fake dating, mention of sex, angst.

Series Masterlist

Unfortunately, Bucky and I have decided to part ways. We've had an amazing time together and I know we will remain friends. I wish him nothing but happiness and peace. Please respect our decision and privacy during this time.

Love you all x

The statement is dripping in faux sincerity and makes you feel sick every time you read it. It's just a few words your PR team put together, but it feels like being hit with a bus whenever you see it - and you can't help but read it over and over again. It's been on your Instagram story for 23 hours, and soon it'll be gone, and the world will move on.

It's done. The contract has completed its course and you'll never speak to Bucky again. The past six months came and went so fast, you almost have whiplash. Soon, another six months will have gone, and another, until the memories of your time with Bucky fade into nothingness. You'll continue seeing him on your screen but will remain out of touching distance.

And you're doing everything you can to convince yourself that you're absolutely fine with that.

"What's the point of the bring your own bottle rule if you don't drink at least a bottle's worth?" You yell over the music, snatching the vodka back from Gwen's hand. "Relax, Gwen. I'm well within my limits."

"Your limit doesn't fucking exist!" She shouts back. "How about we just slow it down?"

"It's not like I'm taking drugs," You retort, before raising a brow.

"No. Absolutely not. You've had way too much alcohol to even think about drugs right now," She says sternly.

"Just a little baby line of-"

"No!"

"Ugh, you're so boring!" You whine as you start walking through the crowd of people on the makeshift dance floor. "This is why I don't bring you to parties."

"Well, you didn't bring me," She points out as she follows you, grabbing your hand. "I came to look after you and stop you from doing something stupid."

"Whatever," You mumble as the loud music booms through the huge living room. You can't remember who's house this is, but you don't really care right now.

As you make your way to the kitchen in search of another drink, Gwen tightens her grip on your hand. "Come on, Y/N. Aren't you supposed to be on set at 5am tomorrow?"

"That's why we're day-partying," You sing, stopping in your tracks when you see Thor standing with a beer by the kitchen sink, talking with a few people. Shit.

Meanwhile, Gwen's in the doorway with her back to the kitchen, eyes wide as she looks at the glass doors on the other side of the living room leading to the garden. "Uh... Y/N... Bucky's here," She informs you nervously.

"What?" You ask with narrow eyes, turning your head to her. "What the fuck is he doing here? He doesn't party; he's too boring."

"Well, it is Natasha's birthday. And this is her house," She reminds you, making your eyes widen.

"It is?" You ask, hiding behind her body as you look over her shoulder to see none other than Bucky talking to Natasha Romanoff. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"Let's just go home," Gwen suggests hurriedly.

Seeing Bucky smile as he hands Natasha a small gift makes your blood boil with envy. "No," You say firmly. "I've got someone to talk to."

"Are you sure you wanna talk to him this soon?" Gwen wonders.

"I'm not talking about Barnes," You say before turning back to face the kitchen and walking towards Thor. You're not sure what your motive is - speak to Thor to make Bucky jealous? His smile drops when he notices you and he immediately leaves his friends to join you by the fridge. "Y/N," He breathes out, looking you up and down. "Shit. Didn't expect to see you here."

You shrug casually. "Well, here I am," You reply.

"I miss you," Thor says lowly, not bothering to hold back on his desperation. "I saw you broke up with Barnes. Maybe we can finally go public, now-"

"No, Thor," You cut him off, regretting ever entering the kitchen. "I told you, I don't want anything serious with you."

"So, let's go back to the way things were, then," He says, placing his free hand on your waist. "Just you and me having fun. Doesn't have to get any more serious than that."

"Thor-"

"Babygirl," He mumbles, pulling your body into his. "I know you. I know what you like. You don't want me to make you feel good?"

Maybe it's the alcohol mixing with the nostalgia of your brief time sleeping with Thor, but you feel yourself getting sucked back in.

"Don't you miss me?" He asks lowly, bringing his lips close to your ear. "I miss fucking your brains out, babygirl. Miss making you scream for me. Don't you miss that?"

It would be easy to give in to him - to let him distract you from your heartache. But would it be the right thing to do?

"And I was like woah, okay!" A bright voice suddenly sounds out from the kitchen doorway. You turn to see the source is Natasha, talking to none other than Bucky. Just what you need right now. She leads him over to the other side of the kitchen, babbling away about something, but his eyes are on you, and on Thor's hand on your waist.

"Wanna go find an empty bathroom?" Thor asks you. "I've got coke. It's good shit. Then you can let me rail you. What do you think?"

In any other situation you might have taken him up on his offer, but with Bucky in the same room, it just feels wrong.

Gwen storms over from the doorway and clamps her hand around your wrist. "We're going home," She states firmly. "Now."

"Don't worry, I'll look after her," Thor tells her. "I'll give her a ride home later."

"No," You finally say, taking his hand off your waist and taking a step away from him. "I'm sorry, Thor, but I'm not gonna go back there with you. Not ever."

The smugness falls from his face and he takes a long sip of beer before shrugging. "Suit yourself," He mutters before walking away.

"I'm proud of you," Gwen says as she leads you out of the kitchen.

"Whatever," You mumble, feeling sick to your stomach as you take one last look at Bucky.

Your eyes lock and it feels like everyone freezes except for you and him. Everything melts away into the background and all you can focus on is him and his piercing eyes. You silently will him to run after you, beg you to forgive him for being an asshole and tell you he wants to be with you. Chase after me, Jamie. Tell me you never want to see me with another man again. Tell me it hurt to see Thor with his hands on me - tell me it burned you alive. Tell me you love me. Tell me you love me.

He doesn't.

"And, of course, you're currently filming something very exciting, aren't you?" Vic Hand, gossip journalist, asks you with a wide grin. "You're one busy bee!"

You smile back at her, hoping you're doing well to hide your exhaustion. After a full week of straight filming, you're now on a press day for Jagged Edges, with not even Steve here to at least tackle half the questions. Usually you'd do your best to avoid daytime talk shows, but Pepper insisted that this would be a good move for your publicity.

"It's chaotic, but I love it," You reply. "I'm lucky enough to get to do a job I love, so I can't complain."

"Isn't that nice?" Vic says with a glance to the audience, before a more concerned look grows on her face. She moves closer to you on the couch and tightly holds your hands. "Now, I know it's still incredibly raw, but I think I speak for everyone here when I say we were incredibly shocked to hear about your split from Bucky."

Though you knew she'd be asking you about him (since that's what your PR team trained you for), it still stings to hear his name. "Uh, yeah, I'm not gonna lie, it's been hard," You say carefully. "But I have to say, it's probably been the healthiest break-up I've ever been part of. We both respect and care for each other a lot, and that won't ever change." It feels wrong to be using a script to talk about him, but it's what has to be done. The alternative is exposing the truth, admitting it was a sham but that you stupidly caught real feelings - what could be worse than doing that on live television?

"And you're doing okay?" She pushes, getting a little too close for comfort.

"Yes, I am," You lie. "Always gotta dust yourself off and get back on the saddle."

"Love it!" Vic exclaims as the audience cheers. She lets go of your hands and an excitement burns in her eyes. "Moving on... I'm sure you've seen everything your parents are doing to reach out to you."

Your blood runs cold. That was a strict boundary - you made sure the producers knew your parents were not to be brought up at all. Taken aback, you say nothing in response, and steal a quick glance backstage at Pepper who looks to be yelling at a showrunner.

"I understand it's a tough subject," Vic continues. "But, here on The Sip, we're all about second chances and reunions, and the magic of family."

It feels like time slows down as it dawns on you what she's about to say.

With a grin, she stands up. "Which is why I am so, so happy to bring your long-lost parents on the show!"

"What?" You can't help but spit as you stand up, the intro music drowning you out. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Her eyes widen at your profanity but she keeps up her smile. "Just remember we're live- they're ready to reconnect with you-"

"They're ready? I don't give a fuck!" You yell as the music gets louder, making the audience gasp.

"Uh, we're gonna cut to a quick ad break," Vic says to the camera. The bright lights overwhelm you, and you immediately snatch your microphone off your shirt and throw it to the ground before storming off stage, refusing to give her a second more of footage.

Pepper's eyes are wide and horror-filled as she grabs your hand and walks you backstage, ignoring the shouts from the producers. You were half-expecting her to yell at you for getting mad on live TV, but she seems to be on your side as she rushes towards the exit.

"Y/N, please!" Vic yells. "This is your chance to tell your story!"

You spin around to glare at her. "Fuck you!" You shout back. "How dare-" You stop midway when you see the couple standing behind her and gasp when you recognize them. In an instant, you're dragged back to the past.

"I'll always love you, Nate," You said along with Sharon Carter's character, Ruby. "As much as I hate that I will."

Just then, your bedroom door slammed open, almost making you fall off your chair. Your father stood in the doorway, pure rage in his eyes - a look you knew all too well. "Mikey saw you hanging around with those boys again," He uttered, his voice dripping with rage and reaching every corner of your room, turning it from your safe space into a prison cell. "What the fuck's wrong with you, huh?"

"It's not like that," You told him desperately, clinging to the back of your chair as if it could protect you. "They're gonna help me get a part in a play at the theatre-"

"I didn't raise a whore," He spat while another set of footsteps boomed up the stairs. "I told you to stop hanging around with those fuckers."

Your mother appeared next to him in the doorway. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to be your mother?" She snapped, the stench of booze already reaching you.

"They're my friends," You told her emphatically. "They dont even like girls."

"Are you talking back to me?" She screeched as she bound into the room, making your heart race. "You disrespectful little shit!"

By then, you should have been used to it, but the harsh slap on your face knocked you back for a second, and all you saw was black until you realized what just happened.

"I told you we were too soft on her," Your father grumbled. "Letting her go whoring around town all day. I oughta chain her to the damn water heater for another week, that sorted her out last time."

"Hear that?" Your mother asked as she grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked it hard. "If you don't stop disobeying us, I'll pull you out of school and keep you locked up. No fresh air, and no fucking TV. How would you like that, you little shit? No more Sunset River, you leech."

Having lost all patience and sick of their cruelty, with all the malice you could muster, you yelled, "Fuck you!"

Their faces dropped, but you spotted an almost sadistic look in their eyes as they realized you'd just given them the perfect excuse to punish you.

"Well," Your father uttered as he slammed the bedroom door shut behind him as if to remind you that there was no escaping him. "Looks like someone has forgotten her place. I think it's time for a reminder."

They look different. Maybe even sober - no track marks on either of their arms, they're standing upright, and they look clean. If you didn't see their faces, you'd think they were just an average middle-aged couple with no skeletons in their closet. It looks like they made a new life for themselves.

"You're gonna regret this, Hand," Pepper hisses at Vic, pulling you from your thoughts. "How fucking dare you just throw this at us with no warning?"

"Pepper, please-"

"No," She cuts Vic off with a curt tone. "You'll be lucky to even get D-listers to come on this show when I'm done with you."

With that, she drags you out, finally forcing you to look away from your parents who stand there looking confused.

Pepper doesn't speak until you're both in the back of the car and on the road. "I am so sorry about that," She breathes out, rubbing her face. "If I had any idea-"

"I know it's not your fault, Pep," You say lowly, feeling numb as you stare out the window.

"How are you feeling?" She asks softly, as if she's scared you'll break if she speaks too loud - and maybe you would.

"Weird," You answer truthfully. "It was weird to see them after so long. I came to terms with the fact that I'd probably only ever hear about them if they died and I had to identify the bodies, or something. I never thought I'd see them look so... normal." You shake your head as the looks on their faces keep flashing in your mind. Seeing them look sickeningly average fills you with a new resentment. "Why were they allowed to better themselves once I left? And what, now they're clean, I have to forgive them? Now that they've worked through their issues, I'm supposed to just forget what they did to me? I can't just forget, Pepper. And I will never forgive them. My therapist says forgiveness is more for me than them, but fuck that. I hate them. And I'll never stop hating them. I don't care how unhealthy that is, or if it stops me from healing. Maybe I don't wanna fucking heal and move on. Does the little girl who got hit with a belt deserve to be forgotten about? To be told that in a few years she'd be forgiving those monsters because they cleaned themselves up and became better people?"

Pepper rubs your back gently. "It's alright," She mumbles. "They can't hurt you anymore. Those people are not your parents."

"No - they are," You retort grimly. "Only parents could hurt me the way they did."

The magazine on your coffee table mocks you, cursing you with flashbacks to the photoshoot with Bucky when you first started 'dating'. They ended up choosing the shot of Bucky behind you, looking down at you with you craning your neck to look back up at him. Hollywood's New It Couple. It's laughable.

Gwen walks into the room holding two mugs of hot cocoa, and you can't help but sigh, feeling horrifically guilty that she's here with you today. Usually, you're more than happy to spend Christmas alone, but she insisted on staying with you this year.

"Stop looking at me like that," She says sternly while placing the mugs on the table. "And stop feeling bad. You know my family always end up in a huge argument every Christmas, so I'd much rather have a peaceful one with you. Besides, your potatoes are way better than my dad's."

Gwen sits down next to you and presses play on the cheesy Hallmark film playing on the TV while you watch a few stories on Instagram. Your stomach flips when Rebecca's comes up - you forgot you had followed Bucky's sister when you met her at his home. It's just a photo of the tree with presents underneath while the dog is sprawled in front of them, but it still stings to see. You can't remember ever having a nice family Christmas, and the evening you spent with Bucky's family was the closest thing to it. Before you can recover, you're hit with an even bigger blow - the next photo on her story has Bucky in it. He's sitting back in an armchair holding a glass of whiskey to his chest. A Santa hat sits lazily on his head, and he's looking at a small box on his lap. A good watch always makes him happy, the caption reads. He looks good. How dare he look good? When you're here feeling like shit, wondering if there's anything you could've done to make him want to keep you?

"You okay?" Gwen mumbles as she looks down at your phone screen, her face falling when she sees what's got your attention.

"It just came up," You reply quickly, tapping the screen to get rid of the picture - only to be hit with one of Bucky's parents, instead, laughing together with a few playing cards in their hands as they sit at a poker table. Mom may be terrible at Bullshit but she's the only one who knows when Dad's lying, says the caption. Bucky's just at the edge of the picture, and you can just about see the smile on his face.

You feel it in your stomach - that dread mixed with physical pain. It hurts to see him happy without you, but you're also envious of what he has. A family that loves him, parents who play card games with him, a sister eager to capture the candid moments between her loved ones. All the things you weren't granted in life. The things you weren't allowed to have. And Bucky's just one more thing you're not allowed to have.

Gwen holds you as you cry into her shoulder.

"I love him," You choke out with a sob. "I wish I didn't."

She holds you tightly, stroking your hair while whispering that you'll be okay. You wish you could say it feels cathartic to admit to your feelings and cry it out, but you don't feel any better.

Just then, your phone buzzes with a phone call. Unable to guess who it might be, you pick it up to see the last name you expected flash on your screen. Best I Ever Had.

"Is that-"

"He saved his contact like that himself," You tell her with a grumble, glaring at the screen. "Why the fuck is he calling me?"

"To say Merry Christmas?" Gwen hypothesizes.

Refusing to give him access to you, you hang up, as hard as it is. A few seconds later, your phone buzzes again. This time, it's Pepper. She's already wished you a happy Christmas today and wouldn't call you on a holiday unless it was important.

"This better be good," You say flatly once you pick up.

"I'm sorry to be calling you today," She says. "I just wanted to speak to you before you saw anything."

"What are you talking about?" You ask, getting that feeling of dread in your stomach again.

"It's, uh... there's been a leak," She reveals. "A sex tape."

Your worst fear. You could vomit. Immediately, you rack your brain for the source. "What? Was it... fuck, that night Bucky and I were together in the club?" You wonder, sitting on the edge of the couch as your heart races. "Or at the basketball game?"

"Not Bucky," Pepper says with a dire tone. "Thor."

she can't catch a damn break 🫠

i know things are rough rn but is this a bad time to tell you guys I'm so fucking excited for the rest of this story to unfold?

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications for updates.

buy me a kofi <3

[moniquesha]

sharing is NOT caring

first

Pair: College!Bucky x reader

Summary: You and your twin were nothing alike, except when it came to men. That one shared taste might be what tears you both apart.

Warnings: there are both of you here, violence, angst, fluff, filthy smut, cheating, pick me behaviour, crazy twists, had a hard time writing this.

Masterlist

You blink. She’s offering. No hesitation, no judgment, just you and your people welcome to join. You didn’t expect that kind of generosity, but there it is. Casual, almost effortless. You glance over your shoulder to spot Chloe and Pietro in the crowd, not far off, probably caught up in their own thing. You wonder if they’d even care if you tagged along somewhere else.

“Alright,” you say, trying to keep your voice light. “I’ll ask them. But you’ve got to promise me no weird vibes at the after-party. I can’t handle any.. high society drama.”

Sharon laughs softly, a sound like a melody. “Drama’s overrated, trust me. This after-party is all about music and fun. No stress, no pretending. I swear.” You exhale a small sigh of relief, and for the first time tonight, you feel a little lighter.

Wanda’s grip is firm as she pulls you back into the bustling party, and her excitement is almost palpable. You can tell she’s been waiting for this moment, practically buzzing to hear all about your conversation with Sharon.

“Did you just meet Sharon?” she practically bounces in place, her eyes wide with that signature curiosity. You bite your lip a little, feeling the heat of your embarrassment creeping up your neck. “I guess I did. I didn’t even know that’s who she was until.. well, she told me.”

Wanda’s eyes practically gleam, and before you can finish your sentence, she playfully slaps your shoulder with a mischievous grin. “Well.. What did she tell you? What did you guys talk about?” Her voice rises with anticipation, and you can practically feel the whole room shift its attention onto you.

You shift uncomfortably, unsure how much to reveal. “Well.. not much, really. We just talked about the party, the house, the usual stuff,” you say quickly, trying to downplay it a little. “And then she invited me to the after-party, actually.”

Wanda’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “She invited you? To an after-party?!”

You nod slowly, still not sure how to react. “Yeah, she said it’s just music and no drama. She said I could bring my friends too if I wanted.”

Wanda grins from ear to ear, a little more gleeful than she probably should be. “Y/N, that’s huge! Sharon Carter invited you to an after-party? You’re in with the cool crowd now!” She leans in like she’s telling you some sort of high-school secret. “You’ve just skipped to VIP status in one night.” You can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, but there’s still that knot of uncertainty in your stomach. “It doesn’t feel like that, though. I just met her. I didn’t even know she was the Sharon Carter until she said it.”

Wanda waves her hand like it’s no big deal. “Details, details. She invited you. That’s a big deal.”

She leans back, her eyes scanning the party. “So, are you going to go? Is this your chance to break away from your sister and actually enjoy yourself for once?”

You feel a small wave of guilt wash over you at the thought of ditching Chloe. But something about it feels freeing. The idea of being somewhere else, even if only for a little while, sounds so tempting.

You watch as Wanda practically bounces with excitement, barely letting you get a word in edgewise before blurting out everything. It’s like she’s lived for this moment, like she’s been waiting to drop the "Y/N’s got an in with Sharon Carter!" bomb.

“Y/N just met Sharon Carter and she invited her to the after-party and we’re all invited too!” Wanda practically squeals, beaming with that infectious enthusiasm.

You smile softly at Wanda, but her over-the-top excitement makes you feel a bit awkward. This isn’t even a big deal, right?

Pietro’s reaction, however, says otherwise. “Holy shit! Really?” he says, eyes lighting up as he slaps a high-five with Wanda. “You’re pulling those kinds of strings already?”

The energy around you shifts to excitement, but then Chloe steps in, her arms crossed, her face unreadable, except for the slight smile that doesn’t quite match the curiosity in her eyes.

“Was it really Sharon?” she asks, her tone flat, like she’s testing the waters.

Before you can even open your mouth to respond, Wanda jumps in, her voice playful and teasing. “There’s only one Sharon, Chloe. Thank your sister that she’s got us into Sharon’s circle!”

You glance at Chloe, noticing her subtle shift, the way she’s holding herself, almost defensive. She might not outwardly show it, but something about the whole situation seems to be rubbing her the wrong way. Chloe sighs, her gaze flicking toward you, and then back to Wanda. “Well, thanks?” she says, her voice light but with a note of something else under it. She’s smiling, but it’s not quite a happy smile.

You feel a twinge of guilt, but you’re also caught in the excitement of something new, something different. It’s hard to ignore how the energy is shifting, how you're suddenly standing at the edge of a world that feels so different from your usual routine. You glance back at Sharon who was on top of the stairs talking to people, the thrill of it slowly sinking in.

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the tension in the air. The excitement of the after-party is starting to sink in, and you don’t want to let any lingering awkwardness hold you back from experiencing it. After all, Sharon invited you, and Wanda’s right, this is your chance to step outside your usual bubble.

You turn to the group, giving them a bright, confident smile. “Alright, so.. I’m going. You all can come or not, but I’m in.”

Pietro immediately perks up, his grin widening. “I’m definitely in! Let’s go make some memories, huh?” He adds, already pulling at his jacket, clearly ready to go.

Wanda gives you a knowing nod. “That’s the spirit, Y/N! Trust me, it’s gonna be so much fun. We’re going to have the best time!”

You glance at Chloe, who still has her arms crossed, but there’s something in her gaze that you can’t quite read. Still, she doesn’t object, and she only shrugs slightly, a small, almost resigned smile on her lips. “I guess I’ll come too, then. Can’t let you guys have all the fun, right?”

You nod, relieved that she isn’t making a bigger issue of it. The tension in the air still lingers a bit, but for now, you’re ready to dive in and enjoy the night.

The energy shifts almost immediately as Sharon rings the bell, her voice cutting through the buzz of the room. “Party’s over! You know the drill people!” It’s like she’s given the cue, and the crowd, with no hesitation, starts moving toward the exit. The atmosphere is electrified, but there’s this unspoken understanding that the real event is just beginning.

You watch as people file out, chatting and laughing, heading to their next destination like it’s just another stop on their night. Some linger, though, and you can tell they’re the ones who are in the know, those who are sticking around for what Sharon has intel.

You stay at the edge of the crowd, your eyes scanning the room, watching everyone else navigate the transition. You’re still a little out of place, but you’re here now. Your eyes find Sharon once again, standing on the stairs, confident and commanding.

“Well, the after-party is in the garden,” Sharon calls out from above, her voice effortlessly carrying across the room. “You know where to go guys!”

And just like that, the crowd begins to shift once more, heading for the garden. Sharon disappears into the hallways upstairs, leaving the others to follow her instructions. Some of the partygoers move with a sense of purpose, already knowing where to go.

You feel a small surge of curiosity and excitement. The garden, that’s where things are really happening now. You glance around at your friends, unsure of whether you’re the only one feeling like a bit of an outsider, or if they’re just as new to this as you are.

The four of you navigate through the grand hallways, your steps echoing in the quiet before you finally emerge into the garden. The sight that greets you is almost surreal, like something out of a dream. White roses are scattered everywhere, their petals glowing softly in the moonlight. The centerpiece of the garden is a large campfire, crackling warmly, surrounded by plush seating where people are gathered, talking and laughing in small groups.

To the side, there's a table with a selection of drinks and snacks laid out, unlimited, ready for anyone who wants to indulge. Some people are already hanging around the fire, chatting casually, but you notice they seem more relaxed than the crowd inside. They know the vibe here, this is where the real fun happens.

You pause for a moment, trying to take it all in. The space is beautiful, calming even, but there’s a nervous energy that hums beneath your skin. You count the group in your head, four of you, eleven others scattered around. Sharon isn’t here yet, but you can tell her presence is expected.

The mix of emotions is overwhelming. You’re excited, yes, but also a little anxious. What now? You’ve stepped into something bigger than what you’re used to, and it’s easy to feel small in the middle of it all.

As you step into the garden, it feels like the entire room shifts its focus to you. Eyes subtly track your movements, not with judgment, but curiosity, and a few smiles are exchanged in your direction. There’s no awkwardness in their gaze, it’s just an acknowledgment that new faces have entered the mix. It’s a strange feeling, but it doesn’t last long. Sharon follows right behind you, her energy infectious, immediately taking control of the situation.

“There you guys are!” Sharon exclaims, smiling widely. “Everyone, gather around, we have new people here.”

The crowd quickly starts to shift, some stepping toward your group while others linger by the fire. Sharon’s confidence takes over as she guides everyone toward you. “Well, here’s Y/N and... Y/N?” she says, clearly confused, eyes scanning between you and Chloe. You can’t help but smile at the moment, this happens often, but it’s still fun to see Sharon try and figure it out.

“Chloe! I’m Chloe,” your twin chimes in, flashing a warm smile and waving a little, as if that should clear up any confusion.

With a laugh, you step in, “I’m Y/N.”

Wanda, standing close by, takes over from there, eager to introduce everyone. “I’m Wanda, and this is also my twin, Pietro.”

The rest of the crowd starts to gather around, and you notice the warmth in their smiles and their eyes. Despite the fact that this group seems to run on its own rhythm, you’re not feeling as out of place as you did inside. The ease with which they introduce themselves makes it feel less like a scene and more like a community.

Sharon, looking around, gives a nod, signaling the introductions to continue. “Well, introduce yourselves, guys. C’mon.” Her eyes scan the group, and with a small signal, they begin to speak up.

Natasha is the first. She’s dressed simply but stunningly, with piercing green eyes and an effortlessly composed presence. “Natasha,” she says with a nod, voice smooth like silk. “Welcome.” Standing beside her, offers a kind smile. “I’m Vis. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”

Yelena leans into Natasha slightly, crossing her arms with a mischievous grin. “Yelena. I like your vibe already,” she says, her eyes flicking between you and Wanda. Another guy steps forward next with a casual swagger. “I’m Sam. Don’t worry, we’re mostly normal,” he adds with a teasing grin that gets a few chuckles. A little younger man, gives an eager wave. “Peter Parker. If you need help sneaking out later, I know all the exits.” His nervous energy is obvious but endearing. Then Thor steps forward, tall and glowing like he just walked out of a myth. His smile is broad and welcoming. “Thor. That’s my brother over there–” he gestures, “Loki,” comes the reply, without the other man even needing to step forward. He stays seated near the fire, swirling a drink, eyes sharp and amused. “Don’t worry, I only bite if you ask nicely.”

You almost forget to breathe when a tall blonde guy steps up. Clean-cut, quiet confidence, eyes a shade of blue that’s almost unfair. “Steve Rogers,” he says simply. “Nice to meet you.” And finally, the one that seems to peak your interest, standing just slightly behind Steve, nods with a cool smile. “Bucky Barnes. Welcome to the weirdest, nicest party you’ll ever go to.”

