rosygaze

[rosygaze]

[rosygaze]

new f4 trailer means im inspired to write again

[rosygaze]

[rosygaze]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

→ premise: eddie wasn’t convinced you were as innocent as you acted. his pervy thoughts of you were often guided by all the little dirty things you did. he knew he shouldn’t think that way you were his friend after all but you had to know what you were doing to him right?

→ pairing: perv!bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, 2.1k words, corruption kink, dacryphilia, frontagge? [eddie rubs his dick against her til he cums?] unprotected penetration, small bit of degrading language [whore], nicknames [baby, pretty girl, sweets, pretty best friend], reader is described to wear eddies shirt and pink/girly clothing a bit, not proofread

→ a/n: kinktober 12

Eddie was a touchy guy, a very touchy best friend in fact. He seemed to lack any awareness of personal space when it came to you.

Having you sit in his lap during movie nights whether it's just the two of you or if Robin or Steve join in. Laying his head in your lap while you play with his hair and his hands palm at your thighs tracing shapes on them. Draping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you to his side when you're in the middle of a conversation with someone or leaning his body weight against you. Now to you and your naive mind, you found all this and everything else he may do as innocent, you didn't understand why everyone new you met assumed the two of you were dating.

Except for Eddie everything he did, he had a little pervy underlying reason to it. Leaning on you and pulling your body against his to feel your soft skin on his and subconsciously claiming you as his. Sitting you in his lap to feel the heat radiating from your pussy on his cock even through multiple layers of fabric. Laying his head on your lap and rubbing on your thighs Imagining his head is buried between them instead.

Constantly he came up with any excuse he could to have his hands on you, to have your body against his, even rub up against you when given the chance when he’d scoot behind you to get somewhere even if there was a clearer path to his destination. Rubbing his bulge lightly against your ass when he’d brush by. To him there was no way you weren’t aware of his intentions when he did these things and all the little pervy moves he made. Every dirty thought he had or thing he did was guided by the seemingly not so innocent things you would do.

Though you weren’t actually aware of just what the things you'd do, did to poor ole’ Eddie. Batting your eyelashes at him when you wanted to be the one to pick the movie, pressing your body against him of your own accord when a scary part came on during one of his movie picks. He even swears though he isn’t 100% sure it wasn't a very vivid dream that you were grinding your ass against him for a second one time you were sitting in his lap.

It was currently one of those frequent movie nights and Eddie was painfully hard, his cock has been aching the moment he walked inside your house. Part of it sure was that he was just excited to have quality time with his pretty little best friend but then when he came in and saw the state you were in he was a goner. You were more comfortable around Eddie than anyone and you had opted to be cozy so all you had on was a long t-shirt and frilly pink socks, no pants on. Being the perv he was and with the fact he couldn't tell exactly he was secretly wishing you didn't have any panties on either.

Eddie got to pick the movie and it was one he’d seen a million times over so it didn't matter that he couldn't bring himself to pay attention. His eyes glued to you, your thighs exposed almost more than they are when you wear your tiny lacey skirts that also almost kill Eddie. Any last drop of reserve or self-control he had was slowly draining away from his body.

If he thought too hard about everything he felt like a piece of shit bestfriend that all he could think of during movie nights anymore was bending you over your living room couch and claiming your pussy as his. Making you his as you whine and moan that it's too much to take and he tells you what a good girl you’re being. Expect there was a small denranged part of him that desperatly wanted to corrupt your sweet naive mind until you’re the one who can only think about him fucking you, making you just as much of a pervert as he was.

Far too lost in own dirty thoughts he fails to notice that the movie has now ended, meaning it was your turn to pick and he should probably stop staring at your body.

“That was a good movie. Ed's wasn't as scary of a movie as you usually pick” your sweet voice snaps him out of his trance and he reluctantly tears his gaze away from your thighs crossed over one another.

“Oh uh yeah, figured I’d pick a calmer one this time for you sweets” he explains, lightly coughing as he squeezed the pillow that's been covering his lap this whole time, a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes forms on his face as he finally turns his attention to your face. Though switching his focus fails to dull the throbbing in his stiff cock, if it goes on any longer there's definitely going to be a wet spot in his boxers. You smile back at him before getting up from the couch, running over to the kitchen and putting the empty popcorn bowl in the sink. He watches as you walk away, a small groan leaving his lips, it didn't help that the shirt you wore was one of his old hellfire shirt’s. You in his clothes always made his heart ache just as much as his dick, you often stole his shirts or hoodies which didn't help people thinking you were dating and Eddie secretly loved that.

With a bounce in your step you make your way back over to the couch, standing more in front of Eddie as you do. Bending at the waist you lean over to pick the remote up off the oddly low coffee table, your shirt riding up as you do. Giving him an agonizingly perfect view of your ass and the mound of your pussy in your little pink panties. “Oh fuck..” he groans out, his knuckles turning white from how hard he is gripping the pillow infront of him. You turn around facing him now as you lean back up, having heard Eddie mumble out something. “What’d you say Ed’s??” You question with a cute look of confusion on your face.

His last ounce of composure and restraint flies out the window as he throws the pillow off his lap and grabs ahold of your hips pulling you into his lap.

“You fucking feel that pretty girl? That’s what you do to me, fuckin’ killing me sweets” he groans out, his bulge pressed right against your cunt, his jeans and your thin panties do nothing to stop him from feeling the heat settling in your core. you gasp out dropping the remote onto the cushion besides you as you feel just how hard he is. The cold metal of his rings sends a shiver down your spine when his hands push up at your shirt, bunching it up as they go. “But- I didn't do anything, or- I didn't mean to anyway Ed’s” you manage to stutter out, taken aback by both his abruptness and how good his cock feels against you even confined in denim. Lifting you up before letting go of your hips for a second so you're hovering over him, he unbuckles his belt and button to his jeans before tugging them down his thighs. “Ed’s I-I dont think best friends do this…” you whine out yet don't make any move to stop him as he grabs ahold of your hips again, planting your pussy right on his cock again with only thin underwear separating you now. You may be naive and innocent but you weren't a virgin you were well aware of what he was doing.

“it’s okay baby, just be my pretty little best friend and let me play with you okay, my cocks aching for ya’ yeah?” His tone is soft and slurred, his head going hazy in desire for you and the fact you were letting him go this far. “Mhmm~ okay i can do that” you whine out, your hips having a mind of their own squirming and grinding against him as his hands rub down your thighs.

“Atta girl sweets, s’good to me, always so sweet on me” he groans out as his fingers inch closer and closer to your aching pussy. Your slick has managed to begin soaking your panties, while Eddie's tip leaks precum forming a matching wet spot on his boxers. Tugging your panties to the side he runs his middle and ring finger through your slick folds, running over your clit that jumps at the small bit of attention. Your breath catches in your lungs as your eyes are glued to where your best friend's hands are playing with your leaking pussy. “Eddie.. it feels s’good” you whine out your hips bucking at his touch every time his fingers brush over your bundle of nerves.

“Look at you pretty girl, so fucking wet f’me like a little fucking whore” he groans out as he pushes down at his boxers, you lift your hips to help subconsciously. He pushes them down only enough to let his cock spring free, his cock thick, tip reddened and as veins run along the underside of his shaft. Your eyes are entranced by the sight, your mouth watering and your hole clenching around nothing, who knew your best friend had such a pretty cock.

Grabbing onto the base of his cock he angles it to nudge open your slit and run his tip through your soaked folds, grinding his shaft against your pussy. “Ahh~ pleasee Ed’s need you inside” you whine out, already getting overwhelmed, his cock rubbing against your bundle of nerves and tip just barely pushing at your hole before slipping out. The ongoing teasing and desire for him to push inside you crowd your head making it go fuzzy. “Nooo not yet baby, not till you're begging for it, gotta corrupt my sweet innocent little best friend til shes a cock hungry whore begging for me to fuck her” he chuckled darkly, even though he was more desperate than you to finally push into the warm heat of your cunt he was gonna make you beg for it.

Tears well up in your eyes threatening to fall as you buck against him in response to his hips grinding against your pussy. “Aww ya’ gonna cry sweets? Go on cry baby, beg for it” he groans out, he knew it was sick but as your tears fall down your cheeks he can feel his balls tighten, heavy and full of cum that's almost ready to burst. Your slick and his precum mix together to soak your panties, the thin fabric turning see through as he hooks it over his cock to keep it pressed between your folds.

“Fuck im gonna cum pretty girl, should cum in these fuckin’ flimsy panties and ruin em’ then stuff them in your mouth as i stuff this pussy” he growls out, his words making your pussy throbbing and your head spin, your head nodding frantically desperate for him to do exactly that. “Yeah baby? Want me to do that?” He taunts, a lopsided smirk glued to his lips as he leans in closer, forehead pressed against yours while your tears continue to fall down your cheeks, your eyes turning red and puffy the longer you cry out in pleasure.

“Please Ed’s yes!~ please need you to cum and i need you to fuck me please” you moan out, a deep stasifaction settled in eddie at your plea and he surges forward to press his lips to yours muffling your whines. Your thighs burning from grinding desperately against him, the last string of Eddie's snaps just as you dig your nails into his biceps and cry out his name into the heated frantic kiss. Hot ropes of cum spurt out and coat the inside of your panties and paint your puffy folds. Not stopping his thrusting Eddie grabs his cock that's still sandwiched under your now ruined panties and guides his still leaking tip to your entrance. Pulling away from your lips, he slaps his hand over your mouth just as he pushes inside you in one sharp hard thrust. A cry of pleasure and maybe some pain falls from your lips, along side a long line of curse muffled agianst his rough hand as he fucks up into the wet heat of your pussy that clenches down on him.

“My pretty bestfriend’s gonna be such a good fuckin’ cock drunk whore, all f’me now, all mine” all you can do in nod in respone, your eyes nearly rolling back in pleasure.

→ a/n: I rushed the end of this so i could get it out today and get back on track with kinktober lmao and somehow its still 2 thousand words and some change lmao but anyway enjoy loves give me feedback and tell me if something is misspelled this wasnt read over as im tired.

[rosygaze]

up for the challenge

professor!eddie x adult!student!fem!reader

the semester's over. the grades are in. and with nothing left to hold him back, your favorite professor is ready to go from blurring the lines between you two, to making them non-existent.

a/n: long time no see, friends ;) coming in hot! this is inspired by my bb @mediocredreams ' prof eddie au! i hope i did it justice.

cw: p*rn with plot (in true maddy fashion), professor/student dynamic, dom!eddie, sub!reader, established age gap (eddie is probably early 40s, reader is mid 20s), p in v sex (protected), hair-pulling, fingering, orgasm denial, that rough and passionate shittt, briefly mentions drinking

It starts with a pat on the back.

Til it lingers and becomes a shoulder squeeze. And before you know it, your papers are being returned to you, heavily marked with suggestive feedback, allowing just enough real estate for plausible deniability, but also enough room to where the lines start to blur.

“Why do you always do this?” you’d roll your eyes playfully.

And he’d meet you right where you are. “Because I like challenging you.”

It becomes a dance, this little secret of yours. The sneaky glances during lecture. The double entendres of, "I like how determined you are" and "Looking forward to seeing you next week". The extended office hours disguised as mentorship, only for him to barely acknowledge you when class is in session.

You two have been intimate in every way possible except sexually. It’s electrifying. Professor Munson's got his craft — and you — all mapped out. Which is why he waits until you are no longer his student to begin his pursuit.

Layla's Tavern?

It isn't out of the ordinary for professors to go out to eat with their pupils. But doing so at a rooftop bar in the metropolis — alone and strategically away from campus?

Oh yeah. He’s done his research. Just as you knew he would.

You reply almost instantly.

I'll be there. 6pm?

“You were so wrong for that,” you say between giggles. “I thought about it for a whole week.”

You and Professor Munson are on the rooftop of Layla’s Tavern, a couple drinks in and laughing like cheeky, rebellious teenagers. You’re shoulder to shoulder, debriefing the semester while the patio heater casts warmth over you both.

It all felt so liberating, finally being able to say out loud what your eyes have been whispering for months.

“Hey, no pitchforks now,” Professor Munson says with a chuckle. He tosses his hands in the air. “The rubric clearly stated three academic articles — two of them peer-reviewed — and all published within the last five years. Your third one was SIX.”

You reject Munson's theatrical surrender, grabbing his large hands and pressing them back onto the booth. He smiles mischievously into you, enabling this quiet, deliberate moment of affection — a crack in the dam that would’ve held firm just a few months earlier. His eyes stay locked on yours as your hands hover above his lap.

“Ugh,” you gaze up at him through beady, flirtatious eyes. "Why do you always have to follow the rules?"

“I don’t always follow them,” he shakes his head in amusement. “Sometimes there are exceptions.”

You feel yourself flush as blood rushes to your face. It’s then that you start to wonder if it’s even the heater doing the warming. After all, his dark brown eyes and sultry stare have never failed to melt you into a puddle before. Amongst other things.

He bumps you with his knee.

"You ready to head out?"

Aged cigars and smoked whiskey greet you at Professor Munson's high-end condo.

