#i just like throwing him in here and there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

firingstars · 3 days ago

Text

mission partners [one-shot]

bucky barnes x avengers!reader

summary: you have no idea why bucky has a deep rooted hatred for you. you two are paired up for a mission, and you find yourself facing the demons of your past while having to deal with bucky's mood swings.

warnings: smut, 18+, mdni, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers kinda, misunderstandings (?), reader is lowk very depressed here, mentions of trauma, depictions of violence, mentions of sa (not in detail), kidnapping, mentions of torture, consume media at your own risk

word count: 14.9k

a/n: im ngl idk what this is i just woke up the other day and kept writing this. i hope this keeps you guys happy while i try to figure out how i want neighborly advice to progress </3 -- also there's a lot of story building in here bc i like giving reader a backstory whoops.

masterlist

The wind was knocked out of your lungs before you could register the pain radiating through your body. You groan, shifting over to your side to force yourself up.

“On your feet,” he grunts from above you.

If this were any other moment, any other scene, the sight of the man before you– hovering above you– would have your heart beating fast for a different reason. A man made of both metal and flesh, strong, rough around the edges. He’s calculating, hard, and smells faintly of cedarwood and gunpowder most of the time. On rare occasions, you catch the scent of fresh linen and cotton.

Right now though, your heart is thumping against your rib cage angrily. This is the fifth time he’s had you on your back within the hour, and he’s not pinning you down in the way that you would secretly hope for. Not that you would ever admit or voice your delusions to anyone else. Just your own little secret to fester in the back of your mind when you think no one’s watching.

You bite back the curse bubbling in your throat, and slam your fist into the mat. You find yourself upright once more, ignoring the sudden rush of blood going through your head— the dizziness.

“You keep falling for the same damn thing,” Bucky clicks his tongue, bringing his hands up, ready to strike again.

“Not my fault you come at me like you’re trying to kill me,” you say with a frown, barely having the time to duck your head as his fist comes at your head quickly. You can't help but feel the shock that rushes through your body in that moment— he would’ve knocked you out with that swing.

“Everyone on the field will be trying to kill you,” he reminds you with a shake of his head. You know he's right, and it pisses you off. “What’s the point of training if you’re not prepared for the real thing?”

You dodge once more, but his wingspan is too large. He grabs onto your hair– the low ponytail that you had it in– and you let out a yelp of pain as you grab at his wrist, trying to claw his hand away.

“Your hair is too long,” he says, frowning. “You either need to cut it or figure something else out otherwise shit like this is going to keep happening to you. It’s always fucking down. Doesn’t it bother you, getting in your way like this?”

You don’t answer him. You don’t want to answer him– you don’t believe that he deserves to know the truth. You grit your teeth, and shift on your feet— one swift movement to slam your heel into the side of his head.

It doesn’t connect. He easily deflects, grabbing your ankle, and throwing you down. This time, a groan of pain escapes your throat. Bucky lets out a sigh above your head, and doesn’t even look at you, but you can feel the energy radiating off of him without looking at his face. Disappointment.

“I’m calling it for today,” he says. You open your eyes, finding him already walking away, leaving you on the mat.

You stay there for a few moments, trying to catch your breath with your eyes shut. Slowly but surely, the rise and fall of your chest evens out, and the room is no longer spinning. You open your eyes to stare at the fluorescent gym lights overhead, glaring.

What the fuck was his problem?

You’d joined the team as a healer. You weren’t necessarily first on the field— you spent most of your time hanging back and waiting for everyone else to come back to the jet. If anything, he needed to be training with Steve to get better at making sure no one would be able to get to you.

You were decent with guns, knew your way around regular hand to hand combat, and stealth wasn’t that big of an issue for you. You had more than enough qualifications to land you in your current position, and the backstory to match. You were brought into the team after spending most of your life under the radar, but you should’ve known you couldn’t have hidden for too long.

You fit in well with the rest of the team. They didn’t ask questions about your origins, and you never shared.

Steve and Sam had originally been mentoring you before Bucky took you under his deranged wing. At first, it was all business. Eventually, both men would start talking to you more outside of the gym and the shooting ranges. Sam started including you on his jokes whenever he picked on Steve.

The girls opened up to you faster, Natasha and Wanda including you on girl nights almost immediately. They mentioned something abiout needing more women on the team, and being more than happy to welcome you with open arms.

Where Natasha went, Clint went, which meant the sharp shooter had also taken a liking to you and often gave you various snacks whenever he came back from whatever mission he returned from. He reminded you of a dad, if you were being honest.

You had spent some time with Bruce in the lab. At first, it started with him examining your blood to understand what about your biological structure made you be able to heal, but then it progressed into a kind of bond. You found that your healing had a calming side effect that managed to keep the big guy away during tough days.

Tony's banter made you misunderstand him at first. He opened up right away with strange nicknames like magic hands. He once called you doctor once. Natasha had to explain that it meant he had taken a liking to you- he only joked and poked fun at those he thought were worth his time.

Thor sung your praises all the way to Asgard. Apparently, healers were rare and very precious back on his planet. He stated they were often targeted first as they were seen as the biggest threat to any war. Every time you were on a mission with him, you found yourself feeling ten times safer than usual.

It was only Bucky. Bucky fucking hated you, and you had no idea why. You didn’t even necessarily hate the man. In fact, you held a great deal of respect for him. His fighting styles, his command that he held in a room… All of it was something that you held with awe. You would never tell him that though. With how often he puts you down, your pride would never allow you to compliment him. You were certain that he would only scoff at you and dismiss you without another thought.

If you were really being truthful, you harbored the 'smallest' of crushes on him. You enjoyed watching him from afar. When he shut the fuck up and stopped arguing with you, he was handsome. When he didn’t pick apart every single aspect of your skillset, you thought he was smart. Your eyes would follow him more often than you would like to admit. Your heart would jump when you found out that he had gotten hurt on a mission, and relax to find out it was nothing major.

Your feelings betrayed your mind– which made all of his comments hurt tenfold. You didn’t know if he had any respect for you as a member of the team. If he found out you were on a mission, he would argue it. Say he didn’t need you there, that you were a liability to deal with if things ever went sideways.

It’s what led to these private training moments. Steve was fed up with his best friend’s anger, and proposed these borderline workplace abuse sessions.

“If it bothers you so much, you train her then,” Steve had said. Your eyes damn near bulged out of your skull.

“Cap?” you said cautiously.

“Just indulge him,” he said with a sigh. “If it gets him to stop complaining, then it’s better for you, too.”

You quietly hoped there was some part of Bucky that did hold a bit of respect for you. That the reason he even bothered with these training sessions was for your own good. You’d watched him long enough to know that he wouldn’t do anything he thought wasn’t worth his time. Yet, here you were, nursing your own injuries that you couldn’t heal on your own— well, that wasn’t the truth. You could. But there was always a price that came with that.

“He did a number on you,” Natasha says with a grin, coming into view. You sigh, and watch as she sticks her hand out for you to take. You take her hand with a grunt, allowing her to yank you up to your feet. Every muscle in your body protests at the sudden movement.

“It’s like he’s trying to kill me before anyone else can,” you murmur, rolling your shoulders experimentally. Nothing is dislodged or broken, thankfully.

“I mean, he does have a point,” Natasha shrugs, patting your back. You two went over to the benches, and she handed you a bottle of ice cold water. “If our enemies find out that we have a healer on our team, they’re gonna start surpassing the rest of us to get to you.”

You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips as you take the water. You stare at it, knowing she’s right– knowing that Bucky’s right. “Doesn’t mean that he gotta act like that,” you murmur stubbornly.

“Maybe he doesn’t have to come at you like you have years of training under your belt, but it comes from a good place.”

You give her a look, and she smiles in return. “A good place?” you repeat, your voice dry.

“You don’t see him dragging Tony’s ass in here to do hand to hand,” Natasha said, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow.

“Stark has a metal suit with rockets,” you respond. “There’s no reason for him to need to do hand to hand.”

“What if the tech fails? Then what? Can’t rely on gadgets all the time. Just like you can’t rely on us to be your shield all the time,” she hums. “He’s only looking out for you, even if he’s doing it in the wrong way.”

“You know so much about him, huh?” you ask, eyeing her strangely.

“I’m observant,” she corrects, shaking her head. “Which means I also see the way he looks for you in every single room when he thinks no one is watching.”

“Yeah, probably to take out his anger on me,” you grunt, ignoring what she’s trying to hint at.

“And,” Natasha continues, “I see the way you stare at him.”

“With hatred and anger? I know the feeling all too well.”

“More like you don’t know whether or not you want to kiss him or fuck him.” She’s grinning now, and you can feel a heat begin to crawl up your neck and face.

You hate assassins, you decide at that moment. You hate them and how easy they can read people. You hate Natasha, and you hate Bucky. You clear your throat, intent on distancing yourself from the situation at hand. However, you don’t correct her. You don’t deny her statement either.

“I’m off to shower. We have a meeting soon– something about another mission?” You stand, taking a deep gulp of the water before you grab your bag.

Natasha sighs, “It’s always another mission.”

“I’m not going on a mission with her.”

You drop your chin to your chest, closing your eyes tight. You can feel the headache coming on and pulsing from behind your eyes. Your body still aches from the training session this morning– and the training sessions that you’d had together every day for the past two and a half weeks. It has been hell on Earth, and Bucky still refuses. The constant rejection is starting to wear you down.

“Barnes, the mission calls for the two of you. I need you to watch her front, and she’ll watch your six,” Fury says, eyes narrowing at the super soldier. He’s fed up. Everyone in this room is fed up. “In the event that you are injured–”

“Unlikely,” Bucky cut him off, dismissing the thought like it could never happen to him. Which, truthfully– it rarely has. Out of everyone on the team, you’d only seen him severely injured a couple of times. Other times were the normal scrapes and bruises that were sustained in battle; but he never even came over to you for those like the rest of the team did.

“If you get injured,” Fury sighs, correcting himself just to placate him, “she will be there to help you.”

“I don’t need deadweight with me. It’ll only slow me down,” Bucky argues, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your jaw clenches at the words, and you suck in a deep breath. Deadweight? You’ve been on more than a handful of missions yourself at this point. You’ve gained the respect of the other Avengers and worked alongside them easily. Your solo missions may never be a straight battle, but you have other strengths.

“Gonna keep talking about me like I’m not even here?” you demand, finally lifting your head to look at him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, the nickname coming out of his lips almost mockingly. You could feel your blood begin to boil under your skin at the patronizing tone. The anger that you’d been feeling the past couple weeks is coming to the surface, bubbling and rolling over. You’re about to burst.

“What’s your fucking problem?” you start, standing up.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Steve cut in, slamming his hands on the table. Steve’s giving you a look, telling you with his eyes to back down. Reluctantly, you sit back in your seat. “Buck, she’s going on that mission with you. Bottom line– obviously you two are paired together because she needs to be there.”

Fury nodded slowly, clasping his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat, grabbing your attention once more.

“You’re going undercover.”

“Undercover,” you repeat, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yes, which is why you need to be his partner.” Fury says before he looks at Bucky, and sighs. “She’s familiar with the area and the situation– she’s been there before, and she has the information necessary in order to make this operation go smoothly. You two will be infiltrating a charity gala that's being used to front a human trafficking scheme for enhanced individuals, and she needs a dance partner.”

“Why the hell can’t it be Steve?” Bucky grunts, frowning deeply.

“Because Steve can’t dance, now can he?” Fury snaps. “I suggest you brush up on your forties’ charm, Barnes. You need to be one hell of a convincing partner if you want to fool the other guests."

The room goes silent. There's no room for fighting, not with the tone your boss just gave you. With the lack of argument, he nods.

"This meeting is over, no objections. I’ll have the mission details be sent to your rooms by the end of the day, and you two will report to leave in the morning. You are all dismissed.”

