raveninfog

[raveninfog]

IF I WAS A RICH GIRL ♡

pairing: bodyguard!jason todd x bratty!fem!reader x bodyguard!dick grayson

summary: for the first time ever, jason needs dick's help with a client. upon meeting you, dick understands why. you're a handful - bratty, needy, the whole deal. luckily for everyone involved, dick has a soft spot for brats and jason has a tendency to follow in his footsteps.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, threesome, voyeurism, exhibitionism, hair pulling, praise/degradation, gun play, brat taming, dacryphilia

wc: 12.9k

a/n: i did not intend for this to be so long, but i am physically incapable of shutting the fuck up unfortunately. anyways comm for the sweetest ever @fearcvlt. thank you again hehe. as always reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

part 2

Dick watched the numbers above the elevator door light up one at a time. Every couple seconds, the soft glow moved one space to the right. It started with 1, 2, 3 and now landed on 67, 68, 69. Finally 70 lit up and a soft ding sounded through the cabin.

He shifted his duffel bag on his shoulder and took a deep breath. When Jason had texted him a few days ago, he made this situation sound dire.

Dick had been in the middle of working out, pulling himself up and down using the rings hanging from the ceiling of the gym. The chime of his phone pulled him from the focus that came with his muscles burning and sweat dripping from his hairline.

'Are we allowed to drop clients?' was the first message he saw.

But then another quickly followed.

'It's been a full twenty-four hours.'

At first he wondered if it was a joke, but Jason didn't really joke about clients.

He tried thinking to himself what case he'd even been assigned to. That gig at the shipping yard had wrapped up by now, and that stalking victim had canceled on them for another security firm.

Then he remembered. That Monday Jason was supposed to start with the senator's daughter.

Something must have really been wrong for him to want to drop that. It was one of the best jobs they'd been offered since starting up their agency. It was full-time protection, meaning round the clock, 24/7 pay.  Also a high profile contractor like a senator meant word of mouth getting around to his colleagues, similar types who would want some security for their own twenty-something-aged brats.

'We can't drop her. Maybe I can see about someone swapping cases with you. Did something happen?' was all he responded with.

The reply was instant. 'I'll take literally anything else.'

'She can't be that bad,' he sent in return.

'You take her then. Find out for yourself.'

He rolled his eyes at his dramatics. There was no way you could really be so awful. While Jason didn't joke about work that much, he loved to complain. Shaking his head, Dick typed back a final message.

'Keep your head for the next few days. I'll come see what I can do over the weekend.'

So that was what he planned on doing for at least the next five or so days. He had said the weekend, but it was Thursday now, and he didn't have to do anything else till next Wednesday. Plus, he figured Jason would try his hardest to rope him in for longer if things with you hadn't changed.

He walked into the entrance hall of the penthouse, eyes briefly scanning his surroundings like they always do upon entering somewhere new. The design was sleek. A classy white end table sat below a large mirror with delicate decorations adorning its surface. A plush rug rolled down the hallways to a set of French doors.

One glance around told him this was all expensive. Every detail chosen by someone young, experiencing their first taste of independence. It was cute in a way. At least he thought so. He could only imagine the distaste Jason had reacted with upon seeing the pink candles or vases of dainty flowers.

He continued in the direction of what he assumed was the living room. Though he had only taken a few more steps across the fuzzy rug before he heard loud voices muffled by the doors ahead. He paused and narrowed his eyes for a moment, trying to determine the severity.

The first voice he knew belonged to Jason. It boomed with annoyance, loud and brash. The other was higher pitched.  He waited a few moments, feeling out the rhythm of the argument. Back and forth, back and forth. There was no third party, which meant it wasn't any serious danger.

He took another breath and braced himself to be put in the middle of whatever spat you two were having. Jason still hadn't been clear about what his exact problem with you was, so he didn't know what to fully expect. From the few things he had said over the phone, he gained the impression you were just a spoiled rich girl, and Jason's temper wasn't made to deal with any of those.

Grabbing one of the bronze handles, Dick pushed the door open. From where he stood in the alcove that held the doors, he didn't think either of you had noticed him enter.

The scene looked as he expected. Jason leaned against the pristine ivory island in the kitchen while you stood at the back of the large taupe sectional that spanned through the living area. You had your arms crossed over your chest, your foot looking as if you had just stamped it on the hardwood below. Jason, on the other hand, appeared as though he was about to explode. His fingers rubbed at his eyes before he spoke.

"For the last goddamn time, I'm not taking you, so find something else to do.”

"No. It's not your job to tell me what to do. You're only getting paid to follow me around where I wanna go," you retorted.

"I'm not taking you to the fucking mall!" he exclaimed, flinging his arms open, "Christ, you have a cell phone, a laptop, and an ipad. You could probably even use that watch you got on your wrist to shop."

"But it's not the same," you pouted.

Upon hearing that, it seemed like Jason's brain was actually on the verge of malfunctioning. In an attempt to help out, Dick walked the rest of the way in.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his voice much cooler than the tense argument that preceded it.

Immediately, both sets of eyes were on him. Jason's features melted into relief while yours swirled with curiosity.

"Is this your boss?" you asked. Your arms fell to smooth out the small shorts you had on before they rose again to make sure your hair was in place.

Meanwhile, a sneer spread on Jason's face again. "No. We're partners," he said.

"C'mon, Jason. I like to think of us as friends before coworkers," Dick teased and flashed a smile. That earned him one out of you in return. Right then, he knew this would be easy.

He headed over to the area where you stood, and acting charming as ever, stuck his hand out in search of yours.

You gladly returned the exchange, offering your palm up for shaking like a trained puppy.

"I'm Dick Grayson," he introduced. He wrapped his fingers around your hand with a firm grip.

Your smile widened before those soft lips parted to expel the syllables of your own name. You were being so much sweeter now that your sights had been set on someone besides Jason. Jason, who was currently watching with a mix of disbelief and irritation as your bratty temperament melted away before his eyes.

"Would you mind showing me where I could put my stuff?" Dick asked.

"Oh sure," you answered, "Follow me."

You waved him in your direction before prancing through an archway that led to a small area with a few doors and the stairs.

"I'll just show you where everything is while we're at it. That's the main bathroom. That's the office. And then up the stairs is where all the bedrooms are."

He followed behind you through the small room and then up the curved staircase. Jason trailed behind him, watching like this mask of pleasantness would fall away to reveal your true attitude any second.

Your hips swayed as you walked up each step. He felt like the way your ass jutted out a little as they did was intentional, but it didn't matter. Dick could be professional when he needed to be. He kept his eyes averted and stayed along your path.

After the stairs, you led them down a thin strip of lofted walkway that overlooked the living room and kitchen. With one hand on the silver railing, you explained each door that lined the wall as you went.

"That's the smaller living room. That's the second bathroom. That's the guest room Jason is staying in. And here is yours," you said as you got to the second to last door. You pushed it open and gestured proudly at the space.

"Looks nice. Thank you," he said before heading in. 

He tossed his bag on the bed and glanced around. It truly was nice. The bed looked like one out of a five star hotel. The end tables were polished and seemed as though they'd never seen a visitor throughout their time here. And then there were the floor-to-ceiling windows against the farthest wall. There was nothing to see outside right now. This floor rested so high up, clouds engulfed the glass panes.

"Mhm," you hummed before biting your lip, "And my room is the last door. There's always extra space in my bed if you don't like this one."

"But I thought you said I was a perv for suggesting that?" Jason interjected and shot you a glare from where he leaned against the door frame.

"Ummm, yeah, you are," you deadpanned, "I'm offering it to him, not the other way around like you did, obviously."

"It was a joke," Jason grumbled.

Before the tension could bubble over again, Dick laughed and looked over his shoulder at your teasing expression. "You know, I appreciate the offer, but this looks like more than enough for now."

"Ok, well let me know if you change your mind. I'll let you put your stuff away while I figure out what we can get for dinner," you told him before stepping back out of the room.

Dick waited a few moments to make sure you were really gone before turning to Jason and smirking. 

"That's who you've been having such a hard time with?" he mocked.

"I swear that's the best she's been all week. When it's just me, she doesn't quit. She goes on and on and on. Whining, complaining. It's borderline harassment to be honest," he responded and crossed his arms.

"Oh come on," he laughed, "She's as hard to deal with as a kitten."

"For you," he responded, "Once she gets bored of you, she'll act the same."

"Guess we're banking on the fact that I'm a lot more entertaining than you then, huh?" he teased.

"Shut up," Jason scoffed before turning and leaving the room too.

Over the next couple hours, Dick got settled in his room and then migrated back downstairs to feel out the situation here. Already he could guess why Jason didn't like you, but if things continued the way they were, he wouldn't mind slipping into his place. A full day of pay, and all he'd have to do is flirt back and forth with you every now and again.

In the living room, you laid back in the corner of your couch. Some tv show played as background noise while you scrolled through your phone. He made an effort to talk to you, to subtly observe more of your personality. Fortunately, you were pretty open to his attempts. Once he found a subject you liked, it was like flood gates opened. You couldn't have been more eager for someone to talk with.

Poor thing, he thought. You had everything you could want, but you were still so starved for attention.

As he listened to you chatter about your favorite tv show or something that happened last summer between you and your friend, he could see the quirks in you that drove Jason up the wall.

For one, you had a tendency to pout. He didn't think you were even aware of it most of the time. While he found it kind of cute, he knew that every time your lip started to puff out, it would send Jason's blood pressure through the roof.

You also were very touchy. Over the course of the short conversation, you drifted from your end of the couch to the cushion right next to Dick. Whenever you laughed your hand landed on his forearm. If he joked around in return, you'd lightly shove his bicep.

It was all pretty juvenile, methods of flirting used most often by kids with their first crushes, but he didn't mind. You were sweet and well-intentioned. Just so desperate to feel wanted.

And admittedly, he played into your desires a bit. He knew Jason would have lambasted him if he was down here right now instead of taking a break in his own room, but Dick didn't really care. Technically, he wasn't the one on call. Though even if he was, it's not like was overtly flirting with you. He was just having some fun and keeping you entertained. A few compliments and well-placed touches. That was it.

He straightened out his behavior a little by the time Jason did return downstairs to join you both for the dinner you'd had delivered.

You stood at the end of the table, graciously distributing the containers of food while they took up a seat on either side of you. Things went pretty smoothly overall. Once you each had a plate with your dishes of choice, you sat down and began to eat.

"You have that big kitchen," Jason commented after a few bites, looking over his shoulder at the room in question, "Do you ever actually cook anything?"

You narrowed your eyes for a moment but responded in the most calm tone of voice. "Yes, I do. But not for you."

Luckily, all that came from the tense exchange was Jason rolling his eyes. Neither of you seemed interested in launching into a full argument when you could focus on the food in front of you instead. A few minutes of quiet passed, but then conversation sprouted back up without an issue.

You asked them how they got into “bodyguarding,” making sure to add that modeling had to have been on the table for Dick. As with most interactions, he responded with a charming laugh. Though this time Jason interrupted to give you the spiel about their past - they worked together under the same mentor at a security company and decided to branch off and start their own as partners.

"Yeah, but why?" you questioned when he concluded his story, "Isn't it like... scary? You have to protect people from stalkers and stuff? That sounds so nerve wracking."

"It's not if you're good at your job like us," Jason dismissed.

Dick saw the frown appear on your face, and he swooped in with an answer of his own to make you feel less discarded. 

"It can be tense sometimes on rough cases, but it's really rewarding, you know? Getting to help people and protect them from the worst parts of life gives us a purpose," he explained.

"That makes sense," you nodded before laughing a little, "I could never do what you two do. I'm wayyyy too scared of being shot."

Dick chuckled, but Jason's look didn't soften at all.

"What is it you plan on doing with your life?" Jason asked.

His tone was short, prime for judgement, but you tried to let it roll off you. You kept your shoulders back as you answered the question, like it was a part of an interview you'd prepared for.

"I'm not totally sure what I'm gonna do with my whole life, but in the spring I'm gonna start working for my dad as an aide. Like when he takes office and everything."

"So what was the point of you going through college when you're guaranteed a job like that anyways?" he asked next.

Dick shot him a look across the table. It was one thing to respond to your whining, but picking a fight was another. He could see the question pricked at a real insecurity of yours. You bristled and tried not to let the weakness show itself.

"Because," you huffed, "I'm still supposed to know things and have skills of my own. And we're not like the Kennedys or something. I can't get by on my last name forever."

"Right..." he said and redirected his focus to shoveling some more food into his mouth.

Again, Dick took it upon himself to resuscitate the mood. He chatted with you some more about school and potential areas you were interested in for your future.

As things wrapped up and the three of you cleared the table, he finished by offering to take you on that shopping trip you'd been asking about earlier tomorrow. That seemed to be all it took to fully brighten up your mood. You eagerly accepted before heading off to your room for the night.

After you'd left, the room clouded with silence for a minute. The two of them migrated over to the living room. Both him and Jason took a moment to enjoy the peace that plumed up in your absence. It dissipated when Dick decided to speak again.

"You know, part of the reason she gets snippy with you is because you're not exactly pleasant to her," he started.

"No, she doesn't like me because I won't play into her flirty bullshit like you do," Jason replied and shrugged.

"It's more than that. You dismiss almost anything she says, and you try to provoke her into lashing out at you."

"Like she doesn't do the same to me? All that whiny, pouty shit she does for you, she tried for me at first, but I hurt her feelings because I didn't act like it was cute. It's pathetic"

"Alright, but as the professional, you're supposed to keep the appearance that she doesn't bother you. I'm just saying you could try playing it cool around her," Dick suggested.

Jason glared at him. "I wasn't hired to be nice to her."

"You're not getting paid to be an asshole either."

The harsh look deepened in the other man's green eyes. "What are we getting paid to do here exactly? She's not in any actual danger."

So that was his problem.

Dick sighed, but before he could provide some form of justification, Jason was pulling up your case files on his phone. He turned the screen to Dick.

"Look. Read it. Why'd we even accept this bullshit? He basically admits there's no real threat in the request," he said.

Dick took the small device and scanned over the document with his eyes. He didn't have to read it to know why they accepted it, of course. The money was great and the connections they could gain from it would be even better for the firm. He still skimmed the tiny words staring back at him though. The request for protection that asked you be assigned a full time guard in the potential event of political retaliation. Political retaliation that both sides of this arrangement knew was not coming. Your father had won his race by a comfortable margin. No one even attempted to contest the result. All of his positions were uncontroversial as well.

It was obvious to Dick that he and Jason were simple pawns in a power struggle here. They were the expendable pieces your father could tote around and punish you with for whatever reason. Maybe you'd been too outspoken about something. Maybe you had a tendency to get too wild when you went out. Maybe you'd just outsmarted the last move in this lifelong game of chess.

Whatever it had been, this was just the next subtle method of control. He'd seen it before in rich kids like you. Shitty as it was, it was part of this business.

Handing the phone back to the other man, he answered. "You know why we took it. And I know it's frustrating, but not every case is gonna be something out of an action movie. If he wants to pay for someone to ease his mind, then that's just how it is."

"He hired a babysitter for an adult," Jason spat with disdain, "That's all this is. The only thing I'm protecting her from is maxing out daddy's credit card or taking a laced bump at some shitty party."

"There are worse jobs in the world than watching over a pretty girl, Jason," Dick said and rubbed his eyes.

"Oh bullshit. This isn't just watching a pretty girl. This is listening to her run her fucking mouth. It's putting up with her bitching and moaning in my ear 24/7 about how she doesn't want me here."

"Look. It's not that hard to figure out," he interjected, "She was spoiled rotten growing up, but that also means she probably had a lot of people trying to control her life. She's getting her first real taste of freedom being out of college and living on her own, and then her dad takes it away by hiring us. Can you blame her for being a little pissy about it?"

"So what? Poor little rich girl. She has people who want to be involved with her life and make sure she has a future," he scoffed, "If she doesn't like that, she can take it out on her dad. Why do we have to deal with the fallout?"

"I know it's not what you want to be dealing with, but you're smart enough to know that things aren't that simple," he responded, "Everything in this place - the clothes she wears, the furniture we're sitting on, I'd bet even her phone she carries around - doesn't belong to her. None of it comes from her own money. Maybe her name's on the title of this place, but you know it's not really hers. She probably plays nice and puts up with things that don't really bug her to make sure he doesn't start taking it all away or offering to give it to her in the first place."

Jason still wouldn't drop his scowl. He understood Dick was right, but you were so goddamn irritating, he didn't want to admit you deserved even the smallest degree of grace.

"You don't have to act like a boyfriend or even her best friend," Dick offered as a compromise, "All I'm saying is that if you weren't so aggressive from the jump, she might feel more inclined to listen to you."

"She's a grown woman," Jason grumbled with hushed incredulity, "I shouldn't have to handle her like a little girl or a puppy or something."

"You're right. You shouldn't have to. But it's the way it is, so adapt or drive yourself crazy. It's your choice," he said.

"I guess," he huffed before slumping back in his seat a bit.

Dick relaxed back against the couch as well. Looking at Jason now, he couldn't help but think that part of the reason the two of you butted heads at every opportunity was because you both were in the running for the most headstrong person he'd ever met.

The next day, Dick made good on his promise to take you shopping. The two of you drove to an upscale mall and spent the next few hours roaming the wide corridors. He stayed close to your side, his muscular arms covered in the bands of your shopping bags as you led him from one place to the next. You talked his ear off, but he didn't mind. It was better than lounging around the penthouse and listening to you and Jason bicker. 

And in your defense, while you had him carrying all your stuff, you took plenty of chances to offer to buy him a few things. Anything his eyes lingered on for more than two seconds had you playfully waving around your card. Each time he'd decline. He had to keep some appearance of doing his job. Jason would never let him hear the end of it if he thought he indulged in this shopping spree too.

He was still somewhat playing his part though. His eyes scanned the exits and entries (when they weren't lingering on how your lip gloss shimmered on the soft curves of your mouth). He was focused on making sure no suspicious characters tried approaching you (when he wasn't ogling the way your t-shirt stretched across the swell of your chest). 

"So only one last place, right?" he checked while you typed away on your phone.

"Yup!" you chirped.

You trotted along a few more paces before coming to a stop in front of a store entryway framed by two dark, tile pillars. The words above glowed in a light, classic font. He eyed it and then shifted his gaze to the display windows. That was when he realized this was a store for lingerie.

He let out a laugh and shook his head. "Really?" he said, raising his brows at you.

"What?" you asked, "Don't tell me you're one of those guys that gets all weird about bras and panties. What do you think I'm wearing under this?"

"I don't really think it's my place to be imagining that," he chuckled.

"Well you don't gotta imagine right now. Just stay close to me while I pick some things out," you replied with your own little smile.

Unlike Jason, this wouldn't be a hill he died on. He followed you into the store and remained quiet within a few feet of you while you checked over the stands for items you liked. You seemed pretty picky when it came to this stuff. Your face contorted into contemplative expressions, weighing if you should go with the lacy black or the baby pink.

"So... do you actually have someone to wear these for or...?" he asked while trying to seem aloof.

"I wear them because I like them," you corrected while shooting him a playful glare, "But to answer your question, not yet."

"Ah, yet," he grinned.

"Mhm. It doesn't hurt to be prepared," you said.

He huffed out a small laugh and kept in line with your footsteps. After a while, you selected a few pairs and seemed almost ready to go. You weaved through the array of perfume stands and seasonal racks. On the way to the register though, your eyes caught on a pair of silk pajamas. They were dainty, thin, and striped. Just the kind of thing that looked as though it was sewn specifically for your closet.

"Oh my gosh. Dick, can you hold this?" you said. The question was pointless as you'd already shoved the basket of panties into his arms before the words finished leaving your lips.

You pranced to the display with the sleepwear and looked it over with adoring eyes. With a wave of your hand, you summoned a nearby attendant to ask for a set you could try on.

Moments later the worker guided the two of you towards the back of the store, showing you the changing area. It was nicer than most shops. A large mirror sat on the wall that was covered in floral paper. Next to it a small door concealed the private fitting section, and in the center was a couple seats.

The woman waved you in. She glanced over each of you with a tight-lipped smile before adding that "your boyfriend" was welcome to wait inside for you.

He opened his mouth to amend her definition of him, but before he got the chance, you chimed in with a cheerful "thank you!"

His eyes zipped from the exiting staff member to you. Upon looking in your eyes, he could see your amusement dancing there. You grabbed his free hand and led him to the plush couches. Then you took off with the pajamas in your hands into the private part of the room.

"So boyfriend, huh? Is that my title now?" he called to you through the open space above the door. While you changed, he set the endless supply of bags down on the loveseat across from the one he chose to sit down on.

"It could be," you replied, "Isn't it like safer if bad guys think a girl has a boyfriend?"

He'd dealt with clients flirting with him before, but never one as flagrant as you. Only one day with you, and he could tell you'd never experienced true shame in your two decades and some spare years of life.

"Yeah, I think so," he chuckled in return. Even though your confidence humored him, he couldn't deny the part of him that was flattered. The same part that got turned on.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and you strutted out. Your luscious legs stretched out from the tiny shorts that bedizened your hips. The button-up top hung off your shoulders and framed the curves of your waist. With a few steps, you stood in front of him, as if you were a model in a fashion show organized personally for him.

"Exactly. So, how do I look, darling?" you teased, doing a little spin for him.

He reached out and grabbed your hips. His fingers dug into your skin, feeling your flesh squish beneath the pads of his digits. Your eyes connected with his as he dragged them up from your waist to your face.

"Stunning, sweetheart," he played right along.

A small giggle trickled from your lips before you turned to the side to assess your appearance in the mirror. He kept his grip on you. Both his and your eyes glided over your frame, lingering on his hands clasped around the bottoms.

"I'll have to get them then," you decided after a few moments.

His pupils shifted up, sparkling under the fluorescents on the ceiling. "I think that's a great choice. Though when you wear them later, you may want to fix the pocket," he said.

Trailing his right hand up from its post on your hip, his fingers coasted over your breast to the shirt pocket that was flipped slightly inside out. He pushed the material back into place, delving two digits beneath the silk flap. The tips teased the curve of your breast. They dragged on the skin just above your nipple through the cloth.

Fortunately for you, he pulled them out seconds later, allowing you to step back and hide the way the small bud had begun to pebble for him. The smirk on his face hinted that he still knew though.

"Ok, well I'm gonna change back. Then we can check out and go home. Maybe we could get some food on the way back or something," you said, laying out the plan as a distraction for the blooming heat you felt in your abdomen.

"Yeah, sounds good," he responded and shrugged.

He watched as you capered back behind that door. You were a tease through and through, and that couldn't have pleased him more. It's what made this all so easy. You could flirt and bat your eyelashes and speak in that seductively innocuous tone, but when you caught scent of any real arousal, you pulled back quicker than a skittish dog. 

It could make it easier for him to remain professional. A way of keeping him from crossing the line that was supposed to divide him and all clients. But it also made you so much more tempting. An elusive prey animal just begging to be caught.

The rest of that day followed the plan you had set in the dressing room.

You checked out of that last store then had Dick carry your collection of purchases to the car. The two of you picked up some food on the way home. Despite your lavish taste in just about everything else, when it came to dinner, you were a pretty cheap date.

When you made it back to the penthouse, Dick shoulders the weight of everything you bought again. The two of you don't bother asking Jason for help, knowing it would only cause more drama. Instead, he let the thin handles on the bags of clothes and jewelry and trinkets dig into his skin and nearly cut off his circulation.

Besides that though, everything went fine. Jason gave you both a look of disdain when he saw the evidence of your shopping trip, but he didn't comment. 

Maybe he was taking Dick's advice.

That seemed to be the case even as you came trotting down the stairs not too long later. You'd changed into your new silk set. The fabric didn't leave anything to the imagination in terms of your figure and that was what it did cover. Most of your legs and a sliver of your chest remained exposed to any eyes that should wander by.

You had a little smile on your face as you entered the room. Of course, you knew how you looked. You were bratty, not stupid.

Upon spotting Jason in the kitchen, you headed in that direction. He'd been standing in the corner where the counters met, eating something for a few moments. The calmness of solitude that had previously filled the space dissolved when he caught sight of you.