You find yourself perched politely on his leather couch as he sifts through his vinyls —  aged and seductively rugged, much like himself — set on cultivating the best mood possible for the occasion.

You both knew what you came here for. But there was still a need for feigned naiveity, a scripted buffer to preserve the illusion of its organic unfolding, despite how carefully orchestrated this all was.

"You do your class eval yet?"

"I did," you smile.

"Oh yeah?” he smirks, settling beside you with practiced ease. “How'd I do?"

You eye him up and down, tugging a heavy and restrained sigh out of him as he primally traces your gaze.

The thrill of it all feels like mid-semester still; but with a lot less limitations.

"10 out of 10.”

"BO-RING," he roars.

"What?!" you stumble back in shock.

"C'mon,” he cackles. “If I could do ONE thing better, what would you like me to do?"

"I can't think of anything!" you offer a smiley pout, the soft pitch of your voice getting higher with every syllable. "Your class is fine the way it is."

"Seriously? I don't believe that."

Now you’re challenging him.

"Tell me why you care so much, Munson."

You find yourself tracing his stubble with your delicate fingers, simply out of adoration, and he watches this like a favorite film that he forgot existed.

Munson shifts in his seat, matching this energy by reeling you closer to him by your waist, with nothing left but his conditioned restraint to hold him back. But the dam is straining now, against the pressure of this rising flood.

"I care," he says in the deepest register you've ever heard from him, his hand settling on your knee, "Cuz I'm always striving to better my craft."

He exhales, breath low and calibrated, as if a single breath alone might just set off the very desire threatening to unravel him. The desire of unraveling you. You and those beady doe eyes, that perky bust, and that mouth designed for sin. You, with that laugh and your barely-appropriate skirts. You and those not-so-accidental touches during didactic that made getting caught look like the objective. Munson’s eyes drop to your mouth, then snap back, clinging to control by the tiniest thread.

"Well,” you inch closer to him. “I don't think it can get any better than this."

And the floodgates have opened. With his impulse control gone awry, Munson initiates his long awaited leap into you.

"Mm."

It all happens so quick, so naturally, that before you know it your soft lips are pressed against his, submitting to his passionate tongue as he cups your face and lowers you onto the couch.

“Fuck.”

His stiff, growing bulge probes at your stomach as you moan into his touch, palming him needily as he glides his thick fingers across your folds. 

And he does this as he’s kissing your jawline softly, smiling into you as he savors the scent of your floral body oil, a fragrance that brings him back to the butterflies — the new, profound excitement of syllabus week.

He’s wanted to bend you over his podium, and fuck you senseless since day one.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this," he breathes as your lips part temporarily.

"Oh, I KNOW," you tease. “Professor Munson.”

He looks at you through his hooded, enchanted eyelids.

"You do realize you can call me Eddie..."

"I know that too," you say. "It's just…I've been calling you Professor Munson all semester."

"That's fair," he nods. "Too long of a semester..."

Your breath catches suddenly, causing your lips to separate as Eddie introduces two fingers into your needy cunt, already soaked to the base of his knuckles with your arousal. There’s an immediate braveness with his pacing, steady yet unforgiving, your desire for him trickling onto your soft, black lace panties. Mindful of this, Eddie then eases them down to the hem of your mini dress.

“You don’t need this.” You giggle up at him. “You always used to say that.” “It lands a little differently now, yeah?” he quips, pulsing in further. “So…. much differently,” you muster, attempting a smile towards him. “Very…” he smiles back, his lips curling ever-so-connivingly. “VERY differently.”

Get rid of this. Get rid of that. You don’t need this. You don’t need that.

Eddie Munson — with his unwavering rubric-slash-doctrine — always used to make you work for every inch of praise you earned.

But when that praise came? That seal of approval in the form of a “well done” wink, and a little extra 1:1 time with him? It was a dopamine high you couldn’t help but chase.

And when you finally earned the full credit he’d been dangling in front of you — almost mockingly…like a carrot just out of reach — the payoff became addictive. 

Translation: You want it? Better work for it, baby. I know you can. And I know you WILL.

So yeah, it lands differently now. But a part of you wonders if it was the meaning all along.

God, if admin saw this...

"Eddie..." you chant, whimpering into his ear. "Eddie... Eddie... Eddie… Fuck. Fuck, FUCK!"

His pace had quickened and you're a mewling mess beneath him, the profanities he’d normally disapprove of being all that you were shouting. 

But he grins widely at this instead (surprisingly), satisfied by the notion that he was able to undo you so intimately, pushing your buttons further by inserting another digit. 

Desperately trying to keep yourself contained, you tug at his hair, eyelids closing, brain numbing, your core hot and tight when…

Suddenly, he retreats.

"Why's it look like you wanna cum right now?" Eddie scorns.

You're thrown by the shift in demeanor. A stammering wreck, you rush to your own defense.

"I-I..." blood rushes back to your face. "I don't. Not yet at least."

"Good," he smirks. "Got a lot more where that came from."

Eddie pauses to skim your body, sifting through his mental catalogue of fantasies best suited for this very moment. Suddenly, his gaze ignites.

"Get on top."

Without any extra thought, you reposition yourself to perch upon the very lap you had been fantasizing about all semester. You await Eddie’s cue as he scrambles for a condom, taking this moment to collect yourself and stare around the estate that — indeed — belongs to your former professor. 

You’re actually here. You’re actually doing this. This isn’t a one-sided ordeal either. Eddie Munson wants you just the same. Perhaps even more.

The sound of an opening wooden drawer, and snapping of some rubber brings you back. Out on a prowl — and painstakingly erect — Eddie eyes you carnivorously as you take the sight of him in. “Ready for the REAL test?” he winks. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you respond coyly.

“You've got it,” he insists, fixing your position so that you were hovering right above him. His voice darkens. “Go on, now… Bounce on it for me.”

There’s no going back after this point. Sinking yourself onto his ruinous shaft, a silent gasp escapes you as you lower yourself onto him. Eddie grunts pleasurably, tossing his head back, slowly snaking himself inside you and pumping in and out of you balls deep, ensuring you felt every nerve of that initial sting, every intentional stroke, every highway of his thick veins, and every bout of praise that had spilled carelessly out of his mouth as he fawned up at your beauty. 

“Oh god…” you breathe.

Gauging you intently, Eddie stops when he senses you’ve accommodated him, allowing you to take the reigns any which way you wanted. And to your shock, you could only watch as he reaches for your hands, assertively pinning them behind your back before fastening them in place with the belt that was initially around his trousers. He grins at your subtle uncertainty.

“You've got it,” he repeats, whispering you through it as you whimper softly. “’s nothin’ you can’t handle.”

“You sure?” you bite your lip seductively as you ride, causing him to grow even more inside of you. 

“Yeah,” he tuts, his lazy eye devouring you at the sight. “I’ve seen you challenge yourself before. You can do it, sweetheart.”

So you keep bouncing, all while he calls you “gorgeous” and “stunning” through it. But the euphoric minutes slowly begin to feel like hours, your legs wobbling like jelly, though you’re determined to stick it through. 

But Eddie’s watching… studying you. And no matter how much you try to hide it, he sees through you more than you realize.

You’re tired – and spoiled – and he knows it.

"So used to being a pillow princess, aren't you?" he tsks as you ride him needily. "Gonna have to work for THIS one, my dear.”

He watches with the smuggest look on his face, taking note of just how blissfully your eyes roll to the back of your head as you ride him out. You’re tempted to use his chest for leverage with your palm, but he gives his belt a tug, tightening how snug they felt around your wrists. 

“She loooves a challenge,” he observes, pupils nearly blown from how pussy drunk he had become. He is but a slave to your moans.  "Both inside the classroom and out, don’t you baby?"

You illicit a high-pitched grunt in confirmation, knuckles white against the confinement of his grasp, fixated on delaying your climax for as long as possible while your pussy encloses itself around his perfect cock.

Is it really a ‘power-play’ if you both knew the rules and still chose to break them? If the tension was mutual, electric, and stimulating in every sense? You didn’t just provoke him — you matched his energy, and well, neither of you retreated. Off limits, yes. But the door was always unlocked. 

God, you’re obsessed with how he feels. He’s ruining you.

"Don't wanna fucking stop," you whine. "Feels too good."

Eddie chuckles at this, amused and impressed by how far you’re willing to go to get to your reward.

“Yeah? I feel that good?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“I‘m sure I do.”

He draws it on for a while longer, just before you’re about to tap yourself out when he continues to speak.

“Alright. Move your hands.”

He’s released the belt now at this point, and once again you can only watch as Eddie begins to take control. 

Once more, before you could register it, Eddie’s effortlessly flipped you onto your back, manually arching your spine with a moderate press to your lower hips. You beam up at him with lust, and he responds with a firm smack to your ass, before proceeding to tease your folds with the head of his greedy cock.

The challenge is everything you wanted. He’s deeper — and somehow feels fuller — when he rails you from the back, causing you to see stars from just the first few pummeling thrusts.

“Holy FUCK!” 

Eddie chuckles — low and knowing — at the way your composure slips as he ruthlessly fucks himself into you, hips pistoning themselves into your ravaged cunt while your slick echoes off the walls of his glass house. You’ve reached a new threshold now.

“More,” you beg. “More, E-Eddie. Just don’t fucking stop!” 

Eddie digs his thumbs into the small of your back for leverage, the exhilarating wet smacks of your bodies crashing into one another incentivizing him further. With a free hand, he gets a loaded grip of your hair, twisting it in his grasp before yanking your gaze upwards towards the ceiling, continuously — effortlessly — drilling you into the couch.

"Wish you could see how hot you look right now," he grunts. "Been needing you like this ever since class started."

How can a man — who’s barely even touched you as til now — who only just now began exploring the hidden crevices of your body — already know EXACTLY what to do?

It’s enough to send you over the edge. Your, pornographic cries sloppy, his thrusts even sloppier. 

“Wanna cum, Eddie. I need to.” 

"I know, I know," he soothes you, the cockiness of his tone slightly patronizing. “You can cum now sweetheart, don’t be shy.”

Just as promised, Eddie catches you when you allow yourself to surrender. His arms wrap around you instinctively, grounding you to the aftershocks. He rubs gentle circles along your arm, lips brushing against your shoulder in soft, repetitive kisses. Eddie then tenderly tucks loose strands of hair away from your damp, flushed face, murmuring quiet reassurances as you melt into him.

“Gooood girl,” he softly chuckles one last time. “That’s my good girl.”

--

You’re practically skipping around his abode afterwards, given the fact that Eddie essentially wined, dined, and fucked you right into summer break. As you help him tidy up, your ex-professor is back to his regular, joking self.

“Not bad for an old man, huh?” he tuts, issuing you a teasing, triumphant elbow.

“Not bad at all,” you giggle.

You shyly toss your clothes back on as he proceeds to give the area a proper wipe down. He sneaks another quick glance your way. 

“If you wanna shower, you can use the bathroom upstairs,” Eddie offers. “I can get you some fresh towels and a t-shirt too if you’d like.”

“Cool,” you blush. “Thank you, Eddie.”

He blushes at this too, elated with how well his informal name melts onto your tongue. You glide your way back over to him, mind heavy with a proposal you’ve been rehearsing for weeks on end. 

"So," you smile angelically. "Heard you're gonna be off for two whole months!"

earth toned divider from @saradika-graphics bow divider from @strangergraphics

taglist: @mediocredreams , @airandyeah bc they knew what i had up my sleeve hehehehe

[rosygaze]

Cool Your Engine

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: A summer car breakdown leads to unexpected sparks when you're met with Eddie Munson, the mechanic.

tags: NSFW, mechanic!Eddie Munson, meet cute, hooking up, smut (18+), Eddie is flirty, but reader is equally as flirty, so Eddie gets flustered, things gets steamy. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: Here's another one for yall who hasn't moved on from spring 2022 (dw me too). And I have to warn you guys, it's my first time writting smut. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

word count: 3k

masterlist

It happened three songs into your summer mixtape, somewhere between “Jessie’s Girl” and the first crackle of heat warping off the pavement. Your car coughed, shuddered, and gave up like a dramatic theater kid—right in the middle of the road.

“Seriously?” you muttered, pulling off to the shoulder with what little momentum you had left. A few horns honked in passing, but it wasn’t like you’d planned a breakdown in 90-degree weather with no shade, no A/C, and no clue what was wrong under the hood.

You kicked the tire. Like that would help.

Eventually, with sweat creeping down your back and patience fraying, you called it in. The tow truck guy took his time—of course—and an hour later, your car was being dragged into Thatcher Tires, a squat little shop tucked behind a gas station and halfway disguised by trees.

The tow truck rolled to a stop in front of an open garage bay. Music drifted from a beat-up radio inside—Ozzy—and you caught the glint of metal tools scattered across a workbench.

Then he stepped out.

He looked like a movie cliché. Grease-stained jeans, sleeveless band tee clinging to his arms, dark curls tied back with a red rag. There was a smear of oil across one cheek, a socket wrench in one hand, and the swagger of someone who’d definitely been kicked out of detention more than once.

And you knew him.

Eddie Munson.