Chairs are scraped against the carpet as everyone shifts. You listen as footsteps start shuffling out of the room, but you stay planted in your seat. Dread is building up in your gut, and you might throw up if you move too fast. It’s overshadowing the ache in your muscles, the pain and anger you felt just moments ago.

Wanda stops beside you, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey… you okay?” she whispered, a hand touching your shoulder.

No. You’re not okay. You know this gala. You know why you’re going there– and what’s waiting for you. The argument, the blow up you had with Bucky in front of everyone is no longer important to you right now. You have to suck it up, and go back into where it all began for you. You let out a shaky breath, then give Wanda your most convincing smile.

“I’m okay,” you tell her, standing. “Head just hurts from all the yelling.”

You force your feet to move, to walk. You have to pack.

You do your best to hide your anxiety on the jet as you sit opposite from Bucky. The aircraft is being operated by F.R.I.D.A.Y., and you were already informed that it would be back at the rendezvous point to pick you two up in one week's time. If you missed the loading time, you two would be shit outta luck and need to get back to base on your own, or at least contact back to let everyone know that you needed more time for the operation.

“Romanoff said you often did espionage. Why do you look so nervous?” Bucky questions, making you look up. You blink at him, pausing. He doesn’t look indifferent. In fact, he looks curious.

“Why do you care?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You watch as his face immediately turns sour at your response, and he looks away. Uncharacteristically, there’s no response. He doesn’t say anything to piss you off. Instead, there’s only silence. You wonder if Steve made him promise to be nice to you during this trip.

This would be the first mission you go on with Bucky by yourself. Usually, there would be another person here with you to act as a buffer– to shield you from him. He usually stayed in his own head during missions, but if interaction was necessary, he would avoid talking to you. You laced your fingers together and squeezed your hands tight. This would be a long week.

You’re dropped off to the safehouse soon, and Bucky mutters something about checking the perimeter while you check the indoors. Firearm in hand, you go inside to inspect. Just as the report said, it’s a fully furnished home.

It’s an unsuspecting cabin in the outskirts of a suburban town, and you two would need to drive into the city to get into the gala. It’s small, with just a living room, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Just the bare necessities. Everything else you two could possibly need is yourselves.

After deeming the inside secure, you check the amenities. Running water, working electricity. Someone back at the base must have updated the safehouse recently– a lot of the furniture was new. Either that, or this place was recently built and only made to look old and rundown from the outside. You find even the pantry and fridge has enough food for the week.

“Tomorrow night is the gala’s first night,” you say as you hear Bucky enter through the door, closing the door of the fridge. “Our outfits should already be in the closet.”

“Perimeter secure,” he reports, ignoring your own comments.

“I assumed, otherwise I would’ve heard fighting out there.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring at him with raised eyebrows. Bucky lets out a deep sigh of annoyance in response.

“You take the bed.”

“We can switch off every night,” you propose. Now, he looks surprised. “We’re here for a week, and that couch looks small. I’m sure you won’t complain, but I don’t necessarily think dancing will be easy if you’re stiff from poor sleep for a week.”

Bucky lets out a breath, then nods once. “Fine.”

You turn towards the hall, ready to turn in for the night, when you stop. “Barnes.”

“What?” he asks, slight annoyance coming through.

“I know you hate me, but I really need you to hide it when we’re in front of everyone tomorrow,” you say, looking over his shoulder. He pauses, and you continue, “I can’t do my job and let you do your job if you mess me up. Just follow my lead.”

His lack of response is the only answer you get from him, pushing you into the soft mattress in the bedroom.

Bucky tosses the keys to the luxury vehicle to the valet driver as another staff member opens your door, and offers you a hand. You smile graciously– practiced, perfect. This is second nature. Nothing that you learned during your time with the Avengers. This was already instilled in your bones way before you were ever recruited.

When Bucky rounds the car and comes to your side, you slip your arm through his, and feel as his body tenses slightly. You smile and lean closer into him as you two walk up the stairs.

“Act like you tolerate me or we’re both going to get gunned down before we even pass the doors,” you whisper into his ear, still smiling.

“There are no guns aimed at us,” he whispers back. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Did he even read the mission report? There were enhanced individuals all around, all being forced to work for the handler– and you had no idea who the enhanced were.

“Not yet,” you remind him, and he takes a deep breath, but ultimately relaxes beside you. He even rests his opposite hand on yours, leading you through the threshold and into the lion's den.

The gala is exactly as you remember it.

The dazzling chandeliers that hang overhead, lighting up the ballroom to ensure no one could hide in the shadows. The bustle of servants and staff members whose eyes are constantly watching you to ensure that every movement gets reported to upper management. The live band, playing at a volume just loud enough to ensure the screams from the tortured below are not heard by unsuspecting guests that have no idea that this is not a charity ball at all. The whispers and gossip of the elite members of the gala, all those who know why they are really here and are buzzing with excitement for the auction to begin on the last day of the party.

All of it makes you want to throw up just the same.

You two find a space on the side of the floor– not too out of the way that makes you both look suspicious, but not directly in the middle of all the action. Today is about scouting. Finding information. If you two could get an invitation to the auction, then you could forgo the next three nights of the gala, and only show up for the last night.

You’re sipping slowly on a flute of champagne as you let your eyes wash over the crowd.

“The servants are most likely enhanced,” Bucky whispers, leaning down from behind you. The action startles you briefly– the proximity. It makes your heart beat just a tiny bit faster, and you’re glad he’s behind you and unable to see your face. His chest is touching your back, his lips so close to you that you can feel his breath fanning against your neck as he whispers. “Their movements are too sharp, too calculated. They’re looking around as if they’re waiting for something.”

“They’re not,” you whisper back, getting a hold of yourself. You lean into him a little more as you notice someone glance over at the two of you. Bucky stiffens for just a second before relaxing, a hand coming to rest on your hip. He was adapting quickly to the part you two were supposed to be playing.

“What makes you say that?” he murmurs.

“The enhanced would be branded. Numbers on the back of their necks. Like merchandise to scan and check out when they’re bought.” It’s hard to conceal the bitterness that comes through your voice.

“How do you know that?” he asks, the hand on your hip squeezing you a bit tighter.

You freeze in place. You swallow down the remainder of the champagne and turn in his arms to smile at him. “Didn’t you read the report?” you ask, tilting your head. You watch as his eyebrows furrow, and his lips part to respond, but he never gets the chance.

The host comes out– he comes out– and calls for everyone’s attention at the front of the room. Everyone turns to look, the music quieting down but never stopping. Just played above a hush. He has no microphone, there are no speakers, but somehow his voice is amplified and can be heard by everyone in the ballroom.

“Thank you for coming tonight. I am your host, William Talbot,” the host grins, holding his arms out wide. Applause erupts from everywhere, you and Bucky joining in. “I am delighted to have you all here this week. All your donations are being put to a good cause; research towards children and young adults' infectious diseases and developmental studies. I beseech you to enjoy yourselves this week as we continue to celebrate each and every single one of you. We would not be able to save as many lives as we do at our lab if not for each of the guests in this room!”

Cheers and whistles join in on the applause as Talbot takes a deep bow, crossing one hand over his chest as he does. After he rises, he turns, disappearing back into the hallway that he came out from, the music one again increasing in volume. People start mingling around the two of you, and there are some that begin to float onto the dance floor with their partners.

“Piece of shit,” Bucky mutters, making you snort. “That’s our guy, isn’t it?”

You nod, and take a deep breath. “I didn’t expect to see him on the first night, though. We need him or his assistants– someone to get an invitation from.”

The plan had already been set– the two of you had finalized it in the car. After spending some time together in the beginning of the night to establish that you were a couple, you would end up breaking off naturally to find other people to mingle with to feel out the crowd. Find out who was close to Talbot, see who had the connection to get you into the auction.

Worst case scenario, the two of you would attend all nights of the gala trying to get the invitation and have to do this same song and dance. If, on the off chance, you didn’t get an invitation, you two would stake out the place and find the auction. It would be a lot messier, but it needed to happen.

So, you started. Bucky disappeared into the crowd and you hung out on the outskirts of the dance floor. You knew you looked lonely, nursing another flute of champagne with no one to talk to– it would give someone the perfect opportunity to approach you. These people always wanted to bite the bait, and it was only a matter of time until someone did.

“All alone tonight?” a voice came from your side. You turned, and paused. You knew this man– and you knew he had no idea who you were.

“My partner saw someone familiar and ended up heading off,” you say with a smile, “I’m just waiting.”

He let out a small scoff, shaking his head. Then, he offered you a hand. “Benjamin Talbot. You dance?”

“Talbot? That was your father up there?” you ask, placing your drink down on the table behind you. You take his hand, your smile widening despite the bile burning in your stomach.

“My old man is a little embarrassing at times. I try not to be associated, but unfortunately I am his flesh and blood,” he answers with a grin. Benjamin leads you to the floor, then stands directly in front of you. His hands fall to your waist as yours go to his shoulders. You feel that tingle under your skin– the power threatening to take over, to do what it did to save you all those years ago.

You push it away.

“You must be proud,” you laugh, shaking your head as he starts to lead you in a dance. “Your family is doing very revolutionary things.”

“What can I say?” he hums, standing a bit taller now. Boastful– and you realize this is a good angle.

“Can I assume that you’ll be taking over once your father decides to rest?” you hum. “You must be studying under him, if not already his right hand man.”

“The time may be sooner than later,” he says, his grin only growing larger. “We have a lot of amazing things planned. You’ll be blown away once you see it all.”

“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “Like what?”

His lips part briefly, and there’s a look in his eyes. You know you’ve got him.

“Have you been invited to the fifth night of the gala yet?” he asks.

“There’s a fifth night?” you ask, feigning innocence.

He grins at you, nodding. “We’ll show off our best merchandise there– it’s much less a gala night and more of a business night. If you’re interested, I can get you and your partner an invite.”

You brighten at the words, and nod excitedly. “I would love that! It’s always a pleasure to see what the Talbots have in store!”

“Wonderful,” he chuckles, nodding. The music comes to an end, and he lets go of you. You quickly let go of him as well, watching as he pulls out two business cards from his pockets. “Address is on the back– don’t lose this. This is your ticket.”

“Honestly, you’re amazing, Benjamin. Really,” you smile at him. He pauses, then pulls out a pen from his breast pocket, scribbling something on it. Then, he hands it to you, leaning close.

“My number,” he whispers into your ear as he presses the card into your hand. “In case you and your partner don’t work out.”

A shiver runs down your spine– one of disgust. You mask it quickly, turning to him with a smirk before giving him a wink. He chuckles darkly before walking off. You wait until he’s far enough away before you turn to look for Bucky. The second you move, there’s a grip on your arm that makes you jump.

“We’re leaving,” he grunts.

“What? Bucky–!” you exclaim, shocked.

He’s all but dragging you towards the exit, and you’re barely able to stop yourself from tripping over your heels and dress. Bucky doesn’t stop even when you get to the exit, his grip on you strong enough to bruise. The valet is quick, your car pulling up in record time– and you’re thrown into the damn car, the door slammed shut behind you.

“Barnes, what the fuck?!” you scream at him once he gets in.

He doesn’t answer, and hits the gas, the two of you taking off. Bucky keeps his eyes on the road, and you see his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. You pause for a second. His jaw is clenched tight, there’s a vein popping in his neck.

“Bucky?” you ask slowly. “What happened? Who did you talk to?”

There’s no response again. He only takes a slow, controlled, deep inhale. You swallow before you settle in your seat, turning to face the road. Despite the anger he’s feeling, he’s not driving like a maniac. You’re not even sure why he’s angry right now.

Once you reach the cabin, you move to get your stuff out of the bedroom. It’s his turn to sleep on the bed tonight, after all. He must need it, after whatever he’s been through tonight. When you come out into the living room, Bucky’s just standing in the middle of it. His frame is taking up the space, and he’s staring at the wall like he wants to punch it down.