As much as he couldn't stand you, Jason was still human. His brows raised and his eyes stuck to your scantily-clad body, raking over your curves and smooth skin. You watched with absolute joy as he finally acknowledged you in some way other than a nuisance.

It only took him a few seconds to catch himself, but the damage had been done. You bounded over to stand on the opposite side of the kitchen from him. He kept his eyes down now, intent on trying not to gauge if you were wearing a bra under that skimpy thing by how your breasts bounced.

"So Jason... What did you do while me and Dick were out?" you asked.

"Desperately awaited your return," he grumbled sarcastically.

The question obviously meant nothing to you. He could hear it in every syllable. It served as a placeholder. A plausible reason you could linger around him to flaunt yourself.

His response brought a laugh out of you in spite of the backhanded nature of the statement. "You could've come with us. It probably would've been more fun," you smiled.

"For you maybe."

"Well yeah for me," you said. You pushed off the island and stepped a few paces closer to him. "What do you think of my clothes? They're new. Dick said he liked them."

You did a small twirl like you had in the dressing room. An attempt to lure Jason's gaze back onto you. He didn't take the bait so easily though and locked his gaze on the food he'd been snacking on.

"If you got Dick's opinion, then why do you need mine?" he shot back.

"Cause I want it," you answered.

With a deep breath, he brought his eyes back to you. He could control himself, both his temper and other kinds of impulses. Plus, there was no way he was going to let you win. You had enough smugness in your voice as it was. No way was he gonna make the problem worse by letting you feel as though you had him intimidated.

"Looks the same as the ones you normally wear," he shrugged.

"Yeah, but I didn't ask that. I just wanna know if you like them."

"Why? Are you gonna throw a fit or something if I say no? Call daddy and have him hire someone with better taste to babysit you?" he mocked.

That put a scowl on your face, which made him smile. The two of you worked like a seesaw of emotions, one extreme on each side, animosity shifting so rapidly the bar could never rest at a balanced middle.

"No," you scoffed with a glare, "I was just trying to be nice to you-"

"Oh really? It felt more like you were fishing for compliments to me," he said, "You bought the clothes, so obviously you like them. Why do you need me validating your choice?"

God, this felt so much better than getting worked up over you. Watching your face morph into increasingly petulant expressions gave Jason more joy than imagining the day a month from now when this job would finally be done.

"Whatever," you huffed and rolled your eyes before retreating to the living room to be with Dick.

That was fine with him. He didn't cause a blow up or have to deal with Dick's lecture while simultaneously getting you out of his immediate vicinity. Though, that was probably for the best for reasons other than his anger too. 

He would never ever admit it out loud, especially not after the point he'd made about it last night, but seeing you in that tiny get up, all desperate for his approval... it had him craving some alone time to quell the heat he felt beginning to simmer within.

He cleaned up his plate that was now empty and then ran a hand through his hair. His eyes shut for a moment, and he let out a sigh. After a few moments, he decided he didn't need to shove down the feelings. He'd been pent up enough over the last week. Nonstop hours of you trying to get under his skin and make him snap. It left him yearning for some outlet, for some relief. Maybe that was why he was so pissed off all the time.

Right now, Dick was with you. The chances of you wandering up to his room to bother him were slim. He could sneak off for a while, spend some quality time with his right hand and chill the fuck out.

So that's what he did. He headed off upstairs and shut the door to his room.

Now you sat beside Dick on the couch as an old movie played on the tv. You were so close to him that your bare thighs rested against the grey cotton of his sweatpants.

It wasn't that late, but only a third of the way into the movie you felt yourself sinking into the cushions behind you, tiredness overtaking your body. Your eyes grew droopy and glazed as you tried watching the action playing out in front of you.

A few minutes later, you started to accept this might be a pointless effort. In your defense, shopping was a tiring activity! Malls were big and required lots of steps to get through. When you combined that with doing all the spending math in your head, talking to Dick, and trying things on, it made sense that you were beat.

You let your head slump over and hit his shoulder. Your temple thudded against the curve of it as a yawn made its way out of you. You brought your legs closer to your body and wrapped one of your hands around his bicep as well. If you were gonna go for an inch, why not take the whole mile?

His head swiveled in your direction when he felt the gentle contact. He didn't protest like you knew Jason would have though. Rather, he let you grip onto his muscular arm and rest against his broad frame before bringing his free hand over to smooth down the nape of your neck.

"Are we still playing boyfriend and girlfriend?" he asked.

Your eyes fluttered open as you tilted your face up to look at him. After a moment's thought, you bobbed your head in a lazy nod.

Upon seeing your confirmation, a lascivious smile spread across his lips. He leaned back further into the couch himself and stretched his legs out onto the extended part of the sectional. Once he was adjusted, he pulled his arm free of your grasp. You showed slight dismay at first, displeased with the loss of support and heat. Though it quickly evaporated as he draped it over your shoulders and pulled you into his chest.

"Well if I was your boyfriend," he said, drawing out the syllables pointedly, "I think we'd be sitting like this."

Even in your tired condition, you felt a bit flustered. You wouldn't show that though. It would take more to get you to willingly show how he affected you. You snuggle into his sculpted side and nestle your face against his chest. Below his skin, you hear the faint but steady beat of his heart.

"You're probably right," you mumbled against the fabric of his t-shirt, "It's comfier like this."

"Mhm. Safer too," he teased.

You nodded, not needing words this time around. One of your arms encircled his waist to keep you snug against him while you continued to watch the movie. 

It was honestly a miracle in your own eyes that you hadn't passed out yet in the few seconds you'd been sitting like this. He was so warm, and he smelled so good, like fresh laundry. And now his hand had started rubbing up and down your back. The steady rhythm of his palm and the perfect amount of pressure seemed like it would be lulling you into unconsciousness in minutes.

But then he spoke again.

"And if I was your boyfriend, we'd be doing a lot more than just watching this movie," he whispered.

The words hit your ears in soft puffs of air, sending chills down your spine. You bit your lip and willed your eyes to open wider before looking at him again.

"What else would we be doing?" you asked.

"What do you think? With you sitting here, all cute in your little outfit..." he began, lowering his mouth to your neck. A soft gasp left you as he began laying kisses up your throat to your ear. His teeth scraped over your earlobe before his tongue grazed the skin behind it. "I think I'd have a pretty hard time keeping my hands to myself," he finished lowly.

The skin of your shoulders prickled beneath the satiny material of your top and continued to do so down your arms and legs. You weren't completely inexperienced, but you'd never had such intense attention focused on you. You'd never felt like the center of someone's entire world like you did right now.

Your hand lands on his thigh, gripping the meat of it with your fingers. You turn your head into a brief kiss before pulling back an inch.

"If you were my boyfriend, you wouldn't have to keep your hands to yourself," you murmured.

And that was the last thing he needed to hear.

He dove in and kissed you like it was the millionth time. His lips moved against your own sensually before his tongue found its way into your mouth. A tender moan slipped out of you in response. He played the part of your boyfriend better than any actual candidate for the role before him.

Your palm migrated up from his thigh to his lap. With a few delicate swipes, you coaxed a bulge into rising against the fabric of his pants. Your hand then fled the area and trailed up his abs onto his chest. Every inch of him felt as though it had been crafted by divine beings. A gift for anyone who should have the pleasure of experiencing him.

He tugged you closer, guiding you so close that you were all but in his lap. His right hand groped the dough of your ass while his left crept onto your breast and gave it the squeeze he had wanted to earlier in the changing room.

You squeaked like a chew toy in response, which drew a laugh out of him. He teased the mound again by kneading it a few more times. His fingers dragged across the soft curves before zeroing in on your nipple, tweaking and pulling at the sensitive little nub. That brought some whines out of you.

"My little girlfriend's so responsive," he whispered. 

He knew he was acting like an idiot right now. He wasn't just crossing every client-contractor line in the book, he was practically leaping over them with joy. If Jason came down here and saw this opening to a porno playing out on the couch, he would never hear the end of it. But he just couldn't stop now. The way you arched into his touch was fucking intoxicating. You had him hooked, and he hadn't gotten farther than feeling up your tits.

And then you whimpered and nipped at his bottom lip. It wasn't like you could really defend yourself from his words. Every touch had you keening for more.

He hummed at the mini bite before pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. The arm wrapped around your back continued to support you while the set of fingers that had been playing with your chest fell towards the junction of your thighs. You seemed a little nervous at the start of the descent, but by the time his hand made it there, your legs spread open for him with no hesitation.

Both of your harsh breaths drowned out the sounds from the movie that had been long forgotten by now. And then your soft, sweet moans joined them.

He started out with a few loving caresses over your center. A few pets to get you warmed up. It was all you needed to let out those cute little noises. You rolled your hips at his hand, already signaling your need for more.

Without a second thought, he obliged you. His hand slid beneath your waistband and into your panties before his fingers slotted between your lips, finding your clit with expertise. They danced over your bundle of nerves and pressed down on it. More whines trickled from your mouth. He could only hope his lips on yours did a sufficient job of muffling them.

"That's it, sweetheart," he crooned, "You're so cute. Not worried about anything but feeling good."

You bucked your hips without a care in the world now, just like he said. They rocked up into the friction his digits were providing. Wet sloshing sounds emanated from where his hand moved beneath your shorts.

After a little while longer of just touching, he worked a finger inside of you. Then another. He pumped them in and out, relishing each precious mewl that erupted from you in turn. His digits curled. Each stroke inside you brushed a tender spot that made your thighs quiver and jerk.

"Fuck," you inhaled sharply before reaching forward to try palming at him, a haphazard attempt at returning the favor.

His free hand brushed yours away though. Those cerulean eyes glimmered with cockiness.

"I can take care of myself, baby. I'm being paid to service you, remember?" he purred.

Your eyes rolled back, and your head followed in that direction, hitting the backing of the couch. You weakly nodded before allowing the pleasurable sensations to cloud your head. He just kept thrusting his two fingers in and out while his palm ground against your clit.

You vaguely felt him start to grind his hips against the side of your leg. He used the pressure as stimulation, giving himself some muted relief while tending to you.

In the throes of bliss, you hadn't realized how close you were until the edge was right there. You whined and squirmed, trying to alert him that you were a few skillful pumps away from unraveling.

"Dick... gonna..." you whimpered.

"Yeah, I can tell. You're getting nice and tight," he murmured.

You nodded. Your lip started to jut out, those pouty habits making themselves known in the heat of the moment. He grinned before kissing it away.

"Let go, baby. Soak through your new shorts. Get 'em all messy for me," he cooed.

Your walls clenched around his fingers as your toes curled. It was impossible to resist the urge to release when he was guiding you to it like that. Your whole body tensed up and then relaxed over and over, the highs of pleasure washing over you in waves.

He watched every little move you make, drank it all up like a dehydrated man in the middle of the Sahara.

"You look so pretty while you cum," he praised. You heard him say the words; though, they sounded distant amidst the haze of bliss surrounding you.

When you finished, he could tell you were exhausted. Your eyelids drooped as if keeping them open was an impossible task. You laid there limp beside him, just about ready to melt into the couch.

He chuckled and slipped his hand from your shorts. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he sucked them clean and then ducked in for one last kiss. You squeaked in surprise but didn't pull away. He let you taste yourself for a moment before retreating.

Even though he hadn't cum himself, he figured it would be fine for tonight. There were four weeks left of this job after all. He'd have more time with you. Tonight he could deal with finishing himself off in his room after taking you to bed.

He shut the tv off and then scooped you up. Your body draped between his two arms. You didn't complain or protest; rather, just leaned your head into his shoulder and accepted the aid. He walked with you up the stairs, down the walkway to your bedroom. The last door on the path.

Nudging the door open with his foot, he crossed the threshold into your space. It appeared like the rest of the apartment, just more concentrated. A more pure embodiment of you. All the other parts of this place he'd seen had traces of your personality throughout, but each and every part of this room represented a piece of you.

He didn't spend any time snooping around or getting a better look. Like the perfect gentleman, he placed you in bed, draped a blanket over your body, and made sure you were situated. Then he retraced his steps back out into the hall. He headed down to the guest room and slipped inside, planning on taking care of himself and then passing out for the night.

The next morning, Dick woke to a thudding on the wall behind his headboard. Knock. Knock. Knock. The noises pounded against the barrier in an even-rhythm, every second or so. He wasn't sure how long they'd been going on by the time he reached full consciousness. They'd invaded the last part of his dream, so he assumed maybe a few minutes.

Even though the sounds should probably concern him, all he felt was annoyance. The wall behind his bed was the one connected to Jason's. He figured the noises were a result of him working out or moving some things around. Maybe you two had gotten into another argument and he was packing his things in anger.

Dick dragged himself out of bed and stretched. He'd slept longer than usual last night. A lazy smile rose to his face as details came flooding back to him. How you'd felt around his fingers and whined for him to keep pleasuring you.

Once he'd figured out what the noise was about, maybe he'd head over to your room, see if you were up yet. It'd been less than twelve hours, but he was already craving another taste of you.

He stepped out into the hallway, walking in the direction of the room the noise was coming from. As he got closer, he could hear some grunting too. It sounded pretty intense. Either Jason was working out really hard or you'd really pissed him off. Maybe a combination of both.

"Hey, Jason. Some of us are trying to sleep. You don't need to compete with the construction crews around the rest of the city with all this-" he started to call out, but the words died in his throat as soon as he saw the source of the banging.

He felt like a flash grenade had gone off in the room he was looking into. The source of the loud sounds was no longer a mystery. It was coming from Jason's headboard slamming into the wall. The headboard was doing that because the man in question was kneeling on the bed with you pinned down in front of him, fucking you like he was an animal in heat. Dick saw your body jerk in panic as soon as you heard the sound of his voice close in.

"Jesus, man!" Dick said and spun away from the explicit sight before him. His mind reeled and tried to grasp onto what he just witnessed.

As he was trying to come to terms with the fact that he just saw Jason balls deep inside you, he also realized that the lewd noises weren't stopping. He slowly turned back to get another glance - just a curious one, he told himself.

His eyes found the two of you again. Jason kneeled on the edge of the bed. One of his large hands gripped your hip while the other held your face down against the pillows. Now that Dick was really listening, he could hear your little muffled whines and squeaks.

Jason's body glowed, flush from arousal and shimmering with a sheen of sweat. Your limbs were folded up like pieces of a portable chair. Dick tried not to focus on the flicker of heat in his gut, and instead, think about how even with another set of eyes, neither of you had stopped going at it. In your defense, he didn't think the decision was up to you. Jason had manhandled you into a position that gave him all the leverage.

Finally after another second or two, the other man looked his way.

"You need something, Dick?" Jason grunted as though he'd been interrupted while reading a book rather than pounding you into the mattress.

He blinked at him. "What are you doing?"

"Do you really have to ask that? You're not a prude, and you're far from innocent," he mocked. His voice was breathless as though he found some deep satisfaction in this act. Dick believed that. He'd felt how soft and tight your cunt was last night, warm enough to melt even someone as tough as Jason down a bit.

"I'm not a prude, but you could at least shut the door," he responded. The absurdity of this situation then began to dawn on him. He stepped closer to the bed. "Really, Jason. What the fuck are you doing? She's a client," he finally said.

That brought a laugh out of the younger man. "Client, huh? That's not what I was hearing last night when you had her out on the couch."

Dick tensed in the face of the accusation. Shit. He'd thought the two of you had been quiet enough. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

"That's different..." he defended weakly.

In reality, he of course knew that it wasn't. Him fooling around with you last night was, on a technical level, no different from what Jason was doing now. Either one if found out by your father, their employer, would get them fired and possibly slapped with a lawsuit.

But he did feel it was honestly different on some level. He'd just been playing with you. Going along with your flirting. Having some fun. Jason was fucking you. Every thrust was like an act of revenge for all the pouting and whining and huffy glares. He bullied his cock deep into your cunt with every swing of his hips. Your body jolted from his momentum, your fingers curled around the edges of the pillow. It was intense and raw.

"It is not," Jason denied, "Plus, I thought you'd be happy. We're not arguing anymore. You wanted me to act cool with her? Well she thinks this is pretty fuckin' cool. Don't you, princess?"

Before you could mumble something against the satiny linens below you, he looped an arm around your neck and pulled you up against him. You squealed at the sharp angle this new position put you at. Your eyes rolled back, and the only sounds that came from your lips immediately were hazy babbles.

You eventually collected yourself enough to nod. He laughed in your ear, slotting his face right next to yours. You could feel his breaths against your cheek, his sweat smearing on your skin.

"Use your words, sweetheart," he purred.

A shudder coursed its way through you. Your dazed eyes opened just enough to connect with Dick's bright blue ones. You didn't know what to say, so you let out the easiest thing you could think of.

"F-feels good..."

Dick nearly winced at the fucked-out sound of your voice. It was sultry and slurred. If you weren't so disgustingly rich, he was sure you'd make a killing doing this stuff on camera.

His eyes scraped over the shape Jason had you propped in now. Your body was arched like a bow, tits bouncing with each of his thrusts. He had your arms hooked over one of his behind your back while his other was wrapped around your throat. Your chin rested on the thick muscles there. Saliva spilled from your mouth while the beginnings of tears pricked at your eyes.

Everything about it was turning him on, but he tried to disguise that fact. He shifted where he stood in an attempt to readjust himself and not let his cock fill out. But then his eyes caught on the slight bulge in your stomach. The faint outline that protruded in rhythm with the man behind you thrusting.

He almost came on the spot. A groan worked its way up his throat, and he ran a hand over his face into his messy hair.

Jason huffed out a laugh at the noise. "You should've seen her. She came in here trying to pick a fight. Probably a warm up before she scampered off to your room to get you to relieve her frustration."

"Nuh uh," you whimpered pitifully.

In response, he released your arms and shoved you down onto the mattress again. You whined at the force he put into slamming your face against the blankets. His hips rutted into you even harder too, clearing any further words of denial from your mind.

"I wasn't asking," he chided. He gave your ass a firm slap before holding onto your hips. 

You mewled and clawed at the soft bedding.

"Maybe you are being honest though. Maybe you didn't plan on getting Dick to help you out. You probably knew he couldn't give it to you like you needed," he said. His green eyes flitted up to the man standing beside the bed, letting him know it was an open challenge.

Dick knew he shouldn't take the bait. This was weird enough as it was, standing there and watching the two of you fuck. But wouldn't it be weirder not getting involved? If he just left, he'd still be half-hard. He'd probably skulk off back to his room to jerk off, and that would be more pathetic than whatever he was about to agree to.

"Sure, Jason. If that's what you have to tell yourself," he mocked, "She knows how good I can make her feel. She just knows that you're easier."

Jason’s usual scowl appears on his face. "You cracked first. Gave into her and acted all sweet," he grumbled.

"Yeah, but look at you. She didn't have to work at all to get you to fuck her," he taunted, "I'm sure she'll be so tempted to not act out anymore when this is how you deal with it."

He closed the gap between himself and the bed, reaching for your face. He cupped your jaw and tilted your head upwards to face him. Swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, he smirked at the cute, pouty look on your face.

Jason growled and tugged you back. His hips clapped against your ass. You whined in a mixture of pleasure and pain, screwing your eyes shut. He leaned over your body like a dog guarding its favorite toy while continuing to pound into you.

"You know I'm right," Dick said, "You're so rough because you know you have to compensate."

Now Jason was actually getting a little pissy. He was the one who made this competitive, but it didn't take much to trigger his temper.

He let go of your body and pulled out. "You think you can do better? Go ahead then," he said, gesturing to your twitching form. You whined at the emptiness you now felt, but it did nothing to change his mind. He gave you a quick swat between your legs, ripping a cry from you. 

"No whining, little brat," he said, "Not when you're getting so much attention. More than you deserve."

Dick watched with interest before connecting his stare with the other man's.

"You just want me to what? Strip down and fuck her?" he asked.

"Why not? Don't act like you don't want to. I can see the tent in your pants," he responded.

Looking down, he knew he was right. The front of his sweats had puffed out with his desire. He didn't bother feeling embarrassed about it right now though. Jason was shameless as could be, so why should he try to keep up an appearance of modesty?

He shrugged and began peeling off his t-shirt before pushing his pants and boxers to the floor. Both pieces crumple up next to his feet as his cock comes into view. He gives it a few lazy strokes while reaching for you.

You glanced up at him, your pupils dilating upon seeing his length. It was slightly skinnier than Jason's but just as long. Your mouth watered for a taste. He chuckled, your admiration stroking his ego.

"Come here, baby," he cooed, much more gentle than Jason.

The sound of his voice revived you from your fucked out state, and you were happy to be guided into his arms. He sat against the headboard and took you onto his lap. Pressing a few kisses to your lips, he ran his fingers down your jawline.

He knew he wouldn't have to do anything to get you ready. You were already dripping onto his thighs from the mess Jason left between your legs. He shifted you around by your waist, laying you back against his chest. The both of you faced Jason who sat at the end of the bed.

"You think you can ride for me?" he murmured against the shell of your ear.

Your legs were wobbly and your mind still felt a little cloudy from the euphoria Jason pumped into your veins, but you nodded anyways, not wanting to disappoint Dick.

He rewarded you with a grin and pecked your temple. "Such a good girl. Gonna show him how sweet you can be when you're treated right, huh?"

Again, you nodded, but he also caught Jason rolling his eyes.

You rose onto your feet and positioned yourself above his lap. He helped you out a little, lining his shaft up at your entrance and sliding it through your slick.

Slowly, you began sinking down on him. He couldn't help the choked moan that slipped out of his mouth. "Fuck, you're tight," he rasped.

You didn't let up, lowering yourself all the way down in one go. Your ass rested against his pelvis, and he gave you a few moments to adjust. Hell, he needed them too to catch his breath. He couldn't cum too quickly right now. Not with Jason watching. He'd never hear the end of it.

But eventually you do start to bounce. His hands hold onto the little divots in your side to help you keep balance. Your warm slippery walls squeeze around him with each of your movements.

More whiny sounds seep from your lips. They were higher-pitched than last night. Less drawn out and delirious. Each time you took him all the way, your hips jerked. He reached around, swirling his fingers over your clit.

"So sensitive," he teased.

You whimpered and continued to bounce yourself in haphazard bursts. Your pussy gushed for him, your juices dripping down to his balls. By the time you finished, there would be a wet patch for sure.

He tilted his head back against the headboard, just letting himself feel for a moment. Meanwhile, your eyes meet Jason's. He had a fist wrapped around his cock. He kept his strokes slow, as if trying to hide the fact that he was doing it at all.

"Feeling good?" he asked, but you know it was intended to mock you, "You like sweet and gentle? Better than how I do it?"

Before you could answer, Dick slammed you down on his cock. Your eyes fluttered, and you loosened up, allowing him to take over in lifting you up and down on his shaft.

"If you're asking, that means you know you're losing," Dick chimed in a sing-song voice.

That just spiked Jason’s blood pressure. He stood up. "My turn again," he demanded.

Dick openly laughed in his face while continuing to pump you like a fleshlight. "No," he said.

"Yeah. You've had your turn, now it's mine. Give her back," he said. He was getting more agitated because he realized how petulant he sounded.

It only brought more laughter from Dick. "Give her back? What is she? Your favorite doll or something?" he taunted, "It doesn't really seem like she wants to go back to you. I think I'll keep her here till she finishes."

"You're the one who interrupted."

"You're the one who practically invited me to."

"I don't care. You had enough time, now it's my turn to show you. I'll get her at fucking gunpoint if I have to."

Both of them knew he was just blowing off steam. When Jason got mad, he would say things like that without thinking twice. But you'd never heard his voice so gruff, dripping with the potential for violence. When he got pissed at you, he was annoyed and agitated. Frustrated more than anything else. This was something else, and it turned you on.

You clenched around Dick's cock and let out a shaky whine. They simultaneously dropped their bickering and looked at you. Dick slowed the pace as he eyed you, but Jason's lips curved upward. 

"Oh you like that idea?" he chuckled, "Thought you were afraid of guns, princess?"

"I- I am," you said, trying to backtrack.