High school’s resident chaos goblin. All leather jackets, bad reputation, and devil horns. You hadn’t really talked to him back then — different friend groups, different universes — but Hawkins High wasn’t exactly huge. You knew of him. He knew of you.

And now, apparently, he was the one holding your car’s fate in his ring-clad hands.

“Well, well,” he said with a grin, looking you up and down with obvious amusement. “Didn’t expect you to show up here. This some kind of undercover royalty mission?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

He gestured to your car with theatrical flair. “You know. Hawkins High’s golden girl, stranded in the heat. Sounds like the setup to a John Hughes movie. Except I’m pretty sure I’m the bad influence your parents warned you about.”

You stared at him. He was laying it on thick. Bold move.

“…The engine died,” you said coolly, not missing a beat. “Right after I put in gas. Which makes me think maybe it just gave up on life.”

“Tragic,” Eddie said, walking over to pop the hood. “Sounds like it’s got a flare for the dramatic. Can’t blame it. If I had to live off gas station hot dogs, I’d probably give up too.”

He bent over the engine, giving you an unfortunate front-row view of his torn shirt riding up at the back. You fought the urge to laugh.

Then, without looking at you, he added, “So, you come here often? Or do broken engines just bring us together?”

You blinked.

Oh. So he wanted to play this game.

A slow smile tugged at your lips.

You stepped a little closer, just enough that he noticed the shift in space. “Only when the universe decides to throw me at high school delinquents.”

Eddie straightened, wiping his hands on a rag that only made them slightly dirtier. He caught your gaze and faltered for just a second. “Touché.”

You tilted your head, pretending to inspect the engine. “So, you actually know what you’re doing? Or is this where you tell me I need a whole new car?”

He let out a breathy chuckle, tapping the wrench against his palm. “Nah, lucky for you, I’m the best thing that ever happened to this shop. You’ll be back on the road in no time.”

“Good,” you said, shooting him a look. “I’d hate to have to call another mechanic. One that isn’t flirting with me in broad daylight.”

That shut him up.

For a beat, Eddie opened his mouth—then closed it again. He wiped his hands harder. “Uh. Right. Yeah. I’ll, um, go take a look at the engine now.”

You bit your cheek to keep from laughing. This was going to be fun.

Eddie cleared his throat, dragging his focus back to the car like it hadn’t just gotten lightly roasted by someone way too cute to be standing in his garage, in his space, casually dismantling his ability to flirt like a functioning adult.

He leaned over the engine again, muttering something about valves as he poked around with the tip of his wrench. You folded your arms and leaned back against the car next to yours, watching him like he was a particularly entertaining movie.

“So?” you finally asked. “What’s the damage, Doc?”

Eddie popped his head up, giving you a crooked grin. “Well, after a very scientific examination—by which I mean looking at it and poking it a few times—I’d say your alternator’s fried. That, or your battery connections are shot. Could be both. Either way, your engine wasn’t getting the juice it needed.”

You blinked. “English?”

He laughed. “Car no get power. Car sad.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile snuck in anyway. “Got it. And how long does it take to un-sad the car?”

Eddie straightened up fully, wiping his hands on the same greasy rag as before. “If it’s just the alternator, I can probably have it fixed by tomorrow evening. If I gotta order a new part, we’re talking… two days, maybe three. Depends how fast the delivery guy wants to piss me off this week.”

You nodded, pretending to calculate your suffering. “So I’m without a car for at least a day. What a tragedy.”

Eddie shrugged, tilting his head. “Could be worse. At least you broke down near home. And hey, now you get to hang out at Hawkins’ hottest summer destination: the Munson Garage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what this place is called now?”

“Unofficially. Only the cool people call it that.” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck with his oil-slicked hand and instantly regretting it when he smeared grease across his skin. “Which, apparently, now includes you.”

There was a pause.

You smiled again—slow and knowing.

He caught it and groaned. “God, I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with satisfaction.

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’m gonna pull the battery and check a few more things. You’re welcome to chill if you want. The office has A/C and a semi-functioning coffee machine. Emphasis on ‘semi.’”

You considered it, then nodded. “Fine. But if that coffee kills me, I’m suing.”

He gave you a mock salute. “Deal. You die, I get sued. That’s the American Dream, baby.”

You pushed off the car and made your way toward the garage office, brushing past him just close enough that his breath hitched—and if you smiled to yourself as you walked away, well…

He didn’t have to know that.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

You stared at the buzzing fluorescent light in the garage office. It blinked in uneven spurts, casting a depressing glow over the chipped coffee table, stained carpet, and stack of Auto Weekly magazines no one had touched since 1981. The A/C hummed like it was on its last leg, doing its best to fight off the heat bleeding through the windows.

You checked your watch. Five minutes had passed.

You tried sipping the coffee.

Immediately regretted it.

You set it down and stared at the door leading back into the garage.

You didn’t have to sit here. He’d invited you to stay, hadn’t he?

Yeah. Totally invited. It wasn’t weird. Not weird at all.

With that flimsy justification, you pushed open the door and stepped into the garage again—where the air was hotter, thicker, and scented like motor oil, grease, and faint cologne. Not that you minded.

Eddie was crouched low at the front of your car, hands deep in the engine. He hadn’t noticed you yet, music from a nearby radio low but loud enough to cover the creak of the door.

And yeah—damn.

The band tee he wore earlier had ridden up again, revealing the sharp lines of his back and the tattoos inked along his side, smeared faintly with grease. His arms flexed as he twisted something with a wrench, a loose strand of hair falling across his face. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge across his temple.

You shouldn’t have stared. You definitely shouldn’t have bit your lip.

But it wasn’t your fault he looked like the cover of a very specific kind of magazine right now.

Eddie finally looked up—and startled just slightly when he saw you there. “Back so soon? Office too glamorous for you?”

You shrugged, walking over like your pulse wasn’t doing weird things. “The light was flickering like it was trying to communicate with the dead. And your coffee? Crimes against humanity.”

Eddie grinned. “Told you it was semi-functional.”

You leaned against the worktable beside him, arms crossed, pretending you weren’t definitely watching the way his curls stuck to the back of his neck. “So what’s the verdict? Is my car dead or just in a dramatic coma?”

He wiped his hands off on a rag, then gestured vaguely toward the engine. “Still coma. She’s responding to tests, though. Could pull through with some TLC and a couple hundred dollars in parts.”

“Hmm.” You leaned forward, peering into the engine like you knew what any of it meant. “You really talk about cars like they’re people.”

He looked at you, a flicker of something dancing behind his eyes. “They kind of are. You learn their moods. Their quirks. Some scream for attention, others give you the silent treatment.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Sounds like high school.”

You both laughed, and for a second, the sound softened the space between you.

Then Eddie cleared his throat. “You didn’t have to come out here, you know.”

“I know.” You looked at him, bold enough to hold the stare. “Just figured you were more interesting than a flickering light and expired magazines.”

His smile twitched, but he didn’t look away. “Careful, princess. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

You tilted your head, considering him, considering your words. “What if I already do?”

For a split second, his confidence wobbled. A flush bloomed at the base of his neck, just barely visible through the smears of grease and heat.

“Well,” he said, eyes flicking down and then quickly back up, “then I’d say you’re making some very questionable life choices.”

You smirked, leaning a little closer. “Yeah. I tend to do that in the summer.”

Eddie blinked—visibly short-circuiting.

You didn’t press your luck. Just gave him a wink, turned around, and went back to pretending to look at the tools like you hadn’t just broken his brain.

From behind you, you heard him mutter, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.

Victory.

You eventually peeled yourself away from the garage — mostly because the heat and Eddie were making it difficult to think straight.

After making a call, you walked back to Eddie, “I’m gonna have to leave her here for the night,” you said, glancing back at your poor, sunbaked car. “I’ve got places to be, and unfortunately none of them include waiting around in a garage for a miraculous resurrection.”

Eddie wiped his hands on that same rag, slinging it over his shoulder like a towel in some kind of car commercial. “I can work on it tonight, if you want. Should have her running by tomorrow.”

You tilted your head. “You offering that as a mechanic or a... friend?”

He gave a soft snort. “Well, the mechanic gets paid. The friend just wants an excuse to see you again.”

You tried not to let your smirk show too much. “Good thing I like both of them, then.”

That time, he definitely blushed — just a flicker, but you caught it.

A car horn sounded from outside. You glanced toward the open garage doors and saw your friend’s car pulling into the lot, waving lazily out the window.

“That’s my ride,” you said, already taking a few steps back.

Eddie nodded, brushing a grease-streaked curl from his cheek. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You paused at the door, hand on the frame. “Don’t let her give you too much trouble,” you said, nodding at your car. “She can be dramatic, but she’s got heart.”

“Sounds familiar,” Eddie said, giving you a little grin — and a little look.

You raised your brows. “Careful, Munson. You flirt like that again and I might think you’re interested.”

He opened his mouth, but whatever clever reply he had fizzled the moment you winked and turned on your heel.

As you slid into your friend’s passenger seat, you couldn’t help but glance back once. Eddie was still standing there, rag over his shoulder, watching you go with a look that made the inside of your chest feel like someone had lit a match.

Yeah. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The next afternoon, you were back — sunglasses perched on your nose, summer breeze tousling your hair as you stepped into the garage.

Eddie was already elbow-deep in the hood of someone else’s car, but the second he looked up and saw you, something in his face lit up. He wiped his hands off and met you halfway across the garage.

“She lives,” he said, nodding toward your car parked by the side. “Got her purring like a kitten. You’re all good to go.”

You gave him a pleased grin, twirling your keys around one finger. “So does this mean I owe you dinner, or just my eternal gratitude?”

Eddie blinked — caught for just a second in that space between flustered and wanting to flirt. “Depends. Are you offering?”

You tilted your head, amused. “I might be.”

He was the one who took the step closer this time. “Careful,” he said, voice low. “You say things like that and I’ll start thinking today’s gonna get even better.”

Something in the air shifted — like it always did when you two were alone.

It was supposed to be a quick stop. Grab the car, say thank you, go. But the way Eddie was looking at you — like you were trouble in the best way — made your pulse kick up.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, but didn’t back away.

“So are you.”

He reached up, gently brushing your sunglasses to rest on top of your head. The moment your eyes met without the tint between them, something snapped.

You closed the distance first — not quite a kiss, but your lips just a breath away from his. “Is now a bad time to say I’ve been thinking about you?”

Eddie exhaled through a laugh, but his voice came out hoarse. “Only if it stops you from doing something about it.”

And then you did.

You kissed him.

It was slow at first — like testing the water — but when his hands found your waist and you backed him against the wall beside the garage’s tool chest, it deepened. His lips were soft but urgent, fingers flexing against your sides like he couldn’t believe this was real.

He broke away just long enough to say, “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”

You smiled against his jaw, lips brushing his skin. “I’m counting on it.”

Clothes stayed mostly on. But hands wandered. A little too long under your shirt, his rings cold against warm skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging a soft noise from the back of his throat that made your stomach flutter.

The garage door was still open.

“I should not be doing this here,” you murmured against his lips, breathless, giggling.

“Tell that to yourself, then,” Eddie said, nipping at your bottom lip.

You kissed him like you meant to stay longer — and Eddie kissed you back like he didn’t want to let you leave.

What started near the open garage doors quickly got too bold, too heated. A quiet moan slipped out before you could stop it, and Eddie froze like a deer in headlights. His eyes darted to the open lot.

“Office,” he mumbled. “Now.”

You both practically stumbled inside, laughing between kisses. The office door shut behind you with a muffled click — suddenly, the hum of the fan was the only sound, and it felt like you were in a different world.

Eddie backed you against the wall first, lips trailing down your neck, one hand resting just above your hip while the other cupped your cheek. He kissed you like he was trying to learn you — slow at first, but full of quiet hunger.

Then he stopped.

His eyes searched yours, lips parted, chest rising and falling. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “With me?”

You nodded, without a second of hesitation. “Are you seriously still asking that?”

A beat passed. Then he muttered, “Okay,” like a promise.

His fingers slid under your shirt again — bolder this time, less cautious — and you tugged at the hem until he helped you pull it over your head. You made quick work of his, revealing the lines of his pale torso, lean and dusted with grease smudges and freckles.

You kissed each other like you were making up for lost time.

Eddie's hands wandered lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you up against the wall, breath hot against your cheek. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured.

“It’s not enough,” you whispered back.

That did it. His mouth crashed into yours again — desperate, teeth and tongue and breathless heat.

Then he carried you to the desk, setting you down like you were something fragile. The fan buzzed above as his fingers skimmed over your waistband, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Still good?” he asked.

You answered by kissing him again, and guiding his hand where you wanted it.

His fingers traced gentle shapes over your clit — feather-light at first, almost teasing, like he wanted to hear you beg. When he slipped past the seam and touched you — properly — your breath hitched.

“God, you're soaked,” he whispered. “Is that all for me?”

You nodded, flushed and smiling. “Who else?”

He watched your expression the whole time, eyes dark, lips parted, the tips of his fingers slick with you. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so soft…”

Your hands slid down to his belt, tugging at the buckle with shaking fingers. He let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

When his dick pressed against your thigh, hot and heavy even through his boxers, you felt the last of your patience snap. He leaned over you, foreheads touching, both of you half-dressed and frantic.