“What happened back there?” you try again, frowning. “I got us the invitations, so we don’t need to go back until auction night. We’re fine to lay low or scout out the area prior to the auction–”

“Show me the back of your neck,” Bucky cuts you off, turning to look at you. Your breath catches in your throat.

“What?” you whisper.

“Your neck. Show me the back of it,” he repeats, taking a few steps closer. You instinctively take a few steps back.

“Why the hell do you need to see my neck?” you ask, trying to will your voice to be even. It takes everything in you to not cover the area with your hand.

“I read the report. There was no information about numbers on the enhanced,” he said. You were backed into a wall. Nowhere to run. “Show me your neck.”

“What does this have to do with anything–”

“I need to know if you’re too damn close to this mission to think rationally. If you’re compromised, I’m sending you home,” he cut you off again. “Show me your fucking neck.”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” you whisper.

Bucky doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at you with those same steely eyes. You know he’s serious. His body is rigid, and he’s one second away from spinning you around and pinning you to the wall to move your hair out of the way to check your neck himself. You can only feel bitterness begin to build.

“You go on every single H.Y.D.R.A. related mission,” you say with a swallow, shaking your head. “How are you not too closely related to that?”

“That’s different,” he dismisses.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“How?!” you exclaim, placing your hands on his chest to push him back, reclaiming some space for yourself. To your surprise, he gives in. “It’s exactly the same!”

Once again, Bucky chooses to not answer you. Whether it’s because he doesn’t have a good enough reason to tell you why it’s different, or if it’s because he has decided that you’re not worthy of knowing why he does what he does– you don’t care. You just want to get away from him. The night has been tiring enough, and you barely were out and about.

You know he won’t let you go too far without confirming his suspicions.

With a shaking hand, you turn, pulling your hair to the side.

“Are you fucking happy? There’s nothing,” you spit, staring into the wall.

You can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your neck– your skin. Even in the low light, you know that he’s searching for something that isn’t there. Numbers that were already gone, numbers that you removed yourself.

The touch of cold metal brushing against your skin makes your breath hitch and your body straighten. Goosebumps rise where his fingers touch, and you swallow thickly. The grip on your hair tightens. You’re trembling slightly.

“There’s a scar,” he whispers. There’s a thread of concern in his voice. “From what?”

You take a deep breath and tear yourself away from his touch. You push your hair back into place, covering your neck once more and turn to face him.

“I was sent here for a reason,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. “You have your orders, I have mine. Stay out of my way, soldier.”

You shove past him, going into the bathroom. The door slams behind you with a resounding thud.

The next couple days are filled with silence. Neither of you are talking to each other, much less speaking to one another. What he does during the day doesn’t concern you, but you assume he’s trailing your targets and checking out the auction site. Meanwhile, you’ve been running scans on the auction perimeter to see if everything is set up the same way it was before. If it was, then you know exactly where the ‘merchandise’ will be located.

Bucky needs to take in Talbot– that is his mission. Yours is to evacuate and get the enhanced out of there– as many as you can, safely, without having the kill switch in their necks get activated.

You can still feel the phantom ache in your own neck, from when you ripped out the small bomb before stealing the life out of your buyer to heal yourself before you bled out.

The location may be different, the country may have changed, but nothing has really been stopped. After you escaped all those years ago, they just went into hiding. You thought they’d put an end to the program after realizing that it was possible for their enhanced to rebel against their systems.

Bucky might be right, as much as you hate to admit it. You may be way too close to this operation. It’s personal. They took everything from you. The years of pain and suffering that you endured under their scalpels and bright lights and teams of scientists meant nothing– Benjamin Talbot didn’t even recognize you all these years later. How could he? You were no longer malnourished, covered in scars and bruises, and struggling to survive.

You let out a shaky breath, and buried your face in your hands. You were trembling. It was only two more days until the auction. The invitation cards were on the coffee table, staring at you with malice. You wanted to burn the place down.

A clink of ceramic covered the cards, making you pause. You looked up, seeing Bucky placing a bowl down in front of you while holding one for himself.

“Soup,” he says, nodding towards it. Your eyes narrow at the liquid.

“Did you poison it?”

“What good would it do for me for my partner to be dead, sweetheart?” he says with a sigh as he takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch. You watched as he ate from his bowl first, gulping down the contents of what looked like chicken noodle soup– then he stopped. He reached over to swap it with the bowl he had given you, and started eating from that one as well to prove that both bowls were safe.

“Thank you,” you mutter, beginning to eat as well.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday. You need to keep your energy up for whatever’s going to happen in a couple days.”

“I know,” you say with a deep sigh. The soup is warm, flavorful. “Was this from one of the cans?”

“Hell no,” he scoffs, offended. “I had to go into the city and get this. Whatever they stock this place with is just for war rations in the middle of winter.”

“What, and you’re unable to stomach that?”

“I have learned to enjoy the better things in life, doll.” Bucky gives you a shrug that’s almost nonchalant.

“Thought you still struggled with all of that. Enjoying things.”

“I did,” he says slowly. His next words are softer, quiet. A hint of vulnerability attached to them. “I still do.”

The three words hang between the two of you in a heavy silence. It takes a few moments before the sound of a spoon hitting the edge of ceramic fills your ears again as you two attempt to eat more of the soup, pretending that his confession didn’t just break something inside of you.

“I don’t hate you,” he finally says, breaking the silence. It makes you pause.

“What?”

“You said it on the first night. And I can feel it in the way that you look at me. I… I don’t hate you,” he confesses.

“Are you sure?” you ask dryly, staring into the soup. There’s a slight layer of oil on top of the water. “You didn’t want me on this mission, and you already tried sending me back home on a single suspicion. Not to mention, you make it abundantly clear that you think I’m too damn weak for this job.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him wince. Bucky lets out a deep sigh, and reaches to place his bowl on the coffee table to free his hands, and runs them through his hair before he speaks again.

“I look at you and I see me.”

“What are you talking about?” Your eyebrows furrow, and you look at him. He’s serious.

“You’re angry. Unsure. You have no idea where to put your energy to, and you’re just going through the motions of everything around you. You didn’t even join this team because you wanted to. You joined because you were tired of running from everyone and everything and this was the first opportunity that gave you a chance to go straight,” Bucky said, your jaw clenching in response.

“You don’t know a damn thing,” you whisper, hands tightening around your bowl.

You hate it. You hate him. You hate how he's able to read you so easily, and he's never even had a full conversation with you before. Were you this predictable? Was it this noticeable?

“I see you during every single mission we’re put on together,” he continues, sitting up straight. “You look like how I used to be. You don’t care if you die today, tomorrow, or the next day. You’re going through the motions–”

“Barnes. I suggest you stop talking.”

“This is the first mission that I have ever seen you be so worked up for,” he says, shaking his head. “When I went off into the gala, I slipped into one of the backrooms. I found files of the enhanced. I had enough time to go through some of them, and there were the successful cases at the very top. I read one of them- fully read one. About an A0-92.”

Your blood ran cold. You felt your heart stop in your chest. The world must’ve stopped spinning around you at this exact moment.

“There was a picture in the file… It was a kid,” he whispers, then swallows thickly before meeting your eyes. “You were a kid.”

You stood quickly, dropping the bowl of soup in your hands. The liquid was hot, burning at your skin, and the ceramic shattered on impact as it hit the ground. Your knee hit the coffee table, his own bowl of soup sloshing around with the jostle. You needed to get out here. Fresh air. The walls were closing in on you– your neck was hurting, throbbing. You could almost feel the white hot pain of the bomb beginning to detonate just moments before you took a knife to claw it out of your own body. You could feel the brand being burned into your skin again. A0-92.

You ran out of the cabin, and into the dark woods that surrounded it. Everywhere you went, it felt like you were trapped. The bite of the cold air reminded you of the cold cells, the steel tables you used to be strapped on as you were injected and cut open multiple times. The sounds of the wind sounded like the soft begs of the other children pleading you not to bleed their life away from them to heal your own wounds– but it was kill or be killed.

You ignored the pain in your feet, every scrape and stab of rock and branch that the woods gave you. None of it hurt compared to the ghosts that haunted your every waking moment. Everything that you tried to shoot down– everything that you tried to ignore and pretend that didn’t exist. Because he was right.

You were tired of running away. You wanted to go straight, do something that mattered to other people. If it meant that you were weak, by deciding to not go into the fray– by not hurting other people again, then so be it. You would heal others, offering them the endless life force that you had cultivated over your years of torture for the auction house. One day, in the distant future, it would run out. The supply you took from others would be depleted, and your task would be done. Your debt would be paid.

When your lungs couldn’t handle your sprint, and your legs gave up, you finally stopped. You didn’t notice the hot tears that were streaming down your face until you realized your vision was blurry. You leaned against a tree, covering your mouth with a hand as you slowly slid down to your knees, trying to suppress the sob.

A twig snapped from behind you– a clear indicator that he had been behind you the entire time. Bucky was letting you know he was there. You knew that he could have appeared without a single sound if he didn’t want you to know of his presence.

Slowly, you’re lifted off the ground. You don’t find the energy to fight back as he holds you against his chest, and begins the walk back towards the cabin. He doesn’t say a single word, and neither do you. The only noise between the two of you is the sound of his steady heartbeat under your ear as you listen, while trying to calm the raging storm inside of you.

Once inside, he brings you to the bedroom. The living room is still a mess from your outburst. He sits you down on the edge of the bed, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels down at your feet, making your heart stutter as he takes a foot in his hand.

“Wait– I can do that,” you whisper, reaching out to stop him.

“It’s my fault for approaching the situation like that.” Bucky shakes his head, gently pushing your hands away, and back onto your lap. “You wouldn’t have ran out and burnt yourself if I didn’t pry. Just sit still.”

You watch as he begins to quietly remove the debris off of your bare feet. His touch is careful, afraid of making the wounds worse. You don’t tell him that this is nothing compared to what you’ve felt before, and part of you wants to make a joke that he must know what that feels like. The look on his face makes you think twice.

He looks pained. Upset– not at you, but at himself.

“I don’t hate you,” he says again, then murmurs an apology when you flinch at the sting of the antiseptic.

“I’m starting to realize that,” you whisper back.

“I don’t… know how to comfort people,” he says slowly, clenching his jaw briefly before relaxing it. “I pulled you out of the gala after I saw the file– I took it back with me. It’s in my stuff. I didn’t want them to have anything on you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You could cry more, if you didn’t already dehydrate your entire body of tears. You only gave him a wordless nod.

“I was afraid someone there might recognize you,” he continues. “So I needed you out of there.”

“It’s been years. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t look like that, you know,” you tell him, and he shakes his head.

“I recognized your photo at first glance,” he argues. “You were smaller, maybe a little starved, but you look exactly the same.”

“Natasha says you spend a lot of time staring at me. Probably why you could recognize me,” you say with a soft laugh. His hands still, just for a moment, before he continues– moving on to spread ointment on your feet.

“Romanoff said that, huh?” he grunts, shaking his head.

“Do you? Look at me a lot?”

“I do,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes. You stare back. “Like I said– I don’t hate you.”

“You have a funny way of showing that you don’t hate me,” you whisper, eyebrows furrowing at him. At the insinuation.

He lets out a breath, and smiles slightly. “That’s my bad.”

You shake your head, and don’t fight the faint smile that comes onto your face as well. You continue to watch him as he moves carefully. It’s almost strange. Such a large man made of both flesh and metal, treating you as if you were the most delicate thing in the universe. His touch is barely a whisper against your skin, almost as if he is afraid pressure would make it all worse. Yet, he’s methodical. You suspect it has to do with his own experience from way before everything happened to him, when he was just a soldier fighting in a war for his country. Basic medical training for the field.