You feel it, that slow unraveling of nerves. You’re not just tolerated here. You’re being welcomed.

The group stands there, everyone’s eyes moving from one person to the next, as the introductions wrap up. There’s this air of ease about them, each one of them seems to know their place, and while you might not know everyone here, you do know that this is a group that operates on its own wavelength. You can already sense that the dynamics between them are tight-knit, but there’s room for more.

You can’t help but glance around the garden, your mind reeling with the realization of just how gorgeous everyone here is. It’s like stepping into a world of impossibly beautiful people, all with their own magnetic energy. You catch yourself thinking, What the hell? as your eyes flick over them. They’re all effortless, like they’ve walked out of a movie scene or a magazine cover. It’s a bit overwhelming, but it’s also fascinating.

Sharon, always in control, smiles brightly and gives everyone the freedom to wander. “Enjoy yourselves, guys. Please?” she says, her tone warm and inviting, and soon enough, the group disperses. Conversations pick up again, and the buzz of the party flows through the garden.

Wanda stands beside you, leaning in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Okay, so? Who’s your pick of the litter?” she whispers, voice teasing.

You immediately shake your head, trying to play it cool. “What? No one! I just met these people,” you reply quickly, a little flustered.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile curling on her lips. “Well, whatever. Vis is cute,” she admits nonchalantly, shooting a playful, flirty smile toward him. To both of your surprise, he returns the smile with an equally charming expression. Wanda lets out a soft chuckle, clearly enjoying the moment.

Before you can respond, Pietro calls out from the side, clearly already feeling the alcohol taking over. “More drinks that’s unlimited, c’mon,” he grins widely, like he’s in love with the idea of free alcohol more than anything else.

You glance at Wanda, then Pietro, your heart still racing with the excitement of it all. You feel a little out of place, but also a part of something new. This night is shaping up to be more interesting than you expected. You decide to dive right in, embracing the energy of the night. The buzz of excitement is contagious, and you can’t help but feel your nerves slip away as you follow Pietro to the drink table. The sound of laughter and conversation fills the air, the campfire crackling nearby as the cool night breeze dances through the garden. It feels like you’ve stepped into another world, one where everything is just a little more carefree.

Pietro grabs a couple of drinks, handing one to you with a mischievous grin. “Cheers to the after party,” he says with a wink. You take it, the glass cold against your palm. The alcohol already starts to ease your nerves, and for the first time tonight, you start to feel like you belong.

Wanda’s right beside you, still teasing you about the “pick of the litter” comment, but there’s a lightheartedness to her tone. She’s having fun, and it’s hard not to catch her infectious vibe. You glance around at the others, Vis and Wanda seem to be in their own world, sharing a smile that doesn’t go unnoticed, while Pietro’s laughter carries across the garden.

You spot Thor and Loki chatting nearby, their conversation light but filled with sharp humor. Steve and Bucky are in their own corner, relaxed and casual. It’s like everyone here has their own thing going on, but somehow, it all feels connected. As everyone gathers around the campfire, drinks and snacks in hand, the atmosphere shifts into something more relaxed and intimate. The flames dance in front of you, casting shadows on the group as Sharon takes the lead and begins the conversation.

Pietro tosses you a knowing smile as he sits beside Chloe, and Wanda makes sure she’s next to you, close enough that her quiet reassurance wraps around you like a second sweater. Someone cracks open a soda, another grabs a drink from the table, and soon, the conversation drifts into the universal topic for young adults with half-destroyed sleep schedules and caffeine addictions: college.

Sam is the one who kicks it off. “So what schools are we all trying to survive right now?” he asks as he leans back in his chair, balancing a beer on his knee. “I swear, NYU’s trying to break me.”

“NYU?” you ask, surprised. “That’s where we go, too.”

Wanda grins. “Yup. NYU engineering department is literally our second home now.”

“Same here,” Pietro chimes in, throwing an arm around the back of Chloe’s chair. “It’s how we all met, actually.” Chloe flashes a polite smile. “We’re in the same program,” she says, glancing at you like she wants to remind them who's always been top of the class, but you brush it off with a soft smile.

Sharon lifts her drink from across the circle. “NYU gang,” she smirks, giving you a small nod. “Glad to see I won’t be the only one losing sleep this semester.” Sam lets out a groan. “I swear, if one more person tells me it’s all ‘just part of the college experience,’ I’m switching to culinary school.”

“Hey, NYU’s not all suffering,” Wanda offers. “We’ve got Sharon’s parties.”

“True,” Sam says. “That’s the only thing keeping me enrolled at this point.”

Yelena raises her hand like she’s in class. “Okay, but NYU’s cute and all. Columbia is where it’s actually at,” she boasts, winking at Natasha.

Peter perks up beside her. “Right? Columbia pre-med. Or trying to be, if organic chem doesn’t destroy me first.” 

“Columbia, here too,” Vis adds, ever calm. “Philosophy. Quite the contrast to Peter.”

“I’m at Columbia as well,” Natasha says simply, already sipping her drink. “Though I’m not sure I belong there. They keep trying to make me mentor freshmen.”

“Poor freshmen,” Loki mutters from near the fire, lazily sipping something dark. “Imagine being forced to talk to her.”

Natasha glares but says nothing.

Thor laughs, clapping his brother’s shoulder. “We're Columbia too. Political science for me. Loki’s in... literature?”

“Literature and pain,” Loki replies, deadpan.

Steve and Bucky exchange looks. “Columbia,” Steve says, gesturing between them. “History for me. Bucky’s in art.” Bucky shrugs, smiling just enough. “Sketchbooks don’t assign essays.”

There’s a brief pause before Sharon speaks again, raising her glass. “Well,” she says, “looks like we’re a 50/50 split. Columbia vs. NYU.” 

“Should we be worried this is going to turn into some weird university war?” Peter jokes, half-nervous. “If it does,” Wanda smirks, “just know NYU fights dirtier.” Laughter ripples through the group, and for the first time that night, you feel fully at ease, these people aren’t as bad as you thought so. The moment Sharon focuses her attention on you, the entire group turns their eyes your way. The warmth of the fire reflects in their gazes, and you suddenly feel a wave of self-consciousness hit you. Me..? Why me?

Before you can even process everything, Bucky speaks up, his voice cutting through the tension. “It’s usually because you said something so amazing to her, or she just likes your vibes.” He chuckles, and the rest of the group follows suit, laughing in agreement. It seems that everyone here has their own special connection with Sharon, some personal moment or a vibe that made her appreciate them even more.

Wanda and Pietro both look at you with a proud smile, as if they’re silently saying, That’s our friend. You notice the subtle shift, like they’re genuinely happy for you to be getting this attention. It’s warm, and their support is almost tangible.

But then your eyes meet Chloe’s, and you can’t help but feel a pang of discomfort. Her face is harder to read, her smile forced as she watches you. It’s clear that while everyone else is having fun, she doesn’t seem to know what to make of you being the center of attention, not her. There’s a quiet tension in her gaze that doesn’t go unnoticed, but you’re not sure if it’s jealousy or something else.

As the laughter dies down, the focus on you lingers a little longer, making your nerves kick up a notch. Sharon gives you a bright smile, clearly enjoying the moment of lighthearted attention. The group, still buzzing from their shared jokes, is waiting for you to add something to the conversation, but you find yourself unsure of what to say. Wanda nudges you gently, her voice light as she speaks, "Come on, you’ve gotta share some of your secrets, Y/N. What’s got Sharon so interested in you?"

You smile nervously, trying to shake off the feeling of Chloe’s gaze. “I don’t know,” you admit, the warmth of the fire and the alcohol slowly easing your discomfort. “I just said that her house is beautiful and that she’s kind for letting teens trash it.” That earned a few chuckles from everyone.

Sharon grins, clearly pleased with your answer, and the group nods, satisfied as well. It feels like you’ve passed some invisible test, and for the moment, the focus shifts again, this time to shared conversations and the relaxed hum of the fire crackling.

As time passes, the unease with Chloe’s tension starts to fade, but the feeling still lingers in the background. You can’t help but feel like there’s something unsaid between you two, something that could come up later. But for now, the night continues, and everyone begins to break off into smaller groups, chatting and laughing.

As you quietly excuse yourself, you hear some light footsteps behind you, and before you can even make it too far, Steve, Bucky, and Sam follow suit. “You heading to the powder room, too?” Steve asks with a casual grin, his presence making the atmosphere feel a little less heavy. His calm demeanor is oddly comforting.

“Yeah, just need a quick break,” you reply, feeling a bit lighter now that you're no longer the center of attention. You walk toward the hallway with the others trailing behind, their voices filling the quiet spaces around you.

Bucky, ever the laid-back one, chuckles. “If you’re looking for peace and quiet, this place might not be it. You can’t walk five steps without running into someone,” he says, his tone teasing but friendly. “But hey, it’s fun. Doesn’t feel like a typical party, right?”

Sam gives Bucky a look before chiming in, “It’s not exactly your average college shindig, that's for sure. But hey, it’s nice. Everyone’s got this.. chill vibe. Even if it’s a bit too fancy for my liking.” He grins, shaking his head. “I’m more of a low-key kind of guy.”

Steve chuckles, glancing at you with an easy smile. “I think it’s good you came out here. A change of scenery, you know? That kind of thing. No need to stay stuck in one spot.”

You nod, appreciating the warmth of the conversation. The three of them seem comfortable with each other, like a well-oiled machine, but not in a way that feels too much. It’s almost like they’re just friends casually hanging out, but with a layer of camaraderie that makes you feel like you're part of it, too.

“Besides,” Bucky continues, “You get to meet interesting people at places like this. It's not all about the fancy stuff. You’d be surprised at what you learn.” He shoots Sam a look, who just shrugs.

Sam raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Right, and Bucky here is the king of making connections.” He laughs, the sound easy and light.

“Well, someone’s gotta keep things interesting,” Bucky quips, but there's no malice in his voice. It’s all playful.

You walk toward the powder room, and the guys keep the conversation flowing as they follow, making small talk, their banter making the brief moment feel more relaxed. The lightheartedness between them starts to pull you out of your head, and the nervous energy you had earlier begins to fade away.

As you reach the powder room, you stop for a moment, hesitant to walk in. You look over at the guys, who are now standing by the door, giving you a bit of space but also offering subtle support. The night’s been a whirlwind, and even though their presence lightens the atmosphere, there's a lingering sense of unease in the pit of your stomach.

Bucky, sensing the change in your mood, steps away from the group, his voice quieter now. “Hey,” he says gently, his tone shifting from playful to a little more serious. “You doing alright? I know this scene can be a lot, especially with everything going on.”

You glance at him, his blue eyes meeting yours, the concern in his gaze unmistakable. There's something calming about him, the way he doesn’t try to push you to talk but makes it clear that he’s there if you need to.

“I’m good,” you reply softly, offering him a small but genuine smile. “Just processing, I guess.”

Bucky nods, his hands casually slipping into his pockets. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes, it’s easy to get caught up in all the noise, you know? But don’t let it get to you too much. You’re here for a reason. You belong.”

His words settle into you, like a gentle reassurance you didn’t realize you needed. The noise of the party feels miles away, and for a moment, the only thing that matters is this quiet, shared space between you two.

“I just didn’t expect to be the center of attention,” you confess, the weight of the night feeling a little lighter as you admit it aloud. “Especially with everything going on.”

Bucky’s smile softens, and he takes a step closer, just enough to let you know he’s there, but not too close to make it uncomfortable. “Trust me, I get it. Sometimes it’s not easy to feel like everyone’s looking at you. But just remember, they’re looking because you’re interesting, Y/N. You’ve got something real about you. Don’t let anyone make you second-guess it.”

You nod, his words resonating with you in a way that calms your nerves more than you expected. He doesn’t know everything that’s been going on, but at this moment, it feels like he understands.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you say quietly, the weight lifting slightly off your shoulders.

“No problem,” he replies with a soft grin, A comfortable silence stretches for a moment. Then he pulls out his phone, holding it up with a raised eyebrow. “Let me get your number?”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he says with a chuckle, already typing. “Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also okay.”

You grin as you read your number out to him, and he locks it in. A second later, your phone vibrates.

hey, bucky here. now you’ve got mine too. use it anytime! not just during fancy garden parties.

a/n: i hope a random guy gives me their number too

divider from: i forgor ..

[moniquesha]

sharing is NOT caring

prologue

Pair: College!Bucky x reader

Summary: You and your twin were nothing alike, except when it came to men. That one shared taste might be what tears you both apart.

Warnings: there are both of you here, violence, angst, fluff, filthy smut, cheating, pick me behaviour, crazy twists, had a hard time writing this.

Masterlist

a/n: my brain is dead for exfil, i need new things to write about. i hope u all enjoy this because this is so crazy when i was writing it <3

Your mother once dreamed of having a child, just one. Someone to love with all the vastness of her heart. But the universe had grander plans and blessed her with twins. Two heartbeats instead of one. Two souls so closely intertwined, even the stars paused to marvel.

From the very beginning, everything was shared. If your twin had something, you had it too–just in a different color. Matching dresses, different shades. One pink, one blue. Two bikes, one red, one green. There was never a favorite, never an ounce of favoritism. Your mom made sure of that. Her only rule? Share. Or, if that wasn’t possible, make sure you both have what you both want. Fairness wasn’t just a principle in your house, it was the foundation.

Your sister understood that. So did you. At least, at first.

But growing up meant growing into yourselves. Clothes? You liked comfort, she liked style. Food? You went for savory, she had a sweet tooth. Hobbies, sports–your paths started to diverge in subtle but definite ways.

You were different, and that was okay.

Until you realized there was one thing you both still shared, something that never stopped aligning, your taste in men.

And for some time, you wondered, what happens when fairness isn’t so easy anymore?

It’s summer break. Every person you know from college is either posting stories from a beach halfway across the world or floating through hazy, half-lit parties, chasing highs before fall drags them back to textbooks and lecture halls.

Meanwhile, you're here. At home. Sunk into the deep cushions of the living room sofa, a slight breeze drifting in through the open window. You have plans but vague, tentative ones, and the thought of just doing absolutely nothing today feels like a gift.

“The other set of twins are coming, by the way!” your sister yells from the kitchen, the clatter of dishes echoing her voice.

“The Maximoffs?” you call back, lazily scrolling through your phone before setting it down on your chest.

“Yup! And I heard Pietro has a new rideee.” Her voice lilts, trying to fish a reaction out of you.

You let a soft smile tug at the corner of your lips. “Well, if I'm in the mood,” you murmur, stretching like a cat, “then let's bless that ride.”

She flops onto the sofa beside you, both of you quiet for a moment, the hum of summer laziness settling in again.

Then you glance down. “Hey, where’s your bracelet?”

She pauses, surprised, instinctively brushing her wrist as if expecting it to be there. It’s not.

The gold bracelets, identical, save for the names engraved on them: Chloe and Y/N. It had been with you since you were seven. A joke turned tradition after the world kept confusing you two. Only your mother could tell you apart on sight, so she gave you those tiny golden markers, glimmering proof that you were each your own person, even if the world didn’t always see it.

“I must’ve left it upstairs,” Chloe says quickly, but there’s something clipped about her tone. Dismissive.

You study her for a moment. “You never take it off.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’m changing.”

Maybe. But something about her answer doesn’t sit right.

Before you can press further, a pair of familiar voices rings from outside, followed by the unmistakable purr of a souped-up engine pulling into the driveway.

The Maximoff twins have arrived.

And suddenly, doing nothing all day doesn’t feel like the plan anymore.

Wanda's face suddenly appears in the window, hands cupped around her eyes like binoculars. “What’s up, whore!” she calls out with zero shame, grinning at Chloe like it’s a warm-up for whatever unhinged things she’s about to say next.

Chloe grins back. “You’re late.”

Wanda shrugs, unbothered. “Fashionably. I brought snacks.”

Then her eyes flick to you, catching your slower movement on the couch. Her tone softens. “Hi, pretty Y/N. Coming to join us?”

You sit up slightly, hair tousled from the couch cushion, blinking against the sunlight that follows her voice into the room. “Might. If you’ve got actual snacks and not just a bag of Flamin’ Hot air.”

Wanda gasps like you’ve just insulted her ancestors. “Excuse you, Hot Cheetos are the fuel of summer legends.”

You smirk, but it fades quickly as you stand up and glance back at Chloe, who’s busy smoothing her hair in the hallway mirror, already in host mode.

You’ve always appreciated Wanda and Pietro. They were the first ones to welcome you and Chloe into the social ecosystem back at the dorms. Two wild cards instantly curious about the “new twins on the block.” But even then, the connection tilted. They clicked with Chloe faster. Louder laughs. Inside jokes. That natural twin-speak flow you never quite found with them.

Not that they don’t love you. They do. Just maybe not in the same way.

But you try.

You throw on a hoodie and follow the sound of Wanda’s laugh toward the front door, just in time to see Pietro leaning against his new car–sleek, shiny, and way too expensive for a college student unless he sold something illegal or charmed someone rich.

He spots you and smiles, something lazy and sunlit in his expression.

“Well, well,” he says. “The elusive twin emerges.”

You roll your eyes, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “It’s summer break, not a red carpet.”

He shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Chloe laughs from behind you, slipping past to greet him like it’s her cue.

And just like that, you’re back to walking three steps behind a trio you kind of belong to.

Chloe practically launches herself at Pietro, arms thrown around his neck like this is the reunion of the century. He catches her with practiced ease, laughing, the kind that makes people watching think oh, they're close.

And they are. No denying that.

But then Pietro shifts his arm, glancing at you over Chloe’s shoulder. “Come here, you too,” he says, and it’s not just polite–it’s easy. Like he means it.

You hesitate, just for a second. But you step in, your face pressed against Pietro’s shoulder for the briefest moment as his arm pulls you into the hug too. It’s warm. Secure. Nice.

Chloe’s eyes flick to the side. You feel it more than see it. Just.. that little tick in her expression. The way her jaw shifts. Like she didn’t expect to share that moment.

“Well, Wanda,” she chirps, voice bright with a little too much sugar, “I call shotgun!”

Before Wanda can even breathe a protest–technically, it’s her car too. Chloe’s already in the passenger seat, flipping the visor down like she owns it. You blink, lips twitching into a soft, almost apologetic smile as you turn to Wanda. “Sorry you have to sit with the boring one.”

Wanda snorts, instantly looping her arm through yours like the two of you are conspirators in some harmless crime. “You’re not boring, Y/N. You’re just a calm soul.”

She leans in, nudging your shoulder with hers. “More calm than your sister, for sure. Like, a dangerous amount more. I respect that.”

You chuckle under your breath, but you don’t miss the way Chloe’s looking back from the front seat. Not glaring. Not angry. Just watching.

You climb into the back with Wanda, who’s already kicking her shoes off like it’s her personal limo, and Pietro starts the engine. The music's loud, the windows are down, and the sun is baking into the seats. Everything about this should feel light.

But there's a little knot twisting in your stomach. Because even if the day is perfect, you know one thing for sure:

Chloe definitely didn’t like that hug.

You know your sister better than anyone else in the world.

You know the voice she uses when she wants something. The way she curls her hair when she’s feeling insecure. The difference between her real laugh and the one she saves for people she wants to impress. You’ve lived her whole life right next to her–of course you know her.

And you also know that the rule your mother instilled, fairness above all, only really applies when your mom’s around.

When she’s not? Chloe changes. Not in big, monstrous ways. Nothing you could point to and say, “That. That’s the line.” It’s smaller. Sharper.

Like how your clothes start disappearing from your side of the closet, showing up on her Instagram stories. Or how she “borrows” your bracelet without asking your bracelet, the one with your name engraved on it, and then acts like you’re being dramatic for noticing.

She wears your favorite earrings on the night you were finally going to debut them.

She gets closer to your friends than you ever manage to. Laughs louder, pulls them in faster, and suddenly you’re on the outside of your own circle. But it’s Chloe. So you say nothing.

Because you love her. With your whole life. There’s no question about that.

At first, you told yourself it was just typical sibling stuff. Just the cost of being twins. She steals your clothes, you roll your eyes, and that’s the end of it. But it started to twist. To hurt.

Because when you try to wear her stuff? She reacts like you’ve crossed some sacred boundary. Gets defensive. Emotional. Sometimes even begs for it back, like you’re taking something essential from her.

Or when you get too friendly with her friends, the mood shifts. A quiet tension laces her tone. Subtle jabs disguised as jokes. A reminder that you’re trespassing, even when you didn’t mean to.

You gaslight yourself. Tell yourself she doesn’t mean it like that. That this is just how she shows love. That maybe you’re too sensitive.

Because Chloe would never hurt you. Not on purpose.

And you'd never hurt her either.

So you push the thoughts down. Smile. Nod. Let her keep the bracelet. Let her take the seat up front. Laugh when she calls shotgun like she always does.

But deep down, you wonder if it’s always going to be like this, loving someone who doesn’t always know how to love you back without taking a little bit of you in the process.

The car ride is filled with music and laughter, Pietro and Chloe singing their hearts out in the front while Wanda joins in, dramatically belting out lyrics like she's on stage. The energy is electric, but you? You just watch the sun dip behind the trees, painting the sky in soft pinks and deep oranges.

You smile to yourself. This is what you love about summer, not the wild parties or the buzzing chaos, but the break. The feeling of not being buried under textbooks, not having to measure your worth in grades and stress. Just existing, warm and weightless.

Then suddenly the car jerks to a stop.

Pietro twists in his seat, grabbing a pair of sunglasses from the glove box. “Welcome to the Carters,” he announces, sliding them on with a grin. “They throw the wildest parties ever. If I were you ladies, stay close to me or you’ll get lost.”

You glance outside. The house in front of you is massive like old money big. The kind of big that doesn't just say wealth but legacy. Windows spill colorful lights onto the well-manicured lawn, flashing with the beat of the music thumping from inside.

“Well, c’mon, guys! Move your asses,” Wanda urges, already stepping out.

Chloe wastes no time hooking her arm around Pietro’s, her smile bright, her grip possessive. She’s done it a million times before, but now you can’t help but notice the way she subtly presses closer to him.

You go to follow, but Wanda tugs you back, her hand firm on your wrist. Her voice is low but teasing as she leans in, eyes flicking over your hoodie.

“Okay, baby,” she murmurs, “You are not wearing a sweater inside.”

You blink at her, glancing down at yourself. “What? It’s comfortable.”

She scoffs, already peeling it off you before you can protest. “Exactly. And this is not a comfortable night! This is a ‘you look so good people regret their life choices’ night.”

The hoodie is gone before you can fight for it. You stand there, slightly chilled in the warm night air, and Wanda just grins, pleased. “Much better,” she says, looping her arm through yours like you’re her personal VIP guest.

Inside the house, the music gets louder, and the night ahead stretches long and uncertain.

The second the door swings open, it’s like stepping into another world.

Warm air, thick with the scent of sweat, cologne, and whatever someone's smoking in the next room. Music pulses through the floorboards, deep bass that vibrates in your chest, the kind that makes it hard to tell if it's the song or your heartbeat reacting.

The Carter house is packed. Bodies move in rhythm or stumble through rooms in search of their next drink or next mistake. There’s laughter, shouting, clinking glasses and flashes of neon lights that paint everyone in sharp reds, greens, and blues.

Wanda pulls you through the chaos, grinning like the chaos is home.

Chloe and Pietro disappear fast, blended into the crowd like they were meant to be the center of it. Chloe’s laugh rings louder than the music for a second, and you see Pietro throw his arm over her shoulder like he’s telling her something private. Something meant just for her.

You try not to read into it.

“Alright, drink first, survive later,” Wanda says, already handing you a red cup like she summoned it from thin air. You take it, hesitating just a little before sipping. It burns, in that warm, we’re-gonna-regret-this kind of way.

You wander a bit, sticking close to Wanda until someone pulls her into a dance circle. She gives you a “you good?” glance and you nod, slipping toward the edge of the crowd. You’re not ready to jump into the middle of it, not yet.

So you explore.

The house is insane. Tall ceilings, gold-rimmed mirrors, art on the walls that’s probably worth more than your entire tuition. You move through rooms where strangers are making out on couches, playing beer pong with champagne, or dancing like it’s the last night on Earth.

Then you hear your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there’s Pietro. Holding two cups, messy hair, flushed cheeks, and that smile.

“I was gonna find you,” he says, handing you one of the drinks. “Didn’t want you getting lost.”

“Would’ve been tragic,” you tease, accepting the cup.

“You’d be surprised how many people get lost at Carter parties,” he says, his grin widening. “I’ve had to drag Wanda out of a closet once. She claimed it was Narnia.”

You laugh, more genuinely than you expected. The drink helps. Or maybe it’s the way Pietro’s looking at you. Really looking.

“Where’s Chloe?” you ask, careful to sound casual.

Pietro shrugs, sipping his drink. “She ran into someone she knew. Went off dancing. You know her, she’ll reappear dramatically.”

You nod, but there’s something in your chest that tightens. Just a little.

“Come on,” he says suddenly, tugging your hand, “let me show you the balcony view. Best part of this house.” You hesitate but your feet follow. 

The crowd swallows you both for a moment until the hallway clears and the air opens up. He pushes open a pair of glass doors and you're outside, finally able to breathe. The backyard glows with string lights. The sky is almost purple now, the stars peeking through the haze of summer.

“It’s nice, right?” he asks.

You nod, leaning against the railing. “I didn’t think you noticed I wasn’t around.”

Pietro laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “I notice you more than you think.”

And there’s silence. Not awkward. Not loud.

Just still.

Inside the party roars on, but out here... something else is beginning.

“You know,” Pietro says, voice a little lower now, a little more honest, “I know you and Chloe look alike… but there’s this different glow about you.”

You laugh softly, your shoulder brushing his. “What, you a twin expert now?”

He grins, boyish and smug. “I am a twin, remember? I always tell Wanda I know more than her. I was born twelve minutes earlier, that gives me seniority.”

“Oh, of course,” you play along, eyes rolling. “The wisdom of twelve whole minutes.”

But then he quiets for a moment, gaze softening as he really looks at you.

“Can I?” he asks.

You blink. “Hm?”

He reaches for your hair, his fingers brushing your neck as he gently pulls the tie loose. The ponytail falls apart, your hair sliding over your shoulders like a slow-motion scene in a movie.