“Please,” you said, soft, just for him.

He kissed you again before he pushed down his boxers past his knees. When you saw his dick, thick and flushed, your stomach flipped in the best way.

He lined up, pushing in slow — steady, careful, giving you time.

His breath hitched as he slid into your entrance, stretching you in a way that made you gasp into his shoulder. His hands shook a little where they gripped the desk beside your hips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, dick buried to the hilt. “You feel… insane. You feel perfect.”

Eddie kissed every inch he could reach — your shoulders, your jaw, the hollow beneath your ear. His hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t let go. You tangled your fingers in his hair, nails dragging lightly down his back.

You whispered each other's names like secrets. You clung to him like he was the only real thing in the world.

The desk creaked beneath you with every thrust, the sound swallowed by the way your bodies met, again and again. His hands gripped your waist like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“I’m—close,” he admitted in a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours.

You nodded, moaning softly. “Me too. Don’t stop, Eds, don’t—”

You came first, thighs trembling, body arching as pleasure rolled through you in slow waves. Eddie followed almost instantly, hips stuttering, arms wrapping tightly around you as he let go with a broken sound against your neck.

For a long time after, the only sounds were your uneven breathing and the faint faint creak of the ceiling fan. He was still buried inside you, arms loose around your waist.

You were still curled up in the mess of discarded clothes and paperwork, your head against his chest, the fan doing a miserable job at cooling the both of you down.

Eddie was blinking up at the ceiling, completely flushed, dazed.

You grinned, breathless. “Don’t worry... I’m still gonna pay for the car.”

He let out a helpless laugh and pressed a kiss to your hair. “That’s not even close to what I’m worried about.”

[rosygaze]

kiss me softly

pairing: best friend!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you're distracted during movie night with your best friend, and when he convinces you to tell him what's on your mind, it leads to so much more...

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, tit play/nipple sucking, dry humping, dirty talk, some degradation, some objectification, referenced dumbification, vaguely referenced free use, praise kink, begging, teasing, kissing (so much kissing), Bucky's a lil possessive, pet names (doll, pet, baby), aftercare, friends to lovers

word count: 4.7k

a/n: how many times have i written a bucky barnes friends to lovers fic on a couch? SO many times! and will i write it again? probably!!! anyway, here's my contribution for week 2 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer! i didn't use allllll the prompts but i still had a lot of fun writing this one, so i hope y'all enjoy it ♡

prompt: “Did I give you permission?” | [Cock Cage | Orgasm Delay/Denial | Master/Pet Roleplay]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

“That’s a mean frown ya got over there, doll.”

Bucky Barnes’ comment broke you from your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you’d been staring unseeingly at the TV in your living room. Shaking yourself lightly, you glanced over to the other side of the couch, where your best friend was lounging comfortably for your movie night. 

Even with the vaguely concerned expression on his face, Bucky looked far too good in a plain black t-shirt and a simple pair of gray sweatpants. You’d always known your best friend was handsome, but there was something about seeing him sprawled out on your couch, taking up so much space in your home, it had you feeling a certain type of way…

“Do you not like the movie I chose?”

You startled slightly at Bucky’s question, and abandoned the trail your thoughts had been wandering down. They wouldn’t lead anywhere good. Bucky was your best friend, not some guy to scratch an itch that you could probably just ignore.

“No, no,” you assured him, looking back at the TV. He’d put on some 90s action movie that you normally would’ve enjoyed, but you’d seen it so many times, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from getting distracted. “I’m just thinking,” you said on an exhale, rearranging yourself on the couch so your legs were tucked underneath you. 

“Must be serious to have you frowning like that,” Bucky teased, shifting his body so he was facing you, ignoring the movie as it played on, even though it was one of his favorites. “C’mon, doll, tell your best friend what’s troubling you—it’s what I’m here for.”

Bucky flashed a charming grin your way, and you couldn’t help but melt a little. Your best friend always had that effect on you. He could convince you to do anything he wanted with just some sweet words and that dazzling smile.

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t use his superpowers for evil—just for a little bit of trouble. Like that time he’d talked you into getting some finance guy at a bar in Tribeca to buy you extra drinks so Bucky could drink for free too. 

The guy hadn’t been very happy when he learned he’d been bankrolling you and your best friend for the night, but you’d ditched him and the bar before a fight could break out. You and Bucky had collapsed against each other on the subway ride home to Brooklyn, laughing together, your breaths mingling until you didn’t know where yours ended and your best friend’s began…

Wrenching yourself out of that memory, you forced yourself to focus on Bucky. 

“I just…” you began and trailed off, suddenly realizing how pathetic you were going to sound when you gave voice to what you’d been thinking about. Chewing on your lip, you wondered if there was a way to phrase it so you didn’t sound quite so pitiful.

When inspiration failed to strike, your helpless gaze met Bucky’s eyes across the couch. He ducked his head and looked at you from under his lashes, giving you an encouraging nod.

“I won’t judge you, doll, you know that,” he said, his voice low and rumbly in a way that made your stomach flip and a little tingle to flutter between your thighs. His expression was so open and sincere, you squirmed, ignoring your body’s reaction.

“I know,” you said, nodding, and letting your gaze drop to your fingers in your lap. “It’s just a little silly.” You tried to laugh, but it came out strained. Your fingers picked at your nails—a nervous habit your best friend had pointed out to you years ago. 

Bucky scooted across the couch, until he was close enough to place one of his warm hands over yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting. 

You knew you were being ridiculous. You knew Bucky wouldn’t judge you, you didn’t know why you were so nervous about talking to him. So you told yourself to be brave. You took a deep breath and looked at your best friend, meeting his bright blue eyes. 

“I was thinking about…kissing.”

Your words hung in the air for a moment, then two. Then Bucky cocked his head to the side and a little line formed between his brows, his expressions morphing into confusion. Before he could ask his question, though, you rushed on, suddenly eager to get it all out once you’d started. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed,” you explained, your voice breathless from the flood of words spilling from your mouth. “And I was thinking about how nice it would be for someone to take my face in their hands and just…kiss me softly—kiss me like they mean it.”

The whisper of your words trailed off, leaving the muted sounds of the movie and the city beyond your living room to press down on your shoulders. At some point, you’d dropped your gaze again to your lap, where your hands had turned over, fingers slotting between Bucky’s. As you watched, his hand gave yours a little squeeze.

You didn’t see Bucky move, but you heard him. You heard the couch creak and the rustle of fabric as he slid across the cushions until his gray cotton-clad thigh was pressed against your bare knees. 

Just like Bucky, you’d dressed comfortably for movie night, wearing a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that might’ve belonged to him once. But you’d commandeered it so long ago, you thought of it as yours. 

“Is that what you want?” Bucky asked, his voice even lower and rumblier, sending the butterflies in your stomach spiraling. 

The fingers of his other hand were gentle when they slid against your jaw, tipping your face toward him. Your best friend’s blue eyes looked practically electric in the dim light of the room, and there was something, something like hunger, wading deep in their depths. The emotion called to something deep inside you.

“Do you want me to kiss you, pet?”

That nickname—the one Bucky only used when you were half asleep, snuggled up close, your heads huddled together, your limbs entwined while you lay in bed or on the couch after a long night of watching movies or drinking at the bar—sent a warm flush through your body. 

You hadn’t been thinking about Bucky when you’d been thinking about someone kissing you, but in a matter of moments, it had become all you could think about. Suddenly, you were all too aware of your best friend.

His breaths were coming a little faster, and his blue eyes had darkened, his pupils blowing wide as his gaze searched your face. You could smell the faint hint of salt and butter on his lips from the popcorn you’d eaten earlier, and you could see every grain of the dark stubble shifting on his clenching jaw.

There was a hesitance, a nervousness, you rarely, if ever, saw in your best friend, and it made your breath hitch in your throat. He wanted this. He wanted it as badly as you did, and knowing that made you brave.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged on a whisper, meeting his gaze with your own, your eyes wide and pleading. You leaned into his touch, his thumb stroking your cheek rhythmically. 

For a moment that seemed to last forever, Bucky stared into your eyes, as if searching your soul for any reason to pause. When he found none, the edge of his mouth curled in a smile.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” he rumbled in a teasing tone that had your heart fluttering in your chest. 

Then Bucky leaned forward, and you did the same, until your breaths mingled and you could feel the warmth of him on your lips. 

Your mouths met in a tentative brush, so soft you would’ve thought you imagined it if it wasn’t for the shock of electricity that zipped down your spine. You tilted your face, searching for more, and Bucky’s lips met yours again in another cautious kiss. 

Heat bloomed in your body, unfurling in your chest and taking root low in your belly, your racing pulse thrumming between your thighs. It was a slow-building pleasure, but then, all of a sudden, you were ravenous for more. You pressed closer, fingers curling around Bucky’s shoulders, tongue flicking experimentally against his upper lip.

He groaned like he was in the greatest pain, but then his hands were wrapping around your waist, spanning your ribcage, and he was hauling you closer. His mouth covered yours and he deepened the kiss, giving you exactly what you needed without you having to ask.

Bucky devoured you, his lips moving against yours in a greedy push and pull that had you moaning wantonly into his mouth. When your lips parted, his tongue plunged inside, taking control of the kiss while his fingers tightened on your body. 

Your best friend held you like you were priceless, and kissed you like you were inescapable. Bucky kissed you like he’d been waiting years—decades—to get his mouth on you, and you’d only needed to ask. 

It was dizzying, overwhelming and wonderful in the best way. You kissed him back with all the pent up yearning that had been locked away in your heart, consuming him just as much as he was you.

Only when your lungs were burning for air did you wrench your lips from Bucky’s with a gasp. Over your desperate, panting breaths, you heard him growl, his hands cupping your face as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Did I give you permission to pull away, pet?”

The possessiveness in Bucky’s tone made you melt, and a whimper of desire slipped from your lips. You’d never seen this side of your best friend, but it made you nearly feral for more. 

“Bucky,” you whined his name pitifully. Your fingers were clinging to his t-shirt and trying to tug him closer on the couch, but you were already as close as you could possibly be while you sat next to each other. 

At your desperate whimpering, Bucky softened, a smile flirting around the edges of his mouth. “C’mere, pet,” he purred, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. 

Then your best friend was manhandling you into his lap, arranging you so your legs straddled his thighs. Your ass was perched over his groin, where you could feel a thick bulge pressing into the center of your body, making heat cascade down your spine as wetness dripped from your slit.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you mewled, rolling your hips instinctively and grinding against his cock through your clothes. “Did you—did you get this hard from kissing me?” you whispered, stumbling over your words but forcing them out because you needed to know the answer.

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky rumbled, affection in his tone as his hands dove beneath your oversized t-shirt to skate up and down your spine. You felt electric heat burst everywhere he touched. “My best friend’s sweet kisses made me this hard.” 

He lifted his hips, digging his bulge into your soft mound, dragging a helpless moan from your lips. He pressed his grin into the underside of your jaw.

“You feel so good, pet,” he murmured into your skin, like he was confessing a secret. “Your mouth is a dream that’s haunted me for years, and now that I’ve had a taste, there’s no going back for me. You’ve wrecked me, baby, and I need so much more of you.”

With one hand cupping your jaw, Bucky dragged your mouth back to his and he kissed you like a starving man—like he’d been lost in a desert for days and you were his first sip of water. 

You kissed him just as greedily, launching yourself off the ledge the two of you had been dangling from for years, neither one wanting to be the first one to jump. But now he had, and you were happy to follow him in his freefall, knowing he’d catch you and hold you safely in his arms.

When you needed air, Bucky’s mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, his lips finding your thumping pulse and sucking on your skin until you were whining. While you gasped for breath, he found every spot on your neck that made you hotter and needier, until you were squirming your hips impatiently on his lap.

“I need more, too, Bucky,” you huffed, spreading your legs wider over his thighs so that you could press down more firmly on your best friend’s cock. You fingers sank into his soft brown hair, holding his face to your neck while you rolled your hips in a dizzying frenzy. “Are you gonna do anything about it?”

Bucky stilled beneath you, and it was only then that you realized what you’d said. You sucked in a surprised breath, not sure where that boldness had come from—though you suspected it had something to do with the fact that you felt safe and comfortable enough with your best friend to freely speak your frustrated mind.

Leaning back, you caught sight of Bucky’s face, his eyes meeting yours as humor and lust roiled in their blue depths, like he was eager to meet your challenge. He wore a dark and hungry smirk, and his hands tightened where they held you, pulling you close until your chest was pressed tight to his. 

“Does my pretty little pet need my cock?” Bucky asked, his tone agonizingly condescending, and making you drip so much you began to worry you’d leave a wet spot on his gray sweatpants. But then he distracted you with more filthy words. “D’you need your best friend to fuck that achy, greedy pussy between your soft thighs, huh?”

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, a little surprised to find out your best friend had such a filthy mouth. 

But you didn’t hate it—far from it. You wanted more, you wanted him to fuck you and talk you through it, so you went on, hoping that if you were vocal, he’d keep talking dirty to you. 

“Y-yes, I need you, need you to fuck me, Bucky, please!”