“The soup didn’t burn you too bad,” he murmurs as he finishes up wrapping your feet. “Your skin is a bit angry right now, but it’s just irritated. It’ll go away. Should use a wet cloth to soothe though.”

“I’ll do that,” you say with a nod.

Bucky’s no longer touching you, beginning to pack up the med kit and clean up the soiled materials that he used to fix you up. You find yourself missing the warmth that he previously had you wrapped in. Right now, he looks different from all the other times you have seen him. Is it the confession? The sudden heart to heart? You’re coming to realize the man in front of you isn’t so bad after all.

“I cut the numbers off of me,” you tell him. He pauses in his clean up, looking up at you once more. “There’s a small bomb in each enhanced’s neck. It’s what makes us unable to fight back. It’s why we’re stuck down there, in the auction, and why we get sold off. We rebel, our heads get blown off. Some of the kids down there decided that dying was better than being a slave.”

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he whispers, and your hands clenched into fists– just to give yourself a reminder that you’re real. To ground yourself back to reality. “You cut it out of yourself– of your neck?”

You let out a shaky breath, and swallowed. “Girls get sold for higher prices… and I wasn’t bought just for the enhancements. One day, my buyer messed up. Fell asleep in front of me, and had their weapons at the bedside table. I cut it out of my neck. With my last bits of remaining strength before I died, I took his life to heal myself. I was a kid. Couldn’t see or feel how deep the implant was. Then, free– I killed a lot of people fighting to get out of that mansion.”

Bucky stared at you, mouth agape. You blinked down at your hands, letting them relax. You examined the crescent shaped indents you left behind on the palms. You took one more breath before meeting his eyes, and forcing a smile on your face.

“I might be too close to this mission, but I need to see this auction burned to the ground,” you whisper.

“I’ll hand you the match, then,” he answers, placing a hand on top of yours. He gently squeezes. The comfort that rushes through your body is almost immediate.

The next two days are filled with planning. The kids are underground, and from the scans that Bucky was able to acquire, he counts there are about fifty kids. Less than what you thought, but it still makes your heart ache all the same. Only fifty made it to this point– there were countless others that were still in the lab, or died on those tables.

You would attend the auction, and have F.R.I.D.A.Y. scan each and every single guest to be sent back to base. When the time was right, each of them would be arrested and incarcerated. No one would be left without punishment here.

The children would be rescued by you and other agents on standby outside the perimeter, waiting for your instructions to go in. They wouldn’t move unless they got the green light. No one wants to risk the bombs going off.

“Would you tell anyone if I killed Talbot?” you asked him the night before the auction.

Since that night in the forest, the tension between the two of you had basically disappeared. Coupled with the fact that you two were speaking to each other, and eating every meal together– you were comfortable. It was scary how comfortable you got with him.

You’d be lying if you said these two days weren’t filled with a strange tension. You were acutely aware of him. You always were, but this was different. You saw the way his eyes watched you, the way they scanned over your body slowly when you walked out of the bathroom after a shower. When you would look at him, and catch him staring– he wouldn’t look away.

You noticed how his voice was softer now. More gentle. He wasn’t speaking down at you, but rather approaching you at a different angle. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t doing something to you. After him speaking to you in such an authoritative voice for so long, the quiet hush of his words brought a comfort to you that you didn’t know you would be able to feel with him. Then again– you were always at ease whenever you knew he was around.

There were multiple times in the last couple days where the two of you brushed against each other. Whether or not it was a mistake or on purpose, it left goosebumps on your skin wherever he touched.

Bucky took a long drink of his beer– one that you learned didn’t even do anything to him. He told you that he simply drank for the taste and nostalgia. The serum pumping through his veins made his metabolism burn through the alcohol.

“No,” he answered.

“You don’t think it makes me a bad person?” you press, tilting your head. Bucky snorts, shaking his head.

“If you’re a bad person, doll, then what am I?” he asks, rolling his eyes. You can only smile, then take your own drink of beer.

“Sweetheart. Doll. What else will you call me?” you ask, raising your eyebrow at him.

“Hate it?” he shoots right back, glancing at you.

“Not as much as you supposedly hate me,” you tease. He groans.

“Enough of that.” Bucky sighs deeply.

“You would say those nicknames with such malice, too,” you continue. “Really thought you were patronizing me or something.”

“My Ma’ would kill me if she ever heard I was talking to a lady like that,” he grunts, frowning.

“You’re a mama’s boy?” you ask, surprised.

“No,” he says, looking at you. “I had a little sister. I had to be a good example of what a gentleman was like. So, I treated women with respect and care– that way my sister had a nice foundation to use when she grew up and went out into the world to find herself a husband one day.”

You made a face. “I don’t think you respect me by calling me weak.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes as he admits defeat. “I had an awful way of trying to get you out of the line of fire. You’re a walking 51-50 waiting to happen.”

“I don’t think you should be the one talking right now,” you point out, fighting the smile that was threatening to grow on your face.

“Well. Takes crazy to know crazy.” Bucky shrugs without a care. There’s a smile playing on his lips as well. “I’m surprised they don’t have you in some sort of mandated therapy.”

“Unlike you, I didn’t commit war crimes against the entire world, so,” you remind him. You watch as he contemplates your words, then nods in agreement. “Therapy may be helpful though.”

“Nah,” he denies immediately. “Don’t do it. Well– maybe my therapist just sucked.”

“Ever thought about getting an emotional support animal instead?” you suggest. “You’re good at taking care of people, so maybe having a little kitten around would be more healing than trying to talk out your feelings with a stranger.”

“Me? Taking care of people? You’re really good at jokes, you know that?”

“I mean, I can count all the civil conversations we’ve had on one hand, but after we’ve cleared our misunderstanding, I think you’re a pretty decent person. Besides that, you’re not the only one that can observe the other.”

Bucky let out a small laugh, and smiled down at his bottle. “I noticed. Except, you were always killing me in your head when you looked at me. I guess I can’t blame you.”

The air between the two of you was nice. Comfortable. Both of you were sitting on the couch together. On the coffee table were the plans and maps of the auction house, a reminder of what was the beginning of the end of this madness. Beside it were remnants of the Chinese food that Bucky had picked up in the city, once again proclaiming that the safehouse food was too shitty to consume. You quickly realized that he was lying to you. Bucky just wanted to feed you good food.

“Don’t get hurt tomorrow,” Bucky says, making you look back at him. He’s already looking at you. There’s something soft in his eyes when he says the words, almost pleading.

“You can get hurt tomorrow,” you tell him, trying to lighten the mood once more. “I’ll put you back to normal if you do.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I need you to steel your emotions tomorrow. There’s a chance we might not be able to save them all.”

“... I know,” you whisper, and nod once at him.

“Don’t go trying to die in there either,” he warns. “I’ll yank you out of there before you can detonate with any fucking bomb.”

You crack a smile. “How romantic. Is this how you used to flirt with girls in the forties? Were you raised on the belief that boys who were mean to girls had a crush on them?”

“You’re not as dense as I thought,” he grunts.

“You’re not denying it, you know?" You raise an eyebrow at him then clarify, "That you hold a candle for me in your heart.”

“I’m not a liar, doll.”

“I get a free pass to throw you on the mat when we get back home. To make up for all the times you had me on my back,” you say, and down the rest of your beer. It’s a flimsy attempt to try and distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach. “Let’s call it the start of your courtship.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Just because I have the smallest crush on you doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you. I push you hard for your own safety.”

“Fine. I’ll just go back to avoiding and ignoring you when we get back,” you huff, turning away from him again. You can see him tense out of the corner of your eye.

“One time,” he finally relents. “Just once.”

You grin and look at him. “Only a small crush?” you ask, tilting your head. Bucky stares at you for a few moments before clearing his throat and looking away. You swear there’s a slight tint of pink on his cheeks that you know cannot be blamed on the alcohol.

“Shut the hell up.”

“Can’t admit how much you like me, Barnes?” you ask, humming. “Should I text Nat and ask her how often you stare at me when I’m in the room?”

“Yeah?” Bucky sits up straighter. “I don’t recall you denying her question when she asked you whether you’re trying to decide if you wanna make out with me or fuck me.”

The grin is wiped off your face and transferred onto his. He looks smug now, enjoying your reaction.

“I hate assassins,” you whisper in disbelief. “You were listening? I thought you fucking left!”

“You were having an abnormally loud conversation,” he says with a shrug. “And if I’m not mistaken– you’ve also been quite mean to me. Seems that I’m not the only one with a crush. I might be the only one between the two of us to admit it, though.”

You could only stare at him, feeling your face warm. You could say it was the alcohol– something that he couldn’t do. Your pride was getting in the way again. There was something in his voice that irritated you to no end.

“I never not said it,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not a liar either, Sergeant.”

“Sergeant, huh?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you teasingly.

You roll your eyes at him. “Shut the hell up, Barnes. I really could just go back to pretending you don’t exist. Maybe I’ll pick fights with you again. For fun this time, since I know how you feel.”

“Yeah? And how do I feel?”

“You like me. Romantically. Maybe you wanna kiss me as much as I do,” you challenged.

“Oh, sweetheart, I wanna do more than just kiss you,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Then why don’t you?” you ask, tilting your head. It’s his turn to pause, to stare at you. You know you’re daring him– pushing him now. And you’re waiting with bated breath to see if he pulls through.

Part of you wonders if he actually does like you, or if you've been somehow misinterpreting his words this entire time. That was always the possibility. After all, it was only last week that you were cursing out the man into hell.

After a few more beats pass between you two without any movement, you let out a small huff and stand. You grab your plate and your empty bottle, heading towards the kitchen.

“Knew you were full of shit, Barnes,” you say, throwing the tease over your shoulder as you go to clean up your mess.

You often forget how quiet Bucky is when he wants to be. You barely got the plate in the sink before he’s behind you— both hands on either side of your body, caging you in against the sink as he presses his chest to your back. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating against yours, the thump of his heartbeat. Then, his lips are near your ear.

“Would you let me?”

His voice is barely above a whisper. If he wasn’t so close, you wouldn’t have heard him. You wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the husk of the words, the slight desperation behind it. You can only swallow before you nod once. A metal hand slides over your waist, pulling you even closer to his body.

“Gotta hear you say it,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder.

“Yes.”

A moment passes between you before his lips press against the side of your neck. You let out a sigh at the feel. It’s exactly like when he tended to your wounds– a ghost of a touch, barely brushing against your skin. Almost as if he’s afraid to hold you closer.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nod again, leaning into him. Bucky hums, and then he shifts a little. He moves your hair out of the way, and presses a soft kiss to the scar on the back of your neck. You tense slightly at the feeling, and he feels it. Immediately, he rubs circles into your waist with his fingers, trying to comfort you. You let out a shaky breath, and allow him a few more kisses at the sensitive spot before turning in his arms.

“All you’re gonna do is kiss my neck?” you ask quietly, resting your arms on his shoulders.

“If that’s all you want,” he replies, and you know he means it. He won't go any further if you tell him not to. You shake your head.

“No. Want more,” you tell him, and his grip on you tightens just slightly. He’s hesitating, and you can feel it. You decide to move forward, to close the remaining distance between the two of you.

His lips are soft, just as you thought they would be. They feel even better against your own. You give him one soft kiss, just to test the waters, but he comes back for another one. Bucky fully crowds your space, his flesh hand cupping your face as he tilts your head upwards to him, to make it easier for him to deepen the kiss.

You sigh against him, relaxing in his embrace. He’s warm. This is the same warmth you felt in the forest, the same warmth he gave you when he wrapped your wounds. You were certain he would continue to wrap you in this warmth if you gave him the chance.

Bucky’s tongue swipes against your bottom lip, just slightly, quietly asking for entry. You grant it, and meet his tongue with your own. He lets out a soft groan against your mouth, and the feel and sound of him sends shockwaves through your body. You want more of him– you want him closer to you.