“There,” he says, smiling with something that doesn’t feel like flirting. “You’re beautiful that way.”

Your breath hitches just a little, not from shock, but from how gentle it feels. How safe. How unexpected.

The balcony air is warm, but the moment is warmer. And when you look at him, really look at him, you realize there’s nothing performative in his expression. It’s not a line. He’s not looking for a reaction.

He means it.

Inside, the music pulses louder, and you hear laughter echoing down the hallway, maybe Chloe’s, maybe not. But you don’t turn to check.

Because right now, Pietro is standing in front of you like he’s seeing you for the first time. And part of you wonders if this is what it feels like to finally stop standing in someone else’s shadow.

“There you guys are!” Chloe's voice cuts through the balcony air like a spark, all bright and sugary.

You and Pietro jolt ever so slightly, instinctively stepping a bit apart. Not guiltily, but not innocently, either.

She strolls up, practically glowing under the string lights, her energy big and breezy like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong. Her arms find Pietro’s waist like it's second nature, her chin hooking on his shoulder with that practiced kind of closeness that looks effortless but feels.. pointed.

“I can’t believe you left me, Pete!” she pouts, voice dipped in faux betrayal.

Pietro’s smile falters for a split second. “Sorry,” he says, casting a brief glance your way. “I came to look for Y/N too, you know.” His tone is light, but there's something underneath it. A reminder. Maybe even a nudge that She’s your sister, why weren’t you?

Chloe follows his eyes and lands on you. There’s a pause, like she's scanning for something she doesn't quite understand yet.

Then, she smiles. “Like the get-up, sis! You should really keep your hair down more.”

You offer a soft smile back. It’s meant to be kind. It is kind. But there’s this weird echo in it, like the words could mean “you look beautiful” or “who told you you could?”

Before you can figure it out, Chloe claps her hands together. “Well, they're doing shots! Let’s?”

She turns to Pietro, eyes wide and playful, clearly expecting him to come with her. He nods slowly, too slowly. Like his body says yes, but his mind is still back on the balcony with you. Like he doesn’t want to go. But he’s Pietro, and Chloe is Chloe, and saying no has never been the dynamic.

You watch as she tugs him gently toward the door, her hand still looped around him. Just before he disappears inside, he glances back at you. Not long. Not dramatic. But enough. He noticed the moment too. And now it’s floating in the space between the three of you, unseen but undeniably there.

You lean against the railing, cup in hand, and stare down at the glowing yard below, buzzing with students from colleges you’ve never heard of. You sip your drink slowly, letting the sharp taste settle on your tongue like it’s supposed to distract you. It doesn’t.

You’ve been drunk before. You know the haze, the heat, the sudden urge to sing and cry and confess your whole soul to a stranger in a bathroom. But tonight? You’re just floating in it. Present, but not in it.

There’s a hollowness that clings to your ribs. Not from the alcohol. Not from the party. From the fact that Pietro’s laugh still echoes faintly down the hall. From the way Chloe looked at you like she was complimenting you but also claiming her territory.

You’re not mad. Not even jealous, maybe. Just.. lonely.

“You lost?” a voice asks, light and girlish and unfamiliar.

You turn, slightly startled, and find a girl standing in the doorway. She’s blonde, with sleek straight hair tucked behind her ears and a surprisingly genuine smile on her face. She looks like she belongs here in a way you don’t, like this is her natural habitat.

“Oh uh no,” you answer quickly. “I’m not. I just like it here.”

She tilts her head, then walks out to stand beside you at the railing. “Yeah? You don’t think it looks too cliché?”

You glance around. The warm lights, the perfectly curated mess of a rich kid party, the air that smells like jasmine and cheap tequila. You think for a moment.

“I mean, I’m not exactly the ‘eat the rich’ type,” you say honestly, “But no. I don’t think it’s cliché. It’s really beautiful. Whoever owns this place must be kind. Letting people enjoy it like this, sharing the space. That says something, I think.”

The girl blinks, like she didn’t expect that kind of insight from you. Not here. Not at this kind of party.

“What’s your name?” she asks, a new kind of curiosity lighting her features.

“Y/N,” you reply. “You?”

She smiles, slow and a little amused. “I’m Sharon,” she says, reaching for your cup to clink it with hers. “Sharon Carter.”

You pause. And you blink. “You’re the Carter?”

She just grins and leans her elbow on the railing. “Guilty. Though technically this is my aunt’s house. She’s... well, she’s very generous when she’s overseas.”

You stare for a second, surprised but not intimidated. Sharon doesn’t carry herself like someone who wants to be worshipped, just noticed.

“Well, your balcony is stunning,” you tease gently.

“And your energy is refreshing,” she replies, tilting her head. “Let me guess, you’re not a party girl, but someone dragged you here?”

“Something like that,” you say with a small shrug.

Sharon nods knowingly, eyes flicking over your expression, reading it far too well for someone you just met.

“Well, stick with me,” she says, nudging you lightly with her shoulder. “You can ghost the party later, but for now.. I promise not all rich kids are terrible. Some of us even have snacks.”

Sharon leads the way, gliding down the grand staircase like she’s done it a thousand times. The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floors echoes in the large, open space, making everything feel important.

You follow behind her, trying to blend in with the crowd, but there's a noticeable shift. People don’t just glance at Sharon, they notice her. Eyes flick to her as she moves, some nodding in respect, others leaning in to say something. She’s a presence, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how little you belong in this world of polished socialites and golden smiles.

You catch a few glances thrown your way, and it’s almost like you’re the shadow following someone’s spotlight. You want to shrink away, to become invisible, but you can’t. You won’t, not when Sharon is beside you, calm and sure of herself.

She doesn’t even break a stride. It’s like she’s used to this.

As you walk through the crowd, her head turns just slightly to check on you.

“There’s an after-party after this,” she says casually, like it’s no big deal. “You wanna come?”

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. You’re not sure where this is going, if Sharon is offering out of politeness or actual interest in hanging out. Either way, you don’t want to feel like you're just tagging along.

“Really? I’m with my sister and two other friends,” you explain, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I don’t wanna leave them, really.”

Sharon’s eyes flicker with a touch of understanding, but her grin remains unaffected, like she didn’t even think twice about it.

“Well, that’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “Bring them along! The more, the merrier, right?”

Well, why not? Right?

a/n: no bucky yet, wait 4 him pls!

[moniquesha]

sharing is NOT caring masterlist

college!bucky x reader (on going)

You and your twin were nothing alike, except when it came to men. That one shared taste might be what tears you both apart.

Warnings: 18+, there are both of you here, violence, angst, fluff, filthy smut, cheating, pick me behaviour, crazy twists, had a hard time writing this but enjoyed it.

prologue

first

second

[moniquesha]

You know when you get one of those readers who comments on every chapter of your fic, pointing out their favorite parts and quoting lines that really resonated with them?

Yeah, as a writer, this is an absolute gift. ❤️

[moniquesha]

just watched thunderbolts* !!! this honestly changes everything for me while writing this ✍️

exfil masterlist

congressman!bucky x avenger!reader (in progress)

The past was never meant to catch up to you. Yet, no matter how far you ran, it always found a way back; This time in the form of a message, a threat, and ten stolen cases of something that should’ve never existed. The old world you abandoned is closing in, forcing you to rely on ghosts you once called allies.

Warnings: 18+, violence, trauma, angst, strong language, smut.

part one: ghost of the past.

part two: to hell with that!

part three: first job back.

part four: happiest birthday, stark.

[moniquesha]

real people

chapter nine

18+

you're popular among horror fans. he's well-respected among film critics. though you work in the same industry, you couldn't be more different - but your managers think a pr romance is just what your careers need.

content warning: actor!bucky x actress!reader, mature themes, enemies (to friends?) to lovers, fake dating, fluff, angst, unrequited love.

Series Masterlist

Best I Ever Had

What am I supposed to be focusing on here? The fruit or your tits?

You

James! I was innocently showing you the huge strawberries I came across today!!!!

Best I Ever Had

And you had to hold them up against your chest to show me?

You

Sue me for posing for the picture you loser

Best I Ever Had

Fine. Your boobs look great

Happy?

You

Not what I wanted at all

Just showing you the strawberries

Best I Ever Had

I didn't give you my number so you could spam me with stupid shit all day

You

Well tough bc stupid shit is what you're getting

Look at this pic of me with a dog I saw today

Best I Ever Had

Bye, idiot

You

Don't block me!!

Best I Ever Had

Actually I've been meaning to ask you- what are you doing next weekend?

You

Yes to whatever it is babygirl xxx

Best I Ever Had

Just this thing my family do every year. Everyone comes together for a meal, kinda like Thanksgiving but in October

You

Is it Halloween themed? I have a sexy nurse costume I've been meaning to wear again

Best I Ever Had

Definitely a no on the costume

Just a dinner thing. My mom extended her invite to you

The rest of my family don't exactly understand what PR relationships are so to them, we're dating for real

You

So this is basically a publicity stunt but for your family?

Best I Ever Had

With roast chicken and apple pie

You

I'm in.

"What do you think? Blue, or red?"

Gwen, sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor of your walk-in wardrobe as she goes through your shoes, looks up at you and the two dresses you're holding up against your body. "Blue, for sure," She replies almost instantly. "We're going for the unassuming daughter-in-law vibes- right?"

"Absolutely," You say, tossing the red dress away before stepping into the baby blue maxi dress that nicely hugs your body without being too sexy. It's sleeveless with a boat neck, and you think you look quite nice.

"Beautiful!" Gwen says with a grin. "Bucky won't be able to keep his hands off you."

A scoff leaves your mouth, though secretly you hope she's right. "I just want his mom to like me," You admit. "Nobody's mom ever likes me."

"My mom loves you!" Gwen counters.

You give her a flat look. Her mom definitely doesn't love you - it's more like she thinks you're a bad influence on Gwen and has little to no respect for you.

"Anyway, why does Bucky's mom matter? You're only with him a couple more months," She goes on to say, making your stomach drop.

"I know, but..." You trail off, unable to say what you want to.

With an excited gasp, Gwen stands up. "Oh, my God. Are you -"

"Shut up, Gwen," You cut her off sternly as you look in the mirror and focus on doing your hair. "Maybe I'm just a people pleaser."

She walks over, her eyes almost as wide as her open mouth. "You like him!" She exclaims giddily.

"No, I d-"

"Don't even try to deny it; I know you too well," She cuts in smugly. "Friends with benefits doesn't work with everyone - especially not with someone you grew up crushing on."

"It's not about Sunset Lake," You say, unable to make eye contact with her when speaking about your feelings. "It's the way he is now. I know at first he was a total asshole - and when he wants to be, he still is - but... even when we're arguing, or not talking... even when he isn't physically there and I'm just thinking about him. I feel safe with him."

Gwen presses her lips together. "I want to scream so badly right now, but I don't want to scare you into shutting down on me, so I'm exercising a lot of willpower," She says lowly before clearing her throat and deepening her voice in an attempt to seem casual. "So, you like him as more than just a friend?"

"As awful as that is, yes," You say reluctantly.

"Awful? This isn't awful, it's beautiful!" She claims, allowing some excitement to sneak back into her voice. "I've never heard you say that about anyone. Feelings are pretty rare for you, which means this must be special."

"Or maybe it is just the teenager in me taking over for a little while," You theorize. "Just a stupid crush that I'll get over once we stop seeing each other."

"A stupid crush? You spent two hours watching edits of him last night. You said it yourself- this isn't about Sunset Lake," Gwen points out. "I'm gonna be frank with you - feelings like this don't come by often, especially not for you. You can't let this opportunity for a beautiful, real relationship slip away. I think you should tell him."

You almost choke on air. "What?"

"I'm being serious," She says bluntly with her arms folded across her chest. "Go into the conversation with no expectations. It's not about him reciprocating your feelings or there being a huge moment where you both realize you're deeply in love - it's just for you to get it off your chest. Put all your cards on the table. Free yourself."

Looking over at her with narrow eyes, you think to yourself. Is she right? Or is this a recipe for heartache?

"I think you should do it tonight," Gwen states. "Don't hide yourself away any longer."

"You're crazy," You mumble. "I'd be making a fool out of myself."

"So?" She challenges you with a raised brow. "What if he feels the exact same?"

You continue getting yourself ready without responding to her.

You didn't take into account how overwhelming it would feel to be surrounded by a huge family, but now that you're here, it's too late to turn back. Thankfully, Bucky's cousins are the only ones out in the garden with you for the time being, and they seem to like you already. While you make polite small talk with them, you can't get over the look on Bucky's face when he first saw you today. He mumbled a compliment before getting in the car, but you didn't miss the way he looked you up and down first. And now you can't stop replaying that moment in your head.

"I made all my friends come and watch it with me twice," Angelica tells you with a grin. "You were so, so good in it!"

"You're too kind," You reply modestly, smiling back at her.

"Normally, I'm not really into horror, but your movies are always great," She goes on to say. "That's why I was so surprised when I heard about you and Bucky - his movies are so boring!"

"Thanks, Angel," Bucky says flatly, holding a beer in one hand and your waist in the other.

"But you know what I mean - you're an amazing actor, but your movies-"

"I heard you the first time," He cuts in, while you laugh.

"I like Bucky's films," You say, gently nudging his side. "Even the three hour-long ones."

"Wow," Damien says with a raised brow. "You must seriously be in love if you could sit through The Obstacle."

You were expecting Bucky's family to be just as uptight and pretentious as he can he sometimes, but it's refreshing to see them banter and poke fun at him while he rolls his eyes and laughs along with them. He's relaxed here at home, and it's lovely to see. He's the oldest of all the kids in his generation, and it's obvious in the way they tease him while he attempts to keep his laughter in.

At one point, just as you find yourself getting comfortable, Bucky's sister Rebecca taps your shoulder. "Hey," She says in a hushed voice. "The parents have finally arrived - wanna come meet mom?"

Immediately, your stomach drops. Bucky takes your hand and begins walking you up to the house, while you try to relax your racing heartbeat. You can't remember ever having a pleasant experience with parents, to the point where you're sure that you're the problem. There's something they can see in you - something that makes them glad you're not their child. It's like a smell they can't ignore, or maybe it's a sign on your head that reads problem. Whatever it is, it follows you around, it's something you can't change. Something about you is wrong.

The kitchen is gorgeous. You find yourself taking mental notes for your dream house. It's much easier to focus on the cabinets and bronze faucets than the group of adults standing around the island. Bucky's aunts and uncles, and most terrifyingly, his parents.

They immediately grin and cheer when they see Bucky, grabbing him for hugs as they greet him. You feel sick. This is it. The part where they turn to you and grimace. Look you up and down, wondering why you're here when you clearly don't belong. Whisper between themselves about how wrong you are for him.

"Ma, this is my Y/N," Bucky introduces you, his arm finding its way back around your waist. "Y/N, these are my parents, Winnifred and George, my aunts Vienna and Kris, and my uncles, Marcus and Tom."

You give them each a polite smile and a mumbled greeting, unable to bring yourself to make eye contact with his mom.

"My goodness, I didn't think it was possible but you are so much more gorgeous in person!" Winnifred says with a wide, seemingly genuine grin on her face as she pulls you in for a tight hug. "Thank you so much for coming. I'm sure you're so busy and all, so I really do appreciate you making the time to come all the way out here."

"I- thank you for inviting me," You reply, not knowing how to act as you were prepared to be on the defense. After meeting his aunts and uncles, they leave the kitchen, leaving you with Bucky and his parents.

"If anyone asks you anything personal, don't be afraid to tell them to back off," Winnifred says. "George and I are the only ones who know about the... truth, about your relationship. If it gets too much or you need a break, just let me know."

"Thank you," You say with a sigh of relief. "Everyone is so nice, though. It's lovely hearing all the stories of Bucky's childhood."

Her eyes widen as she gasps. "When he told me you were coming, I made sure to dig out the old photo albums!" She tells you excitedly. "I'll go get them!"

"Ma, there's no need for-"

"Yes, please," You cut him off, but Winnifred's already on her way out the kitchen.

"I know you guys are just friends, or whatever, but it's nice that Buck's finally brought a girl home," George says with a chuckle. "He hasn't done that since third grade."

"Third grade?" You repeat, raising a brow at Bucky. "And who was the lucky girl?"

"What was her name again? Lucy, or Tracy, or-"

"Lacy!" Winnifred cuts George off as she returns to the kitchen with a thick book in her hands. "Bubba's first girlfriend. They were so cute - I'm sure there's a photo of them in here..."

She opens up the book and places it on the island, and the four of you stand around it while she scrolls through a few pages until stopping at one with an 8-year-old Bucky holding hands with a little girl his age.

"This was the first and last time he ever introduced me to a girl - and now there's you, of course," Winnifred says with a wink. Though she said she knows about the contract, it seems she still thinks there's some kind of romance between you - which gives you hope.

You continue looking through the photo album, gasping when you see a precious picture of a 5-year-old Bucky holding a puppy. "Oh, Jamie, you were so cute!" You coo, grabbing his arm.

Winnifred and George share a look. "We should go check on everyone else, Win," George says. "Top up drinks before dinner."

"Yes, you're right!" Winnifred replies instantly.

The two of them leave you and Bucky alone in the kitchen.

"Ma likes you," He says.

"Don't sound so surprised," You reply. "Though I am shocked. I was expecting a very different reception."

"Why?" Bucky asks, placing his hand on the small of your back.

Why is he touching you so intimately when nobody is around?

"Uh, I don't tend to get along with people's parents," You admit to him. "All my friends' parents think I'm a bad influence."

He shrugs and replies, "Sure, you can be a bit of a party animal, but you're a good person."

You look up at him and say nothing, making him frown.

"You don't think you're a good person?" He asks you, his face falling when you still say nothing. "Y/N, you are a good person. I don't care what anyone else says or how they make you feel about yourself- I know you enough to know that much for sure."

Looking back down at the photo album, you point at one of the pictures of him and Lacy. "Do you still have feelings for her?"

He snorts and rolls his eyes. "Don't change the subject with a joke," He says sternly. "I'm being serious, and compliments aren't something you'll get from me often, so take what you can."

After dinner, Bucky goes on a walk with some of his cousins while you stay behind to chat with his mom and aunts. It isn't often that you get to spend time with older women, and seeing as you have no family members to get your life advice from, you're making the most of this opportunity.

"And she never disrespected me again," Aunt Kris says as the group of you sit in the conservatory, sipping on whisky. "That's what you gotta do with people who try to fuck you over - let them know you're not a pushover. You let them do it once, they'll be doing it to you every week."

"Amen," Rebecca says from next to her, raising her glass.

"You must get that so much in your line of work," Winnifred says to you, placing her hand on your shoulder. "I knew I did, and I was in the industry for all of 5 minutes. I hope you've got your people - you know, the ones to look out for you and back you up?"

"Uh, yeah," You say with a nod. "My agent, Pepper, as annoying as she can be, she takes no bullshit. She protects me as much as she can."

"And now you have Bucky protecting you, too," Aunt Vienna chimes in with a grin. "How long has it been now?"

"Uh, only about four months," You say, and it dawns on you that the contract is close to expiring.

"And he's already brought you home, which shows he really likes you," Rebecca says. "You must be very special to him."

"Look at her, of course she is!" Kris says. "The way he looks at her, speaks with her... the boy's smitten."

Winnifred just smiles down at her drink knowingly while you try to stay calm. You truly hope they're right- that Bucky does have feelings for you.  Either way, you're determined to find out the truth for yourself tonight.

"Well, the kids will be back soon," Winnifred says, standing up. "Time for dessert!"

When Bucky walks back into the house with his cousins, he realizes just how high he is. Fuck. Should not have done that. Though it's an annual tradition to go for a smoke after dinner, each year he either loses his tolerance or Damien's weed gets stronger.

He can smell pie. Yum. Ma's homemade apple pie. A hunger grows in his stomach as him and his cousins make their way to the kitchen, the smell getting stronger. When they walk in, he stops in his tracks as he sees you. You. You in that sensible fucking dress that was probably supposed to be the appropriate choice when you got dressed this morning, that instantly made him hard when he saw you. And now here you are, plating up apple pie and handing it out to his family. Some of the mixture gets on your finger, so you lick it off. And Bucky goes feral.

"Hey, Jamie," You greet him sweetly as he stalks over to you. "Apple pie?"

"We need to talk," He says lowly, his voice masked by the sound of his family's chatter and forks on porcelain.

"What? What's wrong?" You ask, immediately panicking. Have his cousins told him they don't approve of you? Was it not his mom you needed to worry about, but cousin fucking Damien?

"Come with me," Bucky says, taking your hand and leading you out of the kitchen. He takes you through the house and up the stairs, to his bedroom which looks like it hasn't been changed since he was 18.

"What the fuck is going on, Bucky?" You ask him, your stomach in knots.

He closes the door before grabbing you and pushing you against it. "I need you," He grumbles, pressing his body against yours.

"Are you serious?" You ask him with a scoff, pushing him away when you smell the weed on him. "You're horny? And high?"

He places one of his hands on your cheek. "We can be quick," He mumbles. "Just gotta be inside you, baby."

"James Barnes!" You yell, hitting his shoulder. "Your entire family is downstairs and will know exactly what we're doing if we stay up here any longer."

"Who care-"

"Get a grip, Barnes," You say with a glare. "Your mom likes me. A lot. And I'm not gonna fuck that up by fucking you right now."

He pouts.

"Don't make that face," You say, shaking your head. "I didn't tell you to get high. That's your problem."

"But mommy-"

You slap your hand over his mouth. "Absolutely none of that, James," You say. As much as you love seeing the unhinged side of him, you genuinely want his mom to think you're a nice girl, and screwing her son's brains out while he calls you mommy isn't the way to achieve that goal.

"You're so mean to me," Bucky whines, moving his hands down to your ass. "I just wanna show you how beautiful I think you are. How gorgeous you are."

"No, you just wanna get your dick wet," You grumble. "Now, you're gonna pull yourself together, and we're gonna go back downstairs and have some dessert with your family. We'll engage in civilized conversation before going home - then I might think about letting you sleep over."

"If I don't have you right now, I think I'll die," He whispers, holding your waist in his hands.

"Oh, my God, you're so dramatic," You say with an eye-roll before pushing him away again and opening the door. "Come on, Jamie. Be a good boy and come downstairs with me." You know you're only making it worse for him, but it's too much fun not to.

He puts you on his lap once you're back in the kitchen, and you have to keep a straight face while his boner pokes against your ass.

"Oh, you have to come over for Thanksgiving," Uncle Marcus says. "You don't wanna miss your Aunt Vienna's ice cream cake."

"Y/N has a pretty busy November, so she probably won't make it," Bucky says on your behalf.

"Well, if you miss Thanksgiving, you're definitely coming over for Christmas, right?" Vienna asks you hopefully. "Unless you plan to spend it with your family - what do you usually do for the holidays?"

You hear that familiar ringing in your ear - the kind that accompanies harsh memories that you'd rather not be thinking of. You're not sure if five seconds or five minutes of silence pass before Bucky speaks up, but it feels like a lifetime.

"Damien, did you bring your guitar?" He asks. "Bring it out. Let's see if you're any better."

Thankfully, Damien's guitar is enough to take everyone's mind away from Christmas and families. Everyone gathers in the living room and Damien sits in the middle of the carpeted floor, lazily strumming a tune. Someone starts singing a Queen song and a few others join in, while Bucky rocks you in his arms.

"We can escape now," He whispers in your ear. "They won't even notice we're gone, baby."

You nudge his stomach with your elbow, keeping your smile on your face as you bop your head.

"Hey- Y/N, you can sing, right?" Rebecca asks as she sits up. "You've been in musicals - why don't you sing us a song?"

Immediately, you shake your head. "Oh, no, I barely sing-"

"Come on, you can't be worse than Tom," George chuckles.

"Sing for us!" Aunt Kris chimes in.

You look at Bucky for help, but he's just smiling like an idiot at you. With a sigh, you sit up. "Alright. What do you wanna hear?"

The family bursts into cheers. Damien begins playing a soft, slow melody. You recognize it instantly, inwardly cringing as you prepare to sing in front of Bucky's entire family mere hours after meeting them.

"Wise men say, only fools rush in," You begin, trying your best to ignore Bucky staring at you. "But I can't help falling in love with you."

"Wow," Winnifred whispers with a wide smile on her face.

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?" You continue, turning to face Bucky. "For I can't help falling in love with you."

"Like a river flows!" A few of the others join in with you, which you're immensely grateful for as you gain more confidence. "Surely to the sea. Darling so it goes, some things are meant to be."

"Take my hand," You look down at Bucky's hand clasped in yours before meeting his eyes. "Take my whole life, too."

Everyone joins in for the last line, but all you focus on is Bucky's low timbre. "For I can't help falling in love with you."

Your heart skips a beat. Fuck.

An hour later, you're sitting on the roof with Bucky. He's thankfully sobered up and able to keep his hands off you, which you're thankful for. Though you wouldn't mind if he was all over you, your heart feels heavy with emotions that you don't think you can ignore any more.

You're in one of his old jackets as you stare up at the starry sky. "I don't get to see many stars in the city," You say. "It's nice. Reminds me of when I was a kid. The good times."

"I'm sorry," Bucky replies. "When they asked about Christmas, and your family and stuff - they're very intrusive."

"Not at all, that's a normal thing to ask someone," You assure him, hugging your knees up to your chest. "Did they like me?"

He laughs. "They love you, obviously," He replies. "As insufferable as you are, you're also annoyingly charming when you want to be."

Grinning at his words, you nudge his shoulder. "Good. Let's hope they're not too brokenhearted come December," You say, your smile slowly falling.

"Ah, they'll get over it," He mumbles.

You take in a deep breath. It's go time. Now or never.

"Jamie?"

"Yes, Y/N?"

"I... I've had a lot of fun, these past few months," You begin, turning your head to look at him. "I know at the start it was pretty rough, but... I'd like to think we get along well, now."

He smiles at you. A genuine smile. "As much as it pains me to say it, I agree," He replies. "I didn't think we'd ever get along; thought we were too different. But you're pretty cool."

"And, um, obviously now we're having sex and stuff, too," You say awkwardly, not knowing how to best admit to the truth. "So, I'd say we're pretty close."

Bucky tilts his head. "I guess you could... potentially say we're friends."

"That sounded like it was painful for you to say," You say with a laugh. "And, uh, when I opened up to you the other day, about my childhood and stuff... I don't do that with just anyone."

He takes your hand and nods. "I appreciate that," Bucky says. "And if you ever wanted to talk about anything, you've got my number now, so I don't really have a choice but to listen."