Not needing to be asked twice, Bucky flipped you down onto your back on the couch, taking care to make sure you didn’t knock your head against anything but the pillows. Then his hands were manhandling your legs together, dragging your sleep shorts and panties over your hips and off in one swift movement. 

While he reached behind his back and yanked his t-shirt off, you pulled yours over your head, discarding it and your bra as quickly as you could manage. Once free, your hands immediately went to your tits, groping your soft flesh and rolling your nipples between your fingers as you stared up at the muscular chest of your best friend. 

Bucky’s big body pushed between your thighs, which you spread eagerly for him, your knees hugging his ribs while he shoved his sweatpants down. When his cock bounced free, you gasped softly at the sight of him—so thick and hard and perfect. 

For a moment, the two of you paused, like you’d both just realized you were naked in front of each other for the first time. Your gaze roamed hungrily over Bucky’s body, appreciating the breadth of his shoulders, the slight taper of his waist, the soft trail of hair leading down to his hard cock. 

The moment dragged on for so long, you managed to tear your eyes away from your best friend’s cock to look at his face. Bucky’s handsome face was slack with desire, his darkened blue eyes roving over your body with the same kind of awe you’d felt when looking at him.

His gaze lingered on your chest, watching your fingers idly play with your nipples. You squeezed your tits harder, making yourself gasp and arch up off the couch. Bucky’s cock gave an answering twitch and he grabbed it in one fist, pumping himself slowly while he marveled at you.

It felt good to be the object of your best friend’s lust, but you could feel your pussy leaking and pulsing, begging to be filled. You decided Bucky could watch you all he wanted—but later, after he’d fucked you.

“Buck, please, I need your cock,” you whined, your hands leaving your body to reach for him. Your fingers curled around his shoulders and you dragged him down on top of you, his knuckles brushing against your soft mound and making you moan.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, before capturing your lips in a kiss. 

His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss slow and drugging, stealing your breath until your head was spinning. When he pulled away, it was only to speak more filth against your lips. 

“Your tits are so pretty, pet,” he murmured, using his thumb to press his cock between your soaked folds, dragging his shaft through your lower lips to make himself slick with your juices. “Can’t wait to suck on ‘em while my dick’s buried in your cunt. Wanna hear your pretty whines while I suck your tits and you clench around my fat cock.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” you huffed, fingers carding through his hair and dragging him to your mouth for a messy kiss. 

“What, ya like it when I talk dirty, baby?” Bucky asked teasingly when he pulled away. There was a ridiculously charming grin on his face, like he already knew the answer to his question. Which, of course, he did. 

You couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement, your lips curving in a smile. “I love it,” you mumbled, pulling him in for another deep kiss before finishing your thought. “Love hearing all the filthy things you wanna do to your best friend.”

Bucky groaned, his cock throbbing against your pussy, and then he was pulling his hips back until the tip was notched at your hole. He paused, lifting up enough for his eyes to search yours.

In that moment, neither of you needed words. The hunger and desire and need swirling through your body was reflected in Bucky’s dark blue gaze, and though your lips parted to beg him to finally slide inside, all you had to do was nod. 

Bucky thrust forward slowly, carefully, and yet you still gasped when the head of his cock pushed inside your tight hole. It had been a while since you’d had anyone or anything inside you, and even though Bucky wasn’t intimidatingly big, you still felt the stretch of your body accommodating him.

“Y’alright, pet?” he murmured against your cheek, his scruff tickling your skin, his mouth never straying far from yours. 

“Yeah, just—just go slow,” you whispered back, fingers hooked around his shoulders, nails digging into his warm muscles.

“You tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, alright?” he rumbled in a stern voice that had the butterflies fluttering in your belly again. He pulled back enough to give you a serious look. “I want you to enjoy this.”

The corner of your mouth kicked up in a half smile and you pulled him down for yet another kiss. Even though your lips were swollen from kisses, you didn’t think you’d ever get enough from Bucky, especially the ones where you were both smiling too much to brush your lips against each other’s.

He pushed forward, using your distraction to slide a little deeper. You tensed at the stretch of feeling him fill you more, waiting for the pain—but nothing came. Bucky’s hands soothed over your bare skin, using his words to distract you again.

“I want you to want to do this again, baby, because I already know that I will—I’m gonna wanna fuck you again and again and again, until you’re nothing more than a dumb, mindless pet who’s drunk on my cock, your cunt squeezing me tight every time I make you come. Wanna drain my balls in your pretty pussy until you’re overflowing with me.”

A moan slipped from your lips at Bucky’s words, you cunt clenching tight around the tip of his cock. Instinctively, you spread your thighs wider around your best friend’s body, allowing him to sink even deeper into your cunt, until he was buried halfway to the hilt.

“I want that, Bucky,” you whispered against his scruffy cheek, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging on him until you could see his face. “I want you to fuck me dumb, make me your pretty little fuck toy—want you to fuck me whenever and wherever you want. Wanna be your perfect fuck pet.”

“Fuuuck, you’re so fucking perfect, baby,” Bucky groaned, pushing the rest of his cock into your pussy as slowly as he could bear, the self-restraint evident in every tense muscle of his body. “You’re such a perfect, pretty fuck pet—fuck, you feel good.”

The words were stolen straight from your lips, because it was Bucky who felt good. It was Bucky who felt so hot and hard and perfect inside you, filling you up enough to feel the stretch without hurting you. 

Unable to stop yourself, you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him tight inside you while you buried your face in his neck and moaned. He grunted, feeling your pussy gripping and squeezing and sucking on his cock. Every slight movement sent pulses of pleasure through your body.

“You feel so good inside me, Buck,” you murmured, tilting your face until it was pressed into his scruffy jaw. “God, your cock is just—so good.”

At your words, you could feel the slight tremors wracking Bucky’s body as he held himself still, fighting against his instincts to give you the chance to adjust to the feeling of him filling you up. But that’s not what you wanted. You wanted more, you wanted him to fuck you. 

“Need more now,” you whimpered, rocking your hips and urging him to move, but he remained still above you.

“Gimme a minute,” he huffed, kissing you to distract you. 

Despite his best efforts, your hips kept rolling lazily beneath his heavy body, so he lowered his weight until you were pinned beneath him and all you could do was whine into his mouth. He huffed a self-deprecating laugh.

“If ya keep doing that, ‘m gonna empty my balls in your cunt sooner than I planned, pet,” he warned, though there was an edge of a smile in his warm, teasing tone.

A giggle erupted from your lips even as your inner walls clenched tight around Bucky’s cock, your body liking his words more than you probably should’ve. But seeing Bucky struggle to keep his composure while he was buried inside you made you want to be a menace to your best friend. 

“You gonna turn me into your cumdump, Buck?” you teased, dragging the blunt edges of your teeth down his neck, feeling his cock twitch inside your tight channel. “You gonna fill me up until I’m leaking your come all down my thighs—you gonna fuck it back into me, huh?”

Bucky’s head dropped to your shoulder with a pained groan and he pulled his hips back, pushing against the tight hold your legs had on him before snapping forward. He started fucking you in short, punishing thrusts that had you moaning mindlessly as his cock pounded into you.

“Christ, your dirty mouth is even worse than mine, pet,” he growled, but there was an edge of exhilarated laughter in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t mad about it. Instead, he lifted his head and flashed you an impish grin, before ducking down to your chest.

When Bucky’s lips wrapped around your nipple and he sucked hard on your tightened peak, you cried out. Your back bowed off the couch, shoving your tits into your best friend’s face while your fingers clutched his head to your chest. 

“Oh my god, Bucky!” you gasped, the words devolving into an obscene moan. You squirmed beneath his bigger body while he chuckled at the helpless sounds you made.

Bucky was everywhere, his mouth sucking greedily on your tits, hands groping the soft curves of your hips, his cock spearing into your cunt over and over again in hard, brutal thrusts. It was too much, and yet not enough. 

Your legs tightened around Bucky, ankles hooking around the backs of his thighs to try to hold him inside you as you met his every thrust. Pleasure was winding tighter in your lower belly, and you were desperately chasing your release, your fingers tugging uselessly on your best friend’s hair as you whined.

“Please, Bucky, please, please, please,” you chanted, until he finally rose up and met your lips in a furious kiss. “I need more, I need—” Your words cut off on a gasp when Bucky drove his cock into you so hard and so deep, you felt the tip brush against the very end of you.

“I know exactly what you need, pet,” he growled, that possessiveness back in his tone that sent your heart careening in your chest. “You just be a good little slut and take your boyfriend’s cock like a perfect fuck pet.”

He picked up his pace, fucking you into the soft cushions of the couch like a man possessed. His hard body loomed over you, his muscles shifting gloriously beneath his skin everywhere you touched, and even as his chest heaved, he kissed you. His mouth devoured yours, greedily drinking down every sound of your pleasure.

It wasn’t long before you were on the edge of your release, your cries growing higher pitched and more desperate as your body fluttered around his pounding cock. Bucky murmured encouragement into your lips, his hips grinding against your soft cunt, the base of his cock rubbing your clit until you were lost to the pleasure.

You came with a shrill scream, every muscle in your body clenching so tight that you dragged Bucky over the edge right after you. Your best friend buried his face in your chest, sucking idly on your soft tits and grunting his pleasure. 

His hips kept thrusting wildly, spilling rope after rope of his seed deep in your pussy as your body clenched around him. You moaned unabashedly, basking in wave after wave of pleasure as they washed over you.

For long, endless moments, your bodies writhed together, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from each other as your mouths kissed messily. 

Finally, when you were both spent, Bucky collapsed on top of you, crushing you with his weight for one blissful moment before he rolled to the side. His hands were gentle on your body as he rearranged you so that one of your legs was thrown over his hip, keeping his softening cock buried in your pussy.

“Kiss me softly, baby,” Bucky murmured against your lips, echoing your earlier words with a smile curving his mouth. There was a teasing edge to his tone, but you didn’t get the sense he was making fun of you, just being playful with you the way he always was.

It made your heart clench to think that nothing truly had to change between you and Bucky even after you’d given in to the mutual desire you felt. 

He was still your best friend, and now the two of you could become something more—together. You hadn’t missed the way he’d called himself your boyfriend in the heat of the moment, but that was a conversation for later.

So you huffed a little laugh at his teasing and kissed Bucky. You kissed him as softly as you could manage while you both caught your breath. 

It was different, more decadent, both of you taking your time to learn the other. It was like you both knew you had plenty of time—the rest of your lives—to discover everything there was to know about each other. Everything you didn’t already know.

For the rest of your movie night, you and your best friend, Bucky Barnes, took turns kissing each other softly, and fucking each other hard. Eventually, you fell asleep together, entwined on the couch, both wearing smiles on your kiss-swollen lips.

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

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Happy Father's day to Wayne Munson.

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LEWIS PULLMAN as Robert "Bob" Reynolds / Sentry / Void — Thunderbolts* / The New Avengers (2025)

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thunderbolts* thursday: scene redraw

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Checks and Balances

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your boss was an ass—you knew it, the office knew it, the entire country knew it. Working for Senator Brown was never easy, but you had managed it for the better part of three years and didn’t want to see your career go up in flames. Unfortunately for you, Bucky was slowly falling in love with you, and Congressman Barnes didn’t think managing it was enough. 

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Injury (kinda), hospitals, angst, an abusive boss, protective Bucky!!

a/n: Ahh a Bucky fic that's not an AU (that's also one million words)! Idk how the government works tbh so sorry if things are a little inaccurate there lol. This takes place right before Thunderbolts! Thank you for reading, I love you!! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

“Congressman Barnes,” you greeted, a slight nod of your head the only acknowledgement you could afford. Senator Brown was only a moment away from screaming at you again, and you could only take so much screaming in one day.  

Bucky, unfortunately, did not care about being screamed at by Senator Brown. He took your upper arm in a light grip and shot you a confused smile. “What, you avoiding me? Can’t be seen in the halls talking to me?” 

A fairer assessment of Bucky’s interruption was that he didn’t know of the wrath Senator Brown could incite upon you. Sure, Bucky knew that Brown was a hardass, and by association, his executive assistant would have to put up with it, but he had no way of knowing just how terrible the man was. 

When you met Bucky a few weeks ago, you had been alone in a hotel lobby. The heels accompanying your freshly pressed pantsuit had been killing you, and you needed a moment for your feet to breathe. Bucky, apparently, also needed a moment away from the conference, and you had gotten to talking when he plopped into the overstuffed armchair beside you. 

He knew you worked for Senator Brown. You knew he was a Congressman, obviously. You also knew his background and the complexities that came with it. Many people in the political space turned up their noses at him, something you had a similar experience with as you were “only an assistant.” The two of you had joked about it, eventually making your way to the hotel bar and laughing over the amount of hidden toupees currently residing in the ballroom.

In the weeks that followed, you had texted with him, met for coffee twice because he was “in the area”, and had maybe even considered the fact that you were friends with Congressman Barnes. Friends were invaluable to have in D.C., but they were also something to be wary of. Bucky didn’t feel the type to be wary of. 