His dark locks swayed from side to side as he shook his head. The moment he headed towards the nightstand Dick knew what he was doing.

"Jason-" he started, but his gun was already in his hand. The dark pistol pointed towards you.

"Come here," he said.

Your eyes widened, thighs quivering as Dick stopped moving you and let you slide off of him. He watched as his cock slid out of you, still coated in your arousal. You crawled forward towards the man pointing the gun at you.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair when you were close enough and dragged you the rest of the way. His cock kicked at the yelp you let out.

"That's a good girl. You know to come when you're called," he praised.

You whimpered in response, looking up at him with wide, puppy-eyes. He didn't soften in the slightest though. Scooping you from behind, he dumped you onto your back.

"Spread your legs for me nice and wide," he directed. You clasped your own legs behind the knee and made sure there was ample room for him to get at your center.

The gun remained aimed at you. It kept your heart pumping so hard you could hear it in your ears. A sick combination of fear and lust ran through your limbs. Jason didn't mind the shakiness though. With his free hand, he guided his thick cock back to your entrance and slid right in.

"Fuck, you take it so well for such a prissy little thing," he growled.

He didn't give you the adjustment period like Dick had. Instead, he pushed all the way in and then dragged his hips back before slamming in again. You mewled at the stretch. The sweet burn of him splitting your cunt open.

"Jason..." Dick said again in the tone of a parent about to count to three.

Jason didn't drop it though. He leaned forward, pressing the cool metal barrel against your shoulder and folding you in half under his bulky frame. He was so deep inside you that you couldn't really say he was thrusting anymore. Just grinding his hips. Deep, even rolls. Those tears that had been teasing you before leaked out freely now. You hiccuped out a broken sob as he continued fucking you within an inch of your life.

"She's fine," he grunted, trying to suppress a moan of his own, "Fuck... you know I'm careful."

It was true. Dick didn't actually believe Jason would shoot you, but still, this felt like the exact opposite of what they were supposed to be doing. This was probably the most danger you'd been in over the course of your entire life. It was definitely the first time you'd had a gun aimed at you.

Heat sweltered between you and Jason, making it almost impossible to breathe. Your head lolled back in search of some relief. Some semblance of breathing room. But he was just all around you. Every part of your body felt under his control.

Your vision went spotty for a moment, but when you came back, you saw Dick's face above yours. Jason had leaned back a bit, allowing you to cool down. His hips maintained a steady rhythm though. 

The older man stared down at you, stroking your cheek gently. He swiped your tears away with your thumb. His palms kept your head cradled as if you were the most precious, fragile thing in the world. It just made you cry more.

"You're so pretty crying like that," he crooned. His knuckles swept over your heated skin. "Such a sweet girl. Not used to getting it so rough."

"She'll be used to it by the time the month is over," Jason said. He put the gun aside now, using both hands to hold onto you.

Dick rolled his eyes and continued showering you with soft words and tender touches. It was like each half of your body was in a separate world.

You could tell Jason was close by the way his thrusts were becoming more sporadic. His breaths puffed out in harsh pants while his fingers gripped you tight enough to bruise. Luckily, you were getting there too.

The only one left behind was Dick, but he wasn't worried. He had the patience for you.

Jason thumbed your clit, dragging you the rest of the way to the finish line. You came with a scream so loud that both of them were thankful the penthouse suite meant no neighbors to hear you. Your body quivered and convulsed. You sobbed out cries for both of them. Your hands flew to Dick's wrist to hold onto something.

Jason kept pumping into you for a few moments more, but you were tight as a vise. He knew he was about to cum, and he knew he should pull out. But as he was going to, you locked your shaky legs around him and shook your head.

"I'm-" you tried before cutting yourself off with a whimper, "I'm on the pill."

In that moment, it was like he heard an angel speak to him. He slammed into you as hard as he could and collapsed onto your body. His larger chest crushed you against the bed, his face nuzzling into your neck as he spilled himself inside you. You swore you heard him whine, but it was hard to tell with everything going on.

He fucked his cum into you, not pulling out until he was completely satisfied. Once he was and that dreamy bliss of post-release had settled over him, he reluctantly rolled off and landed next to you flat on his back. His chest rose and fell with deep, slow breaths.

But you weren't done yet. Dick slid around to where he had been and pushed his cock into your hole that was still leaking Jason's cum.

"The best goes on last," he teased with a lazy smirk.

He sighed, his long lashes dusting his cheeks at the sensation. His grip was much softer. He took his thrusts slower too, knowing your poor pussy was aching from how rough Jason got.

You whimpered and twitched at the slight overstimulation.

"Shhh, doing good for me," he cooed, "Pussy's so warm and soft. She wants me. I’ll make her feel all better."

The sounds coming from where your bodies connected were absolutely obscene. And even though Dick wasn't going as fast, he was getting just as deep. His tip brushed your sweet spot over and over. Your toes curled and your back arched. This time it was Jason you held onto. You gripped his hand tight as you could, and he let you. He didn't baby you like Dick did, but he allowed you the comfort of his large, warm palm around yours.

You were totally gone by the time Dick was ready to let go. He angled his hips to guide you into another release. Your walls fluttered around his length. His head tilted back and he let out a groan, feeling his own peak bubble up inside him.

He came inside too, pumping your cunt full of another load. Like Jason, he fucked it all in. He stayed snug in the tight grip of your pussy for a moment before pulling out. Sticky, white cum gushed out, dripping down onto the bed.

Dick landed on the opposite side of you from Jason. He leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your cheek.

The three of you laid in silence for a little while. For you, it was out of pure exhaustion. You wondered if it was that for them too, or if they were processing what they'd done. The lines they'd crossed and the secret they'd now have to keep.

But you didn't get the chance to dwell on it for too long because soon enough, Dick guided you off the bed.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said.

With a hand on the small of your back, he led you to your bedroom and into the en-suite bathroom. You assumed Jason stayed behind to take care of the bedding, but you didn't ask.

Dick drew you a bath and helped you in. He did like he said he would, cleaned you up. Every move he made he did so with all the care in the world. Gentle hands wiping the dried drool and tear streaks from your face.

When you were done, he helped you out and dried you off. He let you go about the other parts of putting yourself back together on your own, taking a few moments to tend to himself. 

You didn't know how the rest of the day would look. If things would be awkward now or if they just wouldn't acknowledge what happened. You waited on your bed for Dick, dressed in a pair of fresh clothes and your skin smooth after being lathered in lotion.

He came in after you a few minutes later. Immediately, your fears of things being weird were extinguished by the smile he gave you. The same charming one he'd had since a few days ago. He climbed on the bed with you and laid back against your pillows. You followed in suit, leaning your head against his shoulder.

You were content like this, just relaxing with him. In the back of his mind, he knew this was the quietest you'd been since he arrived.

Moments later the door opened and Jason came in. He crossed the room without a word. You opened your mouth to ask what he was doing, but he basically answered the question when he reached the other side of your bed.

He laid down next to you like Dick had on your other side. You eyed him suspiciously. Never would you have imagined he'd willingly spend time with you. He caught the look though and gave it his usual frown.

"What?" he scoffed, "I was the one actually hired to watch you. I gotta make sure you're not getting into trouble."

Unlike before, his speaking didn't provoke you to whine or insult. Instead, you smiled and wrapped your arm around his bicep.

"It's ok. I won't make you admit that you wanna cuddle too," you grinned.

He shook his head in denial. "I'm just doing my job," he asserted, "Plus, I think I won the contest, so it only makes sense that I'm the one who stays with you."

"Hey, we never decided on a winner," Dick cut in.

"I mean, we didn't have to because it was pretty obvious."

"Well we got a whole month, so if you're so confident, we can always have a rematch later," Dick challenged.

"Um, you guys didn't even ask for my vote on who I think won," you interrupted with a pout.

They both turn their eyes to you. For once, Jason didn’t look at you with total disdain. In this moment, you could see some fondness under the top coat of annoyance.

"There's that attitude. I guess it was naive of me to hope we fucked it out of you," he said.

Dick chuckled at that. "It'll take a couple more rounds before that's even a real possibility."

You glared at the both of them, but like Jason, your eyes didn't hold real anger or frustration now. Only the hope that they'd try to put you back in line again.

[raveninfog]

Leaked —

Warnings: implied sexual activity?

Summary

A low quality video surfaces of Congressman Barnes and a woman in an intimate moment. The media’s hunting for the mystery girl and you need to answer the emails and calls as his assistant.

“We have no comments at this time.”

Journalists and reporters have been nonstop calling the phone, the constant ringing was beginning to piss you off. “Thank you for your understanding, good day,” you replied with an attempt to make it sound cheerful. Although there is nothing really cheerful or fun with answering calls upon calls asking about the same short scandalous video of the new congressman.

Mr. Barnes was in a suit with his tie loosened, arm around the waist of a woman whose face is turned away, blurred. The clip was about 3 and a half seconds long, a make-out session in the hotel hallways before the door behind the woman opened, allowing them disappeared into thin air. Quality of the video was absolute shit, which was helpful but it was obvious that the man was him. The media has been exploding recently with trending hashtags and nonstop theories of who this mystery woman could be.

It isn’t a good image for the congressman—in this case Mr. Barnes—to be doing anything intimate with anyone in a public space, even if it was a hallway of the hotel he stayed in. And that was your job, to clear his image once more. The one who makes these problems disappear.

You sat behind the desk in the corner of his office, staring at the screen for a few seconds, specifically at the amount of emails you needed to answer, tapping your finger on your table and taking a breath. After your slow breath, your fingers began flying over the keyboard, composing the fourth draft of the statement that was answering nothing at all and helping with nothing too.

Giving up, pausing and laying your head back down the table. You didn’t even know why they cared so much about this shitty quality video of him making out with a woman, hell it isn’t like he killed someone— well, too late to say that. But it isn’t like he fucked someone in the hotel hallway, and so what he’s a congressman not the fucking president who has a wife. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only politician that looked hot for someone in his hundreds. All married women in their forties together with a political figure and even random celebrities are now in love with him.

Once you lifted your head from the keyboard ready to type out the statement again the phone began to ring, a loud groan left your lips. And each time you answered the call it was the same words, same lies, and same tone. “Thank you for reaching out. The office and Mr. Barnes has no official comments at the moment.”

Soon as you pressed the red button signifying that the call has ended, the phone rang again before you could even place it back down. Your inbox—a fucking battlefield—once you decided to glance back at it, having even more stacked emails with subject lines screaming: LEAKED VIDEO OF CONGRESSMAN, URGENT—PLS IDENTIFY, RESPONSE NEEDED.

You couldn’t help but click the power off button of the computer in front of you and the do not disturb button of the phone, catching your breath for a minute before pushing you chair and grabbing your phone to scroll and distract yourself. It was like there was no escape. You opened a random app to see the first thing popping up would be the viral video of Congressman Barnes and the mystery woman.

Zooming into the paused video, attempting to squint your eyes while staring at the girl in a dark dress which conveniently was also unidentifiable because of the shit quality. “God.. we were so stupid,” you muttered before closing your phone, nibbling on your lips.

The musk scent of his perfume that night stuck on your dress for the past few days after the event you needed to attend. The warm feeling of his hand on your waist, gripping tightly as if you’d run away. And the way his lips brushed against your ears whispering the words “no one’s going to see.”

A total fucking lie because now you have to cover it all up.

[raveninfog]

the cowboy rule - bucky barnes

warning - contains 18+ content

You’d been in Texas for three weeks, and every second of it felt like culture shock with a splash of sunburn.

The heat clung to your skin like a second layer, thick and humid, and the wide, dusty roads felt like they led to nowhere. People were kind, too kind.

Strangers tipped their hats and called you "ma'am," which still made you blink like they were speaking another language.

But the best part of moving here?

James Buchanan Barnes. Or, as everyone called him, Bucky.

You met him on your second day, when your rental car got stuck on a back road and he pulled up in a beat-up Chevy truck, boots dusty and smile easy.

“Looks like you took a wrong turn, doll.” he’d smiled.

He helped you out, then made it his personal mission to show you around the small town. Introduced you to the good barbecue joint, took you horseback riding, showed you where to get the best iced tea.

You weren’t sure if it was his jawline, the Southern charm, or the way he always touched the small of your back, but James Bucky Barnes had burrowed deep under your skin.

That weekend, there was a little throwdown at the local tavern. Live music, whiskey, and dancing. Bucky told you to come, that he’d be there. You weren’t sure if he meant it as a date, but you wanted to go anyway.

So you did. You wore denim shorts and a tied-up flannel shirt, not quite blending in but looking just enough the part to be welcomed. The music was loud, feet stomping against the wooden floors as couples twirled in time to the fiddle.

You didn’t see Bucky at first, so you ordered a drink and swayed to the beat near the corner of the room. Dancing alone. Not caring. You could feel eyes on you, this town was small, after all but you were having fun.

And then he appeared.

Strolling through the crowd like he owned it, hat tilted just right, jeans hugging his thighs, that ever-present glint in his eye.

He didn’t say a word as he approached. Just smiled that cocky, slow grin and plucked the hat off his own head.

Then placed it right on yours.

You blinked, not sure of the hat on your head, “James?”

Bucky leaned close, breath brushing your ear. “You’re wearing my hat, doll. You know what that means?”

You shook your head slowly, already breathless at the close proximity.

He smirked. “You wear a man’s hat, you take him for a ride.”

Your heart stuttered. The bar faded around you. His fingers dipped under the edge of the hat, adjusting it just so, then trailing down your neck with a featherlight touch that left goosebumps in their wake.

“You gonna follow the rule?” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Yeah. I think I will.”

His house sat on the outskirts of town, secluded enough that when he backed you up against the door and kissed you like he’d been starving for it, there was no one around to hear your gasp.

Bucky was all rough hands and controlled strength, lifting you like you weighed nothing and pinning you against the wall, grinding his hips into yours as your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.

“You been teasing me since the day I met you,” he growled, lips dragging along your throat, teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

“Swaying those hips, looking at me with those eyes. Know what you do to a man?”

“James-”

He silenced you with another kiss, this one deeper, filthier, tongue pushing into your mouth with purpose.

His hands roamed, cupping your ass, then spanking it hard enough to make you whimper and cling tighter.

“That’s sir tonight, doll.” he corrected, voice thick with heat. “You wearing my hat. Means you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you whispered, voice trembling.

He carried you to the bedroom, tossing you onto the bed like a rag doll. The hat stayed on. Bucky made sure of it.

“Don’t you dare take it off,” he said, stripping his shirt and revealing that sculpted chest you’d imagined too many times.

He undid his belt with slow, deliberate movements, letting the anticipation curl hot and tight in your stomach. “Looks too good on you.”

Then he was on you. Mouth at your collarbone, hands everywhere, peeling your clothes away like wrapping from a present. His palms skated over your bare skin, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked. You arched into him with a gasp.

He kissed a line down your stomach, dragging his stubble along the sensitive flesh and making you squirm.

Then his mouth was between your thighs, tongue flat against your clit, slow and torturous.

“Fuck.” you breathed, threading your fingers into his hair, holding him between your things.

“You taste like heaven,” he groaned, lips slick and hungry. His fingers worked in tandem, curling inside you just right, thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. “You gonna come for me, doll? Come on your sir’s tongue like a good girl?”

You broke with a cry, legs trembling as your orgasm hit hard and fast. “Sir!”

He didn’t stop. Licked you through it, over and over, until you were shivering from overstimulation and begging for more.

When he finally pulled away, his mouth and chin were wet, and his pupils were blown wide with lust.

“Still with me?” he rasped.

You nodded, dazed, only for him to flip you onto your stomach and pull your hips up.

You felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance, and then he was inside. Slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Taking my cock like you were made for it. So fucking pretty in my hat.”

He set a punishing rhythm, hips slapping against yours with every thrust, the sounds obscene and raw.

You were half-wild beneath him, cheek pressed to the mattress, hands gripping the sheets.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he said, grabbing the brim of the hat still perched on your head and tugging it back, forcing your face to tilt toward him. “Tell me who owns you.”

“You, sir. It’s you. Yours!” you gasped through each thrust.

“Damn right.”

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back again and plunging in even deeper, one hand around your throat, thumb stroking gently as contrast to the brutal snap of his hips.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” he murmured, eyes locked on your face as he fucked you harder. “Want to see you come with my name on your lips and my hat on your head.”

You did. You shattered beneath him, second orgasm wracking through you like a wave. He followed with a groan, spilling inside you and collapsing onto your body, the sweat-slicked heat of him wrapping around you like a blanket.

Even then, he didn’t pull out right away just stayed there, buried deep, mouth at your ear.

“Don’t think you’re getting away from me now.” he murmured.

You smiled sleepily against him, the brim of his hat brushing your forehead.

“Didn’t plan to.”

The next morning you woke to the smell of bacon and fresh coffee.

For a second, you didn’t know where you were. The sunlight was warm, the sheets soft, and your body was very sore in all the right places.

Then you shifted.

And the cowboy hat fell off your head, landing on your face.

You snorted a sleepy laugh, brushing it away and blinking at the bright morning light filtering through the window. The hat still smelled like him, leather, cedarwood, and just a hint of smoke.

And last night. God, last night.

You were never going to look at that hat the same again.

Padding out of the bedroom with the sheet wrapped around you, you followed the sound of sizzling into the kitchen. And there he was.

James Bucky Barnes. Your cowboy.

Still shirtless, wearing those same jeans from the night before, hung low on his hips now and whistling as he flipped a piece of bacon in the pan.

He looked up when he saw you and gave you the softest damn smile you’d ever seen.

“Well, morning, doll.” he said, voice all low and husky.

You leaned against the doorway, biting back a grin. “You cook too? What don’t you do?”

He chuckled. “Plenty. But breakfast ain’t one of ‘em. You hungry?”

You nodded, stepping into the kitchen, sheet trailing behind you like some ridiculous lacy robe.

He handed you a mug of coffee without even asking how you liked it. One sip told you he already knew.

“James,” you said between sips, eyeing him playfully, “you’re being very sweet this morning.”

His brow quirked. “That a bad thing?”

You laughed and leaned against the counter. “No, it’s just funny. You were so…” You paused, pretending to search for the right word. “Interesting last night.”

Bucky’s ears turned pink.

“Doll,” he drawled, turning off the stove, “a man’s got layers.”

You grinned. “Oh, you’ve got layers, alright. One minute it’s ‘yes, sir’ and a whole lot of- ” you gestured to his shirtless self.

He groaned and ran a hand over his face. “and the next, you’re frying bacon and makin’ me coffee like a perfect southern gentleman.”

He turned and gently caged you against the counter, one hand braced beside your hip.

“I can be both,” he murmured, eyes twinkling as he leaned down. “Real rough when I wanna be,real sweet when you need it.”

Your breath hitched. Even now, he could melt you with a few words.

“But you’re not sore, are you?” he added softly, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

Your face flushed. “I am, actually. A little.”

He gave you a slow, satisfied smile. “Then I did it right.”

You let out an embarrassed laugh and smacked his chest lightly, but he just kissed your forehead and handed you a plate.

“Eat up. You’re gonna need your strength,” he teased.

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

“Mhmm,” he said, sitting beside you at the table. “After breakfast, I’m takin’ you out to see the horses. Show you around proper. Maybe get you up on a saddle again.”

You blinked. “Is this a second date or are you just trying to get me sore again?”

He smirked. “Can’t it be both?”

You couldn’t help it you burst out laughing, resting your forehead against the table as he sat there, sipping coffee like he hadn’t just said the most casually filthy thing imaginable in the most charming tone.

Bucky reached over and gently adjusted the hat on your head, which you hadn’t even realized you were still wearing.

“You’re keeping that, by the way,” he said.

“Your hat?” you asked, looking up.

“Mmhm. It looks better on you anyway.”

You shook your head, smiling. “What if I wear it in public?”

He leaned closer, voice soft and honeyed.

“Then everyone’ll know you’re mine.”

And with the way he was looking at you, soft and warm and possessive in the sweetest damn way, you didn’t mind one bit.

[raveninfog]

croissant - send me a sfw request! 

omg would you want to do “kissing after conversations about how they’d be better as friends” from this prompt list with any character of your choosing !🫶

a/n: i am on my bucky brain rot these days, so i can't resist giving it to him

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist |  join my 10k celebration!

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you breathed, yet your face still didn’t move back even an inch as you shared the heated air in the sliver between you two, “it would be a bad idea to start something…”

“Really bad…” Bucky’s eyes flickered down to your lips, “really fucking bad.” 

And before you could even suck in your next breath, he’d seized the back of your head and pulled you in for a kiss so hot it nearly scorched you. 

“It would just be way too messy,” he murmured in between pecks as his steely fingers twirled in the hair at the base of your neck, “if we gave us chance.”

As your leg swung over his form and you slid into his lap, “we’d just be better off as friends,” you sighed shakily as his lips began to wander down the length of your neck and over your thrumming pulse, “just friends.”

“Yeah,” he found your hazy gaze as his broad palms began to slide down the curve of your spine, “just friends.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[raveninfog]

This is so amazing

It's been a long and challenging road, but after about 44 hours of work, I've finally finished this painting of Bucky, and I'm incredibly proud of the result. I hope you can feel the gravitas of the emotional moment I was trying to capture. It feels like I leveled-up with this piece and I hope you like it! ❤

[raveninfog]

I will elaborate on this but imagine MobBucky has to kidnap you for whatever reason, ransom, to send a message, insert your preference here and he has you tied up in some room of his house. It’s all fine until he hears the scraping of the chair moving against the floor so he, Steve and Sam go over to make sure you’re not trying to escape.

He the closer he gets, the louder the scraping is, he bursts through the door.

“You better not try to lea-what-what the hell are you doing-

You momentarily stop your scooting to look and him and then back at your destination, only to start all over again. You were so close, you didn’t care if your hands were bound, you’d find a way-

“What’s she doing in there” Steve questioned, seeing Bucky run an exasperated hand over his face.

“She’s trying to pet the cat”

“What?”

Bucky stared at you as you finally reached where his very white, very spoiled fur baby was perched. He was so sure she’d try and swat at you, at the very least hiss, after all, she was as picky and grumpy as her daddy-

“Merp” she hopped down to nuzzle against your leg, bumping her head against you with a happy purr. “Meow-

“Alright, that’s enough, Alpine get over here”

The sassy feline gave him a hard stare before reluctantly pulling away and sauntering over, batting his leg before trotting off. He was supposed to be the leader of his gang and meanwhile his hostage was trying to pet his cat who just scolded him after being told to leave.

“Well thanks for that” You gave him an annoyed huff, obnoxiously scooting back to where the chair originally was.

“Brat” Bucky mumbled his breath, biting back the smile that almost made its way to his face.

Almost.

[raveninfog]

Bucky catches you snuggling with Alpine.

a/n: Just a short, fluffy drabble. I am finishing up a Valentine's day fic with Bucky but wanted something posted while I work on it. Not very long because it's just a small, short thing. Tried to keep reader gender neutral for this but nickname 'doll' is used. Not proof read.

Bucky trudged through the door, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet space. His shoes felt like they were made of lead, each step requiring more effort than usual after the long and demanding day he'd had.

All he wanted was to come home and see you. You were the one bright spot that made everything worthwhile. The mid-afternoon sun cast long shadows through the windows, and with the distinct late-winter chill in the air, he reasoned you would be somewhere inside, wrapped up warm and cozy. "Doll?" His voice carried through the apartment as he called out, "I'm home." The silence that greeted him was unusual, and he waited a moment longer, straining to hear any response. He sniffled, his rosy nose slightly runny from the temperature change.

His brow furrowed with mild concern as he made his way deeper into the apartment. The living room stood empty and still, showing no signs of your presence. He made his way to the bedroom, where his eyes fell upon the familiar sight of a mountain of blankets piled on the bed, creating soft peaks and valleys in the dim light trying to peek through the curtains.

There you were, peacefully lost in slumber, your features relaxed and serene. But what caught his attention and made him pause in the doorway was the unexpected sight beside you, tucked away as if it was the most natural thing in the world...Alpine.