Smiling, you turn your body to face him fully. "Tell me the truth, Jamie," You request. "Why don't you date?"

He raises a brow, seemingly surprised by your question. "Uh, shit, I guess... I just don't feel the need to?" He offers, before shaking his head. "I mean, it doesn't really fit into my lifestyle. I'm not ready to settle down right now, and I might never be. I wanna focus on my career. I can't be slowed down or hindered by anyone. I wanna be up there with the greats, you know? Dedicate my life to the craft. It's hard to find someone who understands and can accommodate that."

"What about a fellow actor?" You suggest, hoping he gets the hint.

"Even then, it wouldn't work," He rejects. "I just don't see myself as a relationship kind of person. Do you know what I mean?"

You know exactly what he means because you felt that way four months ago.

"Yeah, I do," You reply lowly.

"That's why what we have is so great," Bucky goes on to say. "We can help each other out, but there's no burden of having to consider each other's feelings. We can just... have fun. Without any strings attached. Without any responsibility or anyone getting hurt."

You swallow thickly. "Yep."

"But yeah, my family will get over it," He continues flippantly. "They know what I'm like. They know I'm not one to get into long-term relationships."

His words make you sad. You want him to say that they'd be upset - that Aunt Vienna would yell at him for letting you go, that Damien and Rebecca would convince him to try and get you back, that his mom would miss you. You've never gotten along with a family like you have with Bucky's, so to hear that your absence would have no impact on them really fucking hurts.

That it would have no impact on him really fucking hurts, too.

I'm sorry <3

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications for updates.

buy me a kofi <3

[moniquesha]

you are so RIGHTTT a big hug for your beautiful brain 🫂

carousel

Pair: Bucky x reader

Summary: You and Bucky keep breaking up and getting back together, stuck in a cycle of love, miscommunication, and missed expectations. In short, everyone around you just finds it toxic at this point.

Warnings: toxic relationship, emotional rollercoaster, love-hate sex! <3

Three years with Bucky Barnes. Three long, exhausting years. Not exhausting because of him. Well, maybe a little. But exhausting because at this point, everyone in your life seems tired of it.

When you first met Bucky, it was through one of those dating apps you never imagined he'd be on. He was old, ancient actually, but you figured he was trying his best to adapt. And hell, if he was on a dating app, then why not? You swiped, he swiped, and that was it.

The first date went surprisingly well. No awkward silences, no weirdness. Just a normal date with a guy who happened to be a former assassin with a metal arm. Then came the second, third, and somehow, the fourth. He ghosted you a little, sure, but when he came back, he had a reasonable excuse: he was busy. And it was true! You saw him on TV, helping people, fighting threats that no normal person could. He wasn't lying; he was just really busy. So, you understood. 

Kind of.

The fifth date, he confessed that he was new to this but willing to make it work. You weren’t new to relationships, but Bucky was new to you, so you said the exact same words back to him. He seemed to appreciate it. By the sixth date, he was more comfortable. Comfortable with himself, his body, his past. He brought up sex.

Not in a crass way, but in a way that showed he was opening up to you. And when you finally got there, it was intense. He admitted he hadn’t come like that in years, which made you blush. And after that? Well, the rest was history.

Somehow, a whole year passed before either of you realized it. Everyone around you had opinions. Some were genuinely happy, others were just bitter that you had managed to bag the hottest Avenger. But Bucky wasn’t ready to talk about that yet.

“You know there’s a thing called the honeymoon phase, right?” a friend of yours, one with a little too much hidden animosity, quipped as you framed your first photo with Bucky and placed it on your bedside table. You rolled your eyes.

There was no phase. Bucky was from the ‘40s, a mature man who wasn’t some impulsive playboy. He wasn’t the type to chase one girl and then suddenly claim the next one was ‘the one.’ That wasn’t Bucky. And you? You were rational. You were mature. That’s why he picked you in the first place.

But oh, how wrong you were.

At the start, everything was exciting. The thrill of dating an Avenger, the little moments where Bucky let himself be soft with you, and the way he slowly learned how to be in a relationship in this era. It all made for a romance that felt like it was pulled from a storybook.

It was supposed to be perfect. But three years in, you’re starting to notice something you didn’t before.

The honeymoon phase didn’t exist in your mind because Bucky wasn’t the type. He wasn’t some player. He wasn’t some guy who’d jump ship the second things got too real. He picked you, and you picked him, and that was that. A steady, adult relationship with no childish fears of “phases” or “cold feet.”

But now? You’re starting to wonder if maybe your friend had a point.

It starts small.

The framed photo on your nightstand collects dust. Neither of you moves it, and neither of you acknowledges it. You don’t think much of it until you realize you haven’t taken any new photos together in months. He’s still busy, of course.

He always has been, but before he used to make time. Used to send you grainy selfies with captions like “this is me trying” or “the camera hates my metal arm.” Now? It’s weeks before he texts you back, and when he does, it’s nothing more than an “I miss you” or “sorry, things have been crazy.”

You tell yourself it’s fine. It’s Bucky. He’s from the ‘40s. He’s not glued to his phone.

But then, it’s the way he hesitates before reaching for your hand in public.

The way his kisses feel more like habits than something he actually wants.

The way your dates have turned into staying in, sitting on the couch, and watching the same shows in silence instead of the deep conversations you used to have.

Bucky isn’t a playboy. He isn’t the kind of guy who jumps from one person to the next, but something is off, and it’s been off for a while. And for the first time, you start wondering if maybe, just maybe, you are in a phase.

And maybe the phase is ending.

But you don’t say anything. Not yet. Because Bucky is Bucky, and you love him, and if this is just a rough patch, it’ll pass.

Right?

At first, you don’t want to admit it. You don’t want to be the person who nitpicks every small change and turns it into some grand declaration that your relationship is falling apart. But when you really sit with it, when you really let yourself feel it, you realize something:

You’re holding your breath.

You’re waiting.

For what? You’re not sure. Maybe for Bucky to snap out of it. Maybe for him to tell you what’s wrong. Maybe for him to look at you the way he used to, with that quiet, awed kind of devotion, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

But it’s been months, and he still hasn’t.

“You guys are still together?” Sam asks one evening, his voice laced with something between amusement and genuine surprise. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it hits wrong.

You force a laugh. “Of course we are.”

Sam hums. He doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s holding back. He’s been Bucky’s best friend for years now, and if he’s noticed something, then maybe, maybe you’re not just imagining things.

Maybe you should say something.

So you do.

It’s late when you finally bring it up. You and Bucky are sitting on the couch, some old movie playing in the background. He’s beside you, but he’s a world away, arm draped over the back of the couch, gaze locked on the screen, jaw tight like he’s thinking about something else entirely.

You take a deep breath. “Are we okay?”

Bucky blinks. Turns to you, brows furrowing. “What?”

You hesitate, then push forward. “Us. Are we okay?”

His frown deepens, and for a split second, you swear there’s something like guilt in his expression. But then, he shakes his head. “Of course we are.”

He says it so casually, so easily, that it makes you feel ridiculous for even asking.

But that feeling only lasts for a moment, because then he turns back to the movie without another word. Like that’s the end of the conversation. Like your question wasn’t even worth talking about.

You’re not in a relationship anymore. Not really. You’re just in something that’s familiar. And for the first time in three years, you wonder if it’s time to let go.

And like a twig, you snap it.

You break up with Bucky Barnes.

It happens so fast, so brutally, that even you can’t believe it. One minute, you’re sitting across from him, staring at him with tears in your eyes, and the next, the words are out in the open, sharp and final.

“We should break up.”

Bucky barely reacts. His jaw clenches, his fingers twitch, but he doesn’t argue. He just sits there, watching you, and that makes you angrier.

“Did you even love me?” you ask, voice shaking.

His brows furrow. “Of course I did—”

“Then what the hell happened?” Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it.

His answer? More of the same. The same cycle, the same excuses, the same carousel of it’s not you, it’s me and I don’t know how to do this and I didn’t mean to hurt you. Round and round and round. And by the time you leave, by the time the door shuts behind you and you step into the cold, you’re exhausted.

You’re done.

The news spreads fast. One minute, you and Bucky are celebrating your anniversary, and the next, it’s over. People ask what happened, but you don’t have an answer. At least, not one that makes sense. Because when you dig, when you let yourself go full detective-mode like your generation is so damn good at, you realize something:

There’s no other girl.

There’s no distractions.

No betrayal, no grand reveal of secrets.

Nothing.

Just Bucky. Just the quiet, steady way he pulled back, little by little, until he was barely there at all. Until you had to be the one to make the choice to end it.So now, you’re alone in your apartment, music blasting, trying to drown out the sound of your own sobs.

And when the tears slow, when the ache in your chest settles into something dull and familiar, you think.

Maybe he just got bored of me.

That’s it. No mess, no complications. Just a man who got tired of loving you.

Three months.

Three months of trying to unlove someone who had already let you go.

It wasn’t easy. The first few weeks were unbearable. Every morning, waking up and reaching for someone who wasn’t there, every night, fighting the urge to text him just to ask why. But you did what people do when they’re heartbroken: you healed. Slowly, quietly, in all the ways that weren’t pretty but were necessary.

You stopped crying. Stopped replaying the breakup in your head like a scene from a tragic movie. Stopped looking for him in crowded streets, in news reports, in the tiny spaces of your life where he used to fit so effortlessly.

And then one morning, without realizing it, you woke up and felt… okay. Not whole, not entirely yourself again, but okay enough to exist without him.

You thought that was the end of it.

But the universe? The universe wasn’t done with you.

Because three months later, on a perfectly normal Tuesday, you walk into your favorite café, the one you introduced Bucky to, the one that had always been yours first, and there he is. Standing at the counter, waiting for his coffee. Looking almost exactly the same, except for the way his shoulders tense when he sees you.

And just like that, it happens.

Like muscle memory, like fate, like some cruel joke the universe is playing on you. you fall in love with him all over again.

Your heart skips a beat. Your breath catches. You hate it. You hate that he still has this effect on you, that after everything, after all the pain and healing and moving on, one glance is all it takes to unravel you.

Bucky swallows, shifting awkwardly. “Hey.”

You grip your tote bag tighter. “Hey.”

For a second, neither of you move. The café bustles around you, but it all feels distant, like you’ve been pulled into some private, inescapable moment with him.

And just like that, you’re together again.

You don’t talk about the breakup, not really. There’s a few apologies, a few quiet I missed you’s exchanged between coffee sips and hesitant touches, but nothing deep. Nothing real. It’s easier that way. It’s easier to just feel the love again rather than question why it stopped in the first place.

People buy it.

“We’re trying again,” you say with a small smile.

“We love each other,” Bucky adds.

And because your friends are supportive, they nod and go along with it. They send congratulatory texts, say if you’re happy, we’re happy, and raise their glasses in a half-hearted toast to round two.

Then.. you break up again.

This time, there’s no big fight. No dramatic moment where someone walks out. Just exhaustion. Just the slow realization that maybe, loving each other isn’t enough. Everyone gets it. You cry into your best friend’s shoulder, and they pat your back and say, “Maybe it’s for the best.”

Then, a few months later, you and Bucky get back together.

No one claps this time.

No yay, you found your way back! or third time’s the charm! Just a long silence, a few shared glances, and one person daring to say, “Are you sure about this?”

But you don’t want to hear that. Because this time? This time, it’s going to work.

Except it doesn’t.

Another breakup. Another reconciliation. Another crash.

And by the time you both get back together for what might be the fourth, no, fifth time, your friends have stopped asking about it entirely.

No one cheers. No one comforts you. No one even reacts when you and Bucky inevitably call it quits again.

At this point, it’s just a bad game of whac-a-mole. One where everyone else stopped playing, but you and Bucky are still stuck in an endless loop, waiting to see which one of you will get tired of the game first.

“Three years of this shit, Bucky! Aren’t you fucking tired?”

Your voice cracks as you say it, as the words rip out of you like they’ve been waiting to be said for months. Maybe even years.

Across from you, Bucky exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. He looks just as exhausted as you feel. His jaw is clenched, his shoulders tense, but his eyes, his stupid, beautiful, heartbreaking blue eyes are filled with something you can’t even name anymore. Regret? Frustration? Love? All of the above?

“I don’t know,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to—” He stops, shakes his head. “I don’t know how to do this, okay?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shoving your hands into your pockets like that’ll keep them from shaking. “You’ve had three years to figure it out, James.”

He flinches. You see it. The tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his fingers, the way his lips press into a thin line. But he doesn’t argue.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Because if he fought, if he yelled or got angry, at least it would mean he cared. But instead, he just stands there, letting you unravel, letting this whole thing crash and burn like it always does.

And God, you hate him for it.

Hate that he pulled you back in just to let you go again. Hate that he made you believe, one more time, that you could make this work. Hate that even now, as you’re standing here, practically begging for a reason to stay, you still love him.

And you think, that’s the problem, isn’t it?

You love him. He loves you.

But love was never the problem. It was everything else.

Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him.

At this point, you don’t even know anymore. The relationship is just a car that keeps skidding off the road, and neither of you wants to admit who’s behind the wheel. There are no more tears. No yelling, no throwing hands up in frustration. Just exhaustion.

You sit across from him, slumped in your chair, staring at the table between you. A silent battlefield of half-drunk coffee cups, an untouched plate of something neither of you had the appetite for, and all the words you’ve both been too tired to say.

You sigh.

Bucky sighs.

And for the first time in three years, you realize.. there’s nothing left to fight for. Not because the love is gone, no, that’s the problem. The love is still there. But love alone has never been enough.

Not for you. Not for him. Not for this.

Bucky leans forward, elbows on the table, staring at his hands like they hold the answer to all of this. “So… what now?”

You exhale slowly, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “I don’t know.”

Neither of you say it, but you both do know. It’s over.

For real, this time.

“I'm sorry, Y/N.”

His voice is quiet, almost too quiet, like he doesn’t want to break whatever fragile thing is still holding this moment together.

You look at him. Really look at him. He looks wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes, shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the weight of something he can’t put down. You wonder if he’s been sleeping. You wonder if he’s been hurting the way you have.

And then you wonder if it even matters anymore.

Because sorry won’t fix this.

Sorry won’t rewind time. It won’t erase the months of uncertainty, the constant breakups, the way you kept circling back to each other just to fall apart all over again.

You nod, because you don’t know what else to do. “Yeah.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Me too.”

And just like that, it’s done. 

Bucky steps forward, hesitates for only a second, then wraps his arms around you.

One last hug.

You tell yourself that’s all it is. That it’s just closure, just a final goodbye, just something to soften the inevitable ache of walking away from each other for good this time. And like muscle memory, you accept it. Your hands grip the back of his shirt. His fingers press into your spine. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath this entire time, and for a moment, you almost feel normal again.

Then it lingers. Too long.

Long enough that you should pull away. Long enough that this isn’t just a goodbye anymore. Long enough that his nose brushes against your temple, his lips ghost over your skin, and suddenly, you’re tilting your head, giving him space to press a real kiss there.

You shudder.

And just like that, you’re gone.

Clothes come off without thinking. Without reason. Without logic.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna let go,” he mutters, voice rough and low, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hard cock already stirring in his jeans, pulsing against the zipper, and you know you feel it. How could you not? 

The both of you are too close now, too wound up. You don’t even think, just yank his jacket off, letting it hit the floor with a dull thud, and his hands are on you again, shoving under your shirt, greedy for bare skin.

You don’t stop him, and that’s all the green light he needed. He peels your shirt up and off, tossing it somewhere in the room, and you do the same with his shirt next, ripped over his head, muscles flexing as you expose the hard lines of his chest, that metal arm shining over the dim lights again.

His eyes rake over you, drinking in every curve, every dip. Your tits, they’re perfect, soft and heavy, nipples pebbling in the chilly air. Bucky groans, a deep, guttural sound, and sinks to his knees right there in front of the couch, hands gripping your hips. “Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good,” He growls, What a great way to break up you think. 

He looks up at you with doe eyes before his teeth catch the waistband of your pants. He tugs, slow and deliberate, undoing the button with his fingers, the zipper sliding down with a rasp that’s drowned out by your thoughts of why the hell this is happening now. His fingers hook in and yank them off, leaving you bare, your slick cunt glistening in front of him pink and swollen, like a goddamn flower begging to be plucked.

He shoves his hand between your legs, parting your thighs, and his thumb grazes your clit, teasing that little bud till he feels you tremble. “So fuckin’ wet already,” He rasp, voice dripping with lust, and lean in, licking his lips before his tongue darts out, lapping at your inner thigh first, tasting the salt of your skin.

He gives good head when he’s breaking up with you, it annoys you but that annoyance fades when he dives in, mouth on your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around that soaked hole.

You shudder. “Fuck, Bucky.” You whimper, legs closing against his head but he forces them open again. “Oh fuck, you taste like heaven.” He pulls away momentarily before his tongue delves deeper, dipping into your slickness, playing with your juices as they coat his chin, sloppy and messy and so damn hot. He pulls back just a sec, making eye contact, letting you see the hunger in his gaze, “Fucking hell. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Bucky, please–”

“Look, Y/N I’m just trying to–”

“Jesus! You’re eating me out Barnes, can we fucking talk about it after?”

He blinks, nods, and just like that his hands roam, one cupping your ass, kneading that soft flesh, the other sliding up to pinch a nipple, rolling it between his fingers till he hears you gasp. You see him quickly stand, his dick’s so hard it’s probably aching, precum leaking through his jeans. He shoves them down, kicking them off with his boots, and his thick cock springs free, rigid, red, and throbbing, the head slick with need. 

He grabs your chin, tilting your face up, “You talk too much sometimes and it annoys me.” and crashes his lips into yours, bruising and desperate. Your teeth click, tongues rolling together, fucking your mouth with his. You suck his bottom lip, biting it till it swells, then he swirls his tongue around yours, groaning into the kiss.

“And I hate when you leave the kitchen dirty like I’m some fucking maid.”

He scoffs, like what he’s hearing is so untrue. “On your knees,” He pants, voice shaking with want. His hand fists your hair, guiding you, and when your lips finally wrap around his dick, Bucky jolts, a sharp “Shit.” ripping from his throat. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him in, tongue swirling over his head, lapping up the precum as he thrusts his hips up, testing you.

“Take my dick, shit, just like that,” He grunts, hips rocking, and you deep throat him, wet heat engulfing him till he feels your throat tighten. and he slows it down, pulling back, trembling as he fights the urge to blow right then. “Not yet,” he huffs, voice wrecked, “Wanna fuck you first.”

He yanks you up, spinning you around, and shove you onto the couch, ass up. His hands splay across your back, raking nails down your spine as he line up, rubbing his cock up and down your slit, teasing that dirty little pussy of yours.

“I hate when you tell me what to do like I’m your child. I’m your fucking boyfriend, Y/N.” He murmurs, breath tickling your ear, and then he sinks in. Slow at first, stretching your slick pussy wide, groaning loud as he buries himself deep.

“Oh fucking hell, so tight,” He moans, setting a rhythm, “Fuck, James. You’re so–” he snaps his hips, pounding into you, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. Your ass bounces with every thrust, “I hate when you–” You throw your head down, whimpering. “When you don’t pay attention to my achievements.” and he switches it up—pulling out, slick with your juices, and pounding back into you again.

“God! You’re such a fucking asshole,”  you growl, and he pushes back in, slow and brutal, feeling you quake around him.

The pace builds, wild thrusts slamming into you, his hands clutching your shoulders, then your tits, kneading them rough. “Oh fuck, oh my fuckin’ pussy’s yours James,” You hear him groan, lost in it, and when he feels that climax creeping up, he slowly drags it out, letting his cock pulse inside your pussy. 

“If I’m an asshole, then you’re a bitch. But god, you’re the only one I want.” Then he snaps hard, one last time, and explodes his massive load spilling deep inside, your whole body shaking as you also reach your climax just in time with him.

What a time to be in sync.

You cry out, “Fuck!” And he collapses over you, panting, soaked in sweat and filth,  the room quiet again with nothing but you and Bucky’s heavy breaths.

You’re both panting, bodies tangled together on the couch, the heat of what just happened still clinging to your skin. The room smells like sex.

The silence is thick. Too thick.

You stare at the ceiling, heart still hammering, and let your mind wander back—back to all the fights, all the words said in anger, all the things that chipped away at whatever this was.

The things he hated. The things you hated.

Maybe that’s what keeps breaking this relationship apart. Maybe it was never about bad timing, or Bucky not knowing how to love, or you expecting too much. Maybe it was just this.

A cycle. A loop. A bad habit neither of you know how to quit.

Your fingers trace over his metal arm, absently following the lines of it, before you finally ask, “Did you mean it? Those things you said?”

Bucky tenses beside you.

You don’t specify which words you mean, because there were so many. Words spit out in the heat of a fight, words muttered in exhaustion, words you’re still carrying like stones in your chest.

He shifts slightly, running a hand down his face. “Which ones?”

You huff a small, humorless laugh. “The bad ones. Your way of dirty talk I guess.”

He exhales sharply, like he already knows where this is going but doesn’t want to go there.

“I don’t know,” he admits. His voice is rough, tired. “I was angry. You were angry.”

“So maybe you did mean it.”

Bucky turns his head, finally looking at you. He looks wrecked, like he hates that you’re even having this conversation. “Do you think I did?”

You swallow. “I don’t know.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know.

Because even now, even after everything, part of you still wonders if all those fights, all those cruel little truths that slipped out when the gloves came off, maybe they weren’t just words. Maybe they were real. And maybe, no matter how much you love each other, you were never meant to work.

Bucky kills your thoughts as he shifts beside you, his fingers absently tracing circles on your bare thigh. His voice is quiet when he speaks.

"Remember when I said I was new to this? And you said the same thing?"

You do.

It was on your fifth date, when things still felt fresh, when love hadn’t yet turned into a battlefield. When he admitted, hesitantly, that he didn’t really know how to do this, how to be in a relationship, how to navigate something that wasn’t war or survival or duty.

And you, thinking you were being clever, had just repeated his words back to him. I’m not new to this, but I’m new to you.

Back then, it felt sweet. Like a promise. Now? It feels like irony.

Because after three years of trying, of breaking and fixing and breaking again, you realize, maybe neither of you ever figured it out.

Maybe you both thought love would be enough to bridge the gap between what you wanted to be and what you actually were. You swallow, turning your head to look at him. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I remember.”

Bucky exhales, staring up at the ceiling. “I meant it. I still do.” He pauses, his fingers stilling on your skin. “But I think we kept making the same mistakes because we never actually learned from them.”

Your chest tightens. You want to argue, but deep down, you know he’s right.

You love him. He loves you.

But love alone was never the problem.

It was everything else. The way you never really talked, not about the things that mattered. The way you both kept waiting for the other to fix things, steering this relationship straight into the same crash over and over again. Bucky sighs, rubbing his hands over his face before turning to you. His expression is raw, tired, honest, real.

“Over time, everything feels amazing and great, but then… I just felt like you’re moving, and I can’t catch up that quickly, Y/N.”

Your heart clenches.

“I’m a man out of time,” he continues, voice low, almost like he’s ashamed to admit it. “And as I’m slowly getting some of that back, I just… I just need a hand to walk with. I don’t want to go to your friends’ parties sometimes, or go to a concert of that Swift girl—”

A huff of laughter escapes you at that, but he’s not joking.

“Maybe I just want to stay here with you,” he murmurs, looking down at his hands. “And learn more of what I’ve missed for the past century.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t hit you right in the chest.

Because for all this time, for all the back and forth and the constant breaking apart, maybe this was part of it. Maybe you were trying to drag him into your world, into now, without realizing that he was still catching up. That he was still learning how to exist, how to breathe in a time that wasn’t his own.

You never thought about it like that. You never thought he might have felt left behind.

Your throat tightens, and suddenly, you don’t know what to say.

You reach for his hand instead, lacing your fingers through his. His grip is warm, solid, and when he looks up at you, it’s with something you haven’t seen in a long time, hope.

Maybe you two were never meant to work. Or maybe you just needed to understand each other better.

You squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Bucky exhales, shaking his head. “It’s okay. I had my faults too. I wasn’t open to you.. And I just thought if I told you, you’d find me boring.”

Your brows furrow. “That’s not true, and you know that.” You sit up a little, your fingers still tangled with his. “I guess in my perspective, I just wanted to show you everything, but I never really thought about what you’d feel first. I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”

Bucky watches you carefully, his lips pressing into a small, almost sad smile.

“We were both just trying,” he murmurs. “Trying to make it work in our own ways.”

You nod. That’s exactly it, isn’t it?

You wanted to pull him forward, into your world, your life. And he just wanted time, time to settle, time to understand, time to figure out who he was now, after everything.

Neither of you were wrong. Neither of you were right.

You glance down at your joined hands, then back up at him. “So… what do we do now?”

Bucky tilts his head, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I don’t know,” he admits softly. Then, quieter. “But maybe we actually take our time figuring it out.”

You sigh, tilting your head back against the couch. “Okay, you know, my friend had this phase with his boyfriend too. And guess what?”

Bucky raises a brow. “What?”

“They figured out that they were just both missing each other and hadn't had sex in months.” You turn to look at him, half-serious, half-amused. “And after that, they made sure every time they could. And boom! they’re married.”

Bucky blinks.

Then, he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you saying we just needed more sex?”

“I'm saying maybe we were overcomplicating things.” You smirk, nudging his side. “I mean, look at tonight.”

Bucky huffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s something softer in the way he’s looking at you now. A little lighter.

“Alright,” he says, squeezing your hand. “So, what? We just keep fucking and hope for a ring at the end of it?”

You laugh, feeling something inside you ease for the first time in a while. “Not just that,” you tease. “But.. I think we stop trying to make this relationship fit some perfect idea of what it should be, and just–” You shrug. “Be. Together. The way that works for us.”

Bucky watches you for a long moment, then nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I think I like that plan.”

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, eyes searching his. The weight of everything, the fights, the breakups, the uncertainty, hangs in the air between you. But so does something else. Something softer.

“I love you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches, just for a second. His grip on your hand tightens like he needs to hold onto you, to this moment. And when he exhales, it’s slow, careful, like he’s letting something settle inside him.

Then he looks at you, really looks at you, and he smiles. Like ‘Finally. You see me.’

“I love you more, Y/N.”

And this time, it doesn’t feel like a promise they say in movies, or something said out of desperation. It just is.

Like breathing. Like something inevitable. Like something real.