He seems to feel the same, both hands reaching to pull you upwards, easily taking you into his arms. Your legs rest on either side of him now, and your ankles lock behind his back to help hold yourself in place as he begins to move out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom.

All the while, he never stops kissing you. Your lips, your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. By the end of the night, you’re certain that there will no longer be a part of your body that Bucky has not claimed as his.

You’re gently laid down onto your back with such care it almost makes you want to cry. He hovers above you, a hand stopping just below the hem of your shirt. He’s touching your skin directly, but not moving any further. He’s pressing himself onto you, and you can feel his growing length against your thigh. You need more of him. You push on his chest, freeing yourself momentarily.

“Shit– I’m sorry–” he quickly scrambles to say, but you cut him off with the swift removal of your shirt.

“Your turn,” you tell him, tugging on his t-shirt. His eyes trail over you, the exposed skin you graced him with, and he wets his lips before nodding wordlessly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally speaks when he finds his words. You smile– Bucky’s a soldier through and through.

After discarding his shirt somewhere behind him, he descends upon you once more. His hands are touching you again, this time without anything stopping him. The metal has already warmed up from its constant tracing of your body, from kneading your breast while his mouth takes hold of the opposite. You let out a needy whine, hands threading through his hair as you close your eyes.

He nips at your skin, making you jump briefly before looking back down at him.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he whispers to you. His eyes seem darker– pupils blown out and swallowing the steely blue eyes that you adore. The pure need all over his face makes you shudder, and your heart jumps in your chest again as you nod at him.

You feel him before you see him. His hand trailing down to the waistband of your shorts, then dipping down and beneath the fabric.

“Bucky,” you sigh as his fingers come into contact with your core. He’s ghosting again; simply spreading your slick over your folds to get a feel of your arousal. He lets out a soft moan, and swallows thickly.

“All this for me? I’m flattered,” he tells you with a small smirk.

“Bucky,” you say again, with more desperation.

“I could probably slide right in without even doing anything to prepare you,” he continues, trailing kisses up your chest. “You want that? You want me to stretch you and fill you with my cock?”

Despite his words, he presses a single digit into your entrance. You let out a gasp, your hips bucking to meet his hand. Bucky coos in your ear, the heel of his palm pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves to stimulate it just a little as you grind against his hand.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, though relishing in the way he nips at the space just below your ear.

“Need you to tell me you want me, doll,” he hums.

“Your hand is in my shorts, and you still need me to say it?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“What’s with the sudden attitude?” Bucky clicks his tongue in disapproval, and a second finger joins in, making you moan. He hums, satisfied with your reaction. “I like you better when you’re like this.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers find a slow, lazy pace to thrust in and out of you.

“That’s the plan. Did you forget–” Bucky pulls out his fingers until only the tips are left inside, before slamming them hard inside of you. You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, and you grab onto his arms for support. "-to keep your eyes on me?”

You comply because what else are you supposed to do? He has you under him, at his mercy, and you simply need more of him. Bucky can see it on your face, the way you’ll fall apart for him. He’s craving it.

“Good girl,” he whispers, humming with approval now.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you tell him, though your body is betraying your words. Bucky only smiles in response, and catches your lips with his own. His fingers leave you moments later, and you find yourself regretting your comment. You’re about to pull away, and take it back when he starts sliding both your shorts and underwear down your legs in one fluid motion.

You didn’t even realize he had taken off his sweatpants earlier.

“Not so annoying now, huh, sweetheart?” he chuckles against your lips.

“Can you shut the fuck up and fuck me?” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Bucky pulls away from you. You’re breathless, confused, and looking at him. He has his hands planted on either side of your head, and he’s staring at you. His face is suddenly serious. It makes your heart stutter with anxiety.

“This can’t be a one time thing,” he whispers, his jaw clenching. “If you don’t feel the same about me– I can’t do this.”

“Wouldn’t even let you touch me like this if I didn’t feel the same way,” you tell him, reaching to touch his face. Bucky lets out a breath, one of relief, as he leans into your touch. His eyes close as his head drops just slightly, like the weight of the world had just been lifted off of his shoulders. “You still need to let me throw you on the mat. Want you on your back.”

“You can have me on my back anytime you want, doll. Right now, you’re staying on yours,” he replies, and comes back down to you.

He’s warm. Extremely warm. His skin is on fire, but you’re not sure if that’s heat that’s radiating off of him or if it’s you. Either way, you feel like you’re about to explode when he finally presses into you. Bucky’s forehead presses against yours, mouth agape as he slowly stretches through your walls.

“Tight,” he grunts, hands on your hips tightening, “so fuckin’ hot and wet– God, doll. You tryna kill me here?”

“Maybe,” you manage to answer him. You’re struggling as much as he is. The stretch is delicious. He’s just as long as he is girthy, and he really didn’t do much to prepare you earlier– but it makes it all the more pleasurable.

He takes a few moments to breathe when he finally bottoms out, pelvis pressed right against yours before he sets the pace. It’s slow, calculated. He’s savoring every inch of you, not wanting to miss a single moment. It’s driving you insane in the best way possible. You can feel every vein in every thrust, every twitch and every jump of his cock as you clench around him.

Bucky never stops praising you throughout.

“So pretty,” he says, eyes roaming all over your body as one hand lets go of your hip to begin to thumb at your clit. You gasp at the feeling– the contrast of tight, quick, small circles being rubbed against the slow and controlled movements of his hips. “So good for me.”

“Shit, Bucky,” you moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. He groans at the feeling, eyes closing briefly before he opens them and looks between you two– looks at the connecting point where one of you starts and the other ends.

There’s nothing rough or hard about the moment. He doesn’t take you like a wild animal– he’s cradling you in his arms and holding you tight, letting you feel exactly what you do to him. You feel warm under his gaze.

It’s only a matter of time before your release catches up to you, and threatens to shove you over the edge. Bucky can feel it– the fluttering of your walls and the way your body is beginning to tense under his.

“There you go, doll,” he urges, panting. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body as he swallows, taking in the full sight of you. “Let go. Wanna see you fall apart under me.”

You can’t deny him what he asks you so nicely for.

Moments after, Bucky follows you right off the same cliff. You feel his thrusts grow sloppier, hear his breaths go ragged, and then the warmth of his orgasm filling you completely full.

He’s kissing you throughout the whole thing, continuing to sing your praises as he rides out his high before he pulls you into his arms with his cock softening inside you. You almost whimper at the feeling of him leaving you.

Bucky’s hand is in your hair, massaging your scalp and the base of your skull as he holds you to his chest. You sigh into him, closing your eyes as you let his warmth once again wrap around you and keep you safe.

“I like you,” you finally confess to him, your voice just barely above a whisper. Bucky lets out a laugh, the rumble of his chest comforting you as you listen.

“I figured,” he chuckles. “I like you, too.”

“Mhm. I know,” you say with a grin. Bucky shakes his head, but you’re certain that there’s a smile on his face.

“Rest up, sweetheart. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Your ears are ringing, and the world is spinning around you. You can’t see properly. Everything seems blurred for some reason. There’s two, maybe four of everything around you. In the distance, you can hear the sound of crackling and fire, and someone screaming out your name. You blink slowly, or at least you think you are. Time is moving at an unnatural speed.

All at once, everything comes crashing back to you, just as you are brought back to your feet, hands on your arms. Bucky is in front of you, a gash on his head with blood rushing down the side of his temple. Worry is painted all over his features, and you’re unsure why. He’s saying things to you, but you can’t understand him. You can’t hear him over the ringing. From the shape of his lips, it looks like he’s saying your name.

Bucky gets increasingly frustrated, but you do have to admit he still looks handsome even like this. There’s dirt and soot on him, along with sweat on his brow from how he must have been fighting his way down to you, down to the cells.

Fighting?

You gasp sharply as reality hits you once more, steadying yourself in his grasp.

“You back with me, doll?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod quickly, and immediately regret the movement. You close your eyes tight, trying to will away the dizzy spell that comes over you.

“Fuck happened here?” Bucky whispers, looking around. “Where are the enhanced–”

Bucky cuts himself off, and looks back at you. Your jaw is clenched as you stare down at your feet. Your breath is ragged. You’re trembling in his arms. You’re injured in several areas, but you’re alive. That’s more than you can say for the fifty children that you came down here for.

“Where’s Talbot?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Apprehended,” Bucky answers. “He… mentioned another kill switch. I ran down here to try to warn you, but I heard the explosion...”

You laugh dryly, nodding. Just moments ago, the kids were crying to you. You were telling them you had the release on their necks– that they were free. They were safe now. One of them asked about the one in their hearts. Your blood ran cold, and you froze. You didn’t even have time to turn around and search. The first child exploded in front of your eyes, and the rest followed like a chain reaction.

“There was another one. In their chest. They put another fucking one.”

“It’s not your fault, doll,” he whispers, and you shake your head. You don’t want to hear it right now. You can’t do this.

“We need to get out of here,” you say, changing the topic. “We’re several feet underground and that explosion definitely fucked up the infastructure. We’ll be buried if we don’t leave soon.”

Bucky doesn’t waste a second before scooping you in his arms, and sprinting to where he came from. You don’t fight him this time, either. Your body is protesting from just his movements alone as he carries you. There has to be a broken rib or two in your body, along with another fracture somewhere in your leg. You were too close to the explosion. Whether you like it or not, your enhancements wouldn’t let you die so easily.

The lights above ground let you know the operation was a success, all things considered. The mastermind was taken in. Now, they would be able to go through his personal assets and find out where his labs were and put an end to everything. Maybe they would be able to free those children.

You don’t think you would ever be free of the faces of the kids that you saw down there.

You’re carried into the jet, and you vaguely hear Bucky say that your part of the mission is over with. The two of you would be heading home now– you both sustained injuries that require immediate attention. It’s only then that you snap out of your own head.

You look at him– really look at him. There’s more than just the blood on his head. There’s a bruise and cut on his cheek. His tactical gear is ripped and cut open in some places. There’s dark spots on his body that could or could not be his own blood. You see the slight limp in his walk when he finally sets you down in a seat.

The two of you are in the air before you know it, a heavy silence between the two of you. Bucky’s across from you. His eyes are closed shut, head leaning back against the wall of the jet. You know what he’s thinking of, too.

Then, you shift. You ignore the sharp pain in your body screaming at you, and you sit down next to him. He opens his eyes to look at you, questioning. Then, he sees it. The soft golden glow from under your palms, and the change of colors in your irises.

“No, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head as he tries to lower your hands. “Save your energy. Your injuries are a hell of a lot worse than mine.”

“Let me help someone tonight,” you whisper– no, you beg him. Bucky’s lips part, and he lets out a shaky breath before he relaxes in his seat. He doesn’t make a move to argue with you again.

You let your hands hover over his temples first, concentrating your powers on the gash on his head while also reaching for the rest of his body. You can see it. The broken rib, the fractured wrist, the sprained ankle. There’s multiple, deep cuts on his body from when he must’ve gone against several armed guards, and maybe a few older enhanced humans.

Slowly but surely, each pathway to the injury closes off. You can see the stiffness in his body disappear, the crease in his forehead begin to smooth out as you take his pain away. You reverse the damage that had been done to him, and you save one person tonight.

When he opens his eyes, you watch as his face softens. He reaches for you now, hands cupping your face. His thumbs brush right under your eyes, wiping away tears that you didn’t know had fallen.

Just like that, you crumble and fall apart in his arms. He holds you tight on the way home, careful of the injuries that he isn’t sure you have, but keeps his hold strong to ground you all the same. He’s the only one listening as you wail in the jet, and no words pass between the two of you.

When you arrived at the base, there was already a gurney and team of medical staff waiting for your landing. Bucky carried you out of the jet, and laid you there, barking out orders to hurry up and get you examined.