His mischievous, very picky feline had always been something of a challenge when it came to you. She had maintained a careful distance, showing what could generously be called tolerance of your presence in her domain. Unlike her usual affectionate behavior with him - the classic cat moves of weaving between legs or offering loving headbutts - she had kept her interactions with you to a minimum, typically just offering distant meows of acknowledgment or the occasional allowance to pet her after you fed her.

But now, she had broken all her usual patterns. There she was, curled up against your body, her small form nestled perfectly into the curve of your chest, both of you peacefully lost in shared dreams.

He smiled to himself, feeling a warmth blossom and spread through his chest, effectively combating the lingering winter chill that clung to him from being outside. Bucky carefully approached the bed where you both laid, making sure to keep his footfalls as silent as possible on the wooden floor.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his phone, a device he had despised but grown to tolerate through your patience and help to learn how it worked, and positioned it to capture this precious moment. To his delight, he managed to take several perfect shots of you and Alpine peacefully curled up together, both lost in contented slumber.

Despite his best efforts at stealth, Alpine's keen senses detected his presence. Her long, elegantly pointed ear twitched ever so slightly before her blue eyes slowly fluttered open. She fixed her gaze directly on Bucky, lifting her head from its cozy resting spot with graceful deliberation. "Mrrow..." she vocalized softly, the sound barely more than a whisper.

"Shh, don't wanna wake my pretty doll, do you?" He whispered with tender affection, extending his hand to gently scratch under Alpine's chin. His fingers found that perfect spot she loved so much.

The white ragdoll purred contentedly in response, her small body gracefully rolling from her side onto her back in a fluid motion, exposing her plush, cloud-like belly to the air. Her silky tail twitched rhythmically at her side as she stretched her limbs languorously, her delicate pink paw pads becoming visible as she playfully extended her paws toward him. Bucky couldn't resist as she gently pulled his hand down, and he obliged by scratching her chest and belly with gentle, circular motions, thoroughly spoiling his precious cat.

"My sweet girl... looks like you're finally getting more comfortable with daddy's partner, huh? That makes me so happy to see," he whispered affectionately. Alpine responded with a soft meow, rolling back onto her belly before curling her body snugly against yours, instinctively seeking out your natural warmth.

Not wanting to miss a moment of this perfect opportunity to cuddle with both you and his beloved cat, he quickly changed into some loungewear and carefully slipped into the bed beside you, maneuvering the blankets over himself until he could feel the cozy warmth you had been contentedly hoarding to yourself. "Now, we have to keep quiet, okay?"

"Mrrow," came her soft, response as her pretty sapphire eyes closed once more.

"Good girl, don’t be a hog now…” Bucky smiled as he positioned as close to you as possible without waking you, Alpine continued to lay snugly and contently between you both.

Ty for reading <3 | Image taken from Pinterest | Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[raveninfog]

Hey, you are not an embarrassment for not knowing how to do certain household chores/basic self-care. They do not come naturally to us. A lot of it takes practice! Maybe you had a neglectful guardian. Maybe you had one that was very coddling and never thought to teach you. Maybe you haven't lived in a place where these things were available to you or needed. Doesn't matter. It's okay to not know and far more common than you might realise.

That said, this website provides very simple instructions on how to do everyday tasks such as making your bed, using a washing machine, cooking different foods, washing dishes, taking a shower, etc. All you have to do is use the search bar to find the task you're struggling with, and it'll come up with what you need + other related how-to's:)

If you're having trouble navigating it, let me provide you with some examples:

How to clean dishes by hand

How to make your bed (with visual demonstrations of each step!)

How to fold clothes (with visual demonstrations of each step!)

How to take a shower & dry yourself off (also provides ways to shave beards, armpits, legs and genitals)

How to shave legs, armpits, beards, pubic areas, etc. (a more in-depth guide)

How to mop the floor

How to sweep the floor

How to swallow pills

How to make small talk

How to make eye contact in different situations (or how to avoid it while still looking natural)

It's also perfectly okay if these don't help or aren't appealing to you. Unfortunately, nothing helps everyone.

[raveninfog]

bucky barnes who doesn’t trust unless it comes to you. whose eyes soften at the sight of you, because his heart knows that it’s okay to let his guard down. he believed the world always had its claws out to get him, until he fell straight into your gentle arms. he tells you the word love meant nothing to him until you came along.

bucky barnes who would live for you. the winter soldier would kill for anyone, the white wolf would die for anyone, but bucky would live for you. he’s never believed in fate, but if it wasn't destiny that brought you to him, he doesn’t know what it was. he thinks maybe it was all worth it, the trauma and the scars and the pain, if it all lead up to the moment when you told him i love you.

bucky barnes who searches for you even in nightmares, screams your name till his lungs burn with self-hatred. you’re his safe space, his home. he’s drawn back to wakefulness as soon as he feels your touch, the gentleness of your breath on his skin like an aching balm to his wounds. he’ll never stop apologising for the burden that comes with his affection, yet he won’t ever stop loving you.

bucky barnes who thinks of hurting you as no less than a sin. who believes even pulling out a single strand of your hair is a hundred times worse than every murder committed as the winter soldier. because what’s a few dozen people in comparison to his whole universe?

bucky barnes who wakes up a little earlier in the morning; not to see the sun rise, but to watch the soft rays dapple your face. he thinks you look angelic, the golden hue painting you in so much beauty that he feels blessed; wonders if he ought to start praying to gods he never once believed in.

bucky barnes who tells you he loves you more times than he can count. whose voice is hardened from years of tortured, ragged cries; but the word doll tumbles out of his lips like soft petals when he looks at you. he knows seven different tongues, and is fluent in every single one. he claims that none of them have the words to describe how you make him feel.

bucky barnes who kisses like a hungry dog, like there’s an ache in his soul that can only be filled by the feeling of your lips on his, skin to skin. he believes the sole purpose of his metal arm is to pin you to the wall. roughness is the only form of love he’s ever known.

bucky barnes who buys you everything you talk about in passing, who takes you out wherever your heart yearns to go, who kisses your knuckles with the softest touch of his lips. he inhales when you exhale at night to make space for the rise of your chest. he only ever holds your hand with his non-metal one so as to not hurt you. he traces your features while you sleep. he loves you with the full force of the word, because you’re his girl.

bucky barnes who could never unlove you, would never want to. even if the strings of his soul were tied to another, he would cut them off and run straight to you.

[raveninfog]

Writing a prologue, shy Bucky x reader 🫡

[raveninfog]

I need some good Bruce banner fics 😔

[raveninfog]

lotus

a/n: this has been sitting half-written on my pc for i don't even know how many months (tbh at least half a year. i was living somewhere else when i started it wow). finally took a deep breath and finished it (though with an ending that kinda flies by a bit because just wanted it to get done. i was scared that the story would never see the light of day, so zooming through the ending was a better option)

summary: a nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

warnings: massage therapist!bucky barnes x reader, smut, sex worker!bucky, bucky doesn't have the metal arm in this one, thinking that your friend just signed you up for a normal massage but then it turns out to be an erotic one, kissing, dirty talk, manhandling, fingering, toys, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, anal, double penetration

word count: 4000

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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With a hand tangled up in one of the ties of the robe you wore, you answered your front door after finally hearing the bells chime.

“Hi,” a soft smile swiftly warmed up the features of the man standing on the other side of the threshold, “are you miss Y/l/n?”

“Yeah, I am,” a tingle of nerves flickered through your body as your gaze washed over him, “you must be the masseuse.”

Why did he have to be so attractive? If it was this difficult to remember to breathe when he was standing completely out of your reach, then how were you going to survive a guy such as him touching you?

Following your gaze down to the folded-up table he carried, he nodded, “guilty,” before setting down the duffle bag he clutched in his other hand and extended it for you to grasp, “my name is Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you briefly shook it, “nice to meet you.”

“You too,” the touch faded, and he bent down to pick the supplies back up, “so, where should I set up?”

“Oh, in here, in the living room,” you gestured behind you and shifted to the side for him to enter. As he set up everything, you stayed at the perimeter and felt your heartbeat thump behind your ribcage, “is it weird that I’m a bit nervous?” you then quietly asked.

Briefly pausing his actions as he unfurled the massage table, he cast a glance your way.

“It’s not weird at all, it’s okay,” he stated in a calm tone, “but I assure you, this is a completely safe space, you’re in good hands.”

“I just–, this wasn’t exactly my idea, or even at all,” your hands fiddle further with the terrycloth tie around your waist as you began to ramble, “Nat, my friend, she told me that I needed to relax, so she booked this appointment for me as a treat. I don’t even know what it is she signed me up for, if it was just like a little five-minute long thing or what.”

“Oh no, she signed you up for the full package, 90 minutes.” 

“Really?” your eyebrows rose, “wow, that’s amazing.”

Once the table was set up and he rummaged through the bag for a towel as well as other supplies, his low timbre filled the room once more.

“So, before we start, I’d just like to ask if there’s anything off limits to you, anything you don’t like or that you’re not interested in? Or perhaps something in particular you’d like today?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” your eyes narrowed slightly as you thought, quickly scanning through your body to get a good sense, “you can just be as rough with me as you want.”

“Alright, you like it rough, good to know,” you felt yourself suck in a silent breath at the way the phrase fell from his lips, “you ready to begin?”

“Yep,” you swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered he seemed to make you. 

He then lifted up the ivory sheets he’d sprawled out on the plush bench and held it up high, giving you a smidge of privacy as you dropped your robe to a nearby armchair, before laying down on the table and feeling the cotton drape over you. 

As you layed there on your stomach with your face comfortably nestled in the little nook, you sensed Bucky adjust the fabric, folding it down so that your entire back was exposed. 

A dull click found your ears as he pumped some oil into his palm. The very first touch conjured a brisk breath to fill your lungs as his hands slid along your spine, spreading the slickness around. 

Though when you finally managed to force yourself to relax into his touch, a soft moan slipped from your lips as his meticulous grip found a muscle particularly sore.

“Sorry,” you timidly apologized for the sound. 

But he simply zeroed in on the very spot that had made you groan and said, “don’t apologize, whatever bubbles up, please let it out.”

Your lips stayed half parted as his touch dug deeper, “it just feels really good right there...”

“Yeah, you seem to be holding a lot of tension in your back, especially right here between your shoulder blades.”

“Probably all the time on the couch,” you let out a pitiful chuckle, “I just kept on getting into uncomfortable positions and then stayed like that. Which, funnily enough, is pretty symbolic of how I ended up there in the first place, stuffing my face with Ben and Jerry’s and binging the most depressing of romcoms.”

“Bad breakup?” he guessed. 

“I don’t think you can call it a break-up if you never really were together in the first place,” you let out a sigh. Yet again had you fallen for a guy who’d turned out to be a complete and utter asshole, “men are just pigs,” you spat out, “no offence.”

“Oh, none taken,” he uttered, “you know, it’s actually very common for people to get this particular treatment after something like that.”

“Really? Your touch is on the same level as bawling your eyes out to Joni Mitchell?” you jested, “well, now I’m really happy that I let my friend talk me into this.”

Soon, when his touch had kneaded every inch of your back, it faded away and reappeared lower on your frame as you then felt him fold the sheet up to expose your legs, letting the thin fabric only drape across and cover the curve of your bottom. 

Once his touch had soothingly wandered up the length of your legs and as his broad palms dented your slightly parted thighs, you nearly didn’t notice through the trance-like state you’d drifted off to when his reach crept close enough to your core to feel the heat radiating off it. A gasp parted your lips as his fingers briefly ghosted against the very outside of your puff before retreating back down your thigh. 

“Is it alright if remove this for a bit?” he then asked as you felt his hand clutch the sliver of modesty that remained. 

“Oh, uhm,” you fought to comprehend his question through the haze you’d slipped into, both the haze of relaxation, though maybe more predominately the haze of sin, which was most likely what had swayed you to utter, “sure,” trying your best to stay calm as he removed the sheet completely. 

It became a difficult task to keep your quiet noises at bay and have them not seep through your heavy breath as he then began to massage the soft peak of your butt. 

You tried to remind yourself that it was the biggest muscle on the human body and thereby completely normal to be treated in this manner, but that truth would have been easier to swallow if it had been a less attractive specimen touching you in such a way. 

Eventually, Bucky’s lavish rubs came to spread you apart with each repetitive motion, surely granting himself a perfect view of just how mortifyingly wet you’d become. 

As he let his broad thumbs dig into your sitting points, you told yourself it was the slipperiness of the oil that caused his fingers to sweep closer to your core and not your own nectar that had leaked down towards his touch. 

It felt so good that your hips unconsciously tilted up and into his touch, as his thumbs slid close enough to caress your outer lips, nearly capturing them in a gentle pinch. 

You didn’t know how long it took, how long you essentially grinded into him as if you were in heat, but eventually, you snapped out of your fog and realized just where his fingers were. 

“U-uh… w-what are you doing?” your frame jumped slightly at the realization.

“Do you not like this?” his touch paused, though didn’t retreat. 

“Why–, uhm…” you nearly panted, “you’re just very close to somewhere else.”

And when he simply uttered, “yeah, I know,” in an almost amused and cocky tone. You swiftly propped yourself up onto your arms and glared back at him, successfully prompting him to rip his hands away.

Snatching the sheet back over your frame as you scrambled to a seat, you stared back at him in utter shock, “I’m sorry, but are you actually trying to sleep with me right now?”

His brows furrowed slightly as he blinked back at you, seemingly confused at your outburst, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’ve had massages before, that was not–… that right there was something else. That was not you doing your job, that was your hands being persuaded by your dick.”

A nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh boy, I’m sorry, I thought you knew…” his glance fell to the floor as he then began to enlighten, “well, the lotus wellness center, where I work, specializes in the blend of not just physical and mental health, but also sexual health and satisfaction. An erotic massage, like the one you were signed up for, is one of the many services we offer.”

Your eyes had grown as wide as saucers during his explanation, “o-oh…”

“I totally understand if you wanna stop, if you’re not interested.”

“I–…” you tried to make heads or tails of the situation you found yourself in, “so you were gonna–, what? Fuck me?”

“I was gonna try and make you feel good, help you relax and unwind. You were signed up for the aurelia treatment which would involve me using my hands to pleasure you, as well as whatever toys you might be interested in.”

“Toys?”

“Yes, I have a generous collection with me,” he briefly gestured back to the duffle bag resting on the couch. 

“Okay, uhm…” one of your palms came down to brush over your features as you fought to comprehend it all.

“Do you want me to pack up and go?” you heard him ask. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, before you even realized it was moving, you shook your head. Letting your gaze flutter back up to find his, you exhaled lowly, “fuck…”

“I can also just give you a completely traditional massage if that’s what you want.”

“…and if I wanna try the other thing?” you nearly whispered. 

“Do you?”  

“I–…” you tried to speak, though couldn’t find the words and ended up just hazily nodding back at him. 

“Alright,” he gently mirrored the nod that still faintly rocked your head, “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise. You just say the word, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, shivering slightly at the tingle of goosebumps that spread across your flesh. 

The way he held your gaze a moment longer before shifting it to the massage table you still sat upon made you feel as if you might melt off it entirely.

“Lay back down,” he faintly nodded to the bench. 

Your eyes stayed glued on him long after you now layed sprawled out on your back. 

Letting his touch graze the sheet you still absentmindedly clutched to your chest, he asked, “do you wanna keep this on?”

“No,” you shook your head faintly, “you can remove it.”

“Okay,” he gently peeled the fabric off of you, “just say if you get cold, alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fantasy you found yourself in. 

He began by working at your arms, tenderly spreading some oil across them and massaging down the length of them, one at a time, till his skilful fingers descended to work at your palms. It nearly felt as if he was merely holding your hand before he tossed you into the deep end with how intimate the simple beginning sensed. 

You couldn’t command your gaze to leave his visage as you traced his every move as if he was made of stardust. 

When his warmth let go of your hand, he reached for the bottle of oil that didn’t have a pump and unscrewed the top. Your bottom lip got caught by your teeth as he then poured a bit out over your stomach, curving the s-waves of droplets all the way up and across your boobs, dripping over your pebbly nipples as they stared back at him. 

As Bucky began to rub it in, he first stared softly down at your belly before swooping up, only to skip over your tits entirely and instead yanking a disappointed whimper from your lungs as he then commenced massaging your shoulders. 

You felt a bit lightheaded as you blinked up at him, all tall and broad, looming above your head and digging his warm touch into the base of your neck. 

Though when his rough palms finally did swoop down to caress your soft peaks, he quietly checked in, “this okay?” to which you simply nodded your head, eyebrows knitting together at the intenseness of the built-up anticipation.

Your entire chest cage heaved beneath his touch as he finally massaged your boobs, even occasionally fleeting away to ghost across your nipples, only to capture them in a pinch the next moment. 

You felt as if you were floating down a calm stream, letting the river of sin take you somewhere new and wonderful. 

Eventually, his broad palms swept up and down your form, though each time his reach dared to near your core, he barely touched you at all, missing entirely the spots that throbbed for attention, which of course only caused the sensation to deepen and render you even more desperate from his teasing. 

When he then shifted to stand to the side of the patted table, his deep voice washed over you once more as his touch stayed warm against your skin.

“Everything okay so far?”

“Yeah…” you hummed as you lazily blinked up at him, and the soft smile that curved your lips caused a similar one to bloom upon his own. 

His slow stride then carried him further down till his fingers began to dent the softness of your thighs. 

After he’d made your eyes flutter at the way he worked at the muscles in your legs, focusing on one thigh at a time, slowing working his way up till his fingertips stretched to dizzily brush against your outermost petals, it was then, that his sweeps grew and blossomed till one fleeting tease to your centre morphed into more as he kept coming back, each fluttering time slowly transforming till the maddening pets had become everything you’d dreamed of.

Soft whimpers flowed out of your lungs as he gently folded each of your legs up by your sides and cracked you wide open for him.  

As he gazed down at you with such intensity you’d never experienced before, it only took one step for him to change his angle and stand tall next to your hips. 

Letting his palms run up your inner thighs, the edges of each of his broad thumbs then met and joined on either side of your pussy as he captured it in a light pinch, making you moan softly, “fuck….” as his touch rolled your clit through your glistening puff. 

You nearly didn’t catch it because of how hard your own pants were, but Bucky’s own breaths had picked up as well and with a few stray curses seeping through his teeth as he continued to pluck at the strings of your pleasure. 

But then, before you could truly lose yourself to the ecstasy you felt flicking in your periphery, his hands slipped away, a smirk fast on his lips as a whine escaped you and he returned his attention to the rest of your body. Though thankfully, his torture only carried on a short moment before he finally granted you the first of many treats.

“Oh, yeah,” you couldn’t help but moan as he rubbed your clit and carried you over the peak. 

“Right there?” he leaned down closer to you as he kept up his pace, his free hand coming to rest right beside your head as he loomed over you. 

“Yeah,” you breathlessly panted as your body trembled beneath his touch. 

“Yeah?” he huskily echoed, nearly sharing your breath as he drew out your orgasm for as long as he could, and even as your body began to squirm at the sensitivity that swiftly set in, his touch never left you, only lightened to make it bearable and tickle you back from the high. 

He studied your features fiercely as his fingers then came down to tease your entrance. 

“How about this?” your leaky hole swallowed up the two digits he swiftly filled it with, “how’s that? Is that what you want?”

“Oh fuck!” your back briefly arched and lifted you off the table, closer to him for but a moment as sloppy sounds of your want echoed at the slow rhythm he played you at. 

“Or do you need a little more maybe?” he sneaked another finger inside, “huh?” his frame then bent down till you could feel his hot breath fan across your face, “what do you want? You want something more to make you feel good right here?” his fingers slid back out of your pussy and fluttered up till they found your puffy pearl, “or here?” he briefly soared back down to plug up your cunt once more, but only offered you one messily rock before his digits slipped back out and drifted down much further than you expected, “or maybe even here?” you let out a gasp as the slick pads of his fingers glided over your little rosebud. 

“I–, I–,” you struggled to answer him, feeling so foggy that you might just fall off the table, “fuck…” 

“I have any toy you could dream of with me,” he purred as your grip found his shirt for support, “so, what do you want?”

“I want–, I want–”

“What?” he pushed as he continued to stare down into your eyes. 

And as blinked back at him, only one wish came to mind, one that you timidly whispered, “y-you…”

But as fear began to prickle at your nerves, they all dissipated as the masseuse wasn’t offended at all, your words somehow conjuring a dazzled smile to appear upon his lip before he then chuckled warmly, “roll over for me.”

You nearly gave yourself whiplash from the hast you tried to fulfil his command.         

As he soon kneeled down to be on level with where your head was now twisted and resting on its side, his hand drifted up for you to spot the dildo clutched in his grasp. 

Handing it off to your flicking fingers, his touch briefly lingered on your cheek, stroking it softly as he said, “then pretend this is me, will you? Get it nice and sloppy for me.”

When you began to plant pecks across the silicon, your eyes shadowed him as far as they could as he straightened back up and walked back far enough to disappear from your sight, only for you to know where he’d gone to once you felt his mouth begin to devour you whole. 

It became difficult to concentrate on the task he’d given you, so much so that he had to remind you each time his lavish tongue buried between your legs caused your own to forget itself. 

Arching your ass further up towards his efforts, he tilted away from your drooling cunt and instead nipped up till he lapped against your other hole. 

“Oh, that feels really good,” you moaned around the dildo as you tried to catch a glimpse of him, though only saw the edge of one of his hands and they dented your bottom. 

“Yeah?” he let a dollop of spit drop to your rosebud before he nudged the pad of a thumb against it, “you like having this little hole played with?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, then watched as he momentarily dipped away to snatch up a butt plug from the zipped-open treasure trove his bag was. 

Once the toy was snugly buried within your little ass, he snatched the dildo out of your mouth and a string of your drool chased the silicone as he brought it back to tap against the sloppy petals of your pussy. 

It didn’t take very long after he’d begun to fuck you with the toy that you tumbled over the edge once more, making you that much more malleable when he yanked at your legs and manhandled you down to the bottom of the bench till your unsteady feet were once again on the floor and he had you bent over the table like a needy whore. 

That was also when your weak pleas began to bubble out, begging for him to fill you up with something other than a toy. 

Even though you couldn’t see his face, you swore you heard a tinge of astonishment in his tone when he asked you to clarify, making sure it really was him that had you begging and not just the way he made you feel. 

Though once you finally managed to convey the sincerity of your words and convince him of the way he and not just the acts he was performing, drove you wild, it was in the middle of chasing your next high that he broke his pattern and traded out the dildo with his own hard cock. 

A low moan seeped across your spine as he buried his length completely and let himself melt down against your back. Letting himself savour the sweetness of your warmth clenching around his fat girth, it took him a while before he finally began to move and soon found a steady pace that had your toes curling against the floorboards. 

His fingers gently dug into the soreness still remaining all down your back as his hips repeatedly collided with the plush of your ass in desperate thrusts. Though as his digits worked their way down the length of your spine, they eventually found the little plug that still remained in your ass. 

Teasingly twisting the toy, you thought that was everything he had planned, though all of those fantasies fluttered away when he suddenly yanked the small plug out and switched it with the bigger toy still firm in his grasp, your little hole only managing to wink up at him before he stuffed it full once more. 

You lost track of the amount of times he made you cum as the remainder of the intense dance became a bit of a blur. At one point he had you flipped around and lying on your back, gasping up at him as he folded you in half and nearly broke the massage table beneath you from how hard his deep strokes were. At the next, the dildo he drove you mad with was traded out with his own fat cock and he conjured a vibrating wand to hold against your puffy clit as he watched your pussy leak from the bliss. But at the end, once you were nothing more than a puddle on the table, his load painted against your tits as he let his frame drape down atop of yours, a hazy question left your lips.

“Is that usually how that goes?” you asked as you both panted, plastered against one another. 