As you stood halfway frozen in the hallway, his comment began to make sense. He was calling back to your initial hotel conversation, making a joke about biases and stuck-up politicians, but this was not the time. Not that he could have known. 

Senator Brown barked out your name when he noticed you were no longer beside him, surely trying to get you to jot down some thought banging around in his head. You whipped your head to the side, almost missing the affronted expression on Bucky’s face as he registered the tone that your name was spoken in, and shook your arm from his hold. 

“Sorry, Congressman,” you murmured, turning on your heel and making quick strides in Brown’s direction. “I apologize. What can I do for you, Senator?” 

Your boss barely hid a scoff. “You can start by being where I need you to be. And write this down—I do not believe that the House takes the proper—” 

You scrambled to take out your phone and open the notes app. A rookie mistake; you usually had it open the second his meetings ended, but you had been distracted. By Bucky. 

Your heels hurriedly clicking against polished marble, you took a fleeting glance over your shoulder. Bucky remained there, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest, metal from his hand glinting against the gentle fluorescence of the hall. 

Three days later, he brought it up. 

You thought you’d found a private spot to scarf down your lunch in your allotted fifteen-minute break, but with a sandwich only half finished and your mouth full, the call of your name reminded you that there is never any privacy for you at this job. The sound of Bucky’s voice softened the blow a bit. 

“He always treat you like that?” Bucky asked, swinging his leg over the bench on the other side of the table. He watched as you tried to chew quickly, some of the hardness he’d sat down with melting from his expression. 

You covered your mouth with your hand and swallowed hard. “What?” you finally got out, reaching for your water bottle. 

Bucky raised a brow. “Brown. Does he always yell at you?” 

After a few sips and swallows, you gave up on being able to finish your lunch. You had to plan out your meals very meticulously to finish, and Bucky had already taken up 30 precious seconds. 

“Oh,” you began. You swiped a hand through the air. “It’s fine. He just gets a little intense sometimes. It’s just his personality.” 

“You’ve been working for him for three years.” 

“Right.” 

“The guy should treat you better. He could only keep assistants for a few weeks at a time before you.” 

“How do you know that?” 

Bucky slid your food towards you. “Eat. You looked like you were in a hurry when I got here.” 

You eyed him for a moment. With his hair tucked behind his ears, you could see the tenseness of his jaw and the shadow of his beard dusting above his collar. It was no secret that Bucky was alarmingly handsome in a sea of 60-year-old politicians, but you had never gotten the opportunity to see it at work. You were always too busy, and Bucky’s office was three floors down. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you back,” you said, reaching for the fruit in your bag. “I meant to. I’ve just been working late since the meeting on Monday.” 

“It’s alright.” A pause as you continued to eat your food. You had maybe four minutes left. “How late?” 

“Oh, um, I’ve been going home around 10. It’s such a pain in the ass to get a taxi at that time, you wouldn’t believe. Uber isn’t much better, and I definitely can’t walk home in these things,” you joked, motioning to the bandaids strapped behind your heels. “It’s not so bad, though. After about a month of late nights, Brown will go on a “vacation,” and I’ll have a few weeks to reign in the chaos during normal business hours.” 

You were giggling as you spoke, adding air quotes and sarcasm to try to alleviate the irritated look Bucky was sporting. After a few weeks of being around him, you understood that Bucky was quieter than you, but his silence right now was pressing. Your jokes weren’t getting him to talk, so you switched gears. 

Popping a grape in your mouth, you asked, “What are you doing up here, anyway?” 

Bucky let out a breath and tapped his hand on the table. “Honestly? I came to check on you.” 

“To check on me?” 

“After Monday, I wanted to make sure—” 

Your phone started going off, the “Senator Brown” contact making your blood run cold. You brought your watch up and let out a gasp that made Bucky jump. 

“What?” he rushed, standing from the table as you started to pack your things in a panic. He went to help you, but after two brushes of his hands, he realized he was only in the way. 

“My break was over two minutes ago. I have to go right now.” 

“Two minutes? What—y/n, that isn’t—” 

He was here to check on you. Right. That was really sweet. 

Your brain tried to catch up with your panic as you reached over and squeezed his arm gratefully. “I’m really fine, Bucky. It was nice to see you. We should get coffee again.” You were sliding through the double doors and back into the building as you called, “I’ll text you. I promise this time.” 

And you did. In the seven minutes of free time you got around 9 pm, you sent him a quick follow-up text. The bubble went right below his text from two days ago, and you felt a small pinch of guilt for not answering him until now.

You: Free Saturday morning?

He answered you almost instantly.

Bucky: Depends. Are you still at work right now?

You frowned at your phone. 

You: If I am does that mean you won’t get coffee with me?

Bucky: So you are 

You: …maybe 

And then, your seven minutes of silence were up. When Brown’s footsteps could be heard by the door, you tucked your phone into your desk and went to work on the stack of papers he assigned you. He so graciously let you know that he was going home now, and you could leave once you were finished. 

That was perfect. 

It took you an hour and a half, but when you sorted the final paper and checked his schedule for tomorrow for the last time, a sense of relief flooded you. You didn’t even care that it would take another 30 minutes for an Uber to arrive. All you could think about was your shower and your bed and taking these shoes off your feet. 

You gathered your belongings and swiped your phone from the desk, clicking to the rideshare app and somewhat dreading the small talk to come. It would be extremely convenient to have a car, but that wasn’t something in the cards for you. Your tiny apartment had barely any parking, and everything else was within walking distance. 

As you continued to ponder the pros and cons of taking the bus home, a honk from the curb made you jump. You lowered your phone and squinted into the distance of the now barren road. 

“Someone order an Uber?” 

Disbelief was your first emotion, and then shock and then confusion. “Buck—Congressman Barnes?” you asked, correcting yourself when the memory of the building at your back resurfaced. 

“You’re not getting in my car if you’re calling me that,” Bucky replied, leaning down to peer out the passenger-side window. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked him for the second time today.

“I told you, I’m driving for Uber. You called for one?” 

A disbelieving laugh fell from your lips. You shook your phone by your face and leaned down towards the window. “Haven’t even ordered it yet. I’m not supposed to get in the car unless they can put in the code verifying my identity.” 

“Give me a code, then. Here,” he passed you his phone, the background illuminating a small white cat. “Wait, sorry, I have to unlock it.” 

Your next laugh was more of a scoff as he reached through the window to take it back. “Seriously, what are you doing here?” 

Bucky paused, looking you up and down for a moment before his jaw ticked to the side in a smile. “I’m taking you home. You live close, it won’t take very long.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You’re not asking. Now, hurry up and get in. I’ve been in the fire lane for 20 minutes and parking enforcement hates me here.” 

You went to argue again, but Bucky only raised a brow and unlocked the doors. 

Sliding in the car was somewhat of a mess with your bag and your jacket and the file you had meant to finish at home almost suffocating you. Bucky tried to help, grabbing items and waiting for you to buckle in before placing them by your feet. You were flustered from the transition, trying to adjust your skirt and seatbelt as Bucky reached forward to tuck a strand of hair stuck in your lip gloss behind your ear. 

You turned to look at him instantly, but the man only gave you a closed-lip smile and shifted the gear of his car, pulling away from the building of your nightmares. You blinked back towards the dashboard, needing a few more seconds to settle yourself. 

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” you stressed to Bucky after he flipped the radio on, low music trickling in. “When I told you about staying late, I mean.” 

Bucky tsked, knocking his head to the side to shoot you a lingering glance. “You didn’t, alright? This is my own problem. I just didn’t feel comfortable with you trying to find a way home so late.” 

“I’ve been doing it for a while and I haven’t died yet,” you attempted to joke. 

Not the best joke, it seemed, with Bucky’s fist clutching the steering wheel a hair tighter, the sound of leather meeting your ears. He shook his head. “Where’s Brown? He doesn’t let you take work home?” 

“Oh, he does sometimes,” you chipperly replied, trying to sound awake and get Bucky un-pissed off. “He just checks my timesheets when we work overtime, so I have to make sure I stay late enough so that he won’t say anything. I still have this to take care of once I get home.”

You tapped the manila file in your lap and looked over to Bucky as he drove. He was wearing jeans and a pullover crewneck, his hair tied back and casual, and even though you’d seen him outside of work before, he looked different this way. Something about the night and him driving you home made him look different. 

Bucky didn’t make a comment about your work or the system you had to avoid criticism from the Senator. Silence lapsed in the car, you lightly drumming your fingers on your thigh as the D.C. night swept past along the car windows. 

“I would like to get coffee Saturday,” Bucky finally said. “If the offer still stands.” 

“Of course it stands.” 

You only briefly caught the half-smile that lit up his face before the light of the streets was lost to a tunnel. 

~~

Coffee was relaxed and enjoyable, as it always was with Bucky. He asked a few more questions about your work, a topic he had previously not touched on. He wanted to know about your coworkers, if the interns ever helped you, how much time you got off, and in turn, you asked him about being a Congressman and if he actually enjoyed it. 

Both answers left the other person less than satisfied. 

“What about you?” Bucky asked, tilting his cup up. “Why have you been an executive assistant for so long?” 

You hummed. “I don’t know, really. My dad was in politics, and he would only really accept my work if I was, too. He’s… not around now, but I feel like I have to stay. I’m good at it.” 

“I believe it. Could be good at a lot of things, though.” 

You shot him a mock glare. “Trying to get rid of me, Congressman?” 

Bucky leaned forward, placing a hand on the small table that only separated you a few inches. He answered you earnestly, but a small amount of humor lightened his eyes, made him look less serious. “Now, why would I want to do that?” 

Your lips parted to quip something back, but then he was raising his hand again, the heat of his skin lingering at the corner of your mouth. He swiped his thumb there, and you were frozen, a replica of when he brushed your hair back a few nights ago, but the car had been a distraction then. You had been flustered and trying to sort out your belongings, so you didn’t think about it for longer than a few seconds. 

“Whipped cream,” he explained, holding you in his gaze for a moment longer than you should have been. Even as the barista from behind the counter was now standing at your table and speaking. 

“Hi! Would the two of you like to try our new coffee cake? Free samples since it’s new.” 

Bucky was the first to look away, tearing his eyes from yours to smile politely at the barista. You shook from your stupor and quickly reached for a napkin, brushing it against your lips even though nothing remained. 

You felt fuzzy, confused. But also nothing was confusing and you were reminded, again, how attractive the Congressman was. How attractive and how definitely off-limits he was. 

It would be so taboo for Bucky to be dating an assistant. 

“What about you, ma’am?” You blinked several times and looked up to read the small ‘coffee cake’ sign lying next to the treats, the barista’s blinding smile expecting and very retail. 

“I’m allergic to cinnamon, but thank you.” 

“Allergic to cinnamon?” Bucky asked as the barista left.

“Yeah, anaphylaxis and everything. I carry an epipen with me, but I’ve only had to use it once when I was 10. Did you know that some bakeries add cinnamon to buttercream birthday cakes?” you chuckled, reorienting yourself to the present. “Are you allergic to anything? Or, I guess you probably aren’t. Isn’t that a serum thing?” 

“Not allergic to anything, but if I had been, it would’ve been wiped out by the serum. We didn’t really have a lot of food variety in the 30s. Could have been allergic to shellfish—didn’t try that until after.” 

You had to pause the cup at your lips. “Oh my god, I forgot you’re like 100 years old.” 

Bucky’s expression morphed into an offended wince. “Alright, I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t exactly lived 100 years.” 

“I was just thinking the other day how you don’t exactly fit in with the rest of Congress, but you so do! Maybe even on the young side,” you teased. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky egged on, nodding with his brows raised. “You were thinking about me?” 

You knocked your head back in a laugh, holding your stomach with your forearm. “How did I forget this?” 

“You know what? I’m not driving you home anymore.” 

With lingering giggles, you righted yourself in your chair, a smile still clear in your voice. Contrasting his words, Bucky’s smile was just as wide as yours, a slight redness to his cheeks making him look softer. You brought a hand to cover his arm on the table. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Bucky. You aren’t old. I take it back.” 

“Yeah, you better,” he taunted, though his arm flipped over and he gave your wrist a soft squeeze as he said it. 

~~

Bucky wouldn’t stop touching you. 

You didn’t know if he was doing it consciously or if this was something he commonly did with his friends, but he was going to get you in trouble. 

Outside of work, it was fine—distracting and disorienting, but fine. A brush of his hand helping you into the car, fixing your bag on your shoulder, a hand on your back when you left the coffee shop; over the past few weeks, it had all begun to feel commonplace. 

It could have been frequency that made you more aware of this habit of his, because Bucky had begun picking you up every time you worked late and planned coffee or lunch or even a walk at least once a weekend. So, maybe this was his norm and you were just around him more often—something you enjoyed, but also something that made feelings more difficult. 

Because, again, Congressman Barnes could not be dating an assistant. His credibility among the rest of Congress was already being questioned almost daily, and he did not need the court of public opinion breathing down his neck on top of that. It was a fortunate truth that while the internal part of his job was tricky, most of the public favored him. 

So, as much as your chest hurt and your stomach flipped whenever you were around him, you settled for friendship. A touchy friendship. 

At work, things felt heightened in the worst way possible. 