And for once, you think, maybe this time, we’ll get it right.

a/n: based on true events .. ?

divider from: omi-resources

[moniquesha]

real people

chapter eight

18+

you're popular among horror fans. he's well-respected among film critics. though you work in the same industry, you couldn't be more different - but your managers think a pr romance is just what your careers need.

content warning: actor!bucky x actress!reader, mature themes, enemies to lovers, fake dating, slight angst, mention of abusive parenting, smut, fluff.

Series Masterlist

"Hey! Over here!"

"Come on, Y/N; give us a smile!"

"You think Bucky's gonna propose soon?"

"Has he ditched you?"

"Oh, my God, it's Y/N!"

Though the paparazzi were tipped off by your own management that you and Bucky would be in Malibu Village, you were definitely hoping to avoid being seen by fans. Usually, you'd welcome it, but with your popularity getting a sudden surge with the release of The Sixth Night, you've barely been able to walk to the grocery store without being ambushed. You start taking pictures and signing all sorts of things for fans - and meanwhile, Bucky's inside a nearby store, watching you. He's on the phone to his mom.

"Yeah, that should be fine," He says with his eyes on you while his free hand fiddles with a trinket on the shelf. "Do you need me to bring anything?"

"Just yourself. And maybe that pretty new girlfriend of yours," Winnifred says over the phone.

Bucky rolls his eyes, his lips pulling upwards. "I've told you, ma, it's not like that-"

"Yeah, yeah, you're still friends, aren't you?" She cuts him off. "Just let her know she's invited. Besides, the rest of the family don't know about Hollywood relationships, so they'll be asking after her if she isn't there."

"I'll think about it," Bucky mutters, before clearing his throat. "Alright, ma, I gotta go - I'll speak to you later."

"Bye, honey."

When Bucky leaves the store, a group of fans immediately rush over to him, snapping pictures and yelling out their support. He isn't used to this at all - he usually stays lowkey, and his only interactions with fans are at movie premiers or award shows.

You can see the overwhelm on his face so, guided by your security, you wade through the crowd and grab his hand. He seems relieved when you do so, following you as your security guard all but drags you to a nearby hotel while the other guards attempt to hold the crowd back. You rush into the lobby and are lead into a meeting room by one of the hotel workers who thankfully instantly recognizes you and understands what is happening.

"This door lock?" Mark asks the worker, who quickly nods in response.

"Yes - they can stay in here as long as necessary. Do you want me to call the police?"

"There's no need for that," You insist, not wanting one of your fans to get hurt unnecessarily. "We'll just stake out in here for a bit and I'm sure they'll leave us alone soon enough."

"Alright. But if they get into the building, I will have to call the authorities," He tells you before him and Mark leave you and Bucky in the small meeting room alone. You lock the door and turn back to where Bucky's sat at the circular table.

"You okay?" You ask him, trying to ignore the way the muted sound of screams from outside is making your heart race.

"All good," Bucky replies, leaning back in his chair. "You?"

"Yeah, fine," You say while glancing at your watch. "Hopefully they're not out there for long."

He lets out a sigh, and you can't help but feel at fault. Bucky's the type of famous that wouldn't be caught dead in a group of crazy fans - he's untouchable, whereas you're used to the chaos. It just goes to show how different you really are. It's easy for a fan to approach you and ask you to be in a video saying hi to their cousin, but Bucky is miles above the ground. He's a faraway prince locked away in his castle on the top of a big hill, while you're downtown with the riff-raff. There's so much distance between you, and the second this contract is over, you'll stop pretending like there isn't. He'll go back up to his castle, and you'll roll back down the hill.

For some reason, it hurts you to realize how far away from you he is. Right now, he sits only a few feet away, but that won't last forever. He'll stop being nice to you, eventually. You'll have sex with him for the last time one day. Years from now, you'll walk past each other at an awards show after-party, and if you're lucky, he'll give you a nod and validate your existence. More likely, though, he'll walk straight past you, as if you don't exist, and you'll be stuck with the memories of the six months you spent with Bucky Barnes.

It makes you feel sad. You wish he saw you as a friend. You wish you could say you'd keep in touch come December. But you know better than to think you could have a lasting impact on someone like him.

Snap out of it. You don't need him to like you. You don't need anyone.

"Can you stop thinking so hard?" He cuts in, pulling you from your thoughts.

You frown at him. "What?"

"I can tell by the look on your face that you're deep in thought about something that's probably gonna be the stupidest thing I've ever heard," He goes on to say while tapping the table. "Go on. Spill."

Guess that's his way of politely asking you what's on your mind.

"Nothing much," You reply casually as you walk over to him. "Just wondering how long we'll be stuck in here. Think we have time for a quickie?"

That earns an eye-roll from him. Has anyone else ever annoyed him as much as you? You hope not.

"I'm sorry for being so famous," You say with a shrug. "I didn't choose to have millions of fans obsessed with me. They chose me!"

His head drops into his hand and his words are muffled when he speaks. "Fuck me."

"Is that a request?" You wonder.

Turning his head back up at you, there's an incredulous look in his eyes. "You are the most insufferable person I've ever met," He says.

With a grin, you take another step closer to him. "Do you really mean that?" You ask him with a hopeful and joyous tone. When he doesn't reply, you get on his lap with your legs on either side of him. "We should fuck."

He raises a brow. "What if someone with a key comes in?"

You shrug. "Then they'll see your big dick. So?" You ask with a smirk, leaning back against the table when he doesn't respond. "Fine. Don't fuck me. If you can hold yourself back, that is."

Bucky lets out a dry laugh. "You think you're that irresistible?" He asks you.

"You tell me, Jamie," You say flatly.

"That nickname doesn't have the effect on me that you think it does," He claims bluntly.

"What effect do I think it has?" You ask him. "I just like it. Think it suits you better than Bucky."

"Many people would disagree with you," He says, resting his hands on his thighs. His big thighs. Fuck.

"Let's play a game," You say, getting off his lap and instead sitting on the table in front of him. "Truth or Dare. And you have to be completely honest, and you have to do the dares. If you refuse, you have to take an item of clothing off."

He narrows his eyes at you. "What are we, fifteen?"

"It'll be fun," You assure him. "And it'll help us get to know each other."

"Why do we need to get to know each other?" Bucky asks you, an unimpressed look on his face.

"Because you've been inside me, James," You remind him sternly. "I know what you think of me, but there aren't actually a lot of people who have had the privilege. So, sue me for wanting to know you properly. Plus, you have a chance to see my boobs."

He lets out a sigh. "Whatever."

"Yay! I'll go first," You say with a grin. "I'll go with a Truth, please."

He looks up at the ceiling for a few seconds before asking you, "Did you know all these fans would be here today?"

"No!" You reply instantly, offended by his question. "My management may be known to tip off paparazzi, but I've never had to hire fake fans. It's just a side effect of being so hot and famous."

"Mhm," Bucky hums while you give him an expectant look. "Uh, Truth."

"Boring," You comment.

"That's what you chose!" He retorts defensively.

"Yeah, 'cause it was the first one!" You exclaim.

"And this is my first one-"

"Fine, whatever!" You cut him off with an eye-roll. "Um... do you still have feelings for Sharon?"

He snorts. "No," He replies simply, his eyes remaining hooked to yours. "Your turn."

"Truth."

"So now who's being boring-"

"Fine, Dare!" You yell, sick of arguing with him.

He narrows his eyes while thinking, and you're sure you see a glint of mischief in them for a split second. "Dare... dare... I dare you to go back out there for five minutes," He settles on.

"Five minutes?" You repeat with wide eyes, before instantly kicking your shoes off.

"Seriously?" He asks with a raised brow as he glances at your socks.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you want a sexy strip tease?" You ask him. "Well, you're gonna have to think of some better Truths and Dares, Barnes. Your turn."

He sighs. "Truth."

"Of course. Hmm... before we met, did you think- did you ever... um, how do I ask this... did you think I was hot?" You ask as you tilt your head.

Bucky just shrugs. "Sure."

"Sure? No, I need a proper answer, please," You push. "And detail. Lots of details."

He scoffs, "Whatever, I thought you were hot."

"Hot?" You repeat, ignoring the way your heart flutters. Pull yourself together. "Is that it?"

"What do you want me to say?" He asks with frustration. "That I thought your skin glistened with fucking stardust? I thought you were hot, next question."

"Past tense," You comment with narrow eyes.

"Fine. Think," He corrects himself, and you can see how much it irritates him to admit it. "You're hot. Happy?"

"Very," You say with a wide smile. "Truth me."

"Well, we already know you've been obsessed with me for a decade, so no need to ask the same to you," He utters. "What's your favorite film that I've been in?"

You don't even have to think about it. "Ruin," You answer.

He's taken aback. "You're kidding," He says flatly.

"Not at all. It was fucking brilliant," You say truthfully. You know what he was expecting- for you to say one of the romance films he's been in, or one of his biggest blockbusters, but Ruin wasn't very highly acclaimed by the general public who labeled it boring. It was dark, some said depressing and hard to watch, but it showcased his acting skills better than anything else he's been in.

"Is that just cause it's the closest thing to horror in my filmography?" He asks.

"Maybe that's why I enjoyed it so much," You say with a shrug. "But it had a huge impact on me. I was going through a shitty time when it came out, career-wise, and seeing you... shine, it just... motivated me. You were... beautiful. That's the only way I can describe it."

He stares up at you, saying nothing for a few moments, before uttering, "Truth."

"If I told you I really needed to pee right now, would you let me do it in your mouth?"

His lip twitches but he does well to hide what you suspect is surprise mixed with disgust from his face.

"Like, in a sexy way," You continue. "Would you?"

He doesn't do what you expect him to - he doesn't say no, call you a freak, or gag. Instead, he pulls his jacket off.

"James Buchanan Barnes!" You squeal. "You're not gonna answer that?"

Again, no words leave his mouth, and he just sits back in his chair.

"You're a fucking freak," You say through a grin. "Go on, you freak. Hit me with a saucy Truth."

His intense stare which tells you nothing as to what he's really thinking returns. "Am I the best you ever had?" He asks coolly.

Fuck. You can't admit that to him. Just think of the level of power he'd hold over you if he knew the truth. So, without a word, you pull your skirt off.

A smirk pulls at his lips as he shamelessly looks at your black panties. "Cute."

Cute? You wear matching black lingerie in the hopes of turning him on and he thinks it's cute? What an asshole.

"Your turn, Barnes," You say, folding your arms across your chest. "Truth or Dare?"

"Fuck it. Dare," He says, making you sit up with excitement.

"Now we're cooking," You say with a grin as your mind races with ideas. "Hmm... I dare you to... give me your phone number. Your real phone number. And you're not ever allowed to block me, or change your number."

His eyes narrow. "I give you free reign to dare me and you come up with that?"

"I don't have any way of contacting you directly!" You exclaim. "And you didn't give me your number when I asked you the first time, so this is my only way in."

"Give me your phone," He says with a deep sigh.

You smile and pick it up from the table before moving closer and handing it to him. While he types, you sit on his lap, smushing your face against his as you watch the screen. He grimaces, but makes no effort to move back or push you away. When you see what he's saving his contact name as, you snort.

"Ha! Best I Ever Had?" You read. "Just because I didn't answer that Truth, doesn't mean it was a yes."

"Mhm," He replies smugly as he hands you back your phone, which you toss onto the table.

He's staring up at you in a way that makes your stomach flip, so you lean down to kiss him - and the fucker looks away.

"You fucking asshole!" You yell, abhorred by his rejection. You go to hit his chest but he grabs your wrist before you can make contact. Then, with that smug look still firmly on his face, he pulls you in and kisses you.

His hands go to your hips, and he firmly sits you down on his lap while poking his tongue in your mouth. With just your panties on, your pussy rubs against his crotch, instantly making you moan.

"I'm not gonna fuck you here," He mutters against your lips. "So don't fucking ask me to."

"Plea-"

His hand covers your mouth before you can get the word out, and he uses his other hand to tightly grip your waist as he thrusts up against you. After a few moments, he takes his hand off your mouth and kisses you again.

When you woke up this morning, you didn't think you'd be dry humping Bucky in a conference room of a random hotel, but here you are.

"Are you hard for me, Jamie?" You ask him as you grind your hips. "That big dick nice and hard for me?"

"Fuck," He utters as he looks up.

"Sure you don't wanna put it inside me?" You ask him as you grab one of his hands and place it on your chest. "I want it inside me so bad, Jamie. Want you to fill me up with your fat cock."

He lets out a dry laugh between heavy breaths. "Keep talking like that and I'll cum in my fucking pants anyway, dipshit," He warns you.

You can't help but laugh, stopping your movements as your head falls against his shoulder.

"Think that's funny?" He asks, using his grip on your waist to keep you rubbing against his boner.

"Yeah," You whimper, digging your nails into his arm as your heart races. "You're so pathetic. Cumming in your pants like a fucking teenager."

"Fuck you," He says through gritted teeth.

"Fuck me," You whine. "Come on, Barnes. Or are you too pathetic, hmm? You gonna cum in your pants before I can even pull your dick out? Huh? Gonna cum just from me rubbin' on you a little?"

He swallows thickly. "You're evil," He utters, a look of concentration on his face as he does his best to hold back his orgasm.

"Oh, baby boy," You say teasingly as you squeeze his hand on your chest. "You gonna cum already, baby? Gonna cum for mommy?"

His breath hitches in his throat and not a second later, he lets out that all too familiar grunt as his body shudders.

"Oh, that's a good boy," You whisper in his ear before nibbling on the lobe. "Such a dirty boy."

Low, gravelly groans escape his mouth as he slowly recovers from his high. Once he's breathing normally again, he slowly meets your eyes. "You're the worst," He says with a mumble.

Grinning, you softly slap his cheek. "Not my fault."

"Not your fault? Did you hear yourself?" He asks you incredulously. "Where the fuck did that come from, huh?"

You shrug, standing up. "Dunno. Just felt right."

"Just felt right? Mommy just felt right?"

You laugh loudly at the look on his face. "It worked, didn't it?" You ask, tilting your head. "Little Bucky certainly enjoyed it."

"I resent that nickname," He states firmly, unable to stop himself from looking you up and down, his eyes lingering on the wet patch on your panties. "C'mere. Lemme finish you off."

His words make your toes tingle. What the fuck is going on with you?

"Hey. Did you hear me?" He asks, patting his lap. "Get over here, dipshit."

"I resent that nickname," You say, echoing his words from earlier.

"What do you prefer? Mommy?" He asks with a smirk. "C'mere, Mommy."

"Shut up," You say with an eye roll, walking over to him anyway.

Once you're in touching distance he grabs you and pulls you back onto his lap. One of his hands slips under your panties while the other grips the back of your neck, keeping you in place as his fingers rub your clit.

His lips brush against yours for a few seconds, teasing you, before he finally gives you a kiss just as he pushes two fingers inside you. You moan into his mouth, instantly forgetting how annoying he is as you melt into the pleasure.

"Mhm, you like that?" He asks you lowly, your forehead resting against his. "That feel good?"

"Yes, Jamie," You cry, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Please, don't stop."

"Not until you cum for me, baby," Bucky says. "Gonna cum all over my fingers?"

"Yes, Sir," You can't help but respond, too lost in bliss to think straight.

"Sir? Oh, I like that," He says with a grin.

"Fuck you. Don't get used to it," You say bluntly before whimpering when he suddenly pulls his fingers out.

"What have I told you about respect, huh?" He asks, grabbing your chin. "Huh, you dumb fuck?"

"Fuck you," You repeat, frustrated to no end.

"Is that how you're gonna be?" Bucky says with a raised brow. "Bad girls don't get to cum."

"I don't need you to make me cum," You state firmly, letting go of his shoulders and moving your hand down to your pussy.

"Yeah? You gonna make yourself cum?" He bites his lip as he watches you play with yourself. "Now who's pathetic, hmm?"

"You're a prick," You say, your own fingers not feeling as good as his do inside you.

"And you're a dumb fuck," He says, noticing the way your eyes soften when he speaks to you like that. "That's right. Look at you. Fucking yourself like a pathetic little slut. You're my stupid slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, Jamie," You all but whisper, as though you're scared someone will hear how desperate you sound.

"No, I liked the other name you used for me," He says with a smirk. "You sounded so cute, and so dumb. Now, make yourself cum for me."

Somehow, hearing him degrade you while you touch yourself feels just as good as if he was fingering you himself - something about the way he's watching you and talking to you like that makes your core set alight.

"Yes, Sir."

"That's it," He says with a grin. "That's my dumb little slut. Keep going. Don't you fucking stop."

"Cumming," You cry as you feel your orgasm take over you.

"Good girl," Bucky mumbles, keeping his eyes on you. You've barely pulled your fingers out when he rips your panties off and lifts you up by the hips, setting your thighs on his shoulder and diving his face into your pussy.

"Oh, fuck, Bucky!" You cry out as your sensitive cunt is overwhelmed by his tongue. He sucks your clit with a hum, making your body sieze up. With how sensitive you already are after your first orgasm, it doesn't take long for you to cum again, with your hands tugging hard on his hair.

After a few moments, he finally lets you down. You stumble off his lap, your hand to your mouth as you process what he just did to you. It's gonna be hard saying goodbye in December.

You grab your skirt and put it back on before sitting opposite him at the table. The two of you just stare at each other. He keeps his eyes on you while picking up your ripped panties, folding them and placing them in his pocket. You do your best not to react.

"I know nothing about you," He says after some minutes pass. "And you know everything about me."

You raise a brow. "Everything? Fucking far from it, Barnes," You say with a scoff. "I know what hospital you were born in, and about your first kiss, and what your parents' name are. I know nothing about you now."

"What hospital were you born in?" He questions.

"What?" You snort.

"What was your first kiss like?" He pushes.

"Is this a Truth or Dare question?"

"Just a question."

"Uh, fifth grade. We were roleplaying Titanic."

He laughs at that. "What are your parents' names?"

You hear a ringing in your ears as you blink away the memories. "I don't talk about my parents," You say flatly.

"Why not?" Bucky presses.

A dry laugh leaves your mouth. "Uh, 'cause they sucked?" You offer, hoping he'll just laugh and ask you something else. But he doesn't. The silence grows awkward and you can't help but continue talking - probably his plan all along. "They sucked. The usual shitty parent stuff. I'll tell you this story that will tell you exactly what they were like - one time, when they had left me alone for four days straight with no money, I was down to my last few dry crackers, and, in an act of rebellion, washed them down with my dad's special whisky. I was 8. They came home the next day and realized what I had done, so my mom beat me so bad I couldn't go to school for a week. My dad thought I hadn't learnt my lesson so he made me drink the full bottle of whisky in one go. I vomited so hard I couldn't eat for days."

He looks stunned, and you're stunned yourself. You've never told anyone that story.

"I ran away from home when I was 16," You tell him. "It was uh... ha, this is embarrassing. It was the series finale of Sunset Lake that finally motivated me to leave. You know, when Nate's trying to choose between going away to college or staying at home and helping his dad out at the shop?"

"He chose college," Bucky remembers.

"Yeah. It was inspiring, I guess," You add. "Auditioned at a local theatre. Told them I was 18. Played Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady while homeless. Got scouted at the final performance - some guy wanted me in his indie film. It paid well and it was being filmed in England, so accommodation was included. I was 18 at my first Cannes. Living my dream. The offers came in. Met Pepper. Here we are. I don't even know if my parents know about me. If they're even still alive."

"Here we are," He mumbles, before speaking louder. "You sing?"

"Oh, James, I do everything," You say with a grin. "But enough about me: what about you? Let me guess- nepo baby?"

"Well..." He trails off sheepishly.

"Come on, Barnes. Spill," You order.

"My dad's a dentist," He begins, before lowering his voice. "My mom did a little acting..."

"I knew it!" You exclaim, slamming your hands on the table.

"But she stopped when she had me," He continues defensively. "And she was never in anything major - odd roles here and there. She had some old friends from acting school who were making this cool new teen show. I was a teen. I liked acting but never thought it would be my career- thought I'd do something more like my dad. Ma said the show would be a fun experience and a little pocket money for me, like her stint on General Hospital. So I filmed the pilot, thought nothing of it. Six months later, we're green lit. Spent the rest of my teen years on that show."

You smile widely at the story. Though you probably watched him tell that story in hundreds of interviews growing up, hearing it from him yourself has a different special quality to you. "I loved that show," You tell him earnestly. "It meant so much to me."

"Really?" He asks with a glint in his eye.

"I love most of your work," You admit, even though it pains you to do so. "That's why it sucks that you haven't watched anything of mine at all. Besides Sixth Night."

"I saw you on SNL a couple years ago, does that count?" He asks, to which you kick him under the table.

"Fuck you," You say between laughs.

"Thanks," You mumble, trying not to let it show that his compliments mean a lot to you.

"You were good," He says, holding his hands up. "Funny."

Before he can say anything else, there's a knock at the door. You put your shoes on and walk over, opening it once you've unlocked it.

The hotel workers from earlier is standing there. "Hello, ma'am - the crowd has dispersed, it is safe for you to leave," He tells you.

You turn back to see Bucky already standing behind you. He takes your hand and walks you out.

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications for updates.

buy me a kofi <3

[moniquesha]

thank you so much 🥹

so, there's a chance.

part one of two.

Pair: Dark!Steve x reader, Thor x reader

Summary: Steve will literally do anything just to win you. And he means literally anything.

Warnings: strong language, subtle stalking, murder, and filthy smut.

a/n: it's time to open the gates of hell for my sick brain.

You let out an exasperated sigh as Steve Rogers flashes you another boyish grin. For months now, he’s been turning on the charm. Holding doors open, offering to buy you coffee, and somehow always managing to find a reason to be around. It wasn’t that you disliked Steve, but the persistence was starting to wear on you.

So, when he once again tries to convince you to grab dinner with him, you blurt out with a teasing smirk, “Steve, if I were the last person on Earth, I’d maybe give you a chance.”

You meant it as a joke, a throwaway line to make him laugh and, hopefully, get him to back off for a bit. But Steve the sweet, sincere, ever-optimistic Steve just blinks at you, then straightens up like he’s been given a mission.

“Oh,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “So.. there’s a chance.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not what I—”

“Don’t worry, I get it.” His grin widens, practically glowing. “I just have to prove myself.”

Before you can correct him, he’s already walking away, his shoulders squared with newfound determination.

You stare after him, feeling a sense of unease creep up your spine.

Dating isn’t necessarily a need for you. You’re in New York, where opportunity always presents itself, so you’re busy as a bee. But it’s never wrong to date once in a while. You’re a young woman with needs too. So when Wanda sets you up with this guy from sales, you think, why not?

Surprisingly, the date goes well. He’s charming, easy to talk to, and you actually enjoy yourself. One drink turns into two, then dinner, then a walk back to your apartment. And he stays the night.

But what’s the issue with that?

In the morning, you both rush out, running late for work, but there’s an unspoken understanding between you.

“Let’s meet again tonight?” he asks, adjusting his tie with a smirk.

You hesitate for only a second before offering a sheepish grin. “Let’s.”

With that, you both head in opposite directions, the buzz of the city swallowing you up. Your mind is already shifting to the mountain of work waiting for you, but there’s a lightness in your step, an anticipation for the evening ahead.

That is, until you round a corner and nearly collide with Steve Rogers.

You freeze. But he doesn’t.

Steve takes one glance at you. Messy hair, the faintest hint of last night’s lipstick still clinging to your lips, and then his sharp blue eyes flick past you, watching as your date disappears into the morning crowd.

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “So,” he says, crossing his arms, “who’s he?”

Your heart does a little stutter, maybe from the lingering adrenaline of almost running into Steve, or maybe because of the way his eyes are fixed on you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.

You cross your arms, mirroring his stance, and lift a brow. "Don't you live like five blocks away from here? What are you doing here at seven in the morning, Steve?"

His expression doesn’t waver. If anything, he looks almost offended that you’d even ask.

“Morning run,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He gestures vaguely at his joggers and the NYPD hoodie clinging to his frame. “Been running this route for a while now.”

You narrow your eyes. “Funny. I’ve never seen you here before.”

Steve shrugs, but there’s something too casual about the way he does it. “Guess it’s just a coincidence.”

A coincidence. Sure.

Your stomach twists, but you shake it off, forcing a smirk. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Wouldn’t want to mess up your very important workout schedule.”

You try to step back inside, but his voice stops you.

“That guy,” Steve starts, tilting his head toward the direction your date disappeared. “You really like him?”

His tone is light, but you know him well enough to hear the tightness underneath.

You exhale, rolling your eyes as you turn back. “Steve—”

“I mean, I just think you deserve better, that’s all.”

Your patience is already running thin. “Better how?”

He holds your gaze, unwavering. “Better as in me.”

You blink at him, once, twice, processing his words but making the executive decision to pretend you didn’t hear them at all.

Nope. Not today. Not dealing with this.

So instead of acknowledging the absolute audacity of Steve this early in the morning, you let out a sharp breath, force a tight-lipped smile, and turn on your heel.

“I have to get ready for work,” you say, already walking away.

You don’t wait for a response. You don’t dare look back. You just focus on putting one foot in front of the other, marching toward your building like Steve isn’t standing there watching you go. Like his words didn’t just lodge themselves in your head like a song you won’t be able to shake all day. You groan under your breath, jabbing the button for the elevator the second you step inside your building.

Nope. Not thinking about it. You have work to do. Deadlines. Meetings. Responsibilities. You step into your apartment and shut the door behind you, exhaling deeply.

You barely make it to your desk before Wanda appears at your side, practically vibrating with excitement. She hooks her arm through yours and leans in, whispering, “I didn’t get a text back last night, so that means something happened, right?”

You bite back a grin, but the way your mind immediately replays the best parts of last night must be answer enough.

“Oh my God!” Wanda gasps, eyes wide as she scans your face. “You’re glowing!”

You shake your head, laughing. “I am not—”

“Is he big?”

Your mouth falls open in shock, and you lightly smack her arm. “Wanda!”

She just cackles, absolutely unashamed, while you shake your head, refusing to indulge her any further. “I don’t kiss and tell!” you declare with a smug grin.

Wanda groans dramatically. “Ugh, you’re the worst. But also, I knew he’d be good for you!”

The buzz of the office dies down the moment Clint knocks on the glass door, his usual easy going demeanor replaced with something.. off. The weight in his expression is enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Outside, everyone, please,” he calls out, voice firm but not unkind. “I just have something to say.”