Raising himself up only enough for his eye to catch your own, he uttered sincerely, “no…” and his gaze flickered down towards your lips, “no, it is not…” before he let himself give you the thing you hadn’t dared to request. The kiss was so sweet it nearly caused you to forget the sinful acts you’d just wrapped up.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[raveninfog]

HI BFF <3333333333 LOVE U LOTS

HIII BABEE ILYYY

[raveninfog]

let’s not.

pairing: mickey henry x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut. feelings. happy ending. not edited. maybe a little ooc- i haven’t watched monday in a minute and i am currently heavy in my feelings so apologies if he is.

words: 1.7k

notes: just a drabble of another fic idea i can’t commit to fully fleshing out and writing. enjoy 🩵

You hiss as your hips slam against the edge of the table. Hard. Over and over again.

The only thing keeping you from dropping to the ground is his hold on you. His large hands gripping your soft waist so tightly you can feel the bruises no doubt forming already.

You let your head hang as you remain pliant to him, low breathy sighs leaving you in between your soft moans every time he hits that one specific spot.

Oh, this was so not how tonight was supposed to go…but it feels too good to care about that right now.

You’re on that very delicate edge, overwhelmed by the pain and pleasure of the way he completely controls you; the way he touches you, the filthy words and sickly sweet praises he groans in your ear as he pushes you both closer and closer to your ends.

Your walls squeeze his cock as your voice peaks. His hand flexes on your waist as he feels your imminent release.

“That’s it,” he breathes heavily against your skin as he leans further into you, his thrusts hitting harder as he chases his high. “Feels good, doesn’t it. Ah, fuck. Come for me, baby. Come on my cock,” he growls. “Let me feel you.”

You wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer if you’d wanted to as your orgasm hits you hard; your muscles tensing, your hand gripping his arm and your eyes scrunching shut as you feel entirely electric before wave after wave of pleasure rolls over you as you succumb to the feeling. To him.

It takes only a moment to realize your eyes are stinging with tears, but it’s not until you slowly start to come down that you realize why.

More like remember why.

He grunts and moans as he reaches his own peak, coming inside you but making sure to keep his hold on you as he works himself through his release.

God, here you are again. Different night, same fucking story. Over and over again.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

You are a fucking idiot.

He slowly pulls out of you, backs up for a second and then keeping his hand on your waist, he pulls your body back into him, hugging you from behind as you frown at the apparent show of affection.

You push his hand off of you and escape his hold before you can allow yourself sink into it, walking gingerly around the table to bend and grab your sweater off the floor - the unflattering one that you had chosen specifically to avoid ending up in this situation again.

That worked well.

You pull it on as he follows behind you, watching you with an intensity you don't want to notice, brows slightly furrowed and his icy blue eyes set on you.

“What, one and done tonight? You alright, sweetheart?” He asks, making a move closer to you, reaching out before you stop him with your response.

“God, can you just stop with the pet names,” you snap, turning to face him, “please.”

It’s like he doesn’t remember the fifteen minutes of conversation you had before he got your clothes off - easy as ever. You don’t think he means to, but the second you start to show your emotions, the second you start to cry, it’s like he can’t help but to try and comfort you. Unfortunately, his idea of comfort always seems to be this.

And even more unfortunate, you always let it happen.

It’s pathetic.

It helps for the time it lasts and then everything hits all over again.

“This is exactly what I was talking about, Mickey,” you’re exasperated already, “you act like you care and y-you give me hope that this might actually be…something more, but,” you shake your head, “all it is to you is sex.” He doesn't move from where he stands, but he drops his hand that was outstretched to you.

You can’t hold his eye for very long, it’s already hurting too much. You drop your gaze but it’s only for a moment before you force yourself to look back up at him. You have to ask the question you really don’t want to know the answer to…

“Isn’t it?”

It’s two simple words, a very simple question, but as your eyes are stinging, pleading for the truth, you know it’s anything but.

He blinks, opens his mouth to speak as he shakes his head, but ultimately says nothing before he takes a deep breath, looking away from you and down to the floor. He licks his lips, nervous habit, before he frames his hips with his hands.

“Should put pants on,” he mutters before walking away, down the hall to his bedroom.

You stand there in a perpetual limbo, listening as he opens a dresser drawer and riffles through the clothes for a second before you hear the drawer close again. It’s not long after that he emerges from his room, pulling a pair of sweats the rest of the way up his legs.

He comes back to stand before you as you lean lightly on the table, desperate not to fall and embarrass yourself any further. You know what comes next.

The inevitable.

The end.

You know how this started, and you’ve known from the beginning how it would end. You just weren’t expecting to get so caught up in him. You weren’t expecting to feel so much with him. For him

It’s your own fault. You couldn’t blame him if you wanted to. It just hurts so much more knowing it was all so one sided, that he didn’t - doesn’t - feel the same way… when you let yourself think too much about it, it doesn’t seem possible actually. As hard as you tried to ignore your feelings for him when they first started growing, it just wasn’t possible. Whatever it is - was - between you two…how could it have been so one sided? How could he not have noticed what you noticed, felt what you felt?

Maybe he just doesn’t want all that with you. Maybe he’s just not ready? Whatever it is, you know you can’t keep waiting for something to give.

You’ve finally come out with it, told him in no uncertain terms how you feel about him, about this…arrangement? relationship that’s not really a relationship?… and so, now he knows. Having sex with you after you confessed your feelings for him, well that was a choice, but you don’t think you’re all too upset about it actually. If this is it, it’s a memorable goodbye.

You’re conscious of your lack of bottoms as you stare at his clothed legs, waiting for the words you’re sure he’s gathering in his mind. He’ll let you down gently, you bet. He’s sweet, and he hates to see you cry. At least you know he’ll be nice about it.

He takes a cautious step closer to you and reaches out a hand to yours, finding your eye to make sure it’s okay first.

When you don’t object or look away, he gingerly takes your hand in his and pulls you closer to him. You swallow the lump in your throat as a tear spills over the edge and slips down your cheek, turning your head to avoid his concerned gaze.

His hand finds your cheek and he turns your face back to him, taking a step closer into you. His hand holds yours as his other holds your face, his thumb gently swiping away at the tear. He takes another step closer, and you’re so close you could just collapse into him completely, chest to chest.

“No,” he whispers, his voice low, sounding deeper than you’ve ever heard it as he looks into your eyes. Your brows furrow as you hear him.

One simple word. A very simple answer. But it’s really anything but. Because what the hell does that mean?

He sees the question in your eyes before you can voice it.

“It was supposed to be. For both of us, I thought,” he adds, reminding you again of how this whole thing started. Just sex. It was supposed to be just sex. He still holds your cheek as you look down, your free hand reaching up to touch his forearm. “But no. It’s not.”

He makes you meet his eye again as he walks into you, your bottom against the table at your back as he lets go of your hand and slips it under the hem of your sweater. His warm palm gliding up and smoothing over your skin, almost tickling you up and down, feeling you, caressing you gently before once again he settles it on his favorite spot, holding your waist delicately. He leans in, his nose brushing yours.

“It’s so much more than that,” his soft lips brush lightly against yours as you take a shaky breath, your body searching for him without you even realizing it before he kisses you again. Firmer, deeper, and with a fervency you’ve never felt before from him; like he’s been holding himself back all this time. Your free hand reaches up to frame his head, your fingers splaying in his hair as you kiss him back just as desperately. You almost feel like you’re in a dream as you lose yourself to him.

He moves you both as you continue your kissing, you following his lead until he turns you and you find yourself falling onto his couch. You catch your breath as you look up at him before he follows you down, pushing you to relax as he lays down next to you. He maneuvers you both so he’s holding you again. You tilt your head up to him, and he readily accepts the invitation, kissing you softly before speaking against your lips. “You don’t know how relieved I was the second you said something,” he titters, like you were the one who was missing the obvious this entire time. He takes your face softly in his hands.

“You’re so much more than that.”

You smile softly back, trying to hold back a sniffle at the clear sincerity in his eyes that has your nose tingling.

“So, you…” you trail off, hands idly ghosting along his chest as you try to think of how you want to ask him.

“Feel the same way,” he finishes for you in affirmation. “There’s something here. And it’s definitely not just sex. ‘D be crazy to try to ignore that. So let’s not.”

You nod, holding his bright blue gaze, a small smile tugging on both of your lips as you look into each other’s eyes; unconsciously leaning closer to one another.

“Let’s not.”

[raveninfog]

How's retirement, Bucky? | Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Themes: Funny. Bucky trying to find things to do to kill time, while also being a menace to Y/N and the neighbours. Prequel to 'Ouch, My face.'

Summary: Bucky decides to retire and leave the super hero world behind, but now he doesn't know how to be normal citizen.

A/N: Just another scenario tha rudely popped into my head. . .

Bucky Barnes was retired.

It still felt strange, even after months of settling into a life of quiet mornings and unhurried afternoons. He had fought in wars, spent decades as an agent of chaos, and dedicated years to redemption and healing. Now, here he was—waking up whenever he pleased, making breakfast in a house that didn’t have bullet-proof glass windows or a panic room, and trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his day.

Today, like most others, started off simple enough: a run through the neighbourhood, a cup of coffee, and a lazy scan of the news. He’d even managed to fix the leaky faucet that had been bothering you for weeks, earning a soft kiss on the cheek as a reward.

But then… the day stretched on. There were no missions, no tactical planning, no world to save. Just the quiet ticking of the clock and the gentle hum of suburban life around him.

So, Bucky set his sights on something—or rather, someone—far more interesting: annoying you.

And thus began the saga of Bucky Barnes’ Retirement Phases.

Phase 1: The Handyman Hero Phase

Duration: One Month

Bucky started off strong, becoming the ultimate handyman of the household. Everything was fair game for improvement. Leaky faucets, creaky floorboards, wobbly shelves—if there was a screw to tighten, Bucky was on it like a well-oiled machine.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” you asked one morning, sipping your coffee as you watched him carefully measuring the distance between each picture frame on the living room wall.

“Making sure they’re exactly one inch apart,” he said without looking up, his voice deadly serious.

“Why?”

“Because last night, I noticed this one—” he pointed to a frame on the far left “—was slightly off-center, and it’s been bothering me ever since.”

You blinked. “Bucky, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Y/N. It’s one and a quarter inch apart. Do you know what happens when things aren’t balanced?” He gave you a haunted look, as if you’d just suggested destabilizing the world order.

“Chaos,” you muttered.

“Exactly.”

Within weeks, Bucky had rebuilt half the house, repainted the walls (twice), and installed a state-of-the-art security system that even Tony Stark would envy. You came home one day to find the couch moved three inches to the left, the coffee table completely gone (“I dismantled it; we don’t need it”), and Bucky seriously contemplating whether the kitchen would look better with marble or granite countertops.

“Bucky,” you said slowly, trying to remain calm, “I’m begging you—stop fixing things.”

He blinked at you. “What do you want me to do then?”

You panicked. “Anything. Just—find a hobby!”

He gave a solemn nod, as if you’d just entrusted him with a new mission. “Okay. A hobby. Got it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. If only you’d known what was coming next.

Phase 2: The Google Scholar Phase

Duration: Two Weeks

With his newfound free time, Bucky discovered the internet. And when Bucky Barnes discovers the internet, chaos ensues.

It started innocently enough. You’d come home to find him glued to his laptop, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“What are you doing?” you asked, setting down your bag.

“Research,” he said ominously, fingers flying over the keys.

“Research on… what?”

He glanced up, his eyes wide. “Did you know sharks have been around longer than trees?”

“Uh—”

“And that banana slugs can grow up to 9 inches long?” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a whole website dedicated to weird animal facts. I’ve been reading for hours.”

And so, you were subjected to two weeks of nonstop trivia.

“Hey, Y/N!” he’d shout from the kitchen. “Did you know an octopus has three hearts?”

Or: “Did you know cows have best friends?”

And: “Do you want to hear about the deepest point in the ocean?”

“Not really—”

“It’s called the Mariana Trench, and it’s seven miles down!”

You tried banning Wikipedia, but he just switched to obscure forums. You blocked YouTube, and he found a random chicken fact blog. The worst part? He’d share his newfound knowledge with anyone who’d listen.

“I’m calling Sam,” you muttered one evening after hearing Bucky recite the entire history of the humble potato to the mailman. “You need social intervention.”

Phase 3: The Home Décor Perfectionist Phase

Duration: Two Exasperating Weeks

Denied access to his newfound internet pursuits, Bucky turned to interior design. You were caught off guard one Saturday morning when he asked, “What do you think of paisley?”

“What’s a paisley?”

“Pattern. I’m thinking of reupholstering the couch.”

“Bucky, no—”

Too late. Within days, every room was a different colour. You came home to find polka-dotted curtains in the bathroom, and he’d somehow managed to install a chandelier in the laundry room.

“Bucky, why is there a 10-foot mirror in the hallway?”

“It makes the space feel bigger.”

“Bucky, this is a two-bedroom house!”

He paused, squinting at the living room wall. “I think the polka dots need to go.”

You nearly wept with relief when he announced he was moving on to the garden.

Phase 4: The Amateur Detective Phase

Duration: One Overly Suspicious Month

After redecorating the entire house, Bucky set his sights on the neighborhood.

“Y/N, did you see that guy across the street?” he whispered one morning, peering through the blinds with a pair of binoculars.

“That’s Mr. Henderson. He’s eighty-five.”

“Yeah, and he’s up to something. No one goes to the mailbox that often.”

“Maybe he likes getting his mail?”

“I’m telling you, something’s not right.” He tapped the binoculars. “I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”

And so began Operation: Neighborhood Watch. Every delivery truck was scrutinised. Every dog walker received a full background check. The poor Girl Scouts who came to sell cookies left looking slightly shell-shocked.

The Girl Scout Incident: When Bucky Barnes Met Thin Mints

The Girl Scout incident started out innocent enough—just a kid selling cookies to the neighborhood. But when Bucky Barnes answered the door, things took a turn.

It was a sunny Saturday morning. You were in the kitchen, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when you heard the doorbell ring. Before you could even get up to check, Bucky’s voice echoed from the living room.

“I got it!” he called out, already making his way to the front door.

Curious, you peeked around the corner just in time to see him open it. Standing on the porch was a sweet-looking little girl, no more than nine or ten, decked out in her green uniform, clutching a clipboard and flashing a bright, eager smile.

“Hi, mister!” she chirped, clearly undeterred by the stern look on Bucky’s face. “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies today?”

You watched as Bucky’s expression softened just a bit, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“Cookies?” he repeated, as if she’d just offered him nuclear launch codes.

“Yep!” She held up a laminated chart with pictures of the various cookies, pointing to each one with a tiny, rainbow-colored pen. “We have Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Samoas—uh, I mean, Caramel deLites—”

He squinted at the chart, clearly trying to make sense of it all. “Why would you need to sell cookies?”

You nearly face-palmed. Oh no.

The girl’s enthusiasm didn’t waver. “It’s a fundraiser! To support our troop activities and trips.”

“Fundraiser?” Bucky’s voice dropped suspiciously. “Who’s your troop leader?”

The girl blinked, a little taken aback. “Uh, Mrs. Patterson?”

“Uh-huh. And how many boxes of these so-called ‘cookies’ are you supposed to sell?”

Her smile wavered just a fraction. “Um, as many as possible?”

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “And where does all this money go?”

“Bucky—” you tried to interrupt, stepping forward, but he held up a hand without looking back, eyes still locked on the bewildered Girl Scout.

“It goes to our troop!” she answered nervously, glancing down at her clipboard as if for reassurance. “For badges and supplies and—”

“Supplies,” Bucky echoed, his tone suddenly sharp. “What kind of supplies?”

“Uh… arts and crafts…?” she stammered, clearly starting to get uncomfortable.

“Arts and crafts?” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Or something else?”

You saw the poor girl’s eyes widen, her grip tightening on her clipboard as if she was contemplating using it as a shield.

“Bucky, stop,” you hissed, stepping forward to intervene. But he was on a roll now.

“Who gets the money, huh?” He narrowed his eyes, peering down at her like she was an enemy combatant. “Do you get it?

“Or does it go to some mysterious ‘troop leader’ who’s hiding behind a desk somewhere, raking in profits from innocent cookie sales?”

“M-Mister, it’s just cookies,” she squeaked, glancing nervously at the boxes stacked beside her. “We just wanna go camping this summer.”

“Camping?” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “And what kind of ‘camping’ are we talking about here? Deep-woods recon training? SERE training?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

“Bucky, she’s nine!” you practically shouted, rushing over to save the poor child from what was rapidly escalating into a full-blown interrogation.

“But Y/N, this could be—”

“It’s not a conspiracy, Bucky!” you snapped, turning to the girl and giving her what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Sweetie, how much for a box of Thin Mints?”

“Uh… f-five dollars?” she stammered, still eyeing Bucky like he might suddenly sprout fangs.

You reached for your wallet, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and handing it to her. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” she squeaked, stuffing the money into her pouch with trembling hands.

You shot Bucky a glare. “Apologize.”

He crossed his arms, looking mulish. “But—”

“Bucky.”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Uh… sorry… for, um… asking about your troop leader and, uh… the money laundering?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly not following.

“Bucky!” you hissed, elbowing him sharply.

“I mean, sorry for… for… being weird,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The girl gave a hesitant nod, glancing back at her stack of cookies. “Um… would you like another box, mister?”

Bucky frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe. Which one’s the best?”

“Bucky—” you started, but he was already leaning down, listening intently as the girl launched into a detailed explanation of the flavour profiles of Samoas versus Tagalongs.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky was the proud owner of a dozen boxes of Girl Scout cookies, which the girl somehow managed to upsell him into buying. The look of relief on her face as she walked away was palpable.

You turned to Bucky, hands on your hips. “Really, Buck?”

“What?” he said defensively, clutching his armful of cookies. “I needed to make sure it was legit!”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why we now have enough cookies to feed an army?”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I guess I got carried away.”

“Just… try not to scare any more children, okay?”

“Hey, I was just being thorough,” he muttered, glancing down at the boxes. “Besides… these ‘Samoas’ are actually pretty good.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. Because only Bucky Barnes could turn a simple cookie sale into a full-scale interrogation—and then end up buying out the entire stock.

“Whatever you say, Bucky. Whatever you say.”

He gave you a sheepish grin, holding up a box of Thin Mints. “Want one?”

“Sure,” you sighed, reaching out to grab a cookie. Because, at the end of the day, this was Bucky Barnes: ex-assassin, super-soldier, and now… terrifyingly dedicated Girl Scout cookie connoisseur.

The Girl Scout incident, unfortunately, didn’t mark the end of Bucky’s neighbourhood watch endeavours.

“Hey, Y/N, that’s the third day in a row Mrs. Higginson has gone jogging past our house,” Bucky muttered a few days later, scribbling furiously in his notebook.

You glanced over from your spot on the couch, raising an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” you replied absently, already wondering if now would be a good time to text Steve for a little ‘rescue mission.’ “Maybe she likes jogging?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not natural. It’s a cover for something. Probably espionage.”

“Bucky, she’s seventy.”

“Exactly. No one that age moves like that. She’s gotta be a retired agent.”

“Or she’s trying to stay in shape?”

“Or she’s spying on us.” He narrowed his eyes, peering through the blinds. “Maybe she’s HYDRA.”

“Bucky, she brought us homemade banana bread last week.”

“Which tasted suspiciously good,” he muttered darkly, tapping his pen against his chin. “I’m keeping an eye on her.”

It didn’t stop there. He began obsessively tracking patterns—when neighbors took out their trash, when they left for work, who picked up their mail first thing in the morning. His conspiracy board rivaled the one you’d seen at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, complete with photos, string, and a suspiciously large map of the neighborhood.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

You blinked, looking up from your book. “What’s up, Buck?”

He leaned in, his voice low and serious. “Did you know Mrs. Patterson’s dog peed on our lawn three times this week?”

“I—what?”

“And Mr. Thompson left his house twice yesterday. Twice.”

“…is that a crime?”

“Yes. Who leaves the house twice in one day? He’s clearly up to something.”

“Like… groceries?”

Bucky frowned. “No. Something bigger. I saw him walking to his car, get this—without any bags.”

“Maybe he forgot something?”

He shook his head, eyes narrowed. “It’s a diversion tactic. I’m keeping a close watch on him.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re stalking the neighbours.”

“Of course not!” He paused. “I’m… observing. For science.”

“For science?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Buck. I’m putting my foot down,” you finally managed. “You need to stop this. The neighbours think we’re crazy. You’re scaring the kids and… the mailman won’t come to the door anymore.”

Bucky looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“Because you interrogated him about his route last week!”

“He was being shady!”

“He’s a mailman!”

There was a long pause as you stared each other down, Bucky looking defiant and you looking exhausted. Finally, you sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“Buck… I know retirement is hard. But you need a new outlet. Maybe something a little less—”

“Paranoid?” he offered, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. And a little less terrifying for the neighbours.”

He sighed deeply, like you’d just asked him to hang up his shield all over again. “I was just… trying to be useful.”

Your heart softened immediately. Because that was what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it? The man who’d spent his life fighting wars and doing battle against his own mind was now left trying to figure out how to fit into a world that no longer needed him to save it.

You walked over, placing your hands on his shoulders and giving him a soft smile. “You’re always useful, Buck. Even if you’re not interrogating the mailman about federal postal regulations or… spying on seventy-year-old retirees.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, huh?”

“A little,” you agreed with a grin. “Maybe you should find something else to watch over.”

“Like what?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

You bit your lip, thinking. “I don’t know… Maybe get a pet? You could… I don’t know, babysit a cat or something.”

Bucky blinked at you. Then his eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the Holy Grail of retirement activities.

“A cat,” he murmured slowly, as if testing the word. “A cat.”

“Yes, a cat,” you repeated cautiously, wondering if you’d just unleashed some new kind of havoc on the house. “You could train it to… I don’t know, not scratch the furniture or something.”

“Or… I could train it to keep an eye on the pigeons,” he muttered to himself, looking thoughtful.

“Wait, what?”

But Bucky had already gone inside, the gears in his mind clearly turning. You shook your head, deciding to let him have this one. After all, how much trouble could he really get into with a cat?

Phase 5: The Pet Phase (aka Operation: Find a Feline Friend)

Duration: Ongoing, with Fur Everywhere

You didn’t think he’d take it seriously. Until you came home the next day to find Bucky sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, a small, white ball of fluff curled up in his lap.

“This is Alpine,” he announced proudly.

You stared at the kitten, then at Bucky, then back at the kitten. “Bucky, what… why…?”

“You said get a pet,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I did.”

And that’s how Alpine, the grumpy old woman in a cat’s body, became part of your household. Bucky spent weeks trying to train him (“Sit, Alpine! Sit! … Okay, fine, just glare at me, that works too.”), set up elaborate obstacle courses (“Alpine, jump! No, don’t walk away—okay, you know what, just do your thing”), and spoiled her rotten with toys and treats.

With each phase, Bucky’s retirement became a new adventure. And while it drove you absolutely crazy at times, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Bucky lying on the couch, Alpine curled up on his chest, both looking completely content.

“Retirement isn’t so bad, huh?” you teased one evening, curling up beside him.

He hummed thoughtfully, scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “I don’t know… I think I could use a new project.”

You groaned, but your groan turned into a laugh when he grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh no,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “No more projects, Barnes. You’ve nearly redecorated us out of house and home, scared the mailman half to death, and—”

“Don’t forget the gourmet cookies,” he interjected with a cheeky smile.

You shot him a playful glare. “I’m trying to forget the cookies, thank you.”

“Aw, come on. I think I finally got the recipe down. I’ll just try one more—”

“No!” you practically shouted, your voice echoing through the living room. Alpine, unbothered, merely lifted her head, gave you both a disinterested look, and went back to napping.

Bucky chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. No more cookies. No more redecorating. No more… scaring the Girl Scouts.”

“Or spying on the neighbors.”

“Or spying on the neighbors,” he agreed, still looking a little too amused for your liking.

You sighed, leaning back into the couch and resting your head on his shoulder. “You know, most people take up hobbies like gardening or painting in retirement.”

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, but those aren’t as exciting.”

“They’re not supposed to be exciting. They’re supposed to be calm. That’s the whole point of retirement, Buck.”

He glanced down at you, his gaze softening. “You really think I’m the ‘calm’ type, doll?”

You snorted. “No, not really. But it would be nice if, just once, I didn’t come home to find you plotting to build a moat around the house.”