You couldn’t even understand why he was coming to the top floor so often, seemingly lingering there so he could scare the crap out of you when you’d turn a corner. And then it would be a smile and another hand at your back when he was passing you—a hand that was not necessary. Or he would find you at the tail-end of your lunch break and move your hair away from your eyes, distracting you to the point of no return. 

It was the worst because you were getting distracted, and when you were distracted, you got yelled at. 

Bucky had seen you get yelled at a few times now, each seemingly worse than the last. He kept quiet about it, but you could tell it bothered him. He almost stepped in once—when Brown was irate at the coffee you’d gotten him and chucked it at the wall, you saw Bucky step forward from down the hall. He stopped at the slight shake of your head. 

You were used to the Senator throwing things, and as long as it wasn’t in your direction, it was no harm done. At least, that’s what you thought. 

“You should go to human resources,” Bucky commented one Sunday, the two of you sitting along a lake by the Capitol building. 

You almost snorted. “Right. And what do you think old Mrs. Martha is going to be able to do for me? Brown has been in office for over a decade. If anything, that would just get me fired.” 

Bucky shook his head, expression taut. “There’s gotta be something else then. You don’t deserve all of that.” 

“If we’re talking about not deserving torment, I think I’m the least of our worries here, Sergeant,” you noted, knocking your shoulder against his in an attempted lightness. 

But when you turned to look at him, Bucky was already facing you. “I’m serious, y/n. He’s throwing things at you. I’ve stayed out of it because you told me to, but after today—” 

“Bucky, hey,” you calmed. “I know it seems crazy, but I know how to deal with it. I know he won’t actually do anything.”

“Right now, maybe.” 

You sighed, searching his eyes and trying to discern when this became such an intense conversation. Trying to figure out when the two of you had discussions like this and not just lax coffee hangouts. Against your better judgment, you placed a hand over his thigh and relented. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll work on it, but I’ll be the one working on it, okay? It definitely can’t be you—he would freak out if a representative started ordering him around. Even if you could totally knock him out.” 

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, a smile begrudgingly sneaking onto his face. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this.” 

“You can definitely believe that.” 

“Yeah, I can.” And then you were tugged against his starched, ironed suit, his metal arm holding you close to his chest.

You gasped a little at the initial contact, your heart hammering against your ribs as Bucky simply kept you there. This is dangerous, your brain reminded you, but it was also harmless, if you looked at it the right way. 

“You know, I’m not going to die, Bucky. I’ve dealt with this for years.” 

“Yeah, you keep joking about that,” he gruffly replied, the words a ghost against the top of your head. You hadn’t realized his lips were that close. “If we could keep the death jokes to a minimum, that would be great.” 

You pulled back from him enough to look at his face. “Why? Afraid your only friend will bite it?” 

“Hey, I have other friends.” 

“I haven’t seen ‘em.” 

“Shut up,” he groaned, tugging you back in. “You can meet them as proof. Next weekend.” 

“Okay, sure, Bucky,” you sang out, tapping his chest. “But if we need to reschedule this meeting with your 'friends,’ I would understand.” 

As Bucky went on to refute your insinuations in a grumpy tone, you tried to pretend that this felt like that—just a friendship. 

~~

Approximately four days later, everything went to shit. 

Senator Brown was on a tirade, screaming at everyone and everything in his path. When he got like this, the admin staff usually locked the doors to his office and the entire floor if they could, but today, they weren’t ready for how angry he was. 

It was a bill, or a speech, or maybe even the press catching wind that he was cheating on his wife—it didn’t matter. He was pissed and you were going to have to answer for it. 

You stood in his office with a clear view of the glass wall connecting to the hallway, hands behind your back and fighting off a wince with every curse and insult the Senator threw at you. 

“I hired you to take care of this bullshit! Why the hell am I dealing with this when I’m supposed to have an entire staff? This is fucked!” 

“You’re too worried about going home early, you can’t even assemble a reply to an email correctly! A fucking email!”

“I should’ve fired you weeks ago. When you started fucking off to wherever you take too long for your lunch break and stopped doing your job. I swear to god, this country has—” 

You were only retaining about half of what he said, which was good, considering everything was an attack on you, and your work ethic, and then he even started going in on your clothes and your apartment. It must have been something really bad this time. After he was done yelling, you would check his texts and probably find a couple of mentions of divorce sprinkled in between messages with his lawyers. 

Affairs and divorce were always messy for politicians. 

“Of course, Senator. I will do better. I apologize,” you offered, unsure what you were apologizing for at the present. It wouldn’t matter; he would just start up again about another topic. 

“Damn right you will or I’ll send you out on the streets. Do you know how hard it is to get a job in D.C when a Senator blacklists you?” 

Did you ever. 

When Bucky had asked you why you stayed, you left out that key bit of information. He was still newer to the field and didn’t need to know that Senator Brown held that over your head each time you even hinted at moving on. 

You figured the screaming was almost over. Brown was in his 60s, so he would be getting tired. And it probably would have been over if he hadn’t checked his Apple Watch and read a text that got him fired up once more.

You greatly regretted setting that up for him. 

You braced yourself for further yelling as his face began to turn red, but were alarmed as the Senator reached for the wooden pencil case on his desk and threw it. Pens flew, and you knew he wasn’t aiming for you, but the cup hit a vase on a high bookshelf to your right, which then toppled over and shook loose the framed art hanging above your head. 

You should have moved, but you spotted Bucky in the hall, and he always distracted you. 

The frame shot straight down, smacking you in the head and causing your knees to buckle in surprise. You fell to the ground, feeling dramatic and disoriented as the room silenced and your ears rang. You knew he wouldn’t apologize, but the continued quiet as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your haunches was almost deafening. 

The glass door to the office swung open. 

“What the hell?” A hand was on your elbow. A colder one felt around the top of your head. It was Bucky, obviously it was Bucky, but you were too afraid to look, keeping your gaze locked on Senator Brown. “Hey, you okay?” 

The hand on your head moved down to your jaw, forcing your gaze to Bucky. He searched every inch of your face as you blinked at him, mind blank. “Um, I’m fine.” 

Your brows furrowed, trying to connect the chain of events that led to this. You brought your hand up to replace where Bucky had placed his, the action seemingly spurring him into action. 

“The hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky shouted, rising from the floor. “You think it makes you tough to throw things at her?” 

Senator Brown had gone from furious to unsure, probably aware of the physical strength Bucky harbored. But, as was typical with politicians, he would not put anything before his pride. Brown righted his expression and pursed his lips. 

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, Congressman. It was a simple accident. You weren’t even in the room to see it happen.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t need to be. You’re screaming at her when you’re not throwing. What kinda grown man does that?” 

“Bucky—” you cautioned, glued to the floor still. 

The senator directed his attention towards you, brows raised accusingly. “Oh, so you’ve been gossiping about me, then?” 

You shrank back, hand lingering where your head ached, but Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking you from Brown’s line of sight. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Bucky seethed, jutting a finger into Brown’s chest. 

Brown’s head sharply turned. “That you are, Congressman. But it seems like my assistant here no longer wants her role, so this conversation is moot.” 

“Wait, I—” 

“Maybe if you spent time picking on someone your own size instead of acting like a coward—” 

“Bucky, don’t—” 

“A coward? A coward? Who’s the one who cannot speak for himself on the board? Tell me, Barnes, is that part of some unresolved trauma from some nondescript decade?” 

“You shut your mouth before I—” 

“Congressman Barnes,” you called, authority that didn’t belong to you heavy in your tone. You were two seconds away from losing your job and being blacklisted, neither of which you could handle. Bucky froze, his anger still held in his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, as I’m sure you were just passing by when you saw what happened, but I can assure you that it was an accident and I am fine.” 

Bucky looked over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but took a step back and dropped his hands by his sides when he caught your expression—still disheveled, but resolute in your decision. He needed to leave. You needed to save your career. You could… figure everything else out later. Probably. 

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt. 

Bucky looked at the wall behind your head and then tracked his gaze to the forming lump on your crown. “But—” 

“I am fine,” you repeated slowly. Having risen from the floor before calling his name, you walked to the door and held it open. “We’re very busy. Please excuse us.” 

Bucky licked his lips as he looked to the floor, shaking his head in abject disbelief and following your direction. When he met the entryway, he tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth to say something, but thinking against it. His hand twitched at his side, and then he left, taking long, purposeful strides away from the office. 

You took a deep breath, allowed yourself a moment as the door closed, and then you did something purposeful yourself. Even if it killed you to do so. 

~~

Bucky’s POV

Bucky was losing his mind. 

After leaving Brown’s office, he’d stormed into his own and promptly shut and locked the door. Tugging his tie away from his neck and prying the uncomfortable suit jacket from his shoulders, Bucky then began to pace. He was pissed. He was so beyond pissed. 

It would have been so easy for him to knock that Senator out, and he would have deserved it. Bucky had had to watch for weeks as you were berated and screamed at, and then the line was crossed when he saw him throwing things. You hadn’t let him do anything, and then you hadn’t let him do anything again after you’d been hurt. 

He watched you flinch and cover your face, and even that hadn’t been enough. 

Bucky swiped a hand over his mouth. 

When had you started to matter to him so much? That was a stupid question, and apparently, he was full of stupidity today.

He promised that he’d let you take care of it, and then he went in there and almost killed Senator Brown. A replay of you falling to the ground looped in his mind, and actually Bucky didn’t feel stupid at all. All he felt was rage. 

“Shit,” he breathed out, knocking his head back and falling back into his office chair.

He’d messed up. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he knew you were not happy with him. What did “taking care of it” even mean? And why were you so dead set on keeping that awful job? Bucky could think of at least a dozen other jobs in D.C. that would not involve you being verbally and physically abused. 

Fuck, he wished he had more pull, but as a Congressman of only a few months, there was little he could do against a Senator. And he had a meeting in five minutes. 

Bucky pulled his phone out and sent you a quick text about talking after work, let out the longest sigh of his life, and then readjusted his tie. 

That had been three days ago. 

You never texted him back. And you left the building far before he could give you a ride home. When he asked your coworkers, they said you were no longer working overtime and left during normal hours. 

Fine. That was good, actually. Only, Bucky never saw you. 

He frequented all of your normal spots, wandered up to the top floor, and even stopped by the coffeeshop two days in a row, and you were nowhere. Avoiding him, obviously, and while he understood (he didn’t), he mostly wanted to put eyes on you. To make sure you were okay. 

Sure, you didn’t have a severe head injury, but it was more than that. 

Bucky brought his turmoil to the barbecue Sam was holding that weekend. The one you were supposed to be at. 

Nursing his fifth beer that wouldn’t do anything, Bucky leaned back against the fence of Sam’s yard and sulked. He’d talked to a few people when he got there, but sulking was on his agenda for the afternoon. 

“What’s up with the stank face?” Sam asked, entering Bucky’s orbit of solitude and despair. “It’s gonna get stuck like that if you keep it up.” 

“I don’t have a stank face,” Bucky argued. 

“Right, right. Well, right now you have more of a pissed off face, but I guess I bring that out in you.” Sam paused and then smacked Bucky in the shoulder. “Come on, man. What’s going on, seriously? Does it have to do with that girl you were supposed to bring?” 

“I don’t want to talk about that.” 

“Oh, you don’t? Then it’s that.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, knocking back more of his beer as the sizzle of burgers juxtaposed with his somberness. “Alright, fine. It’s that. But it’s stupid. We weren’t even…”

“Dating?” 

“Yeah. That.” 

“You told me you went out for coffee and all that. That you would go on long walks at the lake and canoodle at work.”

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Bucky accused. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m leaving right now. I’ll leave.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Sam surrendered, raising his hands. “But really, Buck, that all sounds like dating. Tell me why she didn’t come.” 

Bucky clenched his jaw and stared out at the merriment of the barbecue, remembering the scene more vividly than he would have liked. He tried to find an exact moment that would have led to you avoiding him, but he couldn’t pin it down. Maybe it was the entire thing? 

“I think she’s mad at me. I kinda went off on her boss and she told me she wanted to take care of it.” 

“What do you mean ‘went off’? And isn’t she working under a Senator?”

Bucky puffed out a breath. “Yeah, Senator Brown.” Sam let out a low whistle as Bucky continued. “He yells at her. Throws things. I felt like it crossed a line this week, so I guess I kinda stormed in. She threw me out and’s been avoiding me since. We had talked about it before and she said to stay out of it, but, Sam, the guy’s a dick.” 

“And you really like her,” Sam added casually. “And I really like her,” Bucky confirmed. 

Sam paused to contemplate, though Bucky didn’t know what he could possibly offer that Bucky hadn’t already considered. He really, really liked you—more than he figured possible, especially with all of his attempts at dating since his pardon. But then you’d surprised him that night at the hotel, and he’d been hooked. 

He hadn’t even had the chance to tell you.

“Well, two things,” Sam began, leaning on the fence next to Bucky. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, so you should have trusted her. But—” Sam cut out as Bucky opened his mouth “—it also sounds like Brown’s a major ass with a lot of power. You don’t know what he might have over her, slimy dude like that.” 

“What, you mean like blackmail?” 