You spent a week in the medical ward. Dr. Cho was flown out from Seoul to take care of you, and get you back into shape as soon as possible.

“It’s not what you can do, but it’s the next best thing,” she told you with a gentle smile.

In that same week, you denied all visitors to your room. You wanted to be alone. You got alerts from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that each of the team members had tried visiting at least once, but you didn’t allow access. Even to Bucky– who came by every single day. Sometimes, he came multiple times a day. It was only Fury who came in, the only person that you couldn’t just turn away without proper reason.

“The labs have been found,” he informed you as you stared at the pristine white sheets you were under. “Another hundred kids were taken in, all under the age of twelve. All of them are alive, as they haven’t had the final stage of the experiments done to them yet. They’re in recovery in a safe location to rehabilitate.”

“And their parents?” you asked him, your voice small.

“We’re working on locating all of them,” Fury said. “Along with all the parents of the deceased.”

You nodded slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I want to quit.”

“Rejected,” he denied immediately. Your head snapped up to him, and he’s staring at you with a raised eyebrow. “Those kids need someone that understands what they have been through to teach them how to live. How to survive the shit they’ve been through.”

You pause, the words weighing in your mind. “I killed them, Fury,” you whispered, desperation in your voice. You feel like crying again. “I– I don’t even know how to survive the shit that I’ve been through!”

“Give it some thought. If you really want to quit, come talk to me after you’re discharged,” he told you, then turned to leave.

You’re discharged within another week. In that same week, Tony bypasses the order you gave to F.R.I.D.A.Y. and storms into your room with a gown in hand. He’s throwing another party– one to celebrate you and Bucky’s successful mission and to gather donations for the rehabilitation center for the children.

You really tried to skip out of it, tell him that you weren’t interested in a party after everything that you’d been through. You even asked him if he read the mission report.

“I did,” he said with a nod. “And all I can say is that I’ve fucked up, too. I have blood on my hands that I’ll never be able to wash away. You, me– all of us on this team. We’re all the same.”

“Tony, please,” you begged. “I can’t just go to a party after that.”

“Then, don’t think of it as a party for your honor,” Tony said, and hung the dress up across from your hospital bed. “Think of it as a distraction. One night to get away from the demons in your head, to enjoy yourself. You deserve a break, too.”

You couldn’t fight against him on that. Not when you realize that he was just trying to cheer you up in the only way that he knew how to.

The party is the first time you see the rest of the team since your departure for the mission. Once again, no one asks questions. No one pries. You’re certain they all read the mission report, and they know why you requested for the time to be alone while you healed.

The girls greeted you with a smile, Natasha immediately mixing you a drink of something fruity that was strong, but not strong enough to make you dull the ache in your chest as you watched the world continue to spin around you without you moving in it.

“Barnes has been distracted these past two weeks,” Natasha says, bumping your hip with her as you stand at the bar in between her and Wanda. “He jumps at the mention of your name.”

“Just worried,” you say with a sigh.

“Sure, but he never was like that before. Did something happen while you two were out on the field?” Wanda grins at you.

You want to smile at them. You really do. You want to indulge in the girl talk. You want to feel the embarrassment and shyness as you confess that you do have feelings for Bucky and that you both had acted upon those feelings, but you just can’t.

It was nothing against Bucky, or anything that he did. You don’t feel worthy of those feelings for him. The last two weeks of silence, of being in your own head– you realize that the words he used to spit at you with fire may have been more true than you wanted to admit.

You were a liability. You were too close to the mission. You were emotional and reckless– you didn’t double, triple check the situation. You wanted to be a hero, to save lives. At the end of it, you didn’t even walk out of there on your own two feet.

You didn’t even succeed in your own mission– to save the hostages. He succeeded in his– to apprehend Talbot. He was right, at the end of the day. You knew he was. Even if he had already reassured you, whispered to you in your ear that he didn’t mean it like that, you were starting to believe there was someone out there that did.

How could you face him now?

You excuse yourself, murmuring something about fresh air. You ignore the way both of the girls share a look with each other, and let your feet carry you out the door to the rooftop.

You sat out on the terrace, watching the skyline. The compound was far away from the city, but you were still able to see the twinkling lights in the distance.

Here, you thought about everything. Your place. Your thoughts were taking a dangerous turn. You no longer felt worthy of this team. Of having these powers that could help people when nothing you did aided. You didn’t feel worthy of the feelings that Bucky had for you– the respect and care and worry that he secretly held all this time.

“Been waiting everyday at the gym for you to throw me, you know?”

Just his voice alone was enough to melt away the self loathing that you threw yourself into. You looked over your shoulder, seeing him walk towards you, a hand in his pocket, a whiskey glass in the other.

“Been drafting up my resignation letter,” you respond softly. “Don’t think we need to continue training anymore.”

Bucky comes up beside you, placing his glass beside yours on the ledge. He lets out a breath as he leans against the stone, and looks at you.

“I’m really not good at comforting people, doll. Can you help me out here?” he asks. He’s trying to make the tone light. Trying to cheer you up.

You give him a tight smile, and shake your head. “I couldn’t save them.”

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me. My earpiece– it broke. Got knocked out. I couldn’t reach you fast enough. If I was more careful–”

“I should’ve done more research,” you cut him off. Bucky looks helpless at your words. “It was my mission. Not yours… And it will haunt me forever.”

Bucky lets out a deep breath through his nose, then wets his lips. Thinking. Then, he reaches for your hand, tugging on it. He’s pulling you away– bringing you somewhere else.

“What are you doing?” you ask. Your voice sounds tired. It doesn’t sound like you.

“I can’t make the nightmares go away,” he whispers, looking down briefly as he continues to lead you away from the edge of the terrace. “I can’t make it all stop hurting, but I was sent on that mission with you as your dance partner. We didn’t even dance. You're gonna let me fail at the mission given to me, sweetheart?”

You can’t help the laugh that exits your lips as he brings you to the middle of the rooftop. He smiles at the sound, and stops before you. He guides your hands onto his shoulders, then comfortably rests his on your waist.

“Just for right now, you and I can forget all the bad stuff,” he says.

“Is that really okay?” you ask him, lifting your eyes to meet his. He shrugs a little, and smiles more.

“They’re playing our song right now, doll. Can’t be sad when we’re together,” he tells you, and leads you in a dance.

The music from inside is loud enough to carry outdoors, to where the two of you are. At this moment, you let Bucky take the lead. He holds you against him as you sway together, breaking away only for a moment so he can take your hand and spin you around like a princess in a movie. The action makes you giggle just a little bit, and you miss the soft look in his eyes as he watches you.

You don’t know how much time has passed like this– with him. All you know is your head is against his chest, fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. He’s humming along to the song as he leans his own head against yours. You can feel his heart beating, and distinctly realize yours is beating in the same time.

“Stay here. Stay with me,” he finally speaks, breaking the silence between the two of you.

You’re quiet for a few moments. The pain won’t go away in one night. Bucky isn’t claiming that he can make it disappear, either… but being in his arms dulls the ache in a way that you know that you can’t do by yourself.

“Will you complain if I go on a mission with you again?”

Bucky lets out a small laugh before lifting his head, pulling back to look at your face. A hand comes to cup your face. “How long will you be holding that against me?”

“Depends on how long you think we have together,” you respond, leaning into his touch.

“Forever, then,” he confirms, smiling down at you before the familiar feel of his lips press against yours.

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens **let me know if you would like to be added to a general bucky taglist for whenever i post a fic for him :)**

1K notes · View notes

rafeslvbug · 3 days ago

Note

im sorry but im LOVING pediatrician!rafe okay? like- after a bit of time going by, appointment after appointment- your daughter is his number one patient- and when we walk in with her on our hips he's talking to the secratary and sees us - his attitude immediately shifts and he BEAMMMS... and he's all like ''well hello little lady! how's our girl today huh?'' UGHHHHH PUHLEASEEEEE IM SO GONE FOR HIMMMMM!!!

(this req is too flipping cute i love you for this - set like a year in now because i’m just doing random little fics)

rushing from work, to picking your daughter up from daycare, and driving her a little over the speed limit to get to your appointment on time, it would be an understatement to say your past hour had been hectic.

it had been a nightmare.

you hated being off maternity leave, hated seeing her less and the headache of getting her to appointments, albeit less frequent, was only adding to your stress.

it all seemed to dissipate, however, when you walked through the doors, into the paediatric ward with the familiar smiles of the nurses you saw every few weeks. aurora was sat on your hip, babbling away, her favourite toy in her hand and completely oblivious to the string of curses you had let out the whole way here.

she’s just excited to be here, as she always is.

not for the toys, or the lollipop she gets after her checkups (well maybe the lollipop), but the man currently leaning over the counter, talking to a receptionist with his clipboard trapped between his bicep and the side of his body.

dr. cameron

rafe

your boyfriend

you watch the little interaction as you get closer to them, the way the nurse gives him a little head nod towards you and how he straightens, head perking up to search for you guys.

face morphing into his widest beam, he sets his clipboard down on the counter and meets you guys in the middle with two large strides. “well hey there little lady,” he grins, crouching down slightly to pinch aurora’s cheek, causing her to let out a fit of giggles.

“how’s our girl today, huh?” he turns his attention to you while lifting her out of your arms and into his, workplace professionalism be damned - there’s not a nurse in this place who’d come between dr. cameron and his girl.

you chuckle at his behaviour, always acting as if she’s changed so much in the few hours he hasn’t seen her, just because he left the house early this morning. letting his hand on the small of your back guide you into that familiar office of his, you smile up at your daughter who’s busy giving rafe the biggest doe eyes of her life.

“she’s good, didn’t throw a fit in the car today, just a lot of laughter when i said we were gonna go see daddy, didn’t you?” you coo at her, when she bursts into more infectious giggles.

rafe claws back the flush creeping on his face, even when he can’t ignore the swell of his heart at being called her dad. closing the door to his office, he presses a kiss to her cheek before settling her on the edge of the hospital bed, letting her dangle her feet while he searches his computer for some files.

glancing up briefly, he catches the sight of you brushing back her hair, using her toy to keep her occupied before he sets the files away, walking around to join you both.

he fiddles with the little flashlight in his hand before kneeling down in front of her, “alright then sweetie, just gonna do some quick tests okay?” the corners of his mouth lift upwards when she eagerly nods, letting him flash the light in both of her eyes, and check any other body parts.

since he lives with you already, checkups are fast, nothing he doesn’t already do on the daily when he’s giving her a bath or holding her in the morning. rafe’s forever making sure his little girl is okay, so unless something drastic happened in the few hours he hadn’t seen her, checkups were ten times faster than the average patient.

he made sure you booked them anyways.

he also made sure to drag them for as long as possible.

at the end, he stood up, moving past you to pluck a lollipop from the essentially mandatory jar every paediatrician had. it was always strawberry, her favourite flavour that he always kept a stash of just for her. “and this is for being so brave,” he murmured, unwrapping it for her and letting her take it from his hand, popping it in her mouth.

pressing a final kiss to her head, he lifted her off the bed and to you where she situated again on your hip, head against your chest. “you going home now?” he asked, tugging you closer with his hands on your waist.

smiling, you nodded, letting him kiss you softly before pulling away, a content look on his face. “i’ll be an hour or two, okay?” you hummed as he reluctantly let you go, watching as you slipped out the door and back to your shared apartment.

two hours felt like a long time to not see his favourite patient and his favourite girl (s).

715 notes · View notes

abyssyby · 3 days ago

Note

How will Silus react to a son who shows dragon instincts (stealing something shiny, collecting and keeping it as a treasure, etc.)?

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi hi! thanks for sending this in hehe kinda got away from me, but this was extremely fun to think about and i hope you like it! ˙˚ʚ(´◡`)ɞ˚˙

i think he'd be deeply amused! i have a personal headcanon that sylus actually isn't rid of his dragon form/abilities in this life, he's just more powerful and strong enough to mask them now 24/7 hehe

what throws him mostly is when the kids express their want to be like him (because of the implications of that and his own perception of himself). but their natural instincts and traits, sylus expected that and now takes it on as a challenge to hone and help with.