“Moats are an excellent defense mechanism,” he said matter-of-factly. “But okay, I get it. I’ll tone it down.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up his right hand. The glint in his eye, however, told you he was already planning something new.

“Bucky…”

“What?” he asked, all innocence. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not for a second.”

He chuckled, then pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Alright, no more projects. I’ll just focus on Alpine. She’s a full-time job anyway.”

You glanced at the cat, who was now sprawled out like she owned the place. “You’ve turned her into a diva, you know.”

“He’s just refined,” Bucky said defensively. “He’s got standards.”

“Uh-huh. Like the way he refuses to eat unless you hand-feed her?”

“Refined,” Bucky insisted.

“And how she sleeps on your side of the bed and shoves you off with her tiny, evil paws?”

“Selective.”

“And how she sits on the counter staring at you like she’s plotting your demise?”

“Observant.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’ve created a monster, Bucky.”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug, smirking down at you. “I’ve handled worse monsters. She’s a good one. Besides,” he added, scratching Alpine’s head fondly, “she’s family.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled up at him. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

There was a comfortable silence as you both sat there, content in the peaceful moment.

Then Bucky cleared his throat, and you glanced up to see him shifting slightly, like he was working up the nerve to say something.

“So… I was thinking…” he began slowly.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, hear me out,” he said quickly, raising his hands as if to ward off your incoming refusal. “What if we… I dunno… made a baby?”

You blinked, certain you hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

“A baby,” he repeated, his voice steady, though there was a telltale blush creeping up his neck. “You know, a little human—our human. Someone we can train to take over the world… or at least keep me entertained.”

Your jaw dropped open. “You want to have a baby—because you’re bored?”

Bucky gave you a sheepish grin. “I mean, I was thinking it could be a good project… long-term investment… future troublemaker…”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, placing your hands on his shoulders and staring at him, bewildered. “Are you seriously suggesting having a child like it’s another DIY project?”

He shrugged, looking as nonchalant as ever, but his eyes were soft and serious. “Maybe. But I was also thinking it’d be nice to have something, or someone, that’s just… ours. A mix of you and me. Something that isn’t tied to the past, or fighting, or… all the other stuff.”

You stared at him, trying to wrap your mind around the sudden turn the conversation had taken. “You really want a baby, Bucky?”

He nodded slowly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I do. Don’t get me wrong, Alpine’s great and all, but…” He sighed, his smile turning tender. “I just think it’d be amazing to have something more. I’ve spent so much of my life taking orders or fighting ghosts. But starting a family with you? That’s something I get to build. Something that’s ours.”

You bit your lip, heart swelling at his words. Despite the completely unromantic way he’d suggested it, there was sincerity in his gaze, a yearning for something deeper than fixing leaky faucets or buying out the Girl Scouts’ entire cookie stock.

“And you think you’d be a good dad?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” he scoffed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’d be the best damn dad. I’d teach our kid how to throw a proper punch by age five, dismantle a toaster by six—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “So, what you’re saying is… you want to raise a tiny super-soldier?”

His grin widened. “Hell yeah.”

“Bucky, we are not turning our child into a mini-Winter Soldier.”

He pouted dramatically. “Not even a little bit?”

“Not even a little bit,” you affirmed with a chuckle. You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “But… maybe we could talk about it. You know, actually talk. Not just… plan a tactical baby mission.”

Bucky’s eyes softened as he brushed his thumb along your cheek. “Yeah. We can talk about it.” He paused, then added with a mischievous glint, “After we practice a little more.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh my God, Bucky.”

“What?” he asked innocently, his grin widening. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

You shook your head, letting out a breathy laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love me for it,” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Yeah,” you whispered when he pulled away, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I do.”

You glanced down at Alpine, who was still sprawled across Bucky’s lap, looking utterly uninterested in the conversation. A baby. You hadn’t really thought about it seriously before, but now that Bucky had put the idea in your head… you couldn’t help but wonder.

There was a brief pause as Bucky gazed at you, his expression growing thoughtful. “You know,” he began quietly, “after that whole Girl Scout cookie fiasco… I kinda started thinking… I’d really like to have a daughter.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “A daughter?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softening. “That kid was just so… brave, you know? Standing there, staring me down even though I was being a total idiot. It reminded me of you—fierce and unafraid. I couldn’t stop thinking… what if we had a daughter like that? Strong, smart, and completely capable of putting me in my place when I get out of line.”

You felt your heart clench at his words, his quiet admission making your chest ache. “You want a little girl because she’d keep you in check?”

“That,” he said, smiling softly, “and I think I’d like the challenge. I’ve spent so much of my life dealing with people who only saw me as a weapon. I just… want to prove that I can be something else. That I can be gentle… and kind… and love someone unconditionally. The way I love you.”

You reached up, cupping his face gently. “Bucky, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“I know,” he murmured, his gaze warm and intense. “But I still want to try. And I want to be the kind of dad who isn’t just a protector, but a friend. Someone who’d sit through endless tea parties and help her build pillow forts… and buy all the Girl Scout cookies she wants without scaring anyone.”

You laughed softly, tears stinging your eyes at the picture he painted. “You’d be a great dad, Bucky.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and hopeful.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

There was another beat of silence before Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “So… when do we start?”

You felt your cheeks heat, a mix of laughter and surprise bubbling up in your chest. “Bucky!”

“What?” he asked, his smile as innocent as ever. “I’m just asking. I mean, you know I’m a man of action. Gotta have a timeline.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands as Bucky laughed softly, his arms wrapping around you.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “No rush. We’ll take it one day at a time, sweetheart. But just know… I’m ready whenever you are.”

And somehow, you knew this next phase—whatever it looked like—was going to be the best one yet.

× × × ×

Ten months later

The soft glow of the nightlight bathed the nursery in a warm, golden hue, casting gentle shadows on the pale blue walls. The room was still, save for the quiet creak of the rocking chair as Bucky swayed back and forth, holding the tiniest bundle of joy in his strong, yet tender arms.

His daughter, barely a week old, was nestled against his chest, her small, delicate breaths in sync with the steady rhythm of his own. Her tiny fist curled around the fabric of his shirt, as if she knew just how safe and loved she was in her daddy's arms.

Bucky hummed quietly, the familiar melody of an old lullaby drifting into the air. It was a song his mother used to sing to him when he was no older than his sweet little girl was now. The words came softly, almost whispered, as if they were sacred—meant only for his daughter.

“Darling, you're my bloodYou have my heartbeatYou have my heartbeat, beating loud,”

His voice was gruff, yet softened by emotion as he sang, the gentle rocking lulling his daughter further into her peaceful slumber. His fingers brushed through her soft, downy hair as he looked down at her with nothing short of awe. How had he, of all people, gotten so lucky?

He had been through so much darkness in his life—seen and done things he would never be able to forget—but here, in this quiet moment, everything seemed to fade away. The world outside could wait. Right now, his whole universe was cradled in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes felt at peace.

Unbeknownst to him, you stood at the door, your heart swelling at the sight before you. You had come to check on them both, worried that Bucky might need help with the baby. But when you saw him there, rocking your little girl and singing so sweetly, you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you leaned against the doorframe, content to watch the love of your life in this vulnerable, beautiful moment. 

Bucky was a natural, even if he didn’t believe it. You had seen the worry in his eyes when you first brought your daughter home—the fear that he wouldn’t be good enough, that he wouldn’t know what to do. But here he was, proving himself wrong in the most heart-melting way possible.

The lullaby continued, each note filled with so much love it made your eyes mist over.

"You are my lighthouseA peak of light from the dark cloudsI've lived under my whole life. . .And there's nothing I won't do for you."

Bucky’s voice cracked just a little on the last line, overcome with emotion as he gazed down at his daughter and carefully wiped his tears away. 

She had his eyes—bright and full of wonder, even when they were closed in slumber. He couldn’t help but trace the delicate features of her face with his gaze, committing every tiny detail to memory.

Finally, you couldn’t resist any longer. You stepped into the room quietly, not wanting to startle him. Bucky looked up, surprise flickering across his face when he saw you standing there. His expression softened when he realised you had been watching him.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, his voice low so as not to wake the baby.

“Long enough,” you replied, your smile widening as you walked over to him.

Bucky blushed, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I’m not exactly a professional.”

“I beg to differ, I think you’re the best dad in the world.” you whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple. 

Bucky’s heart swelled at your words. He never imagined he would be here—sitting in a nursery, holding his newborn daughter while the love of his life stood beside him, calling him the best dad in the world. It still felt like a dream.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, looking back down at the baby. “So fragile. I didn’t think…I didn’t think I could love someone I barely knew this much.”

Your hand gently rested on his shoulder as you gazed down at your daughter. “You’ve got a big heart, James. I always knew you’d be amazing as a father.”

He glanced up at you, eyes soft and full of affection. “You’re the amazing one.”

You reached out to gently stroke the baby’s cheek, and Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling more complete than he ever thought possible.

“I never thought I’d have this,” he admitted after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “A family. A reason to feel…whole again.”

You knelt down beside him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You deserve it, Bucky. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

Bucky kissed the top of youe head, holding you close as he continued to rock your daughter. The world outside could be chaotic and unforgiving, but in this room, in this moment, everything was perfect.

× × × ×

Baby at six months

The house was peaceful, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the windows. You were out running errands, leaving Bucky home with their now six-month-old daughter, who was currently kicking her chubby little legs and babbling on her playmat. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she reached for her favorite stuffed bear, the one Bucky had given her the day she was born.

Bucky sat beside her, legs crossed, watching her every move like she was the most fascinating thing on the planet. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. 

“You know, blossom,” he began, glancing over his shoulder dramatically as if checking to make sure Y/N wasn’t around. “Your mom thinks she’s the boss.”

Their daughter let out a high-pitched squeal, and Bucky grinned. 

“Right? Can you believe it?” he continued, keeping his voice low as if sharing the biggest secret in the world. “She thinks she’s in charge around here. But between you and me, we know the truth.”

His little girl giggled again, her tiny hands grasping at the air as if she was agreeing with him.

“See, you and I?” Bucky said, tapping his finger gently on her nose, “We’re a team. We know how to get things done. I mean, just look at us—surviving nap time, figuring out how to stack those weird little ring toys, and we don’t even need to look at the instructions. Meanwhile, your mom still thinks I can’t fold laundry properly.”

He paused for dramatic effect, raising his brows. “Can you believe that? Laundry. I fought in World War II, and she’s worried I’ll mess up the towels.”

His daughter let out a delighted shriek, her little legs kicking excitedly. Bucky reached over and tickled her belly gently, making her burst into even more giggles.

“Oh, yeah, I know you think it’s funny,” Bucky chuckled. “But trust me, your mom’s got some pretty high laundry standards. I tried to fold one towel, just one, and she came over with this look like I’d committed a crime. 'Bucky, that’s not how you fold them!' she said. And I’m standing there like, ‘It’s a towel, not a top-secret mission.’”

He leaned in closer, as if telling her something top-secret. “She doesn’t know this, but I might’ve folded them wrong on purpose so I wouldn’t have to do it anymore.”

His daughter cooed, her tiny hand reaching out to grab his finger, which she promptly brought to her mouth to chew on. Bucky let her, his heart melting at the sight. She was his little sidekick, always hanging on his every word, even if she didn’t fully understand yet.

“And don’t even get me started on the bedtime routine,” Bucky continued, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Your mom’s got this whole plan—bath, story, lights out. Meanwhile, you and me? We’ve got a better plan. We chill, we rock, maybe sing a little. You get all cozy, and bam—out like a light.”

“Bababababa,” His daughter babbled something back at him, her little voice full of enthusiasm, and Bucky nodded seriously. 

“Exactly. That’s what I’ve been saying. We’ve got this figured out.”

He scooped her up from the mat and held her close, her head resting comfortably against his chest as he walked them over to the couch. He sat down, cradling her in his arms, and continued his lighthearted rant.

“And the thing is, she’s always right, which drives me crazy. Like, the other day, she told me you were gonna try to crawl soon. I thought, ‘Nah, she’s too young.’ But then what happens? Two days later, you’re scooting around like you’ve got places to be. I swear, your mom’s a psychic or something.”

Bucky gazed down at his daughter, who was now looking up at him with those wide blue eyes that never failed to melt his heart. She let out a happy gurgle, and Bucky chuckled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You know I’m just kidding, right? Your mom’s the best. She takes care of both of us.” He sighed, feeling a rush of affection as he thought about Y/N. “Don’t tell her, but I’m pretty lucky to have her. She keeps me in line.”

Just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, and Bucky’s head shot up in mock panic.

“Uh-oh,” he whispered to his daughter, his eyes wide with exaggerated worry. “The boss is back. Don’t say anything.”

You appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow as you saw Bucky and the baby cozied up on the couch. “What are you two up to?” you asked, a knowing smile on your lips.

Bucky gave you his most innocent look, bouncing your daughter gently in his arms. “Oh, nothing. Just hanging out with my best girl here. Right, darling?”

The baby let out a little squeal, clearly delighted by the attention.

“Mmhmm,” You said, stepping closer and giving Bucky a playful look. “You haven’t been filling her head with nonsense, have you?”

“Me? Never,” Bucky replied, trying to keep a straight face. “We were just talking about how great you are. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

Bianca, oblivious to the conversation, giggled and reached for you, and took her from Bucky’s arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, if she grows up thinking she’s in charge, I’ll know who to blame,” You teased, casting a glance at Bucky.

He grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Hey, she’s gotta learn from the best.”

You smiled, shaking your head in mock defeat. “You’re lucky she likes you so much.”

Bucky stood and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both looked down at your little girl, now happily nestled between you. “I’m lucky to have both of you,” he murmured softly, kissing the side of your head.

And in that moment, with his two favorite girls in his arms, Bucky couldn’t imagine a better kind of luck.

[raveninfog]

Look At Me — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: 40s!bucky x nurse!reader

Word count: 11,951

Summary: She never expected to fall so deeply for Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes, what with his skirt-chasing tendencies and cocky personality. Except how was she to know war would change everything she thought she wanted? Suddenly, she wanted him.

Warnings: angst, violence, WW2, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, death, torture, whump, HYDRA, post-serum Steve Rodgers, kissing, angst with happy ending. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Note: I got a little carried away... oops. Anyway, happy reading!

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Enjoy!

"We'll set up camp here. The sun's getting low, and it's not safe to travel at night. We'll freeze to death if we try." James "Bucky" Barnes flung his pack to the ground and stretched his aching limbs over his head, sore from walking all day.

The infantry had left camp early that morning, just before dawn. They were to travel across the Eastern Italian border and meet the British battalion just south of Azzano. General McGinnis planned to march with a regiment of his own a week after news of the 107th's safe arrival reached camp.

"Should I start a fire, Sergeant?" Private Andrew Eaton asked, rubbing his hands together. The sun was setting, spreading a soft glow over the snow-ridden forest. "Warm us up?" His eyes flicked toward the girl, and she stiffened under his gaze.

She was a nurse, travelling with the soldiers because of her immaculate record. She had never lost a man before; one could be on the brink of death and would survive if she got her hands on them. Her expertise was unmatched and desperately needed on the Eastern Front, where the allies were losing men at an alarming rate.

Bucky shook his head. "We're too close to enemy lines. The smoke will draw attention, and we can't risk that."

Multiple eyes drifted to the nurse's shivering form, some filled with pity, others with concern. She had not once complained about the walk nor the temperature, but she was no soldier. Everyone knew her body was at risk of collapse; unaccustomed to the harsh terrain of the Dolomite Mountains, her back hunched with the weight of her pack, her eyes drooped with fatigue, cheeks crimson with cold and body trembling.

Mimicking Bucky, she, too, flung her bag on the frozen soil and dropped unceremoniously on it, finally giving in to her exhaustion.

"You sure about that, Sergeant Barnes?" Eaton questioned. The girl widened her eyes in alarm. It was one thing to hold the soldiers back with her slow pace and decreased stamina, another to put them all in danger. "Maybe we should risk it."

Typically, questioning a superior officer was inappropriate and inexcusable, but not one person reacted negatively to the Private's question. Murmurs of approval spread through the men.

Bucky turned toward the nurse, taking in her form. Like the rest of his soldiers, he also worried for the girl—more than he should have. She did not have any endurance training. She had not even left the relative safety of the camp until now, and it took everything in Bucky to stop himself from carrying her back to base camp, where she would be safe from the threat of gunfire and death.

He opened his mouth—to either agree with Eaton or disagree with him—no one could know. The girl chose that moment to let go of her hesitations. "I once spent an entire night out in the streets of France with just a pair of gloves and a tattered jacket," she rushed out. At the confused looks, she clarified, "in the middle of December." More looks. "In negative twenty-five-degree weather..." her voice was slowly tapering into shyness. "I am alive, am I not?"

"How much is that in Fahrenheit, Miss?" And the conversation moved forward.

The soldiers insisted on lighting at least a small fire for the girl's sake, igniting one under the cover of the dense coniferous trees. While the men began to set up camp for the night, Bucky stood there with a puckered brow and a frown marring his features, before shaking his head and helping them.

The nurse decided she would not be the one to risk them all. After another twenty minutes or so of bickering, she finally lost her temper. "You might as well know by now; I'm inherently stubborn, and nothing any of you say or do will change my mind."

After that, a perimeter was established, lookouts were posted, and tents were begrudgingly set up. Some soldiers retired to rest while others passed down alcohol, huddled against each other to conserve heat.

"It'll warm you up." Bucky sat down next to the shivering girl on a collapsed, decaying tree. He thrust a flask toward her mouth, urging her to drink from it. He took a sip when she made no move, clearing his throat and asking her again. "Will you drink some?"

His voice was sweet and kind, and she despised it. She pursed her lips in response and leaned away. "No, thank you," she replied while her teeth chattered.

Bucky frowned in annoyance. Her stubbornness, which he usually found amusing, was turning out to be somewhat of a hindrance.

"Sorry, doll, but it wasn't a question." He thrust the flask toward her once more, belligerent in his attempt.

She leaned farther away, and Bucky followed her, trapping her against the tree. "No, thank you. You know I don't drink alcohol—."

"Yes!" he suddenly grew frustrated and ran a trembling hand through his brown locks. Somehow the girl always managed to get on his nerve. "I know you don't drink, alright? And I know you hate cursing, that you're stubborn as hell, and that you talk funny because 'proper use of language is important.' I also know that you'll die of hypothermia if you don't warm yourself up, and I rather not have to explain to Colonel Phillips that we lost our only good nurse to stubbornness."

The girl inhaled sharply, her emotions in overdrive. She didn't realize how much he noticed her little quirks.

"I'd rather not have to explain to Colonel Phillips that we lost our only good nurse to stubbornness."

"Now, your whining might've worked in Brooklyn," Bucky continued. "Especially with Steve backing you up; but it won't work here. If you haven't noticed, we're not in New York anymore."

"I have eyes," the girl snapped, convinced she was nothing but a burden to him and the soldiers. She wondered again why Colonel Philips sent her, of all people, with the 107th. She didn't think she was that good. "You won't have to explain a thing. Don't worry. I won't die so easily."

Her words were laced with contempt and a hint of something else. Remorse, Bucky realized with a start, though before he could ponder on it any longer, she began to rise, seemingly done with their conversation.

"Damn it, woman!" Bucky's loud voice caught the entire camp's attention. He grabbed her forearm and yanked her back down. She winced when her bottom landed on the trunk a bit too hard. "I'll force this down your throat if I have to."

The girl blanched, shocked by Bucky's authoritative tone. "N-no, you will not!" She made an effort to appear commanding, but her stutter betrayed her. She was scared he would make good on his promise.

"You do not want to test me," he seethed. There was a look in Bucky's eyes she had not seen before. A crazed, almost feral glint in his pupils.

Her heartbeat quickened, and her insides warmed. She chalked it up to adrenaline. "I'm not that cold anymore."

Bucky said nothing, just continued to stare at her with the feral look still in his eyes.

Seconds passed—seconds that felt like minutes—before he spoke. "We're sleeping in one tent tonight." She didn't know why he was telling her that. "Together. To preserve body heat." She was still confused. "You either drink this, girl," he thrust the flask toward her lips once more. "or I'll make you sleep between my men. God knows they haven't touched a woman in months. So they won't have any complaints."

She argued with him, calling him petty names, and stuttering through excuses. "Y-you—you're."

"What?" he taunted. "Say it. Am I an asshole? A fucking idiot? Go on, don't be shy."

"You're an incompetent Sergeant. The most incompetent I've ever met!"

"I'm the only Sergeant you've ever met," Bucky deadpanned. "Seriously? That the best you can do?"

It was. "You're not that cruel! You're bluffing, like you bluffed about throwing me in the East River last year when I went out with that doctor."

"That doctor was a fucking creep with a criminal record," Bucky seethed. The girl's refusal went unheard. "And I wasn't bluffing. If Steve didn't stop me, you would have been swimming with the fish."

She muttered her annoyance under her breath, but Bucky caught it.

"God as my witness, I'll take you over my shoulder and lie on top of you if I have to!" One look into his eyes, and she could tell he was not lying.

When again he thrust the flask toward her mouth, she begrudgingly took it from him, bringing the cool metal to her lips. When the alcohol's bitter smell reached her, she almost gagged at the potent stench.

"I can't!" the girl choked on a sob, shoving the flask back into Bucky's hands.

A smirk adorned his pink lips, so unlike the anger she had been expecting. "Don't say I didn't warn ya." And before she could react, her world had been turned upside down.

Her legs went up, and her head went down. For a few moments, she froze, unable to understand what had happened. When a hand landed on her bottom, she gasped, realizing that Bucky had indeed made good on his promise—taken her over his shoulder.

When she screamed out of frustration, he shushed her. "Don't make me gag you."

The girl felt red, hot embarrassment at being treated like a child in front of all the soldiers. She scratched fruitlessly at Bucky's back, only to end up clutching his fatigues with numb fingers as he carried her across the clearing. At least the men had half a mind to keep their gaze averted when she was thrown unceremoniously inside one of the tents.

"You act like a caveman," she hissed, looking up at his scrunched brow.

Bucky's eyes softened, and all previous frustration and anger left him. Her insult amused him, and he plopped down next to her with a silent huff. "And you act like a brat."

The girl's answering words died on her tongue at Andrew Eaton's voice. "Lose the frown, Miss. There's not a single man here who wouldn't take a bullet for you, Barnes included."

A couple more soldiers entered the small tent, taking up the rest of the space. The girl ignored them, inhaling deeply. "I was perfectly fine outside, Andrew. Not cold at all."

A quick laugh from Bucky. "Is that why your lips are blue, and you're shaking like a leaf? 'Cause, you're not cold at all?"

"—He's just tryna keep you alive," Andrew interrupted before another argument could ensue.

A laugh bubbled up in the girl's throat before she could stop it. For some reason, the suggestion that Bucky Barnes was keeping her alive made her hysterical. Bucky Barnes, the man who couldn't keep a plant alive. She laughed until her stomach hurt, then she took a deep breath, clutched her middle while she fell backwards, and continued laughing.

"Fucking hell? She's crazy," the girl heard Bucky curse under his breath, but she was so far gone in delirium she could not be bothered to scold him for it.

"At least she's not frownin' anymore," Andrew offered.

The girl laughed harder, curling in on herself. Bucky stared at her with confused amusement, barely concealed, and chuckled softly. She was the most bizarre person he had ever met. So odd. Lately, he caught himself smiling more in her presence than ever before, finding it harder to resist her contagious delights. She was a constant amusement for the rest of the soldiers as well. Entertaining, though stressful.

She was still very clumsy, tripping on rocks and slipping down declines. A soldier needed to be watching her all the time, and that soldier, unbeknownst to her, was generally Bucky. He had grown eyes in the back of his head, trying to ensure she did not hurt herself. The girl had touched the hearts of all the men, his most of all, though he tried to conceal the fact by being curt and severe with her. Despite that, he did find pleasure in being able to tame her.

Ludovic Fournier, the Frenchman, muttered a phrase in his native tongue, and Andrew translated for him. "Women go a bit crazy before starting their courses. It's best to indulge them and not question it."