“Maybe, who knows? You just gotta talk to her, man. Work it out.” 

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder before wading back into the party in the yard. Bucky, feeling somewhat lighter but also still at peril, kicked off the fence and made his own attempts at being sociable. 

“As soon as I can actually find her,” he grumbled to himself. 

~~

The charity gala had been on your calendar for the past six months, and still, nothing could have prepared you for how much you didn’t want to attend. 

You usually enjoyed events like this. You got to dress up and eat nice food, and Brown always got too drunk to remember that his assistant was even in the building. The first hour felt like work, and then the rest of the night was cosplaying as a rich politician. 

That was not the case for this gala. 

Ever since the ordeal with Bucky, Senator Brown had kept you on a tight leash. Whether that was due to how much he enjoyed intimidating you or his fear that you actually were telling people he was a mean, abusive boss, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this gala was going to suck and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had apologized profusely, swore up and down that you didn’t know Congressman Barnes, and practically pledged your life to Brown in every way you knew how. You never left the office, never took a lunch break—you were pretty sure your eyes were permanently dry from how long you stared at a screen all day. 

Making you attend this gala and not leave his side was another ploy to make you atone for your wrongdoings. Maybe the man knew how much you enjoyed these events and was taking advantage of that. 

“Check this,” Senator Brown lazily ordered, draping his coat over your arms. “And meet me back in the dining room. You get to sit right next to me.” 

You offered him a tight smile and felt the ache in your shoulders begin to fester. You were more uptight this week than ever, but that had nothing to do with Bucky Barnes. Nothing. 

It was just this job and your future in D.C. hanging in the balance. 

Obviously. 

You meandered over to the coat check, taking longer than you needed to and dragging your feet along the way. Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your bag—most likely some PR fire you’d need to put out before more people realized Brown was cheating on his wife—and you had absolutely no inclination to drag it out. 

“Just these two,” you offered, pressing the coats into the attendant's hands and taking the ticket in return. 

“Actually, can you add this one to that ticket?” 

As if this night couldn’t get any more uncomfortable. 

You could feel his chest against your back even before you heard him. He shifted his arms out of his sleeves and placed a hand on your shoulder as he leaned towards the counter. Of course he smelled good. Why wouldn’t he?

You fought the urge to roll your eyes in repressed… something and spun on your heel. 

He was just as close as you were expecting and also far too close for comfort. You knocked your head back to catch his gaze, trying to appear unamused and angry. 

“Why would you do that?” you asked. 

Bucky paused for a moment, searching the planes of your face for a beat too long before replying, “No reason to open another ticket. I’ll just leave when you leave.” 

“You mean you’ll leave when Brown leaves, then?” 

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “So, nothing's changed.”

This time, you did roll your eyes. You clutched the coat check number in your hand and began to storm off, not in the headspace to have this conversation at this gala. Bucky, however, did not seem to mind. 

The hand on your arm was soft but firm as you were tugged into a closet and subsequently shoved into a rack of hanging coats. It was too dim to see beyond your hands out in front of you, but Bucky solved that predicament as he entered your space. 

“Did you seriously just throw me into a closet?” you whisper-yelled, all too aware of the staff only feet away. 

“I had no choice,” he replied with the same urgency. “You were stomping off. And I didn’t throw you in here.” 

“I was not stomping off,” you scoffed. 

“You were.” 

“Was not!” 

“I could hear your heels. You were stomping.” 

You groaned, pushing into his chest to try and create distance that wasn’t available. Your back only hit the wall. 

“Fine. What do you want?” 

Bucky froze for a moment. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d stay in here. Or let me talk, if I’m being honest. 

Your jaw fell open, an incredulous laugh slipping out. You’d almost forgotten how endearing he was in just about everything he did. Even as he stood in front of you in a full, three-piece suit, smushing you against a closet wall because he had dragged you in there with no plan, a part of your chest warmed. 

Your phone vibrated in your bag, and that warmth turned to ice. 

“I don’t have time for this,” you determined, wiggling your way towards the door. 

“Wait, hold on. I do have something to say, wait,” Bucky pleaded, metal hand—more gentle than you were sure it was ever used for—encircling your wrist. He tugged you back even closer this time, your face inches from his. “I wanted to say sorry. And… and I want to get it.” 

“Get it?” you parroted, trying extremely hard to ignore the dropping feeling in your gut as he stared into your eyes. 

“I want to get why you stay. Why you let him treat you like that. I want to know so I can… feel okay backing off.” 

All you could get out was, “Why?” 

Bucky’s next words were spoken as he stared down at your lips. “I think you know why.” 

Breaths began to fail you, each exhale more ragged than the last. You had been expecting this, in a way, and that was why you always made excuses. He couldn’t be with you because he was a Congressman. You were only an assistant. You couldn’t date him because you were too busy. He wouldn’t want to date you, anyway. Senator Brown would never be okay with it. 

All of those excuses evaporated within the shared space of the closet, and then you got scared. So, you blurted out what he wanted. 

“He won’t let me quit. He won’t let me work anywhere else.” 

Bucky blinked, a fog clearing from his heated gaze. His head jutted back an inch, and the hand that had somehow found a home on your jaw paused its ascent into your hair. “Won’t let you?” 

“I’d be blacklisted.” 

“He can’t do that.” 

“He can.” 

Bucky opened his mouth to speak again as the air in the closet became breathable and light peeked in from the cracking door. You sprang back from the Congressman, pushing his hand away from your cheek and slamming your back into the wall. It didn’t help much; the fifteen-year-old with the shawl in her hand was already making her own assumptions as you rushed past her and left Bucky to his own devices in the closet. 

Amazing. 

Just amazing. 

You debated moving states, or countries, or entire career paths as you hurried into the dining room of the gala. Not only had you taken too long at the coat check, but you knew you looked completely flushed and out of it. You prayed that Brown was already drinking and wouldn’t catch on. 

Thankfully, your prayers were answered. 

While he was not happy to see you, his raised brow and side-eye deadly as you sat down, he didn’t say anything. And that was how dinner went—quiet and uncomfortable for you, but otherwise par for the course for Senator Brown. 

Bucky was staring at you from across the table. The room was backlit by dull candles and expensive chandeliers, and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face like an unprecedented heat. He often flickered that gaze to Brown, but it would harden, become angry.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. 

You either stuck it out with Brown or tossed your political science degree in the trash can on your way out.

When dinner passed and dessert was served, you eyed the lemon tart mocking you from your plate. Dessert, when your life felt so out of control and confusing, couldn’t hurt, you figured, so you picked up your fork and ignored the knots taking up space in your stomach. 

“Yours looks better.” Senator Brown picked up the lip of your plate and slid his in its place. “Here.” 

“But—” 

“Oh, don’t complain about it. Who complains about chocolate cake?” he peeved, snickering to the men on the other side of the table. He then went on a drunken rant about “good help” and the “youth of today” as you looked down at the cake in front of you. 

Was D.C. even worth it? 

Bucky was staring at you again. He wasn’t directly across from you, a few centerpieces blocking your view, but you could feel it. To avoid him—and your feelings—you ate the cake. Brown and the men sarcastically cheered as you did, alcohol clear in the air at this point, and you took another bite to get them to find some other novelty. 

You took three bites before it started to sink in. 

You vaguely registered that Bucky had pushed out from the table, a clink of silverware preceding the motion. It was too late for him, however, because as your own fork clattered down, you could no longer breathe. 

Your tongue felt ten times too big in your mouth and your throat was glued shut, air tunneling through any openings it could find. You pushed out from the table and stood. The extra space didn’t do anything. You clawed at your throat until your legs became unsteady and failed from the lack of oxygen. 

The table was extremely long, so at some point, you thought you heard Bucky dive over the dinner party rather than continue his trek around to your side. Other sounds filtered past the panic clogging your ears. 

“What’s wrong with her?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Is she allergic to something? It’s an allergic reaction!” 

“Brown, what is she allergic to?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Well, do something!” 

As you were grappling for your purse, a choked whine fell from your lips. It had been kicked somewhere, pushed out of your grasp, and no one at this damn gala was helping you. Several older women had gone to their knees with worried expressions at your eye line, but they weren’t doing anything. 

“Move.” 

Your head was beginning to spin, and your thoughts were blurring, but you heard Bucky. He came to your side much faster than it felt, moving things around that your blurred vision couldn’t catch. And then, pain. And then relief. 

Your gasping breaths were supported by gentle hands on your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You grappled at Bucky’s wrists and tried to parse out panic from physical symptoms, but there was so much commotion in the room and your head was still so fuzzy. 

“You’re okay,” Bucky assured you, voice almost too low to catch. Someone was on the phone with 911 in the back. “You can breathe with me. Come on. Don’t—hey—don’t look at them. Look at me.” 

Your chin was pushed forward, and then your forehead connected with his. Ringing persisted in your ears. Your hands were beginning to shake from the epi, your jaw following close behind. 

“I got you, okay?” 

“F-f-feels—” 

“I know,” he hushed. When your breath was somewhat steadier, he tucked your head beneath his chin and began barking out orders. He asked for an ETA on the ambulance, for your jacket, for ten other things you couldn’t register. And then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” 

The chaos of the room went silent. Within your shaking hands clutched in Bucky’s suit jacket, your fingers spasmed out of fear. 

“Excuse me?” Brown scoffed. You were honestly surprised he was still in the room.

“What, throwing things at her wasn’t enough? Had to try and kill her?” 

“B-bucky—” 

“Throwing things at her?” you heard from across the room. “Brown, what is Barnes talking about?” 

“I have no idea,” Brown spat out. He jutted his hand out towards you on the floor. “He never knows what he’s talking about. We’ve established that.” 

“Right,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling you closer to his chest as you gasped for breath. “So what do you call this?” 

“An accident, obviously.” 

Bucky let out a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. Silence blanketed the room once more, and it was clear that he had given up. His hands were glued to the back of your head and your back, and he didn’t have the time or the drive in him to care about Brown right now. 

“I saw you switch the plates.” The quiet voice came from across the table, the young blonde’s face registering in your memory as you peeked out from beyond Bucky’s chest. “She had a card with it, too. It said there was an allergy accommodation.” 

Low murmurs fell over the room. Brown, much to your surprise, looked at a loss for words, his expression betrayed as he stared at the woman across the room. It clicked then, where you knew her from. She was on the front cover of every article you were pressured to get taken down, and the contact photo for the main caller in Brown’s phone. 

“What? No,” Brown refuted, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, either. She’s barely even a secretary. She’s—” 

The eyes around the room made his words trail off. “Barely even a secretary” was certainly a degrading title for his mistress, and everyone in the room knew it. If you were to look at your phone, you’d have seen that the newest story of their relationship had been blowing up all night. You guessed she was fed up with him denying it. 

Sirens sounded beyond the doors of the ballroom, breaking up the tension at the wide table. Brown used it as his getaway, throwing his napkin down and muttering something about insolence or idiots or something of the sort. You couldn’t really hear anything over Bucky’s low whisper in your ear, followed by his lips against the side of your head. 

~~

After being monitored in the emergency room for approximately six hours, the night shift staff sent you off with a horde of medication to take for the next month and, of course, a new epipen. You trudged out past the waiting room, prepared to wait in the parking lot for an Uber, when a certain man sitting in a chair far too small for him caught your eye. 

He was half asleep, his face held in his metal hand as he nodded off and woke up just as quickly. His suit looked stiff and uncomfortable as he twisted his wrists, dragging the sleeves up to his elbows. He’d discarded the jacket somewhere, probably lost to the world now. And then he spotted you, your dress awkwardly draped over your body in your haphazard attempt to re-dress, your hair completely out of place, and your hands filled with paper bags of medication.

He shot out of the chair, holding everything in your hands in one of his, and assessed you himself. His gaze roved the mess you’d become. He should have made a joke about it, maybe teased you for almost dying, but instead, he ran a hand over your head and dragged you against his chest. 

“Scared the shit out of me,” he murmured into your hair. He pressed another kiss there, reminding you that the first one hadn’t been your imagination. 

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, clutching his button-up in your hands. 

“‘Course I did.” He leaned you back, hand still woven at the base of your hair, not caring that he was in the middle of the ER waiting room. “You okay?” 

It only took you a moment to make a decision. 

You pressed up, kissing him even though you were in the ER waiting room. Even though you both looked like a mess and you’d almost died and you had no idea if you still had a job. You kissed him and it startled him, the paper bag of medications crunching in his hand, but he kissed you back without hesitation. 

It wasn’t a passionate kiss—not like the breathless, wanting kisses you would share late, share tomorrow—but it was confirming something. Bucky held you and had his lips firmly against yours, his brows furrowed in a way you couldn’t see, and he confirmed everything you’d suspected. 

You figured you wouldn’t need to work if your boyfriend were a Congressman. 

But, as you would soon find out, Senator Brown didn’t have very much time left as a Senator, anyway. 

[rosygaze]

my boys my boys my boys

[rosygaze]

I WANT THAT COOKIE SO FUCKING BAADDDD

[rosygaze]

Eddie Munson says “FUCK ICE & FUCK TRUMP!”

[rosygaze]

That's so Eddie of him

mr munson