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | a fight between the little twins (´•̥ ᵔ •̥`) angst, fluff, family dynamics, exploring the littles' draconic traits!

Lucian is more his father's son in terms of more outward, classic draconic traits— seeking height to fly, collecting trinkets and treasures, easily allured by shiny and pretty things. Did he not have a twin to bond with (and very social older brothers), Lucian would have had trouble sharing/socializing. He can be very territorial and protective with things he thinks he is responsible for (ex. a specific dino plushie from the big twins, a spot on the couch, a blanket, Kyros).

Sylus's role with Lucian is trying to find that balance of what he can do to regulate himself as a little boy and at the same time not repress any of the inherent instincts he cannot help. He reminds him often that it's okay to act accordingly as long as he isn't malicious or mean.

"You have to choose the better choice." Sylus would say, drawing a sobbing Lucian into his embrace after a fight with Kyros. "Do you want to protect your hoard or your brother?" "But is my trinky." Lucian hiccups, pushing through sudden painful inhales. He clutches the clicky little egg toy in his hand (think bakugan), which weighs heavier with the guilt every passing second he stews in his mistake. Sylus sighs, voice low and gentle. "You yelled at Kyros." "I sorry!" "I know you are, angel." Sylus frowns. His heart aching at the confusion in Lucian's face— wondering what he did wrong, why his need to defend was a bad thing, why he was getting scolded when it was Kyros who took the toy without permission. "But you really hurt Kyros." Little fingers stop their fidgeting on the trinket. smaller, quieter, Lucian murmurs. "I not mean it..." "Papa, I feel bad here," Lucian says, taking Sylus's hand and placing it on his chest. Like he wants to puke. Like he wants to scream. Like he wants to cry his insides out. "Don't like it." Sylus holds him tightly— allowing his presence to be whatever Kyros might need at this moment. He thinks it inadequate, but what he doesn't consider is that it is infinitely more than he had before he met you. And for now, it is enough. "Maybe we say sorry to Kyros? What do you think?" "I give yellow trinky?" he is still shaky when he pitches it. clutching his precious crimson trinket to his chest. "Red one is mine. but- he can borrow. but—but this mine." "That's a start," Sylus kisses his brow. It's not a perfect bow-tied solution, but it's his own. and it's clever and kind and still Lucian. and Sylus cannot be prouder. "Let's go find your brother."

Kyros's qualities are more inert, subtle. He is still territorial and protective— just not to the extent of a Lucian-like reaction of yelling or snarling. If his little hoard is breached, he'd probably harbor a deep sense of resentment towards whoever did so. He remembers everything— the kindness, the betrayal. He trusts gradually yet deeply and isn't the easiest to ask for a second chance.

Kyros's traits manifest in him being watchful and vigilant, protecting his space and his circle more than his trinkets and treasures. He prefers being alone with the exception of his family— and yet even then, he still has moments where you'd find him wandering away from Lucian and the big twins to check on his own stuffies in another room or just rearrange some toys in his collections.

He's deeply sensory-seeking! Kyros is very sensitive to specific sounds (you and sylus humming into his temple so he feels it resonate in his skull), vestibular and tactile input (squeezy-squeezes!), scents (papa's brings the most comfort of all because of that time he was sick).

Sylus's own instincts would urge him to protect him, shelter and hide. But he knows that isn't the better choice. So instead, he teaches grounding to Kyros when his instincts tell him to float away. To hide, but always come back home.

Kyros hates loud sounds— when the karaoke mic goes wrong, when the trumpets on papa's CDs start shouting, when something falls off a shelf and makes a loud thud!. He's gotten better at reacting to them, and no longer has that instinct to cry or yell when it happens. His tantrums come from not being able to rearrange the things that get jumbled inside his head when he is startled like that. He shares that with his father— a replica of home in their mind with everything in its perfect place. But unlike him, Kyros has yet to keep his composure when it is rattled. Sylus teaches him to organize, arrange and at the same time be flexible with it. He was taught that he could grit his teeth, put his head between his knees, and count to ten until it passed. Or simply go to papa or mama when it doesn't. But this sound— this sound creates a landslide in his mind, a devastation far too great to reorganize all by himself. "Go away, Kyros!" Lucian's voice is hoarse as he yells the curse at the top of his lungs. Kyros freezes. His limbs stone and fire all at once. His vision is reduced to blurs of color as the tears build and blind him. He doesn't know what to do, and when Sylus emerges from the other room at the sound, his instinct is to run. Hide. Not be seen, perceived. Alone— where he can't be hurt. You find him in his bedroom, frozen on his bed. clenching and unclenching fists, eyes crystalline with unshed tears. "My love." you coo in sympathy, gently curling yourself around him, taking him into your arms, and placing him in the cradle of your crisscrossed legs. He lets the tears fall then, quiet still. Clinging to your warmth, your scent. Fists crumpling the soft fabric of your shirt. You don't talk, but your fingers intertwine with his, and you draw him closer to your chest as you breathe the way you want him to. Your hand squeezes his palm, the hinges and joints of his fingers, wrists, elbows, and shoulders. Then a familiar forgotten lullaby is hummed into his temple as you kiss him tenderly. When he is no longer wound, no longer rigid like scales but soft like the baby you reared, he speaks. voice small, rusted, and fragile. "I make cian mad." You nod. He did. You saw his twin crying to his papa before you raced off to find him. "I no mean it." his lip wobbles just as his words. "I just... want to see." You hum, listen to him. It's what he needs, to be heard. And when he is ready to listen to you too, you offer: "Lucian probably didn't mean it either." Kyros pouts. "He yelling at me." "But he cried too." you say, smoothing his hair, meeting his eyes. "Lucian doesn't like hurting you." His brow furrows. He knows that is true. His mind struggles, but he places each totem, each memory, and each fact back on their shelves. Just as Sylus taught him to do so. Hide, fix, then come back home. Lucian loves him. Lucian loves his clicky red dragon. Lucian lets him borrow things when he asks. "Mama, I grab the—the trinky," he confesses, fingers finding solace in playing with yours. "Is that why you think he yelled?" "A-huh." your heart corrodes in your chest at the sound of his heavy confirmation. "Cian no like grabby hands. I sorry." You smile— admiring the depths of your son's little mind palace. What you would give to be able to roam its halls and behold its many wonders. "Maybe he needs to hear that from you when you're ready, hm?" he nods. "I ready, mama."

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You take him to his brother, who is already on his way to him too. sylus kneels to set Lucian down, and you nudge Kyros gently. "I sorry I take—take your trinky." Kyros says first, hands behind his back both to keep himself composed and to show Lucian that he won't be a threat any longer. "Sorry I yelled loud." Lucian hiccups, still shaken at what he'd done. Haunted by how Kyros looked when he did it. He extends his hand, and upon his outstretched palm sits a yellow version of his clicky dragon-egg-ball-trinket. "This for you." Kyros's face brightens as he accepts it. And in the blink of an eye, they are holding each other in an embrace. An ancient instinct they both share, not exactly draconic, but transcending understanding. Could be cosmic. Could be creature. Could be human. But one thing is for sure, this they've inherited proudly from their parents. A woven gift, bloodied and torn, but good. This, they share. This, they treasure. This, they protect in each other— a loyal heart, a golden soul.

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you so, so much for sending the ask & for reading! o(╥﹏╥)

567 notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 11 hours ago

Text

electric touch

summary: You technically aren't a member of the New Avengers, but you live at the Watchtower and help the team out during missions. The most interesting part? Bucky seems to have a crush on you, the quiet, brooding, mysterious woman. word count: 13.9k+ pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader notes: one of my fav tropes i've seen with thunderbolts!bucky is the secret wife trope, so here's my take on it :) this is also only my second time writing for bucky, and my first time writing smut for him, so let me know if it's accurate! warnings/tags: takes place after thunderbolts*, bamf!reader, grumpy x grumpy (but really bucky is kinda sunshine?), secret relationship/marriage, reader is "brooding" and "cold", bucky is a lover boy, smut, slight sub!bucky, slight dom!reader, unprotected piv, creampie, light violence, mention of injury

The Watchtower had been quiet for exactly six minutes when John's voice shattered the peace. "He's doing it again."

Yelena sighed dramatically, not looking up from her phone. "Who’s doing what again?"

John jerked his chin toward the kitchen counter, where Bucky leaned casually, arms crossed. His eyes were fixed across the common area, following you as you silently poured a mug of coffee.

Ava glanced up from the couch, eyes rolling. "Oh. Barnes."

"Again?" Alexei chuckled from his seat next to Yelena, slapping the table enthusiastically. "He’s staring like sad puppy, no? Maybe we throw him a bone?"

Yelena finally glanced up, smirking. "Careful, Dad. Barnes has super hearing. He might overhear your plans."

Alexei scoffed, shrugging his massive shoulders. "So he hears. I say it to his face: Barnes, ask the scary one out already."

Bucky turned slightly, arching a brow. "I’m good, thanks."

"No, clearly you are not," Alexei persisted, enjoying himself. "All this mooning and sighing and staring. Pathetic."

"I’m not mooning."

John snorted. "You’re definitely mooning."

Bucky glared halfheartedly, shifting uncomfortably as you moved past them silently, mug in hand, offering nothing but a faint nod. Once you vanished back down the hall, the conversation reignited in earnest.

Bob glanced up from his seat nearby, his brow pinched slightly in mild confusion. "Wait—so Bucky likes Y/N?"

"Thank you, Bob," Ava murmured dryly. "Keep up."

"But…" Bob tilted his head thoughtfully. "Has he even tried talking to her?"

Yelena smirked at Bucky. "Yeah, Bucky, have you even tried talking?"

Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, fighting a smile. "I talk plenty."

Ava laughed softly. "You stare plenty. Talking, not so much."

"Just ask her out," John said, crossing his arms smugly. "Worst she could do is ignore you—like she already does."

The team burst into laughter. Even Bob managed a shy chuckle. Bucky shook his head, smiling faintly as he turned toward the hallway you'd taken moments before.

"Maybe," he muttered dryly, setting down his empty coffee cup. "Someday."

"Maybe someday," Alexei echoed dramatically. "This is tragedy."

Bucky ignored the loud chatter behind him, wandering slowly toward your shared quarters at the far end of the hall.

---

Inside your quiet room, you sat cross-legged on the bed, reading calmly. You didn’t look up when he closed the door behind him.

"Your teammates are idiots," you murmured, turning a page.

Bucky smiled softly, eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. He walked toward you, sinking easily onto the bed beside you, immediately leaning his head onto your shoulder. "They just think you're intimidating."

"I am intimidating."

"Yes, sweetheart." He tilted his head slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. "Terrifying."

You hummed quietly, setting your book aside as his metal fingers gently traced over your wrist. You shifted, finally looking directly at him, raising a brow. "They also think you're pining hopelessly."

Bucky laughed, rich and genuine, nudging your shoulder affectionately. "Who says I'm not?"

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth curved upwards faintly. "James."

He smiled, teasing gently, eyes bright. "What?"

You sighed, feigning irritation, but the softness in your gaze betrayed you. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe," he agreed easily, leaning closer, lips brushing tenderly along your jawline. "But I'm yours."

You huffed softly, fingers sliding gently into his hair, pulling him closer until your lips met, warm and familiar and private.

"Unfortunately," you teased softly as you parted, foreheads resting together.

He smiled brightly, utterly content. "Someday we should tell them."

"Eventually," you conceded dryly, settling back against his chest comfortably. "But would you really take away my only source of entertainment?"

Bucky chuckled quietly, his fingers brushing lightly along your shoulder. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

You hummed, eyes falling shut as you relaxed against him, the quiet settling around you both.