The entire tent went crazy, laughing and hollering almost as hard as the girl had been. Though she was not laughing anymore, and she was not amused. Her laughter died as quickly as it started—jarringly abrupt.

"I'm right here, you know!" She turned to the Frenchman. "Dis-moi, monsieur," the girl turned to him with a sarcastic and slightly intimidating curl of her lips. "Comment avez-vous appris tant de choses sur les femmes?"

The Frenchman swallowed thickly, and from behind him, Andrew translated his words to the small group. "She's asking how he got so damn smart."

"Ma femme."

"Ah! Idiote moi. Mais bien sûr. Ta femme doit être folle si elle tá épousé. Rien à voir avec se scours. Accune femme saine désprit ne portrait passer plus d'une journee avec toi sans avoir besoin d'être admis dans en établissement mental par la suite."

"She says, don't blame that time of the month, or your poor wife, when it's you're the reason she's like that." He guffawed out loud, drawing the girl's attention, before continuing. "Anyone would go crazy after spending more than a minute with you. Jesus Christ! Man, oh, man!"

The girl went warm all over. That was precisely why she tended to keep quiet. Her temper would rise if she did not keep her emotions in check. She had only ever lost it with Bucky before, never in front of a crowd. "Excuse me, gentlemen," she mustered what remaining dignity she had left, "but it's time for me to rest. I will see you all in the morning, bright and early. Good night."

Amidst all the hysterical laughing and the rampant rambling, the girl had forgotten Bucky's promise. He yanked her down before she could leave. He had indulged her long enough.

"I'm not letting you kill yourself—don't," he started, when he noticed her lips curl, "start laughing again. It was traumatizing enough the first time."

What he meant: "Please don't laugh again, because if you do, I wouldn't want you to stop. Ever." Except he did not know he felt such a thing. So, he annoyed her instead, undermining his affection for her.

The girl huffed loudly, voicing her frustration. The rest of the men settled inside the tent, pressed against each other for heat, hoping for at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. "I'm not cold anymore. I told you before."

"You're the worst liar I have ever met. Seriously! Worse than Steve." That was true. Steve was a horrible liar. "I can see you shivering. Hell! I can hear you!"

Bucky decided to give her a choice. A poor one, yes, but a choice, nonetheless. "Where do you wanna sleep? In between Fournier and Ward or next to Eaton?" He leaned in close, putting a hand next to his mouth as if indulging her with a secret. "I gotta warn you, though. He snores like a pig."

The girl simmered. She did not want to spend the night in the middle of men, and Bucky knew that. He was intimately aware of her reservation toward the opposite sex."Over here is fine." She was referring to the front of the tent where she was already seated.

"Perfect! This way, I'll be able to keep an eye on you."

"Excuse me?"

"You did choose the coldest spot, but I won't complain. Promise." He shrugged out of his jacket.

"What are you doing?"

"—as long as you wear this."

By now, it was a sort of ritual for Bucky to demand something of the girl and for her to deny him. No matter how helpful or minuscule the command, she could hardly help it anymore, even though it always ended with her compliance—sometimes forced.

"No, thank you." She was nothing if not stubborn.

Bucky scoffed. Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her down until she was in his lap. The girl stifled her scream and gasped instead.

The rest of the men were almost all asleep, exhausted from the long day. So was the girl, though she would not admit it. She was tired and cold—more than usual—and scared; of what was to come and of what was currently taking place. Her ancient promise of staying away from James Buchanan Barnes was becoming harder to uphold.

Bucky knew this—not of her promise, of course, but of her crumbling resolve—So he pushed. He flustered and confused her. "Only because it's amusing," he told himself—her reaction to his teasing. "Only because it's amusing,"

"You should stick with red. Purple is not a good colour on you, and that's what you'll become if you don't listen to me." He placed his jacket over her shoulders, and she was instantly warmed.

"What about you?" Her voice was meek and hesitant, words honeyed in their delivery. "Will you not get cold?" But he only smirked and raised his brows in answer. "Oh. Right." She had forgotten his natural affinity for all things warm, so unlike her own, for all things cold.

"I've got both you and Eaton keeping me warm. I wouldn't worry about it." Bucky smirked when the girl said nothing and only blinked in surprise.

She lowered herself, letting her head touch the soft ground. Tarps had been placed neatly all over, offering protection from the snow surrounding them. She turned away from Bucky, putting a foot of space between him and herself, holding her breath when she felt him lie next to her. However, the second she relaxed, his arm wrapped around her midsection and pulled her flush against his front, not an inch separating them.

"Bucky!" she warned in a hushed whisper, struggling against his hold. "This is inappropriate!"

"No!" he huffed in her ear, hot breath warming her neck. "This is survival!" She continued her futile attempts, trying harder to elude his grasp. "Besides, I gave you my only jacket, and I need to—Damn it, woman! Stop moving," he groaned in her ear.

"Why?" she asked, squirming harder.

"Because—Damn it!" he groaned again. "Just stop, will ya?" A deep breath. "Please."

The girl went still. Bucky Barnes never said please, never begged. She had not thought it possible. So, to hear him beg her... she decided she could never let Bucky Barnes use that word ever again. It was dangerous when uttered by his lips. An irresistible, compelling word that she could never deny, gladly giving in to any request.

"Please."

"Sorry," she muttered quietly, quickly settling down, unsure if he was listening. He was. "I'm sorry."

The girl let the tiredness of the day wash over her. She let Bucky's arms hold her, keep her safe and warm, and protect her. Her eyes closed, and she entered the state before sleep where the body was still aware and preparing for rest.

"You drive me crazy," Bucky's whispered in her ear, so quiet she convinced herself she imagined it.

"You drive me crazy too," was her last thought before she let deep slumber overtake her. Except the girl knew Bucky did not mean it with the same intention as hers. "So crazy."

At a steep decline, her foot swept away from under her on an icy patch of grass. From behind her, Bucky dropped his copy of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," extending his arm to grab her. He was not fast enough, and she fell on her back, sliding down until she hit a mountain of fresh snow.

"Jesus Christ, Darling!" Bucky reached under her arms to haul her up as if she weighed nothing. "You gotta watch where you're stepping."

"It's too dark," she sputtered, wiping snow off her face. "I couldn't see anything." From the east, the full moon was their only source of light, doing a poor job of illuminating the path through the dense forest around them.

"Fucking hell," Bucky swore, appraising the girl from head to toe. "You're soaked."

"I'm fine," she rasped, already beginning to shiver as the cold permeated her layers to settle in her skin. "I can keep going."

"Like hell you can," Bucky muttered, looking ahead to see everyone else's progress.

"There's no need to swear," the girl grumbled, pulling her hat farther down.

Bucky raised a brow at that. "At least the cold didn't get to your head."

She rolled her eyes, turning to leave, but Bucky grabbed her before she could take a single step, hauling her up in his arms. She shrieked, wrapping her hands around his neck for stability. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to trip again," he said by way of explanation. "It's just a little bit further. Then we'll set up camp."

Bucky ignored the girl's protests, quickly catching up with the rest of the battalion. They walked another mile in about half an hour, and Bucky ignored all of the girl's grumbling, only acknowledging her once they reached a small clearing and began setting up camp.

"Shut up," he grumbled, to which he received a smack on the back of his head.

"You shut up."

He lowered the girl next to the small smokeless fire Simon Ward lit, draping his jacket over her, "Dry up as much as you can. I'll be back."

Scooting closer to the small blaze, the girl pulled Bucky's jacket tighter around her shoulders, studying the flame with intensity as she recalled waking up the past few days.

The girl had gone to sleep slightly rigid and stiff, unused to resting next to another body, but she woke up in a tangle of limbs. Bucky's hands in her hair, her face tucked in the crook of his neck. Sometime in the middle of the night, she had turned over and gravitated closer to the heat his body was radiating. It was the best sleep either of them had ever had. Neither was willing to acknowledge it.

The night after was a repeat of the night before. Bucky threatened alcohol down the girl's throat, and she responded with a litany of insults which he laughed away. They wrestled while everyone watched—Bucky won, and the girl awoke the next day surrounded by a familiar warmth and a musky scent one could only describe as Bucky Barnes.

A week later, the moon was low in the sky, marking the beginning of winter. Neither the girl nor Bucky brought up their temporary sleeping arrangements, choosing to ignore the feelings festering inside them. The girl felt her resolve slowly crumbling. What was that promise she made to herself regarding Bucky Barnes? She couldn't quite recall.

The girl busied herself with unpleasant memories of his. She remembered when she first moved into the apartment across from Bucky. She was carrying a box full of books up the fifth floor of a six-story building. She had to take a break every few minutes to rest her arms, or they would've fallen off. Just outside her door, she collided with a brick wall. Her books went flying—so did she—and Bucky Barnes ran past her without so much as an "excuse me," muttering profanity under his breath. From then on, she started hating him.

That's how she met Steve. The slender young man popped a blonde head out of his friend's door and asked if he could help. She said, "no thanks," but he didn't listen, insisting on bringing the rest of her things up. That night, over a cup of hot tea, she learned about James Buchanan Barnes and his skirt-chasing tendencies. She began to hate him a bit more.

She recalled all his jabs of how she dressed, the way she looked, mocking her insecurities by sarcastically complimenting her. The ruined date with that doctor—never mind the potential criminal record. His threat to drown her.

He broke her friend's heart, told her he would call the next day and didn't. She was married now with a baby on the way, but it was the principle of the thing that irked her.

One by one, all of Bucky's wrongdoings came to the forefront of the girl's mind. When he argued with her, undermined her, and treated her like porcelain. When he called her "doll," "darling," and "sweetheart."

She hated that most of all.

Still, she could not ignore the tiny flutter in her heart whenever she thought of the blue-eyed sergeant. Despite all the bad, she now only remembered his warm smile and comforting embrace.

The girl brought her hand dangerously close to the fire, letting the flame irritate her skin before pulling away. She still felt cold.

Bucky returned a few moments later, rubbing his bare hands together in front of his face. "You tired?"

The girl ignored his question, asking one of her own. "Where are your gloves?"

Bucky's frosty breath momentarily covered his face. "Bradshaw lost his."

"Jeremy?"

Bucky nodded with a smile, unsurprised the girl knew most of the soldiers' names. "Wait, what are you doing?"

She fished her gloves from her coat, thrusting them toward him. "They're dry now. Here, take them."

"Don't be stupid," Bucky scoffed, "you'll get cold." Still, she persevered, leaving her hand dangling. "I'm not taking your gloves," Bucky said with finality.

"Alright," she nodded, dropping her hand and taking off his jacket instead.

Bucky seized her by the shoulders, stopping her and giving her a little shake. "What the fucking hell, woman! Keep your jacket on. It's freezing."

"Don't swear. It's yours, not mine. Take it." She tried prying his fingers off, but he wouldn't budge. "The gloves or the jacket, Bucky. Your choice."

"So goddamn stubborn. Every day you find something new to argue with me about, don't you?"

"Pick one," she warned, "or I'm giving both to Jeremy."

With a mumbled curse, Bucky snatched the gloves from her lap, putting them on like a petulant child.

"And say thank you," she snapped, slightly perturbed he hadn't taken back his jacket.

Bucky squinted his eyes, dropping down next to her. "You're acting like a real brat today."

"You're acting like a caveman! Now leave me alone so I can sleep in peace." She had turned away from Bucky, but when he offered no reply, she swallowed uneasily and looked back. His eyes glinted with mischief, hinting at his next step. "Bucky, no!"

She tried to stop him but was no match for his strength. Her world spun, and she found herself on his shoulder once again. Thankfully she stayed quiet this time, not bringing any extra attention toward them.

"I'll show you caveman." Bucky plopped her down in one of the smaller tents with space just enough for two, closing the flap behind him.

She steamed in forced fury, trying to take comfort in the fact that, pretty soon, she wouldn't have to put up with the infuriating soldier at all. She failed.

After a moment, when Bucky still hadn't moved from his hunched-over position at the front of the tent, the girl snapped at him. "What are you waiting for, Bucky? Come to bed!"

They both paused, processing the girl's words. "Come to bed." It was the first time she willingly called for him. She looked down, embarrassment creeping up her neck, unable to see the smile on Bucky's face.

Carefully, Bucky settled in behind her, embracing her with both arms, fitting her against him. When she began to squirm, he only had to issue a single warning before she relaxed. He sighed gratefully, not wanting a repeat of the past week where she slept oblivious while he tried to tamp down his arousal.

"This is nice," Bucky thought the girl muttered, though he couldn't be sure because she was already asleep.

"Yeah, this is really nice," Bucky whispered against her temple as blissful sleep overtook him.

From a distance, the Italian alps were quite breathtaking. She imagined a cabin in the forest, high on the Dolomite mountains; this would be her view. Maybe she would move here one day—once the war was over—and ask Steve to join her. Steve didn't have anyone stopping him from leaving other than Bucky. Maybe Bucky could join too? She shook that thought away.

The Dolomites were far behind them now, and as they passed town after town, destroyed and abandoned, an unsettling feeling grew vigorous in her gut. They were close to the Austrian border, hugging the small villages and settlements as they got closer to their destination: Azzano.

They made camp as the sun set, supplying the perfect backdrop to a most tiresome journey. The girl slung her pack to the ground and stretched her muscles while waiting for Bucky to finish ordering the men around.

He offered her water when he finished, which she took gratefully. "Lieutenant General Allan Montgomery should be here within the week. We'll travel the rest of the way to Azzano together." Then Bucky's eyes downturned. "We're only a few miles away from the front line. Do you remember your training?" he asked, looking for hesitation.

Of course, by training, he was referring to the hour-long lesson she was given on battlefield defence, not that any of it stuck. She tried schooling her features, failing miserably. "Yes, I do." Her voice was strong and confident, though she felt anything but. "If we spot the enemy, I'm supposed to set up a station at a safe spot and wait for the injured there. They will be sent back if they are fit to fight. If not..." she trailed off, unable to stomach the fact. "But I won't let that happen," she promised.

Bucky looked at her pityingly, as if he knew something she did not. "Let's hope so. The rest of the 107th should be here in a couple of days with General McGinnis. They were right behind us, so—"

Bucky paused, looking behind the girl at the soldiers setting up camp, before shaking his head and continuing. "Are you tired? The sun's beginning to set."

The girl wrapped her arms around her shoulders and shook her head.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked, immediately picking up on the girl's discomfort.

"Bucky..." she began hesitantly. "How long will you make me sleep with you?"

Bucky frowned. "Do you feel uncomfortable? I know I came across as an asshole, but I didn't want you to freeze to death. Sorry, we can stop."

Unable to respond immediately, the girl looked at him with barely concealed bewilderment. Apologizing; is another thing Bucky Barnes did not do. "No, I don't want to stop. It's just..." she trailed off, looking for the right word. "inappropriate, especially with the General joining us soon."

"No, it's not," he said matter of factly. "We're friends."

"Friends don't sleep together," the girl responded, unsure of what she wanted to hear him say.

Bucky waited until she looked him in the eyes. "We're the exception. Hey, they've got bigger matters to worry about than us sharing body heat. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Well, good."

An awkward silence fell between the pair, and the girl cleared her throat before the feeling could consume her. "The men look ready to fight," she observed, watching her surroundings.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, uh... I mentioned we're near the front lines, right? So we need to set up a perimeter and plan the best line of attack. Make sure we have a solid line of defence in case something happens. Hey, don't worry. We've got this." Bucky gave her shoulder a tiny shove.

"Oh," she huffed, "I am not worried."

"Yeah?" a smile lit his eyes. "Your face is telling me a different story."

She pursed her lips in frustration. "I'm not worried about you, Bucky," she snapped, "I'm worried about Steve. He needs his friend to come back home—in one piece—and now, I know you normally have no regard for your safety, but you have to be careful if you don't want to leave our friend alone in Brooklyn."

Bucky saw red. He pulled at his hair in frustration. It was unbelievable how quickly she was able to rile him up. "Are you kidding me? I'm the one with no regard for safety? In the time I've known you, you've almost died over five times. You can't even cross the street without putting yourself in danger! Hell! I'm still confused about how they let you in this damn war in the first place." He rushed his words, voicing his anger and annoyance. He only registered the last part of the girl's sentence when he took a deep breath.

"Why would Steve be all alone in Brooklyn?" he asked in a more even tone. "You're going to be there, and a few months later, I'll join... he won't be alone. Why would you say that?"

He froze at the look on her face. Guilt—In her eyes, in the way she held herself, oozing from her pores. Bucky could smell it. Bucky could even taste it. "What did you do?"

"I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you both sooner, but I only just decided and—"

"What. Did. You. Do?" Bucky grit out.

The girl took a deep breath. "I'm leaving. Moving to Canada. I already asked for a transfer—"

"Canada? Fucking Canada?"

"—Don't swear, please," she pleaded.

"This is some sick joke, right? Tell me you're joking." Bucky grabbed her forearms, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bucky, but I already applied for the transfer. I'm supposed to be moved to a different regiment when we get back to base."

There were many things the girl expected Bucky to say. She expected him to be happy that he was finally rid of her. Relieved she would be gone. She did not expect him to be hurt.

"Were you ever gonna say goodbye?"

"Bucky, I—"

"To Steve, to me. Were you ever going to tell me if I hadn't asked?"

No, she would not have. "Please, Bucky," she pleaded. "I don't want to leave you angry. For the sake of our past, let it go. We won't see each other again for a long time. Not until the war is over."

Bucky scoffed. "Phillips would never let that happen; he wouldn't let you leave. You're his favourite nurse."

She furrowed her brows in response. "I'm not Colonel Phillips' favourite nurse. He has no favourites."

"You're everyone's favourite nurse," he replied as if stating a fact.

"Liar!" she wanted to scream at him. She knew she was not his favourite.

"Not yours," she whispered, staring at him for a moment. "Lila Bellamy told me about the date you took her on. She said you turned a war zone into the most romantic place she'd ever seen. You brought her flowers, danced with her, and kissed her on the cheek once the night was over." She felt wetness gathering in her eyes. "You were the perfect gentleman."

When the first tear dropped, she didn't bother wiping it away. "When you return to base camp, please give Lila my regard. She was quite worried for me. Will you let her know I'm safe? She would be glad to hear from you, and I won't get to talk to her before I leave."

Bucky's grip on her shoulder tightened almost painfully, making her flinch. Through the hurt coursing in her body, she managed a feeble smile. "Try not to break her heart? You two look good together."

"No!" Bucky had had enough; he could hold his words in no longer. "There's nothing between Lila and me."

The girl shook her head. "You don't have to lie."

"Stop it!" Bucky exploded, shaking her. "Stop pushing me away. I don't want Lila; I never wanted her. I've only ever wanted you!"

"Bucky," the girl gasped.

"There's no way I'm letting you leave me, doll," he started, and there was that word she hated. "I'll take you over my shoulder if I have to, but you're not going to fucking Canada; because I love—"

Bucky never got to finish his sentence, never got to tell the girl how he felt because one of his worst nightmares was suddenly realized.

A bullet whizzed past them both—so close that the girl could smell the gunpowder in the wind, could feel its displacement through air against her cheek before it found a home in the soldier behind her. She screamed as she fell, Bucky's heavy weight shielding her body, keeping her down. Her world turned upside down, and she found herself on the cold ground with Bucky's grip on her arms tightened painfully.

To her right, the unfortunate soldier lay dead, with an 8-millimeter-sized hole in his head oozing a steady stream of thick blood. A wound meant for her.

The girl touched a hand to her cheek, which had suddenly warmed. It came back painted as red as the poppy fields back in Provence, France.

She began to tremble as shock overtook her.

Bucky swore under his breath, eyes wide as he took in their surroundings. Beneath him, the girl's eyes darkened in fear. She smeared the splatter of blood on her cheeks and stared at her fingers in horror.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." She kept muttering under her breath, eyes wide and lips quivering. "N-No. No. No. No."

All around Bucky, the soldiers ran, grabbing artillery and readying defences. "What the hell happened!?" he screamed. "We had a perimeter set up!" Underneath him, she shivered—out of shock or fear, he determined, rather than the cold.

"Those Nazi bastards were waiting to ambush us!" a voice shouted from amidst the chaos. "They knew we were coming!"

Another bullet whizzed past Bucky's head, embedding itself in the ground next to the girl's head. He jerked her away and swore. "Fuck!" She still trembled under him, muttering nonsense. He took her face in his hands, urging her to look at him. " Hey, darlin'? Doll, look at me."

Her eyes were glued to her shaky hands. "Oh God, no. No, I can't. I can't. I can't."

For a few seconds, Bucky froze above her—a few seconds too many—before his training kicked in. He needed to get her out of there. Bucky yanked her hands to the side and held her face in a bruising grip, forcing her to look at him.

"We're in a war zone right now." He said her name with fierce assurance. "The enemy isn't going to stop until we're all dead. I need you to remember the promise you made me this morning. You promised you wouldn't let anyone die—Hey!"

The girl tried peeking at the dead soldier beside her, but Bucky blocked her view.

"Don't look at him. Why are you looking at him? Look at me," he said. The girl whimpered, her eyes misting. "Look at me. That's not your fault."

She shook her head.

"—Hey! It's not. Those German bastards killed him, not you."

"That bullet was meant for me," she sobbed between breaths, "it should have hit me." The desperation in her voice cut him like a knife. He felt her fear as if it were his own.

"Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare!" Under normal circumstances, Bucky would be concerned at the girl's lack of reaction to his cursing, but he had already spent too much time coddling her, and the men needed him. "I'm gonna go and avenge that soldier's death, darlin'," Buck shouted over the sound of battle. "I'm going to burn those Germans to the ground. I'm going to do my job, and you have to do yours."

She looked at him then, and Bucky exhaled gratefully at the clarity he saw in her eyes, hidden behind adrenaline and fear. She gave him a little nod and stifled her sobs. "I feel a little sick."

"Me too," said Bucky, hauling them both to their feet.

The second they were upright, Bucky yanked her behind a tree for cover against the onslaught of bullets raining down on them. "You have to run." He grabbed his rifle from behind his back and checked the ammunition.

"Bucky—"

"When I tell you to, I want you to run toward those trees over there," he pointed to a slight decline, where the trees were thicker and provided more cover, "and I want you to keep on running."

"Wait! No!"

"No matter what happens!" He would not look her in the eyes—Could not look her in the eyes. "You run until you reach the last marker—" Bucky took off his helmet and placed it on the girl's head, fastening it over her hat. "—about a mile and a half out—"

"Bucky, listen to me!"

But he would not listen to her. The girl kept calling him, but he ignored her. He knew his eyes would betray his fear if he did. And he knew that the terrified look that had most likely taken up residence on her face, would force him to lose the last of his sanity and carry her back to base. This war zone was the last place he wanted her.

"You stay there until someone comes for you, and you don't—"

"James!"

And there it was, that damned name. So absolutely dangerous when uttered by her lips. Time slowed for both of them as if the war had pressed pause. Sound faded, colours brightened, and for a few minuscule seconds Bucky and her existed in their own little world, where the blood on her hands was paint, and the look in his eyes was love and not fear.

Bucky looked down, expecting to see the girl hysterical and weeping. Instead, he saw something completely different. Her eyes were clear, the most they had been in weeks, terribly similar to the look she would get in camp when the life of a soldier was in her hands.

And when she spoke, there was determination in her voice. A promise. "You better come back in one piece for Steve." And he knew she meant, "be careful."

He blinked at her, once, then twice, ensuring there were no other hidden messages behind her words. "You better run fast." And she knew he meant, "I will."

The world around them came back into focus, and with a final tightening of her helmet, Bucky pushed her away, sending her running toward safety.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

How much time had passed? She couldn't be sure. Her boot-clad feet were numb from being buried in the snow, and her back was sore from chafing against the rough bark of a pine tree.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

How much time had passed? The sun had long since disappeared under the horizon. In its stead was the moon, still as big and beautiful as the night before. Was it privy to all the horrors the girl wasn't? Did it frown over the violence and brutality it witnessed, or did the inhumanity of the act make it shine brighter?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

How much time had passed? Above her, a bird chirped loudly, disturbed by the gunfire that seemed to grow closer as the moon rose higher in the sky. An hour? Two? It certainly felt like more.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The girl placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, patting her chest as a means to settle it. "It's okay," she whispered, afraid to voice her thoughts any louder. "It's okay."