You and Wanda exchange a look of confusion before following the rest of your coworkers out into the open space. Whispers ripple through the team, people trying to guess what this is about, but nothing prepares you for what Clint says next.

“I’m very sorry to say this, but Barry Watson was murdered in his home this morning.”

The room erupts.

Gasps, murmurs, shocked exclamations, Barry? Murdered? It sounds too surreal, too out of place in the middle of your normal workday.

Clint holds up a hand to settle everyone. His expression is heavy. “I don’t know any details yet, but I will keep everyone updated. If anyone needs to go home for the day, I totally understand. I’m sorry for this heavy news. Everyone can go now.”

Silence lingers for a beat, then the murmuring picks up again, people grabbing their things or clustering in small groups to process.

The office is still buzzing with murmurs as people slowly start dispersing, “I heard his neck was broken. Like someone twisted it. That’s so fucking crazy.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Twisted. Broken.

A chill runs down your spine, and you feel Wanda’s grip on your wrist tighten. You turn your head slightly, catching glimpses of hushed conversations around you. Everyone looks shocked, but they’re already moving on to speculation, throwing theories around like it’s some morbid office gossip.

You, however, feel like the ground is shifting beneath you.

Because Barry was with you last night. He was fine. He was alive, warm, smiling, and kissing you at your door.

And now he’s dead.

Wanda pulls you back into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you like a safety net. Her voice is gentle but laced with worry. “Oh my fucking god, are you okay? What do you feel?”

You stand there for a moment, the world around you spinning. The weight of everything you just heard crashes into you, Barry’s death, the rumors, the chaos, and you feel a sense of disconnect, like you're watching all of it from the outside. You don't know how to respond to Wanda’s question because, honestly, you don’t know what you feel.

You let out a breath, your shoulders shaking slightly. “I don’t know,” you murmur, your voice breaking just a little. “I don’t know what to think. I just.. I don’t get it. He was fine last night. He was—”

You trail off, fighting the rising panic in your chest.

Wanda pulls back slightly, looking at you with soft eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. I know this is a lot.” She gently brushes some hair out of your face, trying to ground you. “We’ll figure this out. Whatever happened, we’ll figure it out. I’m here for you.”

You nod, grateful for her support, but still feeling that gnawing sense of unease deep in your stomach. Something about the whole situation just doesn’t sit right.

“Do you think it was random?” Wanda asks, her voice quieter now.

You shake your head. “I don’t know. But something feels off. Like, it’s not just—” You stop yourself. “It can’t be. I don’t know, Wanda. I just don’t know.”

Five months later.

Five months had passed since Barry’s death, and it felt like everything had gone back to normal. At least on the surface. The office had moved on, almost as if nothing had ever happened, but you couldn’t shake the way his memory lingered in the corners of your mind. Barry.

You still dream about him sometimes. It’s always the same, him smiling at you, the way he’d held you close, his voice still echoing in your ears like a whisper you can’t quite catch. And then.. nothing. Just silence. The suddenness of it all never fully left. How everything seemed so normal one day, and then the next, gone.

Wanda was the only one who really got it. She’d stuck by you through the worst of it, making sure you didn’t completely lose yourself in the questions and what-ifs. The police had tried to get involved, of course, especially since Clint had acknowledged that you were the last person Barry had been with before everything happened. But your company quickly intervened. They didn’t want any more attention on the matter than necessary.

You’d made it clear from the beginning that you didn’t want to be involved. The thought of dragging everything out, reliving those moments, just made you feel sick. It was easier to let the company handle it, to focus on what you could control.

And somehow, it worked. At least, you thought it did.

You’ve been getting by, just fine, you tell yourself. You go to work, you hang out with Wanda, you even find moments of lightness in your day. But sometimes, late at night, the dreams return, and you wonder if you’re as okay as you’ve convinced yourself you are.

Wanda claps her hands together, her voice bright and full of energy. “Okay, so the agenda today is apartment hunting and meeting the new guy from sales! He’s cute, Carol told me.”

The enthusiasm in her voice is contagious, but you feel a slight tug in your chest. A small pang of something you can’t quite place. “I didn’t know they’re replacing Barry already,” you murmur, trying to keep your tone casual, though it betrays a little sadness.

Wanda stops mid-sentence, her smile softening when she looks at you. “Oh, I— I didn’t mean to—” She trails off, visibly uncomfortable.

You wave it off, not wanting to dwell on it. “It’s fine. It’s just.. weird, you know? How quickly things change.”

Wanda nods, her voice quieter now. “I get it. But hey, we can’t stay in the past. Let’s focus on today. We’ll find a great place for you and maybe you’ll hit it off with the new guy. Maybe it’ll be a good thing.”

Her attempt at lifting your spirits doesn’t go unnoticed. You smile faintly, appreciating the effort. “Yeah, maybe.”

You stand up, brushing the moment aside. No sense in letting the weight of the past hold you back. There’s a lot to look forward to, a new apartment, new people, new experiences.

But damn, you nearly choke on your coffee.

Clint stands at the front of the office, completely unfazed, gesturing toward the absolute mountain of a man standing beside him.

“Everyone, meet Thor Odinson. He’ll be the new sales rep.”

Wanda’s eyes widen as she elbows you sharply. “Carol undersold this,” she whispers. “He’s not just cute. He’s.. he’s fucking insane.”

And she’s not wrong.

Thor is huge. All broad shoulders, golden hair, and the kind of presence that makes the entire room feel too small. He’s wearing a suit, but somehow it looks like it’s barely containing him, like one wrong move and the seams might give up entirely.

Thor claps his hands together, grinning. “Well, good morning to everyone! I’m honored to join this fine establishment and I look forward to great success among you, my new colleagues.”

The office stares, half in awe, half in confusion. You’re somewhere in between.

Wanda leans in, smirking. “So… still sad about Barry’s replacement, or?”

You shoot her a look. “Shut up.”

As you and Wanda try to slip back to your cubicles, a deep yet casual voice stops you.

“Excuse me?”

You turn around, and there he is, Thor Odinson. Up close, he's even taller than you realized, broad-shouldered and effortlessly confident. Wanda vibrates with excitement beside you, whispering, “Oh my god, he's talking to you.”

You shoot her a quick look before focusing on Thor. “Uh.. yeah?”

He gestures vaguely. “Where’s the coffee station? I just got here, and I feel like I’m running on fumes.”

You point toward the break room. “Over there. Fresh pot should be brewing.”

Thor nods in appreciation. “Lifesaver. Thanks.” Then, with a grin, “First cup’s on me if I ever figure out how the machine works.”

And just like that, he walks off, leaving you standing there as Wanda grips your arm like she's about to explode. “He’s perfect.”

You roll your eyes. “This is going to be a long adjustment.”

A month in, and you will not deny the chemistry you and Thor have. Wanda and the others notice it too. It started with the cup of coffee he promised until he finally just brings you coffee every time, and now you're waiting for him to come by your cubicle. But today, you wanted to try something different. Be the one to bring him coffee, and push your luck on this one.

You're early this time to try and out-coffee him. You walk towards his office, heels clacking on the floor. You knock on the glass door and notice that he's in there talking with someone. You motion to wait, but he waves you in, so you step inside.

“Coffee for me?” Thor asks, a knowing grin on his face.

“Yup! Wanted to be the one to bring it to you this time.”

Thor takes the cup from your hand like it's the most natural thing in the world. “See, Steve? People like me here.”

…Steve?

Your fingers stiffen around the cup as your head snaps to the person sitting across from Thor. And sure enough, there he is.

Steve Rogers.

He's leaning back in his chair like he owns the room, expression unreadable. But his gaze is sharp, assessing and lands on you the second your name is spoken.

Thor, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening in the air, takes a sip of his coffee. “And a beautiful girl brings me coffee,” he adds with a wink.

You try to act normal, forcing a casual smile. “I just figured I’d return the favor for once.”

Steve, however, doesn’t look away. His voice is smooth but pointed when he finally speaks. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You swallow, keeping your expression neutral. “Didn’t expect to see you either.”

Thor glances between the two of you, brow slightly furrowed. “You two know each other?”

Steve leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His lips curl, amused. “Yeah. We go way back.”

Your jaw tightens just a little. That wasn’t a lie. You refuse to take the bait. Instead, you glance at Thor, who looks vaguely amused but not entirely in the loop. “Anyway,” you say, shifting your weight, “I should get going. Just wanted to drop that off.” You turn to leave, but not before catching the way Steve watches you. Like he knows something you don’t.

You return to Wanda, your face visibly clouded with worry.

“What happened to you? Thor rejected you?” Wanda jokes, barely looking up from her computer.

You don’t even crack a smile. Instead, you drop into your chair, exhaling sharply.

“Steve Rogers.”

That gets her attention. Her fingers freeze over the keyboard as she slowly turns to you. “Steve Rogers?”

Wanda leans in, clearly intrigued, repeating his name. “Steve Rogers? That guy who tried everything to be with you? Wow, I thought he left or something.”

You wince at the mention of Steve’s persistence. “Yeah, well, apparently he didn’t.”

Wanda's eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, so he just showed up out of nowhere? What a diva.”

You nod, still feeling the weight of that encounter. “Yeah. And now he's sitting there with Thor like it's no big deal.”

Wanda leans in, her curiosity piqued. “Why do you not even like the guy? I mean, he's cute, right?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temples. “It's not about him being cute, Wanda. It's about how persistent he was. The way he kept pushing after I made it clear I wasn’t interested.”

Wanda tilts her head, her expression softening. “Yeah, but you were going through a lot with Barry, right? Maybe he was just trying to be there for you, even if it was the wrong way.”

You look away, trying to sort through your thoughts. “Maybe. But it felt more like pressure. Like he didn’t listen when I said I needed space. And now, seeing him again... I don’t know, it just brings everything back. I don’t want to deal with that.”

Wanda nods slowly. “I get that. But you can’t ignore the fact that the guy’s still here, and maybe he’s changed. People do, you know?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

She gives you a knowing smile. “Maybe not, but it’s also not all bad to have options. Just keep your eyes open.”

You groan, sinking into your chair. “I’m not sure I want any options right now.”

Wanda laughs softly, her voice teasing. “Well, too bad, because it looks like you’ve got a couple.”

But after five long hours you didn't even notice had gone by, the sky outside has darkened. Wanda stretches, yawning as she packs up her things.

“Are you going overtime again?” she asks, eyeing your screen.

You glance up and nod, still focused on the report you’re trying to finish. “Yeah, I’ll text you when I’m going home, okay?”

Wanda nods and gives you a quick hug. “Don’t stay too late, alright?” She reminds you before heading out, leaving you alone in the quiet office.

You turn back to your computer, the steady tapping of the keys filling the space around you. But as the minutes pass, you can’t shake that feeling of being watched. It’s subtle at first. Just the hair on the back of your neck standing up, like someone’s gaze is lingering on you from somewhere in the room.

You glance up, scanning the office. The space is empty, save for the low hum of fluorescent lights and the faint sound of traffic outside. Still, that nagging feeling doesn’t go away.

You try to focus, but it’s impossible. You can’t ignore the sensation that someone is watching you. Deciding you need a break, you stand up from your desk, trying to shake off the unease. A cup of coffee might be just the thing to clear your mind and reset your focus. You grab your mug and walk toward the break room, your footsteps echoing in the empty office.

As you approach the coffee machine, you notice the quiet. Too quiet. The usual bustle of the office has long faded, and it’s just you now, trying to ease the tightness in your chest.

You pour the coffee slowly, letting the warmth fill the mug, hoping it'll help you shake the strange feeling. Just as you're about to take a sip, you hear the soft sound of footsteps behind you.

You freeze, a chill running through your spine. You jolt when you see Thor standing there, the soft sound of his footsteps now louder in your mind.

“Woah! I'm sorry, did I scare you?” he asks, his voice filled with that usual warmth, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

You breathe out, trying to steady your racing heart. “Yes, a little. God.” You laugh nervously, rubbing your temples as if that might calm you.

Thor chuckles softly, his deep voice rumbling through the silence. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You shake your head, still trying to gather yourself. “It’s fine, really. Just... got a lot on my mind.”

He watches you for a moment, his expression softening. “I get that. The late nights, the pressure…” He trails off, his tone thoughtful. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.”

You offer him a small smile, grateful but uncertain. “I know. Just... sometimes it feels like I have to.”

Thor tilts his head, stepping a little closer but keeping a respectful distance. “Well, you don’t. And if you need a distraction or someone to listen, or just a break, I’m here.”

You glance down at your coffee, feeling a flicker of something warm in your chest. “Thanks, Thor.”

With a nod, he gives you a reassuring smile before taking a step back. “I’ll leave you to it. But seriously, if you need anything…” He trails off, leaving you with a quiet promise that lingers in the air.

As he walks away, you take a deep breath, trying to shake the tension that’s still lingering, but for the first time tonight, it feels a little easier to breathe.

You return to your cubicle, coffee in hand, Thor’s words still lingering in your mind. The confidence from his earlier kindness settles in, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. Maybe it’s time to push your luck, see if there's more to the connection between you two.

With that thought in mind, you get up from your desk, your heels clicking confidently on the floor as you make your way toward Thor’s office. When you reach the door, you pause for a moment, taking a breath to steady yourself. Then, you push it open. Thor looks up from his desk, clearly surprised to see you.

“Back for more?” he teases, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

You smile, stepping inside and leaning casually against the doorframe. “Actually... I think it’s my turn to come and check on you.”

Thor raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Check on me? How’s that?”

You walk a little closer, letting the playful energy between you two build. “I figured you might need a little distraction from all that work.” You take a sip of your coffee, deliberately slow, watching his gaze follow the motion.

He chuckles, clearly amused. “I thought you were the one drowning in reports, not me.”

You tilt your head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Well, I can always use a reason to take a break... especially when the company is as good as yours.”

Thor’s expression shifts, the playful banter slowing as he watches you closely. “Is that so?”

You smile, leaning against his desk now, your body just a bit closer to his. “Mm-hmm. I don’t mind working hard, but... a little fun never hurt anyone, right?”

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm, and you can see a hint of that playful flirtation in his eyes. “I suppose not.”

You take a step closer, your voice lowering just a bit. “You know, I’ve been wondering... do you always make everyone’s day better with that smile of yours, or is it just me?”

Thor’s eyes lock with yours, the teasing softening into something more sincere. “Maybe it’s just you.”

You can feel the chemistry between you two, the air shifting with the playful tension. You smile knowingly, feeling bold now. “Well, in that case, I’m glad I came by.”

Thor’s lips curl into a half-smile, his gaze never leaving yours. “Me too.”

And just like that, the space between you two feels a little smaller, the tension a little thicker, as if something more than just the flirtation lingers in the air.

You close the distance between you and Thor, your eyes locked intensely on his, you can feel the electricity crackling in the air. Without hesitation, you lean down towards him, the table separating you seemingly insignificant compared to the magnetic pull drawing you to him.

With a confidence that can only come from the gods themselves, you boldly climb onto the table, your movements fluid and purposeful. Thor's eyes flash with desire as he watches you, his strong hands reaching out to grasp your waist and pull you close.

The moment your bodies meet, sparks fly.

Thor's powerful arms wrap around you, crushing you against his broad chest as his lips claim yours in a searing kiss. His mouth moves urgently against yours, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste your sweetness.

You tangle your fingers in his luxurious hair, pulling him even closer as you match his passion with your own. The heat between you is scorching, setting your skin ablaze with need. All thoughts flee your mind, your entire being focused solely on the feel of Thor's lips against yours, his hands roaming your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

The world around you fades away until nothing exists but the two of you, lost in a haze of desire and insatiable longing. Okay, fuck this is happening you think, before Thor stands abruptly, sweeping you up into his powerful arms, never breaking the kiss as he carries you off to explore the depths of this intense connection.

Your realization that you're in Thor's office, surrounded by glass walls, sends a thrill through you even as it sets your pulse racing with nervous energy. But one look at Thor's face, his eyes dark with desire and his expression one of pure, raw need, and all thoughts of modesty or decorum fly out the window.

With a swift motion, Thor swats everything off his desk, not caring where it lands. His voice is low and rough with want as he says, “God, I've waited for this for so long.” The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, heat pooling low in your belly.

Before you can respond, his mouth is on yours again, the kiss deep and filthy, all tongue and teeth and desperation. He lifts you easily, settling you on the edge of the now-clear desk, and steps between your parted thighs. There's no going back now, you realize, as his hands skim up your hips, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your shirt.

You think defiantly, giving yourself over completely to Thor's ministrations. “Take me. Please.”

“Say it,” Thor groans, his voice rough with desire. Your hands are busy with his belt, deftly unbuckling it and tugging it free. His hands roam over your chest, making quick work of the buttons on your shirt and revealing the black lace of your bra beneath. With a sound of appreciation, Thor tugs the cups down, immediately latching onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

You gasp at the sensation, your hands moving to tangle in his hair, holding him close. “Say what?” you ask breathlessly, momentarily lost to the pleasure his mouth is wreaking on your body.

“That you've been waiting for this,” he replies, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. “The way you want me, how badly you've wanted this.” He punctuates his words with another flick of his tongue, making you shudder.

“God, yes,” you breathe, your need making you bold. “I've wanted this, wanted you for so long. Touching myself while thinking of you, aching for your hands, your mouth, your cock..”

Thor groans again, low and deep, at your words. “I've jacked off to the thought of you countless times,” he rumbles, his fingers deftly undoing the front clasp of your bra, letting your breasts spill free. “Imagined you spread out on my desk, just like this, begging me to take you, to fuck you until you can't walk straight.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your pussy clenching with need. “Then do it,” you demand, reaching down to palm his cock through his trousers, feeling it twitch under your touch. “Fuck me, Thor. Make me yours.”

“I've fantasized about this, about you, every night,” Thor says feverishly, his hands roaming your body possessively. “Dreamt of tasting every inch of your smooth skin, exploring every curve until your scent and flavor are permanently etched in my memory.”

He seals his mouth over your nipple again, sucking with intent. You arch into his touch, your head thrown back as soft whimpers escape your lips. His hands skim down your sides, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your skirt and tugging it down, along with your panties, leaving you bared to his hungry gaze.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs reverently, his eyes drinking in the sight of you laid out wantonly on his desk. “So wet for me.” He runs a finger through your soaked folds, making you gasp. “Is this all for me, baby? Are you dripping because you need me as badly as I need you?”

“Yes, yes, yes” you breathe, trembling under his touch. “I'm so empty, Thor. I need you to fill me up, please I need you.” You reach for his trousers, desperate to have him inside you, but he catches your wrist, stopping you.

“Patience,” he chides gently, a wicked glint in his eye. “I've waited so long for this; I intend to savor it. Savor you.” Holding your gaze, he drops to his knees, shouldering your legs apart. “Thor,” you whine, needy and desperate, but he just chuckles.

“I know, baby. I know. I'll take care of you.” And with that, he leans in, running his tongue up your slit in one long, slow lick that has you crying out in pleasure. Thor feasts on you like a man starved, his tongue delving into your dripping heat, fucking you with it as he would with his cock. He laps at you eagerly, greedily, like he can't get enough of your taste, his groans of enjoyment vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

“Fuck, oh my fucking god.” Your hands fist in his hair, holding him to you as you grind shamelessly against his face. He responds by focusing on your clit, sucking the swollen bud into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it relentlessly. The pressure builds low in your belly, your hips bucking wildly as you chase your climax.

“Thor, please” you pant, your voice rough with need. “I'm close. So close.” He hums in response, the sound sending shockwaves through your body, and sucks harder, his tongue working you mercilessly.

With a whimper cry, you come, your pussy clenching around nothing as you gush onto Thor's waiting tongue. He laps at you eagerly, groaning at your flavor, prolonging your orgasm until you're left a trembling, oversensitive mess.

Gently, he lowers your legs from his shoulders, rising to his feet. His lips are shiny with your release, and he licks them slowly, savoring your taste. “Fucking delicious,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “I could eat you for hours.”

“Later,” you promise, reaching for him again. “Need you inside me. Now.”

Thor doesn't need to be told twice. With a low groan, he shucks off his trousers and boxers, his thick cock springing free, jutting proudly from a nest of golden curls. You lick your lips at the sight, eager to taste him, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet, baby,” he echoes your earlier promise, his voice tight with restraint. “If you put your mouth on me now, this'll be over before it starts.”

He steps between your spread thighs, his hands going to your hips, fingernails digging into your soft flesh. “Ready to cum for me again?” he asks, his cock nudging against your entrance. “Ready to take every inch of me until I'm balls deep in your sweet little pussy?”

In response, you wrap your legs around his waist, using your thighs to tug him closer. “Do it,” you beg, your voice rough with desire. “Fuck me, Thor. I need you.”

With a rumbly groan, he thrusts forward, impaling you on his thick cock. You cry out at the stretch, your walls clamping down on him, trying to keep him inside. “Shit,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “You're so fu– big. So deep.”

“Fuck, baby,” Thor grunts, his hips working in short, sharp thrusts, pushing deeper with every movement. “You're so so tight. So hot. Like your pussy was made for my cock.”

He bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, his pelvis grinding against your clit. Your eyes roll at the sensation, your nails raking down his spine, making him hiss. “Move,” you demand, your hips rocking, desperate for friction. “Fuck me, Thor. Make me feel good.”

“My pleasure,” he promises, his voice guttural. He pulls back, almost slipping free of your clutching heat, before slamming back in, the sound of flesh meeting flesh loud in the room.

He fucks you hard, deep, his cock head dragging against your sweet spot with every thrust, making you see stars. “Yes!” you moan so loud, your head thrown back, hair a messy tangle against the papers and files scattered beneath you. “Like that. Just like that.”

Thor fucks you like a man possessed, his hips hitting yours hard enough to leave bruises. The desk beneath you creaks alarmingly, protesting the abuse, but neither of you pay it any mind. All that matters is the slick, wet sound of his cock being in and out of you, the slap of flesh on flesh, the mingled symphony of your gasps and moans.

“Gonna cum,” Thor warns, his face pressed to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Wanna do it inside you. Fill you up 'til you're overflowing with my cum.”

“Please,” you whine, the thought alone enough to send you hurtling towards the edge. “Want that. Want you to make a mess of me. Mark me. Make me yours.”

“Are mine,” Thor grunts, punctuating his words with brutal thrusts. “All mine. My girl. My baby.”

“Yours,” you agree, your walls fluttering around him, signaling the approach of your climax. “Thor, I'm-”

He cuts you off with a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you hungrily. It's enough to tip you over the edge, your pussy spasming around his shuttling cock as you come with a cry, your nails digging crescents into his sweat-slicked back.

Thor follows moments later, his cock spurting thick ropes of cum deep inside you, filling you to the brim and then some. You can feel it leaking out of you, dribbling down your thighs, but you don't care, too lost in the aftershocks of your shared orgasms to worry about the mess.

Thor collapses onto you, his face buried in your neck as you both struggle to catch your breath. After a long, shuddering moment, he pulls back, pressing a tender kiss to your bruised lips.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough with sated lust.

You hum, more a vibration in your chest than an actual sound, and card your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “Mm. Better now,” you mumble, your eyes already fluttering closed. “Gimme five. Then we can do that again.” Thor chuckles, the sound low and rich, his lips pressing butterfly kisses up your throat.

“Greedy girl,” he teases fondly, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Keep your five minutes. You're gonna need it.” And with that promise, he slips free of your body, your combined juices leaking out of you, to gather you into his arms and carry you bride-style to the couch.

You step into the office the next morning, doing your best to walk like a normal, fully functioning human being. But between the soreness in your legs and the memories of last night replaying in your mind, it’s a little harder than you expected.

Wanda clocks you the moment you enter. Her eyes scan you up and down, and then she gasps dramatically, practically vibrating with excitement. “Not walking properly, check! Glowing, check! And oh! A hickey that you obviously forgot to cover up? Check, check, check!”

Your eyes widen as your hand instinctively flies to your neck. “Shit,” you mumble under your breath, quickly trying to adjust your collar.

Wanda cackles, practically bouncing in place. “Oh, this is so much better than I expected. You didn’t just flirt with him, did you? You definitely did more than flirt.”

You roll your eyes, trying and failing to fight the smile creeping onto your lips. “Wanda, please keep your voice down,” you whisper-yell, glancing around in paranoia.

She leans in, whispering now but still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “So... how was he? Because if I had to bet, I’d say very good.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “I am not having this conversation with you right now.”

Wanda waggles her eyebrows. “That means yes. Oh my god, I knew it! So, tell me, was it worth barely being able to walk today?”

You give her a flat look, and she just bursts into laughter. “Oh honey, you don’t even have to answer. Your face says everything.”

Wanda’s laughter fades just a little when she catches the way your expression shifts—still flustered, but now softer, more thoughtful. She tilts her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

“But I don’t know, Wanda,” you admit, voice quieter now. “I think this is serious because... it feels so light. So easy.”

Her teasing smirk softens into something more sincere. “Easy?”

You nod, exhaling as you lean against your desk. “Yeah. Like, I don’t have to overthink things with him. It’s not complicated, it’s not heavy. It just... feels good.”

Wanda watches you for a moment before a slow smile spreads across her lips. “Oh. Oh. You like him.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe? It’s just... I didn’t expect this.”

She grins, nudging your shoulder. “That’s how the best ones start. You’re sitting there, minding your own business, thinking you’re just having fun, and bam! Feelings hit you like a bus.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you can’t deny it. You hadn’t planned for anything more than casual flirting, a bit of fun to take your mind off things. But now? Now, the thought of Thor made your chest feel warm in a way you weren’t quite ready to face.

Wanda barely has time to smirk before her eyes flick over your shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

You barely get the chance to react before Thor appears, effortlessly charming as always. He walks through the office like he owns the place, flashing polite smiles at everyone who greets him, but his destination is clear. It’s your cubicle, like muscle memory.

“Morning, beautiful,” he says smoothly, placing a coffee cup on your desk. “Extra shot of espresso, just in case you're tired.” His eyes twinkle with mischief as he winks.

Wanda practically vibrates beside you, barely holding back a squeal. You, on the other hand, try to play it cool, even though your entire body still remembers exactly what happened last night.

You eye the coffee and then him. “You're really spoiling me with these.”

Thor leans in just slightly, his voice dropping to something only you can hear. “Oh, I intend to spoil you in every way.”

Your breath catches for half a second, and you hear Wanda physically bite down on her knuckle beside you to stop from screaming.

You clear your throat, trying to act like that didn’t just send a shiver straight down your spine. “Well, then I might get used to this treatment.”

Thor smirks, tilting his head. “That’s the plan.”

And with that, he taps the edge of your desk and walks away, leaving you staring after him like a fool.

Wanda clutches your arm. “You are so done for.”

You smile to yourself, warmth spreading through your chest. Everything feels good. You feel good. The lightness in your steps, the way your heart races for something other than stress or fear, the way Thor looks at you like you’re the only person in the room.

For the first time in a long while, you feel like things are falling into place. Like happiness isn’t something fleeting. You hope this feeling lasts. You want it to last.

You just forgot about the danger lurking not far away from you.

Watching.

Waiting.

a/n: this was too long :D

divider from: enchanthings

[moniquesha]

real people

chapter seven

18+

you're popular among horror fans. he's well-respected among film critics. though you work in the same industry, you couldn't be more different - but your managers think a pr romance is just what your careers need.

content warning: actor!bucky x actress!reader, mature themes, enemies to lovers, fake dating, angst, unwanted sexual advances + touching, violence, mention of blood and injury, mention of sex.

Series Masterlist

The Sixth Night ended up being a box office hit, making you the talk of the Internet. You've been a well-established celebrity for a few years now, but the past few weeks have been another world altogether.

"This is incredible," Pepper says with a wide grin as she scrolls through her phone. "That TikTok you posted with Bucky yesterday? 3.5 million likes already!"

You sit back in your chair, taking it in. Though you've gotten used to the limelight, being this relevant to such an intense degree is overwhelming.

"Hey, this doesn't mean I've forgotten the Stark thing," Pepper says, looking up from her phone at you with a glare. "It's been hard work trying to bury that story. Your haters are fueled by it. They're saying you cheated on Bucky with him."

"By haters, you mean Sharon Carter fans?" You ask dryly.

"Hey, for some reason, they love comparing you to her," She says with a shrug. "I mean, you guys have never even interacted - where has that come from?"

"She was on Sunset Lake and dated Bucky way back then, and some people think she's a better match for him than me because they were each other's first loves, or whatever," You tell her. "Boring people who are still stuck on something that happened ten years ago."

"That makes sense. Maybe we should play on that," Pepper suggests, tapping her chin with a pen. "Or just give it a quick nod. TikTok using a scene from Sunset Lake?"

"I don't want to do anything petty; I'm better than that. Besides, it's her fans that are the problem, not her," You say with an eye-roll. "And it's not like I need to do anything else to get attention right now. Every single tweet I see is about me or Sixth Night. Every single one!"

"That's a good thing, and it won't last forever, so bask in it while you can," She reminds you. "Bucky's doing well, too. He's up by almost a million followers on Instagram since two months ago."

"And what am I gaining from the contract, again?" You ask her flatly. "Absolutely nothing."

"That's not true - the public is taking you seriously now because of your relationship. You think they'd like you this much if you were still sleeping around and partying every night?" She asks you with a scoff, before realization hits her. "Oh, shit, that reminds me: why is Thor's agent trying to contact you through me? He's sent me three emails in the past week."

You let out a loud groan as you sink down in your chair. The mention of Thor makes you want to pull your hair out. Ever since you blocked him when you were in Paris two weeks ago, he's been trying to get to you through any means necessary, including contacting your friends, and now Pepper.

"He's so fucking annoying," You whine. "He won't leave me alone!"

"Why aren't you talking to him?" She wonders, frowning at you. "Though I'm glad you're not risking getting caught with him while you're supposed to be with Bucky."

Shaking your head, you rub your temples. "He wanted to date. Like, properly," You tell her.

"Is that... not what you were doing already?" Pepper asks with a frown.

"No! We were having fun," You correct her. "And it was fun, until he had to go and catch feelings. So, I ended it, but he doesn't seem like the type who's used to hearing no."

"Right," She mutters. "And... would it be so bad? For you to date Thor? Once the contract's over, of course."

You're taken aback by her suggestion. When you were first spotted with Thor months ago, Pepper was seething with rage. Of course, the circumstances were different, but you're still shocked to hear her advocate for you to couple with Thor.

"Don't look at me like that. I think it would be good for you to settle down. A few months after the 'break-up' with a Bucky, obviously," She says. "I mean, he's an incredibly successful and attractive star athlete. What more could you need from a man?"

"Wouldn't it look bad?" You wonder. "To go back to the guy whose marriage I supposedly ruined?"

"The media loves a reunion. If you made it official with him, they'd eat that right up and forgive you of your sins," Pepper tells you. "It would be a great story."

With a sigh, you stand up. "My real life is not a story for you to write," You say sternly. "This thing with Bucky is about as far as I'll let you control what I do. So, you can have your fun playing dolls now, but come December, the fun's over. I will not be your puppet. I will do exactly what I want, and you will do what you're paid to do - book me roles and brand deals. That is all."

Pepper, stunned, just looks up at you with a raised brow. Though the two of you have butted heads multiple times before, you've never been so firm with her. Usually, you'd just complain like an annoyed teenager, but something seems to have shifted. All Pepper can do is nod. "Okay," She utters.

"Great," You respond. "Now, what was it you called me here for?"

She blinks a few times before sitting up and clearing her throat. "Uh, yeah, that's right - so, because you're such hot shit at the minute, everyone wants a piece, but I'm being selective. You've been invited on to A Session with Susan Storm."

With a gasp, you grin. "Seriously?" You ask her with wide eyes. Susan Storm's show is notoriously only offered to celebrities of the highest calibre and level of relevancy, and it's been on your bucket list for years. Being invited onto the show is a sign that you're doing the right thing - moving up in your career and achieving your goals.

"Tony'll be there, too," Pepper adds, instantly deflating you.

"Ugh, why?" You complain with an eye-roll.

"What? I thought you guys were friends," She asks, before muttering, "Too friendly, in my opinion."

"He's annoying," You say bluntly.

"Well, you've gotta play nice with him during the interview. I don't need to tell you how many people tune into that podcast," Pepper points out. "And not too nice, either - we don't need any rumors being fuelled. If people think you cheated on Bucky, this whole contract will have been for nothing. In fact, worse than nothing, because it would tarnish your career."

"Yeah, yeah," You mumble, suddenly not as excited about booking Susan Storm. "I'll be good. I just can't promise that Tony will."

"Oh, it was awesome," Tony says as he sits back in his chair, sunglasses on and his obnoxious personality at full strength. "I'd never been to New Zealand before, but it was great. They have incredible beer over there. Shout out Kiwis!"

His presence alone is enough to piss you off, but the way he's behaving during the podcast has you inwardly seething. His hand keeps lingering on your shoulder and arm, he's already made a few inappropriate comments about the costumes you were in for the film, and you can't even tell him to stop or else it'll be made obvious that you hate his guts.

"And, Y/N, how did you find it?" Susan asks you.

Deciding to pretend Tony isn't here for your own peace of mind, you smile at her. "New Zealand is gorgeous - I don't even think the film did it justice. Being there in real life was insane. We're so lucky that we get to see these beautiful countries, and we even got a few days to spend exploring, which was really fun."

"Oh, yeah, that was a blast," Tony says with a laugh, placing his hand on your thigh under the table. "That gave us a chance to get to know each other, as we'd never worked together before."

"And on that, I'd just like to say that I loved your chemistry and dynamics on screen," Susan says. "Your marriage was so believable, which just made that twist even more insane."

"Oh, yeah, that twist," Tony grins while squeezing your thigh. "Nobody saw that coming, huh?"

You do your best to subtly push his hand away, but he won't loosen his grip. It's taking all your strength not to let your discomfort show on your face. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"God, that was so, so great," Susan says with her eyes on you. "Now, I've heard contrasting things - some people are saying you knew about the twist from the start, some are saying that Maria Hill didn't tell you until later on in the filming process. What's the truth?"

Giving up on trying to move Tony's hand away, you do your best to ignore the heavy warmth on your leg. "Oh, I knew right from the start," You answer. "It was the only way to properly portray Mary - she knew from the start, so I had to play her with that context. There are a few subtle hints at the beginning of the film that give you a glimpse into her truth."

"I hear that," Susan says with a nod. "Now, Tony, there's a certain scene from the film that has been making the rounds online - in fact, there are a few scenes - but one of them is the part where you hunt down the wolf. Talk me through how you felt while filming that scene."

While he answers her, you continue to try to peel his hand off your leg, finger by finger. Finally, when you resort to pinching him, he takes his hand off you, and you feel an overwhelming sense of relief.

"And Y/N was so great to work with," Tony says at one point before grabbing your hand and holding it to his chest. "And she's dating my dear friend, Bucky, so I automatically feel protective over her."

You feel sick to your stomach when you have to smile and pretend to get along with him, but it's what must be done. He's ruined what was supposed to be an incredible experience for you, and now you have to laugh and compliment him. Fucker.

"Ooh, I wasn't gonna bring it up, but since you have, I gotta say - you and Bucky were definitely not on my prediction list for this year!" Susan says with a laugh. "But you seem to go so well together. How did that begin?"

Tony's still holding your hand, but he lowers it down to his lap. When you feel him press it against his crotch, you almost jump out of your skin. Refusing to let him do what he wants to you, you fake a cough and rip your hand out of his to cover your mouth before casually replying to Susan. "We had never actually met before we did at an after-party at an award show in January," You tell her with a warm smile. "I immediately embarassed myself and started gushing over how big a fan I was - I'd been watching him act since I was 12 - and thankfully that didn't completely scare him off. And the rest is history, I guess."

"And do you find it difficult, dating a fellow actor?" Susan asks you. "Or is there anything different from dating a non-actor?"

"It's a weird one- I mean, we have the same job so we completely understand each other and our schedules, which is really nice," You tell her. "It can be hard when we're both working, but we make sure to keep in touch. He's an incredibly supportive partner."

"That's great to hear," She replies with a small grin. "Are you planning to be at the Sunset Lake 10-Year Reunion?"

"Absolutely!" You reply instantly. "I fucking loved that show growing up, so as soon as Bucky mentioned it, I made sure to clear my schedule."

"It's going to be a blast," Tony adds. "I was only in about three episodes, but of course, I gotta show up for the Lake fam."

"Two episodes," You correct him. And they were the worst two episodes of the whole show and you always skip them when you rewatch it.

"Damn, you really are a fan!" Susan says with a hearty laugh.

Once the podcast's finished, you say goodbye to Susan and try to leave as quickly as possible, not wanting to have to interact with Tony for a second more.

"Hold on, babe," He calls after you as you pace down the hall.

"My assistants and security are right outside," You warn him as you speed up.

He catches up to up and grabs your wrist, spinning you around to face him. "What's the rush, huh?"

"My security is outside," You repeat, glaring up at him.

"Woah, what the fuck do you think I'm about to do?" He asks you while taking both of your hands in his.

You pull them away and take a step back. "That was fucked up, what you did in there," You spit.

"What? What did I say?" He asks with faux concern. "Shit. Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

"Don't act dumb, Stark," You snap. "And don't you ever, ever touch me again."

"Calm down," He says flatly, losing the look of concern. "What happened to you, huh? You used to love it when I flirted with you."

"Flirting and unwanted touching are two separate things," You remind him coldly.

"Unwanted? Oh, please," He remarks as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head and moves closer to you. "Once a slut, always a slut. Don't you agree?" With that, he reaches out to grab your hip.

You quickly pull away from him and spin on your heel before speeding away, ignoring his calls. Go back there and kick him in the balls. Or at least slap him. Do something. But you can't. Feeling nauseous, all you want is to be far away from him.

Y/N AND BUCKY CAUGHT GETTING HOT AND HEAVY AFTER HER CASTING IN NICK FURY'S UPCOMING THRILLER, CHASE ME

You like the message from Pepper, letting out a soft laugh to yourself. Of course, the thing the media focuses on is the leaked pictures of you and Bucky making out in the club - you're just glad the photographer didn't leak what you ended up doing to each other mere moments after that photo was taken. Putting away your phone, you look around the busy room.

Though 14-year-old Y/N would be jumping with joy at the idea of being at the official Sunset Lake reunion, it feels odd being on the inside. The actors you grew up watching greet you casually, as if you're one of them, getting their make-up touched up and snacking on grapes and cheese. It feels wrong - like being in the break room at Disneyland where Mickey Mouse is standing without a head and Cinderella is smoking in a corner.

"I figured you'd be asking for autographs, not standing alone in a corner," Bucky says as he approaches you with a raised brow.

You let out a sigh, smiling nonetheless. "This is incredibly overwhelming," You admit to him. "And feels very weird. It's my teenage dream come to life, so it's taking me a sec to breathe it all in."

He has a sip of his beer as he stands next to you. "I understand. You know, what with me being your childhood crush and all," Bucky says smugly. "Let me guess: racing heart, sweaty palms, overwhelming urge to ask me for a picture?"

"Relax, Barnes," You say with an eye-roll. "I'm not starstruck. I've met most of these people before, it's just... this show..."

"Yeah?" He looks at you expectantly.

You don't want to tell him the truth- that Sunset Lake means an embarrassing amount to you, that it's the reason you became an actress, that it saved your life on more than one occasion - so you just elbow him in the stomach. "Shut up. I want a drink. You're being a terrible boyfriend right now; get me a drink," You say as you look away from him.

Before he can retort with an insult, Steve Rogers comes over with a wide grin. He was one of the co-leads on the show, and you're well acquainted with him - though you've never fucked, maybe because you were always a Nate girl.

"Hey, your shirt sucks," Steve says as his face falls when he sees what you're wearing. "Team Nate? Seriously?"

You shrug as Bucky puts his arm around your waist. "What can I say? I've always had a thing for brunettes," You say teasingly.

"Don't look so smug, Barnes - Y/N and I had a fantastic chemistry read the other day. You'll be thrilled to know we'll be working together soon," Steve says as he pokes Bucky's chest with a smirk on his lips. "It's a romance. Very hot script."

"Oh, Y/N told me all about it," Bucky replies coolly. "I look forward to it."

"Sharon's asking for you," Steve tells him, before shooting you a smirk. "Don't get too jealous, Y/N; it's only his first love."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky mutters, before lowering his hand to your ass which he pats twice. "Back in a sec, baby."

Though it's literally his job, you're still taken aback by how casually he can act like a genuinely loving boyfriend. You wonder if you play the part just as well. Him and Steve wander off to the rest of their ex-castmates while you take out your vibrating phone from your pocket and answer the call coming through, wandering over to a quiet corner.

"Didn't I tell you the sexy scandal would work?" Pepper's voice chimes through. "Everybody is talking about it!"

"I'd much rather they talk about the Fury film," You say dryly.

"They will be now!" She counters. "How did the podcast go?"

"Ugh."

"Ugh? What does ugh mean?" She asks you. "You didn't fuck up, did you?"

"The interview was fine," You say, lowering your voice as you feel a few people walk past behind you. "It was Tony. He..."

"What? Did he say something?"

"No, he just..." You're finding it difficult to say it out loud. "He wouldn't stop touching me, Pepper. My leg, and... Under the table, so Storm couldn't see. And after, when we were leaving, he... he was just being a creepy perv, as usual."

"Fucking asshole. Don't worry, you don't ever have to work with him again," Pepper says sternly. "I'm cancelling next weekend. You don't need it, anyway. We can think of something for you to do with Bucky, instead."

"That would be nice," You say lowly. As annoying and controlling she can sometimes be, you're glad Pepper looks out for you when you need it.

"Alright. Now, go enjoy the reunion- and tell Steve Rogers to give me a call, yeah? I've been trying to get him to hire me or fuck me for years. Either would be great. Both would be ideal."

You snort before hanging up and putting your phone away and rejoining the party, not wanting to be antisocial.

Something about Sharon Carter irks you. You think about it as you watch her interact with Bucky- is it her face? She puts her hand on his arm. Is it her voice? The way she acts? Now, she's throwing her head back with laughter at something he said. He isn't funny enough to warrant such a reaction. Is it her fashion sense, or lack thereof? That's unnecessarily mean. It must be because you associate her with her pyscho, trolling fans. Yeah. That must be it. There's no other reason to dislike her at all.

Bucky looks over at you and his jaw clenches. Why does he look so angry? Is it because you're about to cockblock him?

"Hey, sweetie," You say as you link your arm with his - the one Sharon isn't touching.

He just grunts in response. What the fuck is his problem?

"Oh, my God, I've been waiting to meet you, Y/N!" Sharon says with a wide grin. "I love your work. I know everyone's crazy about Sixth Night right now, but Bryn Sinclair made such a huge impact on me - I watch it whenever I have a big audition coming up. I can't wait to see what you've got coming up next!"

Wait. She's a fan?

"Wow, really?" You ask incredulously. "I mean, I grew up watching you guys, so to hear that from you means a lot. Like, a lot."

"No way! Where did you train?" Sharon asks you curiously. "You're from New York, right? Did you go to Juilliard?"

"Oh, no, I didn't go to any school," You tell her sheepishly. "I was scouted while performing at a theatre."

"Woah! That's hardcore acting shit!" Sharon gushes. "You are so fucking cool. I wanna be you when I grow up."

Suddenly, she doesn't irk you at all anymore.

Bucky suddenly pulls his arm out of yours and begins to walk away, but you quickly grab his hand. "Where are you going?" You ask him, wondering what's filled him with such ire.

"I'll be back," He says bluntly, before pulling his hand out of yours and continuing to storm off. Prick.

You share an odd look with Sharon who just shrugs. "He's always been a weirdo," She says jokingly. "I've been telling him non-stop how lucky he is that you're his girlfriend."

"You're too kind," You say with a smile, before frowning. "Hey, not to be weird, or anything, but... did you know that your fans, like, hate me?"

Her eyes widen. "What?" She says, utterly taken aback. "Oh, my God, you're kidding, right? I stay far, far away from social media - something I learned to do once I turned 18 - so all I see is what my assistant shows me. Like, fan art and edits and shit. But what? They hate you? Why?"

You believe her - after all, you know what she looks like when she's acting. "Uh, I guess 'cause of Bucky and I?" You offer. "They just constantly compare us, and seem to think you two belong together, or whatever."

"That is mortifying," She says, shaking her head. "How do I fix- I know. Come here; let's take a selfie."

Not sure whether her posting you on her story will fuel the fire or kill it, you reluctantly stand beside her as she takes her phone out and takes a picture of you both.

"There. I'll send it to my assistant and ask her to put a cute caption on it," Sharon says while typing on her phone. "That should-"

Before she can say finish her sentence, you hear a few shouts and screams from outside the room.

"What the fuck is going on out there?' Sharon asks before you both share a look and rush out to find the source of the commotion.

There's a crowd of people in the lobby, so you and Sharon join them. She pulls you through to the front, and you're gobsmacked at what you see: Bucky and Tony fighting. Or, more specifically, Bucky beating the fuck out of Tony.

"Hey, guys, stop!" Sharon yells, grabbing Tony's arm and trying to pull him away. You would help her, but you're too in shock to move. Sharon moves back to you with a frantic look in her eye. "I'm gonna go find security. Or Steve. Just make sure they don't kill each other in the meantime."

She runs off and leaves you there to feel responsible for stopping the fight, but you aren't sure what you can do. Not wanting to get hurt by getting in the way, you settle for yelling instead. "Bucky, what are you doing?" You ask, though you're not sure he hears you at all. Frustrated, and scared when you see Tony's face covered in blood, you decide yelling isn't enough.

Bucky's got him on the ground now, so you wrap your hands around his arm.

"C'mon, Bucky, whatever he did, it's not worth it," You say, even though, deep down, you are enjoying seeing Tony in pain.

He pins Tony to the ground and seethes, "If you ever touch her again, I will break your fucking legs."

Oh.

With that, Bucky releases him before standing up and walking away. You rush after him, trying to process what just happened. Joining him in the elevator, you stand opposite him. He's got blood on his face, his knuckles are bruised, and his chest is quickly rising and falling as he huffs.

"You're mad at me?" He asks as he scans the look on your face.

You breathe in having not realized you were holding your breath and walk over to him. "I'm not mad, Jamie," You tell him as the elevator starts moving.

His eyebrow quirks up. You know what he's thinking - you only use that nickname when-

"I'm gonna fuck your brains out," You tell him bluntly.

He's taken aback but hides it well, nodding. "Sounds good," Bucky says.

"That's all you have to say?" You ask him.

"What do you want me to say?" He retorts.

You move closer until your chest is touching his. "What you always say."

"What do I always say?" He pushes, cupping your face in his hands.

"Uh... that you love me?" You suggest.

He snorts and rolls his eyes, before looking down at you with a more earnest look. "I meant what I said. To Stark. If he talks to you, or even looks at you, you tell me."

You let out a sigh. "You are so fucking hot."

"I'm being serious," He says sternly.

"So am I," You counter. "Look at you, getting all protective over me."

"He fucking touched you," Bucky says, his jaw clenching again.

"And? What's it to you?" You challenge him.

"If he did that to anyone else I know, I'd have done the same," He claims, taking his hands off your face and placing them on your hips.

"Including Sharon?" You tease.

"Don't fucking start," He grunts. "What? You jealous?"

"Maybe I am," You say. "Weren't you jealous?"

"What? When I overheard you saying he touched you? No, I wasn't fucking jealous. I was pissed," He corrects you.

"I was talking about Steve," You cut in. "You know, our film's gonna have a lot of love scenes."

"Yeah? I'll be sure to tell him how you like it," Bucky grumbles.

"And how do I like it?" You ask, coaxing the dirty talk out of him.

He wraps a hand around your neck. "Like a fucking whore. You like it when I use you, don't you?"

"Jamie," You whisper, feeling your panties soak.

"My driver's outside. I'm gonna ask him to put up the partition, and then I'm gonna fuck you all the way home," He says lowly. "And then, when we get home, I'm gonna fuck you in every room of my apartment."

"Including the laundry room?" You wonder, tilting your head.

"Especially the fucking laundry room," He says, his eyes burning into yours.

"Oh, Jamie, you're so romantic."

sorry to tease you but this was getting to be a very long chapter <3

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications for updates.

buy me a kofi <3

[moniquesha]

carousel was fucking amazing. my therapist will be hearing ab u.

this feels like love disguised as a threat 😟 but in all honesty, thank you !! like what bucky said, more sex and then hope for a ring at the end of it 💦

[moniquesha]

carousel

Pair: Bucky x reader

Summary: You and Bucky keep breaking up and getting back together, stuck in a cycle of love, miscommunication, and missed expectations. In short, everyone around you just finds it toxic at this point.

Warnings: toxic relationship, emotional rollercoaster, love-hate sex! <3

Three years with Bucky Barnes. Three long, exhausting years. Not exhausting because of him. Well, maybe a little. But exhausting because at this point, everyone in your life seems tired of it.

When you first met Bucky, it was through one of those dating apps you never imagined he'd be on. He was old, ancient actually, but you figured he was trying his best to adapt. And hell, if he was on a dating app, then why not? You swiped, he swiped, and that was it.

The first date went surprisingly well. No awkward silences, no weirdness. Just a normal date with a guy who happened to be a former assassin with a metal arm. Then came the second, third, and somehow, the fourth. He ghosted you a little, sure, but when he came back, he had a reasonable excuse: he was busy. And it was true! You saw him on TV, helping people, fighting threats that no normal person could. He wasn't lying; he was just really busy. So, you understood. 

Kind of.

The fifth date, he confessed that he was new to this but willing to make it work. You weren’t new to relationships, but Bucky was new to you, so you said the exact same words back to him. He seemed to appreciate it. By the sixth date, he was more comfortable. Comfortable with himself, his body, his past. He brought up sex.

Not in a crass way, but in a way that showed he was opening up to you. And when you finally got there, it was intense. He admitted he hadn’t come like that in years, which made you blush. And after that? Well, the rest was history.

Somehow, a whole year passed before either of you realized it. Everyone around you had opinions. Some were genuinely happy, others were just bitter that you had managed to bag the hottest Avenger. But Bucky wasn’t ready to talk about that yet.

“You know there’s a thing called the honeymoon phase, right?” a friend of yours, one with a little too much hidden animosity, quipped as you framed your first photo with Bucky and placed it on your bedside table. You rolled your eyes.

There was no phase. Bucky was from the ‘40s, a mature man who wasn’t some impulsive playboy. He wasn’t the type to chase one girl and then suddenly claim the next one was ‘the one.’ That wasn’t Bucky. And you? You were rational. You were mature. That’s why he picked you in the first place.

But oh, how wrong you were.

At the start, everything was exciting. The thrill of dating an Avenger, the little moments where Bucky let himself be soft with you, and the way he slowly learned how to be in a relationship in this era. It all made for a romance that felt like it was pulled from a storybook.

It was supposed to be perfect. But three years in, you’re starting to notice something you didn’t before.

The honeymoon phase didn’t exist in your mind because Bucky wasn’t the type. He wasn’t some player. He wasn’t some guy who’d jump ship the second things got too real. He picked you, and you picked him, and that was that. A steady, adult relationship with no childish fears of “phases” or “cold feet.”

But now? You’re starting to wonder if maybe your friend had a point.

It starts small.

The framed photo on your nightstand collects dust. Neither of you moves it, and neither of you acknowledges it. You don’t think much of it until you realize you haven’t taken any new photos together in months. He’s still busy, of course.

He always has been, but before he used to make time. Used to send you grainy selfies with captions like “this is me trying” or “the camera hates my metal arm.” Now? It’s weeks before he texts you back, and when he does, it’s nothing more than an “I miss you” or “sorry, things have been crazy.”

You tell yourself it’s fine. It’s Bucky. He’s from the ‘40s. He’s not glued to his phone.

But then, it’s the way he hesitates before reaching for your hand in public.

The way his kisses feel more like habits than something he actually wants.

The way your dates have turned into staying in, sitting on the couch, and watching the same shows in silence instead of the deep conversations you used to have.

Bucky isn’t a playboy. He isn’t the kind of guy who jumps from one person to the next, but something is off, and it’s been off for a while. And for the first time, you start wondering if maybe, just maybe, you are in a phase.

And maybe the phase is ending.

But you don’t say anything. Not yet. Because Bucky is Bucky, and you love him, and if this is just a rough patch, it’ll pass.

Right?

At first, you don’t want to admit it. You don’t want to be the person who nitpicks every small change and turns it into some grand declaration that your relationship is falling apart. But when you really sit with it, when you really let yourself feel it, you realize something:

You’re holding your breath.

You’re waiting.