She twisted her body around the thick trunk, peeking at the darkness beyond her hiding spot. Another jarring explosion, fake sounding and unreal, before the world quieted. Eerily so.

The bird above her stopped its music. The leaves stopped their little dance. The girl twisted fully, staring intently at the spot she had come running from before finding a temporary home against her tree. All felt normal—well, as normal as could be.

What was it that prompted her forward and on her feet? Bucky's instructions rang clear in her head. "You stay there until someone comes for you." No one was there for her, yet her feet began to move of their own volition. Perhaps at the persuasion of a greater force. Fear; she could taste it on her tongue.

Fear that made her keep going despite the ache in her limbs. Fear that numbed her skin against the sharp tendrils of wind cutting her face. Fear of the quiet. Of being alone. Of being without him.

"Bucky," her whisper echoed against the draught. "James," her heart bled through the frozen ground.

The stench hit her first. Her nose picked up on what her eyes could not. Rotting flesh, putrid and burnt. Sweat and vomit mixed in with the minerally dirt. Her tongue flared up next as copper permeated the rest of her senses, overwhelmingly strong. And the fear; she caught herself against a tree as it engulfed her, making her lose the contents of her stomach.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The girl was at the edge of the clearing, with the gruesome scene of battle right in front of her. Her eyes moved fleetingly across everything, afraid of what she might find. What was once the site of a lively campsite was now demolished in a mess of guts and spoils.

The earth had turned over to create trenches and hiding spots. Dead bodies and dismembered limbs were scattered across the ground, decorating it with a gruesome excuse for peace.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The calm before the storm.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She spotted movement from the corner of her eye, followed by a low groan of pain.

James. Her heart lurched.

A head of blonde curls bobbed from behind a mountain of dirt. The girl reached behind her for her pack, realizing it lay abandoned on the battlefield. She spotted it twenty-something meters away to her right.

Her eyes squeezed shut. The girl wasn't sure if it was safe to venture out, but it was so quiet, and still, she reasoned the worst of it had passed. She made up her mind; first, the pack, then the wounded soldier.

With her arms pumping rhythmically, she ran. Five, ten, fifteen meters out. The girl skid to a stop, bending to grab the pack. Instead, cold metal kissed her temple, and she stopped breathing.

Her terror-stricken eyes met dilated blue ones. Her pack perched on the edge of what resembled a small trench, hidden from the rest of the clearing. Several soldiers sat hunched over, brandishing various weapons. Bucky Barnes lowered his rifle as gut-wrenching fear overtook his face. He shook his head vigorously, reaching up to grab her, but she stumbled back on her arms, clutching the pack to her chest.

The girl swallowed the sob threatening to spill over. Bucky was alive and safe, though a bit roughed up. She looked to her left at the blonde soldier immobilized by his injury, and Bucky followed her gaze. She noticed the moment it clicked for him, and she made her decision on the spot. She only hoped her eyes accurately portrayed her feelings.

Bucky's mouth opened in a silent scream of her name, and he leapt from his spot, tossing his weapon to the side. Andrew Eaton grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and yanked him back to safety. The girl took that opportunity to scramble to her feet. Behind her, Bucky's muffled shout echoed in her ears.

"He's okay," she reassured herself. "Bucky's okay."

The wounded soldier was lying on his front, eyes closed and motionless. She fell to her knees, placing two fingers against his windpipe. There, faint and irregular, an indistinct pulse was striving to intensify.

The soldier was alive. Good, she thought, I can work with that. His dog tags peeked from under his coat: Matthew Miles Davidson. Frantic hands ran over his body, feeling for a wound. Her hand came away wet, and she discovered his pants soaked with blood. Bracing herself on her knees, the girl rolled Matthew over with a groan.

"Sorry," she whispered when he moaned in anguish. "I'm sorry." Producing a pocket knife, she cut the fabric away from his right thigh, displaying his injury. Puckered skin oozed a steady flow of red, painting her hands. She laced her fingers together and pressed against the opening, using her entire weight to stop the blood.

The girl's thoughts were in overdrive, swiftly taking in and storing information. No exit wound, meaning the bullet was still inside. Matthew was faintly moving, his chest rising and falling with every breath. The girl decided she would remove the bullet, bandaging the wound before dragging him past the trees for cover.

However, over the adrenaline rushing through her ears, she did not realize another fight had broken out. Someone shouted from a distance, and the girl pulled away, unbuckling Matthew's belt and folding it in half. She needed to clean his wound, and since the morphine was in a different pack, with the rest of the medicine, Matthew was going to feel everything.

He was slightly more lucid now, staring at her, so she grabbed his face and urged him to listen. "Bite down on this, Matthew." And he obediently followed her direction.

"Good, you're doing very good." She ran a hand over his hair, cooing with a sad smile. "Don't make any noise, okay?"

The girl retrieved a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a large roll of bandages. She had tweezers in her pack for removing the shell, needle and thread for the other gashes. Those she kept in the kit and moved out of the way. Uncapping the rubbing alcohol, she liberally poured some over her hands to sanitize them before positioning the bottle over the laceration.

"This is going to hurt," she warned Matthew before tipping the bottle over.

The second the ethanol breached his wound, Matthew let out an ear-splitting scream, despite the sound being muffled by his belt. He writhed on the ground, body spasming in pain.

His groans of agony cloaked the racket of the fight around her, making it so she couldn't hear the tank powering up.

"You're okay, Matthew!" she cried.

From her right, someone screamed, and a solid form collided with her, tackling her to the ground. The night sky turned a light blue, flashing white for a brief moment, and the girl raised her head. In her spot, where she sat just a second ago, tending to Matthew's wounds, was air. No supplies, no pack, and no Matthew. The only evidence that something, or someone, had been there was the roll of bandages in her hand and the blackened earth outlining the shape of a body.

Looking to her saviour, she didn't know if she should be grateful or ungrateful that her life was spared.

"You're okay!" Bucky cried, roaming his hands over her body, feeling if she was alive and well. "Fuck! I told you to fucking stay there!" He craned his neck to witness his men steadily losing ground, unmatched by the enemy and their technology.

When Bucky turned toward the girl, the fear in his eyes left her paralyzed. Panic-stricken hands ripped at her clothes, and at first, she was too shocked to react, but as the feeling returned to her limbs, she protested against him.

Bucky smeared a handful of dirt over her face, covering her eyes and lips. She clawed at his chest, trying to stop him, but he forced her back. They were still on the ground, him on top of her, leaving her immobilized.

Then he grabbed the bandages and lifted her undershirt to wrap her chest. "Stop," she whimpered. "Bucky, stop."

He didn't listen.

"James," she pleaded.

And there was that damned name again. Bucky stopped, looking into her eyes to see his terrified form reflected back. "We're losing," he rasped.

No further explanation was needed when Bucky looked at her like that. The girl heard all he wanted to say, saw all he wanted to do, and felt all he begged to show. She relaxed her body, giving him all her trust, and let him do what he did best.

That night the moon witnessed the girl surrendering to Bucky Barnes. That night, he saved her.

The air reeked of secretion. The girl didn't know why she found that detail so surprising. What else was a prison supposed to smell like if not human feces, fear and hopelessness?

She didn't remember the ride over. Shortly after surrendering, they were herded, like cattle, into armoured trucks. Masked men pulled her away from Bucky and tied her hands behind her back, shoving her into a separate truck.

The drive wasn't long, and in a few hours, they were stopping. When a guard pushed her and nine others into a dark cell, she fell to her knees and cried. Fortunately, Andrew Eaton was in the same cell as her, and he pulled the girl to him, muffling her sobs against his chest. Her high-pitched wailing was sure to catch someone's attention.

War was not kind to men, even less to young women. If they caught her, what would they do? She remembered the fear in Bucky's eyes as he frantically concealed the weight of her breasts, flattening them to resemble a man's. She decided she didn't want to find out.

The girl fell asleep in Andrew's arms wishing she was in Bucky's embrace instead. But Andrew was cold, and no matter how hard she tried, her imagination could not do Bucky justice.

In the morning, guards came for them. A burly-looking German soldier explained to her group in broken English that they were going to be put to work. Weapons manufacturing. "How does it feel?" he asked, "that we'll be killing your brothers with the weapons you make for us." They laughed amongst themselves, then pointed their guns at her and the prisoners, putting them to work.

Nights passed miserably. Andrew assured the girl Bucky was somewhere in the facility, in one of the cells scattered across the vast space, though that did little to calm her. She cried herself to sleep, body aching from the laborious work forced upon them.

By morning, the news spread. Men were being taken away.

A foul-faced officer was picking soldiers at random, plucking them away. "Hitler's right-hand man," someone sneered. "The devil incarnate," another cowered.

Andrew kept the girl tucked away against him, shielding her from wandering eyes. The dirt on her face had washed away, her hair loosened from her braid, bindings slack. She finally looked like a woman.

She saw the proof of it etched on Andrew's face when the guards came near. It was yet another night, and she was resting her head against the thick bars of the metal prison when she heard them. Andrew tried to hide her, but space was limited, and the devil's keen eye landed on her before she could move.

"What have we here?" A man with a drooping face and quizzical brow bent down to look at the girl. He grabbed her jaw in a rough grip through the bars when she attempted to crawl away. "Ah!" he exclaimed fervently, digging his nails into her skin until she whimpered. "A girl?"

His free hand went to her neck, dropping lower and lower until she protested, pushing him away. "No!"

The man raised a brow. "How did you manage to slip through, Mäuschen?" He gestured to the guards behind him, who marched forward to open the bars. "Let's find out, shall we?"

"Don't touch her, bastards!" Andrew shouted, pulling her back.

The girl wanted to stop him, but she became paralyzed with fear. The men had guns and long sticks—Andrew had nothing but his wits about him and a pair of worn fists.

The next few events happened in quick succession. A muscle in the devil's face twitched, his smile momentarily dropping, which he swiftly schooled. "Das Mäuschen has a protector? What a waste." He shrugged carelessly. "No matter. Always more where he came from."

A bang resounded, and Andrew fell backwards, eyes wide and unmoving. Someone screamed, loud and shrill. It wasn't until a guard whisked the girl away that she realized it was her screaming.

The prisoners shouted in protest as she passed by them. From amongst the hoard of fury, a pair of blue eyes met hers, two hands grasped cool metal, and two lips parted to call out her name. The girl craned her neck to look, but heavyset doors closed behind her before the voice could reach her ears.

She closed her eyes to block out her surroundings, and when she finally reopened them, it was the next day.

His name was Arnim Zola—Dr. Arnim Zola—and he was a scientist working for HYDRA. That's where they were held captive, the Doctor divulged, at one of the many facilities HYDRA owned across the continent.

The Doctor passionately described the importance of the work done at HYDRA while the girl was bound to an exam table. "How lucky that you will not only be alive to see HYDRA shine, but you will also take part in it." He checked the girl's pulse, jotting something down on a clipboard. "We lost many of the men. They all fight the effects. It will be interesting to see how a woman fares, don't you think?"

She was too tired to struggle, and when the Doctor injected a burning liquid in her veins, she found she was too tired to scream.

The world turned black.

When she came to, however long later, Dr. Zola was hunched over his desk, shuffling through papers while muttering under his breath. "How is this possible? I gave her a larger dose."

The burning had turned to ice in her veins, and she shook violently against her restraints as she shivered. "Please..."

"I don't understand. Are you sweating it off?" Then he hummed. "I will need more tests." And her world turned black once again.

How much time had passed? Days? Weeks? Months? The girl could not be sure of anything other than that the cold in her veins had found a home in her heart.

"Immune," she heard the Doctor repeat. "Nothing is working."

She was counting the marks on the wall of the tiny room she was locked in when Dr. Zola approached her one day. "Herr Schmidt wants me to dispose of you," he told her. "But I think you can serve us yet."

She turned away from him and closed her eyes, trying to ignore him.

"That prisoner. What was his name? The one who died protecting you?"

Andrew. The girl opened her eyes and looked at Dr. Zola with distrust.

"He made me wonder if the others would do the same."

"They won't," she told him, trying to hide her desperation. "I'm only a nurse."

Dr. Zola snickered mischievously, slowly backing out of the small room. "We will see about that."

That night they brought the first prisoner. Someone she did not recognize. "Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."

He spat on Arnim Zola's face. "Go to hell, you son of a bitch!"

The Doctor wiped away the drool with a wry smile, gesturing to the soldiers holding the girl still. "No!" she managed to shout before they plunged her face into a bucket of ice water.

She held her breath at first, hoping to bide some time before they pulled her out, but as her heart raced and the grip on her arms tightened, she couldn't help it any longer. She began to thrash, shaking and sputtering as the water invaded her lungs.

After what felt like an eternity, she tasted fresh air, heaping lungfuls to ease the burn in her throat.

The prisoner thrashed against his restraints, screaming profanities into the air as Dr. Zola injected him with a blue substance.

"Stop resisting!" the Doctor demanded. "You'll ruin the transformation!" He turned toward the girl. "Do you want her to die?" he asked the prisoner. "They'll kill her."

The prisoner screamed louder.

"Again!" Dr. Zola ordered.

The girl managed to take a deep breath before they plunged her into the water again, not that it helped. The torture went on for the rest of the night. By the last hour, the prisoner had died, lying in a pool of vomit.

The next night they brought the second prisoner. Someone she did recognize. "Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."

"Jeremy? No!" the girl began to cry. "No, not him!"

"Miss?" Jeremy looked at Dr. Zola with indignation. "Let her go."

"Do as I say," Zola repeated, "and I will."

"Go to hell."

And so it began.

Though, It did not last very long. When the girl screamed for the first time, Jeremy Bradshaw gave in. "I'll do it. I'll do anything. Just let the lady go."

Zola smiled victoriously. "Now, that wasn't so hard. Was it?"

A few hours later, Jeremey's heart gave out.

"He was weak," Zola proclaimed. "We need someone stronger."

The next night they brought the third prisoner. Someone she knew.

The girl had prepared herself this time. She wouldn't cry or scream out; she would fight! But none of it mattered when she saw the person standing before her.

War was not kind to men, and this one was proof of it. His hair was longer, touching the tips of his ears, and a light beard covered most of his face, making him almost unrecognizable. Almost. His piercing blue eyes stayed the same.

"James," she whispered. Tears gathered in her eyes, waiting for the moment he saw her.

"Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."

Bucky screamed the moment he did, mouth open in rage. The girl wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Was she as haggard in appearance as him? She sure felt it.

Bucky threw the soldiers off him, shouting her name as he ran toward her. He came to a halt when someone put a gun to her head, and the soldiers took the opportunity to restrain him once again.

"Yes, you are strong, indeed. Now, will you do as I say?" Zola asked.

"Eat shit, cocksucker."

Bucky was being so strong. So could she.

When the soldiers grabbed the girl, she was ready. She kicked one of them between the legs, and when he loosened his hold, she bit the hand on her shoulder. She must have made it two steps before they restrained her again.

She heard the buzz before she could feel it, and an unbridled scream left her. Electricity travelled up her spine, burning a pathway through her nerves. Her muscles went lax, and she fell, convulsing on the cold floor.

"No," she whimpered as they administered another shock through a small black device. But they were unrelenting, kicking her half-conscious form while she was down.

Bucky roared in rage while they abused her, but he could do nothing but watch as they gave her another electric shock.

"I'll kill you sons of bitches! I'll fucking kill you!"

Zola injected Bucky with the blue liquid. "Relax your muscles! Let the transformation take over."

"Fuck. You!" Bucky seethed.

The girl crawled toward him from her position on the ground, dragging herself by her nails. The soldiers followed leisurely, laughing at her pathetic attempt. The next shock made her throw up. Bile and stomach acid; since she hadn't been able to keep anything else down.

"She'll die, Soldier," Zola warned Bucky. "There's only so much a person can take."

Bucky stopped thrashing, briefly looking at the girl before addressing the Doctor. "What will you do to her?" he asked, unconcerned for himself.

"Bucky, no."

"Will you hurt her?"

Zola smiled, knowing he had won. "As long as you do as I say, I promise she will remain unharmed."

The girl began to cry. "Don't give up, Bucky. I can take it."

"—No, she can't," Zola interrupted.

"James!"

Their eyes met, and the girl knew Bucky had made up his mind. "I'll do anything." He slumped against his restraints, giving over his control. Before the Soldiers dragged her away, Bucky mouthed three words that shattered her completely. "I love you."

The doors closed before she could mouth it back.

Bucky Barnes was in shock. He had to be. That was the only reason he was on his feet after a week of hell, feeling only slightly bruised and fatigued. Yes, it was the shock that kept him moving, and not whatever it was the Doctor injected in him.

"Did it hurt?" Bucky asked, only slightly stumbling.

"A little," replied Steve Rogers. The same Steve Rogers Bucky remembered being at least two heads shorter.

"Is this permanent?" Bucky took in the striped shield, the muscles hidden by leather.

"So far."

Bucky chuckled, pressing his chest to feel his heart beating wildly within.

"The exit's through here," Steve gestured.

Bucky pulled him back. "Wait. I have to find someone first."

"Who?"

Bucky stared at his friend for a moment, hesitating. Steve didn't know the girl was with him. She never told anyone where she was deployed. Bucky whispered her name before clearing his throat and saying it louder.

He saw the surprise on Steve's face slowly morph into determination. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's get her."

They found her quickly. She was in an unmarked room on the second floor, hiding underneath a small blanket. Steve stayed behind, and Bucky entered the dark space with careful steps.

He heard the girl whimper in protest and scurry closer to the wall. "Not again. Please!"

Bucky bent down, and what he saw made him pause. He almost didn't recognize the girl with her sunken face and pale skin. She had lost weight, and her clothes were hanging off of her, but her eyes were what broke him. Wide and distrustful. Lifeless.

Bucky wiped his tears away, determined to stay strong. "Come here. I've got you."

The girl crawled farther away as if trying to embed herself in the wall. Bucky grabbed her face with both hands. "Look at me. Hey! Look at me, doll. It's Bucky."

She finally met his eyes, and Bucky saw the moment she recognized him. "James?" she sobbed, clutching his shirt in a weak grip. "You're here!"

Bucky lifted the girl in his arms, keeping her close to his chest. The first thing he noticed was how cold she was; the second was that she weighed almost nothing. When Bucky stumbled out, unsteady on his feet, Steve grabbed her from him, exchanging the shield for her. "Reserve your energy. We've got a long way to go."

"Steven? Am I dreaming?"

Steve laughed sadly. "No."

"You're big now," she sighed. "What happened?"

Steve shrugged. "I joined the army."

"I always knew you would."

They all laughed, happy for a moment that they were reunited. But danger was near, Bucky could feel it, and his smile dropped. Around them, parts of the building exploded, making the ground shake.

"Quick! Through here!" Steve shouted, taking two steps at a time, and Bucky tried his best to keep up. They were so close. He could feel it.

"Captain America!" A voice shouted, stopping them. "How exciting!"

Steve lowered the girl to her feet, grabbing his shield from Bucky and taking a fighting stance.

When Bucky realized who the strange voice belonged to, he pulled the girl behind him, shielding her from view. It was him, the man who dragged her away all those days ago. Bucky couldn't tell then, but it was apparent now that he was a high-ranking officer. Perhaps the mastermind behind this whole operation. Zola stood next to him, cowering behind a large briefcase.

"I am a great fan of your films!" mocked Johann Schmidt. "So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive."

Steve and Schmidt were at arm's length, and the Captain did not hesitate to swing at Schmidt. The man stumbled back, clutching his face in surprise.

"You've got no idea," Steve huffed.

"Haven't I?" And Schmidt took a swing of his own, putting a fist-sized dent in Captain America's shield.

"Steve!" The girl screamed from behind Bucky.

The two began to fight, and Bucky had to keep her from running toward their friend. "He's got it," he told her; and he did.

Steve kicked Schmidt, sending him back a few feet, and Zola stepped forward. He pressed a button that collapsed the bridge Steve was on.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you," Schmidt exclaimed. "You see, I was his greatest success!" He peeled the skin off his face, revealing red flesh underneath.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky found himself asking, a bit dizzy from the incident. He held the girl tighter against him when she started shaking like a leaf.

Schmidt made a closing remark that went over Bucky's head, and he and Zola left. An explosion caused the trio to stumble, forcing Steve into action. "Come on, let's go. Up."

Bucky pulled the girl along, and they went up a floor, stopping in front of a metal beam.

"Let's go. One at a time," Steve urged, helping Bucky over the railing.

"What are you doing?" the girl shouted over the loud explosions.

"There's no other way!" Bucky told her. "Stay behind me."

Steve helped her over the railing next, and Bucky grabbed her.

"I can't!" she shook. "I'll fall."

Bucky pulled her close. "Don't look down. Why are you looking down? Look at me."

"No!"

"Yes! One step at a time, alright? Steve's right behind you." The beam quaked with every step, but Bucky did not slow down. He tossed the girl over the railing and leaped the rest of the way; right before the beam fell from underneath him.

Bucky's stomach dropped. There was no way for Steve to cross. "There's gotta be a rope or something!"

"Just go!" Steve cried. "Get out of here!"

"No! Not without you!"

Steve hesitated before backing up as far as he could and making a run for it. Bucky's stomach dropped, thinking Steve wouldn't make it, but then he emerged from the smoke and landed safely on his feet. The trio ran.

The half-moon was low in the sky when they made camp after two day's journey. It was late, and the prisoners were tired. Bucky made his rounds, checking the perimeter and the tents for anything suspicious.

The Battle of Azzanno was still fresh in his mind, and despite Steve's reassurances, Bucky could not let down his guard.

"How is she?" Steve asked Bucky.

Bucky didn't know the answer. "She won't talk to me," he said frustratedly. "She says she's fine, but I can see she isn't."

Steve sighed, having expected that answer. "And how are you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. You both went through something traumatic." Steve grabbed Bucky's shoulder. "Talk it out, why don't you?" and left with a reassuring smile.

Bucky found the girl in one of the smaller tents, huddled in the corner for warmth.

"I was waiting for you," she admitted.

Bucky let a small smile grace his lips. They had come a long way. "Not too long, I hope."

"Very long," she rebutted. "I'm all cold."

Something in the girl's expression hinted at something deeper, something permanent. A rawness that she couldn't hide. It made Bucky's eyes burn. "Let me warm you up then." He fell to his knees and embraced her, holding her trembling body as tightly as he could.

The girl craned her neck and looked at Bucky with teary eyes. "Are you okay?"

Bucky took a second because he didn't know. Was he okay? He adjusted his hold until the girl was in his lap, snug against his front. "No, I'm not," he decided. "But as long as you're here, I will be."

Her hair was open, so Bucky put his forehead against the soft strands and closed his eyes. "Are you okay?"

The girl took a shuddering breath. "I—I was scared, and I—" She sobbed once, then twice. "No, I'm not okay!" And she began to weep. Agonizing sobs shook her entire body.

Bucky held on tight, whispering reassurances until, however long later, she eventually settled. "But I will be," she hiccuped.

The two sat silently for a while before she shifted to face him. Bucky wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady and caressed her face. "I love you," he whispered, leaning in until their noses brushed.

Her eyes pierced his, conveying all she felt, and she softened in his arms. "James."

And there was that damned name again. Bucky pulled her toward him, closing the small distance between their lips.

Oh, she was soft, putty under his skilled mouth. He groaned, pressing closer until the only thing separating them were clothes. "Sweetheart." He tasted her lips with his tongue, asking for permission which she swiftly granted.

"James," she whimpered against him, clawing at his jacket for purchase. They kissed until she became breathless, reluctantly pulling away with a moan to fill her lungs.

Bucky felt his heart beating out of his chest. "I'm here," he vowed, "I'm right here. Never leaving you again."

Her pleasure-stricken face met his with an intensity that left him more breathless than her lips had. "James, I love you."

And Bucky knew in his soul that all would be well. He took her lips once again, sealing his promise with a kiss.

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