For what? You’re not sure. Maybe for Bucky to snap out of it. Maybe for him to tell you what’s wrong. Maybe for him to look at you the way he used to, with that quiet, awed kind of devotion, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

But it’s been months, and he still hasn’t.

“You guys are still together?” Sam asks one evening, his voice laced with something between amusement and genuine surprise. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it hits wrong.

You force a laugh. “Of course we are.”

Sam hums. He doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s holding back. He’s been Bucky’s best friend for years now, and if he’s noticed something, then maybe, maybe you’re not just imagining things.

Maybe you should say something.

So you do.

It’s late when you finally bring it up. You and Bucky are sitting on the couch, some old movie playing in the background. He’s beside you, but he’s a world away, arm draped over the back of the couch, gaze locked on the screen, jaw tight like he’s thinking about something else entirely.

You take a deep breath. “Are we okay?”

Bucky blinks. Turns to you, brows furrowing. “What?”

You hesitate, then push forward. “Us. Are we okay?”

His frown deepens, and for a split second, you swear there’s something like guilt in his expression. But then, he shakes his head. “Of course we are.”

He says it so casually, so easily, that it makes you feel ridiculous for even asking.

But that feeling only lasts for a moment, because then he turns back to the movie without another word. Like that’s the end of the conversation. Like your question wasn’t even worth talking about.

You’re not in a relationship anymore. Not really. You’re just in something that’s familiar. And for the first time in three years, you wonder if it’s time to let go.

And like a twig, you snap it.

You break up with Bucky Barnes.

It happens so fast, so brutally, that even you can’t believe it. One minute, you’re sitting across from him, staring at him with tears in your eyes, and the next, the words are out in the open, sharp and final.

“We should break up.”

Bucky barely reacts. His jaw clenches, his fingers twitch, but he doesn’t argue. He just sits there, watching you, and that makes you angrier.

“Did you even love me?” you ask, voice shaking.

His brows furrow. “Of course I did—”

“Then what the hell happened?” Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it.

His answer? More of the same. The same cycle, the same excuses, the same carousel of it’s not you, it’s me and I don’t know how to do this and I didn’t mean to hurt you. Round and round and round. And by the time you leave, by the time the door shuts behind you and you step into the cold, you’re exhausted.

You’re done.

The news spreads fast. One minute, you and Bucky are celebrating your anniversary, and the next, it’s over. People ask what happened, but you don’t have an answer. At least, not one that makes sense. Because when you dig, when you let yourself go full detective-mode like your generation is so damn good at, you realize something:

There’s no other girl.

There’s no distractions.

No betrayal, no grand reveal of secrets.

Nothing.

Just Bucky. Just the quiet, steady way he pulled back, little by little, until he was barely there at all. Until you had to be the one to make the choice to end it.So now, you’re alone in your apartment, music blasting, trying to drown out the sound of your own sobs.

And when the tears slow, when the ache in your chest settles into something dull and familiar, you think.

Maybe he just got bored of me.

That’s it. No mess, no complications. Just a man who got tired of loving you.

Three months.

Three months of trying to unlove someone who had already let you go.

It wasn’t easy. The first few weeks were unbearable. Every morning, waking up and reaching for someone who wasn’t there, every night, fighting the urge to text him just to ask why. But you did what people do when they’re heartbroken: you healed. Slowly, quietly, in all the ways that weren’t pretty but were necessary.

You stopped crying. Stopped replaying the breakup in your head like a scene from a tragic movie. Stopped looking for him in crowded streets, in news reports, in the tiny spaces of your life where he used to fit so effortlessly.

And then one morning, without realizing it, you woke up and felt… okay. Not whole, not entirely yourself again, but okay enough to exist without him.

You thought that was the end of it.

But the universe? The universe wasn’t done with you.

Because three months later, on a perfectly normal Tuesday, you walk into your favorite café, the one you introduced Bucky to, the one that had always been yours first, and there he is. Standing at the counter, waiting for his coffee. Looking almost exactly the same, except for the way his shoulders tense when he sees you.

And just like that, it happens.

Like muscle memory, like fate, like some cruel joke the universe is playing on you. you fall in love with him all over again.

Your heart skips a beat. Your breath catches. You hate it. You hate that he still has this effect on you, that after everything, after all the pain and healing and moving on, one glance is all it takes to unravel you.

Bucky swallows, shifting awkwardly. “Hey.”

You grip your tote bag tighter. “Hey.”

For a second, neither of you move. The café bustles around you, but it all feels distant, like you’ve been pulled into some private, inescapable moment with him.

And just like that, you’re together again.

You don’t talk about the breakup, not really. There’s a few apologies, a few quiet I missed you’s exchanged between coffee sips and hesitant touches, but nothing deep. Nothing real. It’s easier that way. It’s easier to just feel the love again rather than question why it stopped in the first place.

People buy it.

“We’re trying again,” you say with a small smile.

“We love each other,” Bucky adds.

And because your friends are supportive, they nod and go along with it. They send congratulatory texts, say if you’re happy, we’re happy, and raise their glasses in a half-hearted toast to round two.

Then.. you break up again.

This time, there’s no big fight. No dramatic moment where someone walks out. Just exhaustion. Just the slow realization that maybe, loving each other isn’t enough. Everyone gets it. You cry into your best friend’s shoulder, and they pat your back and say, “Maybe it’s for the best.”

Then, a few months later, you and Bucky get back together.

No one claps this time.

No yay, you found your way back! or third time’s the charm! Just a long silence, a few shared glances, and one person daring to say, “Are you sure about this?”

But you don’t want to hear that. Because this time? This time, it’s going to work.

Except it doesn’t.

Another breakup. Another reconciliation. Another crash.

And by the time you both get back together for what might be the fourth, no, fifth time, your friends have stopped asking about it entirely.

No one cheers. No one comforts you. No one even reacts when you and Bucky inevitably call it quits again.

At this point, it’s just a bad game of whac-a-mole. One where everyone else stopped playing, but you and Bucky are still stuck in an endless loop, waiting to see which one of you will get tired of the game first.

“Three years of this shit, Bucky! Aren’t you fucking tired?”

Your voice cracks as you say it, as the words rip out of you like they’ve been waiting to be said for months. Maybe even years.

Across from you, Bucky exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. He looks just as exhausted as you feel. His jaw is clenched, his shoulders tense, but his eyes, his stupid, beautiful, heartbreaking blue eyes are filled with something you can’t even name anymore. Regret? Frustration? Love? All of the above?

“I don’t know,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to—” He stops, shakes his head. “I don’t know how to do this, okay?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shoving your hands into your pockets like that’ll keep them from shaking. “You’ve had three years to figure it out, James.”

He flinches. You see it. The tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his fingers, the way his lips press into a thin line. But he doesn’t argue.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Because if he fought, if he yelled or got angry, at least it would mean he cared. But instead, he just stands there, letting you unravel, letting this whole thing crash and burn like it always does.

And God, you hate him for it.

Hate that he pulled you back in just to let you go again. Hate that he made you believe, one more time, that you could make this work. Hate that even now, as you’re standing here, practically begging for a reason to stay, you still love him.

And you think, that’s the problem, isn’t it?

You love him. He loves you.

But love was never the problem. It was everything else.

Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him.

At this point, you don’t even know anymore. The relationship is just a car that keeps skidding off the road, and neither of you wants to admit who’s behind the wheel. There are no more tears. No yelling, no throwing hands up in frustration. Just exhaustion.

You sit across from him, slumped in your chair, staring at the table between you. A silent battlefield of half-drunk coffee cups, an untouched plate of something neither of you had the appetite for, and all the words you’ve both been too tired to say.

You sigh.

Bucky sighs.

And for the first time in three years, you realize.. there’s nothing left to fight for. Not because the love is gone, no, that’s the problem. The love is still there. But love alone has never been enough.

Not for you. Not for him. Not for this.

Bucky leans forward, elbows on the table, staring at his hands like they hold the answer to all of this. “So… what now?”

You exhale slowly, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “I don’t know.”

Neither of you say it, but you both do know. It’s over.

For real, this time.

“I'm sorry, Y/N.”

His voice is quiet, almost too quiet, like he doesn’t want to break whatever fragile thing is still holding this moment together.

You look at him. Really look at him. He looks wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes, shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the weight of something he can’t put down. You wonder if he’s been sleeping. You wonder if he’s been hurting the way you have.

And then you wonder if it even matters anymore.

Because sorry won’t fix this.

Sorry won’t rewind time. It won’t erase the months of uncertainty, the constant breakups, the way you kept circling back to each other just to fall apart all over again.

You nod, because you don’t know what else to do. “Yeah.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Me too.”

And just like that, it’s done. 

Bucky steps forward, hesitates for only a second, then wraps his arms around you.

One last hug.

You tell yourself that’s all it is. That it’s just closure, just a final goodbye, just something to soften the inevitable ache of walking away from each other for good this time. And like muscle memory, you accept it. Your hands grip the back of his shirt. His fingers press into your spine. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath this entire time, and for a moment, you almost feel normal again.

Then it lingers. Too long.

Long enough that you should pull away. Long enough that this isn’t just a goodbye anymore. Long enough that his nose brushes against your temple, his lips ghost over your skin, and suddenly, you’re tilting your head, giving him space to press a real kiss there.

You shudder.

And just like that, you’re gone.

Clothes come off without thinking. Without reason. Without logic.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna let go,” he mutters, voice rough and low, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hard cock already stirring in his jeans, pulsing against the zipper, and you know you feel it. How could you not? 

The both of you are too close now, too wound up. You don’t even think, just yank his jacket off, letting it hit the floor with a dull thud, and his hands are on you again, shoving under your shirt, greedy for bare skin.

You don’t stop him, and that’s all the green light he needed. He peels your shirt up and off, tossing it somewhere in the room, and you do the same with his shirt next, ripped over his head, muscles flexing as you expose the hard lines of his chest, that metal arm shining over the dim lights again.

His eyes rake over you, drinking in every curve, every dip. Your tits, they’re perfect, soft and heavy, nipples pebbling in the chilly air. Bucky groans, a deep, guttural sound, and sinks to his knees right there in front of the couch, hands gripping your hips. “Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good,” He growls, What a great way to break up you think. 

He looks up at you with doe eyes before his teeth catch the waistband of your pants. He tugs, slow and deliberate, undoing the button with his fingers, the zipper sliding down with a rasp that’s drowned out by your thoughts of why the hell this is happening now. His fingers hook in and yank them off, leaving you bare, your slick cunt glistening in front of him pink and swollen, like a goddamn flower begging to be plucked.

He shoves his hand between your legs, parting your thighs, and his thumb grazes your clit, teasing that little bud till he feels you tremble. “So fuckin’ wet already,” He rasp, voice dripping with lust, and lean in, licking his lips before his tongue darts out, lapping at your inner thigh first, tasting the salt of your skin.

He gives good head when he’s breaking up with you, it annoys you but that annoyance fades when he dives in, mouth on your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around that soaked hole.

You shudder. “Fuck, Bucky.” You whimper, legs closing against his head but he forces them open again. “Oh fuck, you taste like heaven.” He pulls away momentarily before his tongue delves deeper, dipping into your slickness, playing with your juices as they coat his chin, sloppy and messy and so damn hot. He pulls back just a sec, making eye contact, letting you see the hunger in his gaze, “Fucking hell. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Bucky, please–”

“Look, Y/N I’m just trying to–”

“Jesus! You’re eating me out Barnes, can we fucking talk about it after?”

He blinks, nods, and just like that his hands roam, one cupping your ass, kneading that soft flesh, the other sliding up to pinch a nipple, rolling it between his fingers till he hears you gasp. You see him quickly stand, his dick’s so hard it’s probably aching, precum leaking through his jeans. He shoves them down, kicking them off with his boots, and his thick cock springs free, rigid, red, and throbbing, the head slick with need. 

He grabs your chin, tilting your face up, “You talk too much sometimes and it annoys me.” and crashes his lips into yours, bruising and desperate. Your teeth click, tongues rolling together, fucking your mouth with his. You suck his bottom lip, biting it till it swells, then he swirls his tongue around yours, groaning into the kiss.

“And I hate when you leave the kitchen dirty like I’m some fucking maid.”

He scoffs, like what he’s hearing is so untrue. “On your knees,” He pants, voice shaking with want. His hand fists your hair, guiding you, and when your lips finally wrap around his dick, Bucky jolts, a sharp “Shit.” ripping from his throat. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him in, tongue swirling over his head, lapping up the precum as he thrusts his hips up, testing you.

“Take my dick, shit, just like that,” He grunts, hips rocking, and you deep throat him, wet heat engulfing him till he feels your throat tighten. and he slows it down, pulling back, trembling as he fights the urge to blow right then. “Not yet,” he huffs, voice wrecked, “Wanna fuck you first.”

He yanks you up, spinning you around, and shove you onto the couch, ass up. His hands splay across your back, raking nails down your spine as he line up, rubbing his cock up and down your slit, teasing that dirty little pussy of yours.

“I hate when you tell me what to do like I’m your child. I’m your fucking boyfriend, Y/N.” He murmurs, breath tickling your ear, and then he sinks in. Slow at first, stretching your slick pussy wide, groaning loud as he buries himself deep.

“Oh fucking hell, so tight,” He moans, setting a rhythm, “Fuck, James. You’re so–” he snaps his hips, pounding into you, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. Your ass bounces with every thrust, “I hate when you–” You throw your head down, whimpering. “When you don’t pay attention to my achievements.” and he switches it up—pulling out, slick with your juices, and pounding back into you again.

“God! You’re such a fucking asshole,”  you growl, and he pushes back in, slow and brutal, feeling you quake around him.

The pace builds, wild thrusts slamming into you, his hands clutching your shoulders, then your tits, kneading them rough. “Oh fuck, oh my fuckin’ pussy’s yours James,” You hear him groan, lost in it, and when he feels that climax creeping up, he slowly drags it out, letting his cock pulse inside your pussy. 

“If I’m an asshole, then you’re a bitch. But god, you’re the only one I want.” Then he snaps hard, one last time, and explodes his massive load spilling deep inside, your whole body shaking as you also reach your climax just in time with him.

What a time to be in sync.

You cry out, “Fuck!” And he collapses over you, panting, soaked in sweat and filth,  the room quiet again with nothing but you and Bucky’s heavy breaths.

You’re both panting, bodies tangled together on the couch, the heat of what just happened still clinging to your skin. The room smells like sex.

The silence is thick. Too thick.

You stare at the ceiling, heart still hammering, and let your mind wander back—back to all the fights, all the words said in anger, all the things that chipped away at whatever this was.

The things he hated. The things you hated.

Maybe that’s what keeps breaking this relationship apart. Maybe it was never about bad timing, or Bucky not knowing how to love, or you expecting too much. Maybe it was just this.

A cycle. A loop. A bad habit neither of you know how to quit.

Your fingers trace over his metal arm, absently following the lines of it, before you finally ask, “Did you mean it? Those things you said?”

Bucky tenses beside you.

You don’t specify which words you mean, because there were so many. Words spit out in the heat of a fight, words muttered in exhaustion, words you’re still carrying like stones in your chest.

He shifts slightly, running a hand down his face. “Which ones?”

You huff a small, humorless laugh. “The bad ones. Your way of dirty talk I guess.”

He exhales sharply, like he already knows where this is going but doesn’t want to go there.

“I don’t know,” he admits. His voice is rough, tired. “I was angry. You were angry.”

“So maybe you did mean it.”

Bucky turns his head, finally looking at you. He looks wrecked, like he hates that you’re even having this conversation. “Do you think I did?”

You swallow. “I don’t know.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know.

Because even now, even after everything, part of you still wonders if all those fights, all those cruel little truths that slipped out when the gloves came off, maybe they weren’t just words. Maybe they were real. And maybe, no matter how much you love each other, you were never meant to work.

Bucky kills your thoughts as he shifts beside you, his fingers absently tracing circles on your bare thigh. His voice is quiet when he speaks.

"Remember when I said I was new to this? And you said the same thing?"

You do.

It was on your fifth date, when things still felt fresh, when love hadn’t yet turned into a battlefield. When he admitted, hesitantly, that he didn’t really know how to do this, how to be in a relationship, how to navigate something that wasn’t war or survival or duty.

And you, thinking you were being clever, had just repeated his words back to him. I’m not new to this, but I’m new to you.

Back then, it felt sweet. Like a promise. Now? It feels like irony.

Because after three years of trying, of breaking and fixing and breaking again, you realize, maybe neither of you ever figured it out.

Maybe you both thought love would be enough to bridge the gap between what you wanted to be and what you actually were. You swallow, turning your head to look at him. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I remember.”

Bucky exhales, staring up at the ceiling. “I meant it. I still do.” He pauses, his fingers stilling on your skin. “But I think we kept making the same mistakes because we never actually learned from them.”

Your chest tightens. You want to argue, but deep down, you know he’s right.

You love him. He loves you.

But love alone was never the problem.

It was everything else. The way you never really talked, not about the things that mattered. The way you both kept waiting for the other to fix things, steering this relationship straight into the same crash over and over again. Bucky sighs, rubbing his hands over his face before turning to you. His expression is raw, tired, honest, real.

“Over time, everything feels amazing and great, but then… I just felt like you’re moving, and I can’t catch up that quickly, Y/N.”

Your heart clenches.

“I’m a man out of time,” he continues, voice low, almost like he’s ashamed to admit it. “And as I’m slowly getting some of that back, I just… I just need a hand to walk with. I don’t want to go to your friends’ parties sometimes, or go to a concert of that Swift girl—”

A huff of laughter escapes you at that, but he’s not joking.

“Maybe I just want to stay here with you,” he murmurs, looking down at his hands. “And learn more of what I’ve missed for the past century.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t hit you right in the chest.

Because for all this time, for all the back and forth and the constant breaking apart, maybe this was part of it. Maybe you were trying to drag him into your world, into now, without realizing that he was still catching up. That he was still learning how to exist, how to breathe in a time that wasn’t his own.

You never thought about it like that. You never thought he might have felt left behind.

Your throat tightens, and suddenly, you don’t know what to say.

You reach for his hand instead, lacing your fingers through his. His grip is warm, solid, and when he looks up at you, it’s with something you haven’t seen in a long time, hope.

Maybe you two were never meant to work. Or maybe you just needed to understand each other better.

You squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Bucky exhales, shaking his head. “It’s okay. I had my faults too. I wasn’t open to you.. And I just thought if I told you, you’d find me boring.”

Your brows furrow. “That’s not true, and you know that.” You sit up a little, your fingers still tangled with his. “I guess in my perspective, I just wanted to show you everything, but I never really thought about what you’d feel first. I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”

Bucky watches you carefully, his lips pressing into a small, almost sad smile.

“We were both just trying,” he murmurs. “Trying to make it work in our own ways.”

You nod. That’s exactly it, isn’t it?

You wanted to pull him forward, into your world, your life. And he just wanted time, time to settle, time to understand, time to figure out who he was now, after everything.

Neither of you were wrong. Neither of you were right.

You glance down at your joined hands, then back up at him. “So… what do we do now?”

Bucky tilts his head, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I don’t know,” he admits softly. Then, quieter. “But maybe we actually take our time figuring it out.”

You sigh, tilting your head back against the couch. “Okay, you know, my friend had this phase with his boyfriend too. And guess what?”

Bucky raises a brow. “What?”

“They figured out that they were just both missing each other and hadn't had sex in months.” You turn to look at him, half-serious, half-amused. “And after that, they made sure every time they could. And boom! they’re married.”

Bucky blinks.

Then, he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you saying we just needed more sex?”

“I'm saying maybe we were overcomplicating things.” You smirk, nudging his side. “I mean, look at tonight.”

Bucky huffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s something softer in the way he’s looking at you now. A little lighter.

“Alright,” he says, squeezing your hand. “So, what? We just keep fucking and hope for a ring at the end of it?”

You laugh, feeling something inside you ease for the first time in a while. “Not just that,” you tease. “But.. I think we stop trying to make this relationship fit some perfect idea of what it should be, and just–” You shrug. “Be. Together. The way that works for us.”

Bucky watches you for a long moment, then nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I think I like that plan.”

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, eyes searching his. The weight of everything, the fights, the breakups, the uncertainty, hangs in the air between you. But so does something else. Something softer.

“I love you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches, just for a second. His grip on your hand tightens like he needs to hold onto you, to this moment. And when he exhales, it’s slow, careful, like he’s letting something settle inside him.

Then he looks at you, really looks at you, and he smiles. Like ‘Finally. You see me.’

“I love you more, Y/N.”

And this time, it doesn’t feel like a promise they say in movies, or something said out of desperation. It just is.

Like breathing. Like something inevitable. Like something real.

And for once, you think, maybe this time, we’ll get it right.

a/n: based on true events .. ?

divider from: omi-resources

[moniquesha]

magical notebook

Pair: Professor!Steve x student!reader

Summary: Everyone writes random stuff at the back of their notebooks like jokes, doodles, boredom ramblings. But when your spicy fantasies about your professor start coming true... that’s a problem.

Warnings: is this being short considered a warning?

Every student knows the back pages of a notebook are sacred. Reserved for chaotic doodles, late-night ramblings, or outrageous fantasies written in boredom. So when you start scribbling some particularly inappropriate and most vile thoughts about your infuriatingly attractive professor, Mr. Rogers, it's all just harmless fun.. right?

But then, weird things start happening. The smirk you imagined? He flashes it the next day. The offhand comment you made up? He says it word for word. And that scandalous daydream you definitely didn't mean to jot down? It’s beginning to play out in real life.

Now you're stuck between trying to keep your thoughts college appropriate and figuring out why your notebook might just be cursed or enchanted. Either way, you’re in trouble if any of what you’ve written down gets out to the public.

“Hey, let’s play tic-tac-toe. Give me your notebook,” Kate whispers beside you, nudging your elbow with hers like she’s in on some grand secret.

You clutch your pen tighter, eyes widening. “No! Use your own notebook.”

Kate raises an eyebrow and grins, smug as hell. “Why? You writing dirty things about Mr. Rogers?”

Your face heats instantly. “What? No!” you whisper-shout, already turning away so she doesn’t see the exact shade of mortified red blooming across your cheeks.

Kate leans in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You totally are. Is it the arms? The jawline? The ‘yes, ma’am’ energy?”

“Shut up!” you hiss, but she’s not letting up.

“I'm right, aren't I? Damn, what did you write? ‘Oh, Mr. Rogers, I forgot my homework—guess I need a private lesson’?”

You groan, slamming your forehead down on your desk. Somewhere behind you, Mr. Rogers clears his throat. And when you lift your head, heart pounding, he’s looking straight at you. With that exact smirk you described in your notebook last night.

Absolutely loving this energy—here’s the next part, keeping that tension and inner chaos alive:

“Anything you wanna share with the class, ladies?”

Mr. Rogers' voice radiates in the room. Smooth, deep, and dangerously hot.

You both stiffen. Kate’s eyes go wide for half a second before she ducks her head, feigning innocence. You’re quicker on the draw.

“None, sir,” you say, straightening your back like a soldier at attention. You hope he can’t see the way your hand is clenching your pen like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane of existence.

From the corner of your eye, Kate slowly fixes her posture too, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. But you can’t help it. Your thoughts betray you.

Because the smirk on his face, that smirk, is exactly how you wrote it.

“Mr. Rogers smirks like he knows something I don’t. He’s so hot.”

You wrote that. In ink. In your notebook. And now here he is, doing exactly that like he read the damn thing himself. You glance over at your bag, where the cursed notebook rests. Your eyes narrow.

Okay, what the hell is going on?

“Well, that’s all for today,” Mr. Rogers announces, his voice warm but commanding. “Notebooks here in front for your homework before you leave.”

The usual shuffle of zippers and chairs fills the room as students begin filing out. Kate flashes you a wink over her shoulder before disappearing out the door, traitor that she is.

You move slower, lingering just a bit longer than necessary. There’s something quietly addicting about being the last one here. Just you, him, and the low hum of leftover tension hanging in the air.

You zip up your bag, straighten your pile of books, and finally step toward his desk, notebook in hand. His eyes flick upward from the papers in front of him. That slow, lazy drag of his gaze feels intentional.

And then, that smirk again. The one you definitely didn’t write about in specific, feral detail.

You smile back. Polite. Innocent. Lie harder.

“Ms. Y/N,” he calls as you turn to leave. “I think you passed the wrong notebook.”

You blink, turning around. “Excuse me?”

He holds it up with one hand, the corner of his mouth tugged in barely-contained amusement. “This isn’t your history notebook.”

“It.. is?” You tilt your head, confused. “I swear that’s—”

“I know it’s the wrong one,” he interrupts smoothly, tapping the cover with a finger. “Because the back of it is clean. Empty.”

You freeze.

“I was looking forward to reading your little… fantasies about me,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Did you change notebooks?”

Holy. Fuck.

Your brain goes static. Your soul briefly leaves your body. Is it hot in here? Is this death?

He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

What do you even say to that?

Your mouth opens, but your brain hasn't caught up yet.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you finally stammer, mentally screaming at yourself to pull it together.

Mr. Rogers hums thoughtfully, flipping your notebook open with one hand, like he’s not just casually dismantling your nervous system right now.

“No doodles, no nonsense in the margins, no poetic thirsts about me scribbled at the back,” he muses, flipping to the last page and holding it up like it’s evidence. “This can’t be yours.”

You gape at him, heart pounding in your ears. “You read the backs of our notebooks?”

He shrugs, smile sharp. “Only yours.”

You forget how to breathe for a second.

He closes the notebook slowly, places it neatly on the pile, then looks up at you again, this time with that look. The one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and is enjoying every second of it.

“I’ll expect the correct one tomorrow,” he adds, voice dropping an octave, “with all the usual.. dirty commentary.”

You laugh nervously, trying to figure out if he’s messing with you or if you’ve accidentally written yourself into a romcom or worse, a fantasy that’s rapidly becoming reality.

“Right,” you mutter, backing away with all the grace of a malfunctioning Roomba. “Tomorrow. Yep. Got it.”

You practically sprint out the door, and as it clicks shut behind you, you hear his low chuckle smug, knowing, lethal.

Kate is waiting down the hall, and when she sees your face, she cackles. “You did write down the most filthiest fantasy, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer. You just dig through your bag for your real notebook.

And when you pull it out, you sigh in relief but the thrill creeps back in as you look at the last line you wrote.

Because it says:

“Mr. Rogers finds out everything. And then he plays along.”

a/n: i laughed so hard writing this, used to draw penises at the back of my notebooks and got scolded so hard before LOL

divider from: omi-resources