"I still think we should at least tell Yelena," he mused after a moment. "She’s pretty sharp. Might figure it out on her own."

You scoffed softly. "Please. She thinks you’re pining after me. Clearly, her observational skills aren’t that impressive."

Bucky laughed, pressing another quick kiss against your temple. "Harsh."

"True," you corrected.

He smiled against your skin, his metal arm tightening around you slightly. "Fair enough."

The comfortable silence stretched between you, only broken by your quiet breathing and the distant laughter of the team down the hall. After a moment, you turned slightly, glancing at him with a faint smirk.

"Barnes," you said, voice dry and amused. "Were you really mooning?"

He tilted his head back, groaning dramatically. "Not you too."

You shrugged casually, barely hiding your smile. "I'm just confirming. For clarity."

"Well, I wasn’t," he insisted, eyes sparkling. "I was just... observing."

"Right," you drawled. "Observing."

"Exactly," he nodded solemnly, biting back a smile. "Observing my scary, intimidating, secretly soft-hearted wife."

"Don’t push it," you warned, poking his chest gently. "I’ve got a reputation to uphold."

"Trust me, sweetheart," Bucky teased, voice warm and gentle, "no one's doubting your reputation."

You huffed again, leaning up to kiss him softly, muttering against his lips, "You're lucky you're cute."

"I know," he grinned brightly, eyes crinkling as he drew you closer again. "Very lucky."

You rolled your eyes, hiding your smile against his chest as the comfortable silence returned, content to enjoy each other’s company without interruptions.

---

Two days later, you wandered into the common area, pausing briefly as you spotted the team huddled around the TV, eyes glued to the screen. "What's this?" you asked dryly.

"Movie night," Ava replied, glancing back at you. "Join us?"

You shook your head slightly, making your way toward the kitchen. "I'll pass."

Yelena smirked, not taking her eyes off the TV. "Shocking."

Bucky looked up, catching your gaze. "C’mon, doll. Stay for a little bit."

You paused, arching an eyebrow pointedly at him. "Why would I?"

He shrugged innocently, leaning back into the couch. "For the pleasure of our charming company?"

John snorted. "Real subtle, Barnes."

Alexei chuckled, tossing popcorn into his mouth. "He tries."

You ignored them, continuing your path to the coffee machine. You barely managed to pour yourself a cup before you heard Bucky's quiet footsteps approaching. He leaned casually against the counter beside you, arms folded, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

"Nice pajamas," he teased quietly, glancing at your oversized sweatshirt and leggings.

"Keep it up," you muttered dryly. "See if you ever get to borrow them again."

He chuckled softly, leaning in slightly closer, voice low and warm. "We’re overdue for date night."

You sipped your coffee, glancing at him sideways. "You’re getting needy."

"Maybe," he admitted shamelessly, nudging you gently. "But I prefer 'romantic.'"

"Gross."

"You love it," he murmured warmly.

"Unfortunately," you agreed softly, finally turning toward him. "Fine. Date night. But I'm picking."

"As long as it’s not another stakeout, sweetheart."

"No promises," you teased, sipping your coffee again as you turned away. "Now go watch your movie."

He chuckled, shaking his head fondly as you disappeared down the hallway. When he turned back toward the couch, he found the entire team staring at him, various expressions of disbelief on their faces. "What?" he asked suspiciously.

Alexei pointed at him accusingly. "You talked. Actual conversation."

Ava raised an eyebrow. "She didn't stab you."

Yelena shook her head, smiling slightly. "Barnes, you might actually have a chance."

"Yeah, maybe in twenty years," John snorted.

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, settling back onto the couch comfortably. "Told you—I talk plenty."

Bob nodded slowly, genuinely impressed. "Good job, Bucky."

"Thanks, Bob." Bucky smiled, eyes flicking briefly toward the hall. "I'm working on it."

---

The following evening, you leaned quietly against the wall, watching with mild interest as Bucky sparred against John on the training mats. The rest of the team lingered around the room, half-training, half-observing the two men in action.

Alexei crossed his arms, grinning broadly. "Come on, Barnes! Use metal arm—show Walker who's boss."

"He's trying to train," Yelena drawled from beside you. "Not murder our teammate."

Alexei shrugged, unconvinced. "Little murder builds character."

You didn't react outwardly, but your lips twitched slightly in amusement.

Across the mats, John ducked away from Bucky’s fist, panting slightly. "You holding back, Barnes?"

Bucky smirked, circling him easily. "Just going easy on you."

John scoffed. "Bullshit. You’re distracted."

"Distracted?" Bucky echoed mildly, his eyes briefly flicking in your direction.

John followed his gaze knowingly, smirking. "Yeah. Distracted."

Bucky sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders as he pretended to think. "Right. Got my mind on other things."

"Or other people," Ava muttered dryly from the punching bag.

Yelena smirked, elbowing you gently. "Look at that. Bucky still pining away."

You kept your expression neutral, voice flat. "Tragic."

On the mat, Bucky caught John's fist in his metal hand, twisting lightly. "Ready to yield yet?"

John grumbled, pulling his hand free. "Fine, fine. Jesus."

Bucky chuckled, stepping back easily, eyes sliding again to you. "Who's next?"

Yelena nudged you lightly. "Why not you, Y/N? Barnes clearly wants your attention."

You exhaled slowly, stepping away from the wall toward the mat. "Fine."

The team fell into immediate silence as you moved toward Bucky, standing opposite him calmly. He raised an eyebrow, his mouth curved into a teasing grin. "Careful, doll. I bruise easily."

"You’ll live," you muttered, stretching your arms briefly.

John backed off the mats, smirking. "This oughta be good."

Bucky circled you slowly, voice low enough only you could hear. "You gonna let me win?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good," he murmured, lunging forward easily, eyes bright with amusement.

You sidestepped him effortlessly, landing a swift blow to his ribs. Bucky laughed softly, twisting away, clearly enjoying himself.

"Think they're flirting?" Alexei loudly whispered to Yelena.

"If by flirting you mean trying to kill each other," Ava remarked dryly, "then yes."

Bucky caught your wrist gently, pulling you slightly toward him. "Having fun yet?"

You rolled your eyes slightly, easily slipping your wrist from his grip. "Always."

"Good," he chuckled, stepping closer, voice dropping softer. "Me too."

"You’re ridiculous," you murmured quietly.

"I know," he agreed cheerfully, just before you swept his leg neatly, sending him sprawling onto the mats with a loud thud.

The team collectively winced.

Bucky blinked up at you, laughing as you offered him your hand to pull him up. "Had enough?" you asked calmly.

He took your hand, pulling himself smoothly to his feet, voice warm and teasing as he leaned close. "Not even close."

"Gross," John muttered.

"Agreed," Ava smirked, returning her attention to her training bag.

Bucky stepped back reluctantly, smiling easily as he rubbed his ribs. "Thanks for the match, doll."

You rolled your eyes, hiding your faint smile. “Just to be clear, I’m still waiting for date night. This doesn’t count.”

Bucky chuckled quietly, running a hand through his slightly mussed hair. “Fair enough. Tomorrow?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Demanding, Barnes.”

He smirked softly. “Consider it enthusiastic.”

“Same difference,” you muttered dryly, turning away. “Tomorrow works.”

You started back toward the edge of the mats, ignoring the curious looks from the team. Ava raised an eyebrow as you passed her.

“You okay, Barnes?” John called out teasingly. “Your ego survive that?”

Bucky snorted, dusting himself off easily. “Think I'll recover.”

Alexei shook his head, looking impressed. “She is formidable opponent. Why you not recruit her officially, Yelena?”

Yelena shrugged lightly, glancing toward you. “Because I value my life.”

Bob smiled faintly, watching Bucky closely. “You sure you’re okay, Bucky?”

Bucky waved him off casually, smirking. “Don’t worry about me, Bob. I've handled worse.”

“You’re sure?” Bob asked again, earnest concern in his voice. “She’s pretty tough.”

Bucky laughed warmly, eyes briefly flicking toward you as you leaned against the wall again. “Trust me—I noticed.”

“Clearly,” John snickered, elbowing Ava gently. “Look at that face. Pure puppy dog.”

Ava rolled her eyes fondly. “Careful, Walker, or he might actually kill you.”

“I might,” Bucky agreed, eyes playful as he reached for a towel, wiping his face casually.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Bob wondered quietly, looking genuinely puzzled again.

“Yeah,” Yelena echoed dryly. “Why don’t you, Barnes?”

Bucky sighed dramatically, shaking his head in mock despair. “I told you—I’m working on it.”

You watched quietly from your spot against the wall, expression neutral, coffee mug clasped in your hands. Bucky’s gaze caught yours briefly, warmth flickering across his eyes for just a moment before he turned away.

Yelena sighed dramatically, standing and stretching her arms lazily over her head. “Tragic,” she said flatly. “Come on, let’s wrap up. Alexei promised pizza.”

Alexei beamed proudly. “Extra pineapple for Bob!”

“I don’t actually like pineapple—” Bob started softly, then sighed and smiled. “Never mind.”

John clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “You’ll learn, Bob.”

The team slowly started to file out of the training room, chatting loudly amongst themselves. Bucky lingered behind, waiting until the others had vanished before moving quietly toward you.

“Pizza?” he asked quietly, nudging your shoulder gently.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Fine.”

He smiled warmly, leaning closer and murmuring quietly. “You’re secretly excited, admit it.”

You snorted softly, hiding a faint smile behind your mug. “Don’t push it.”

Bucky’s smile widened into a grin as he straightened again, falling easily into step beside you. “Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart.”

“Good,” you muttered dryly, sipping your coffee. “Wouldn’t want to have to hurt you again.”

He laughed warmly, eyes bright with affection as you moved quietly toward the elevator. “You love me too much to hurt me.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping into the elevator beside him, voice calm and casual. “Don’t be so sure.”

He smiled softly, watching you from the corner of his eye, quiet amusement lingering between you both. The elevator doors slid shut quietly, enclosing you both in comfortable silence.

---

You stepped quietly into the common area, where the team had already settled around the table, chatting loudly. Bob smiled at you shyly as he moved over to make space.

Alexei waved enthusiastically. "Y/N! You join us, excellent! Come, come, sit!"

You sank smoothly into the chair next to Bob, giving a faint nod. Across from you, Bucky's eyes lifted briefly, lingering on you with mild curiosity. You met his gaze evenly, then casually unzipped your half-zip pullover just a little bit further, revealing the faintest glimpse of delicate white lace beneath.

Bucky's eyes flicked immediately downward, then shot quickly back up to yours, clearly startled. He shifted slightly in his seat, clearing his throat softly.

"Alright there, Barnes?" John asked casually, reaching for a slice.

"Yeah," Bucky murmured, forcing his gaze down to the pizza. "Fine."

You ate quietly, barely participating in conversation but very aware of Bucky's occasional discreet glances your way. Every subtle movement you made—reaching for a napkin, shifting slightly—gave him brief but intentional glimpses of lace against your skin.

Bucky swallowed hard, eyes narrowing slightly each time he caught sight of you, clearly struggling to maintain his composure.

"You’re quiet tonight, Y/N," Ava commented casually, glancing over at you.

"She is always quiet," Alexei scoffed, grinning broadly. "Like silent assassin, no?"

You shrugged slightly, voice low. "Just tired."

"Or plotting," John muttered teasingly.

"Possibly," you agreed blandly, ignoring Bucky's slightly tense posture. After a few more minutes, you rose smoothly from your chair, setting your napkin down quietly. "I'm turning in."

"So soon?" Alexei called, looking disappointed. "Night still young!"

"Goodnight," you replied dryly, heading quietly toward the hallway.

You felt Bucky’s gaze on your back, heavy and heated. You barely made it halfway to the bedroom when you heard his chair scrape back, followed closely by Alexei's loud chuckle and John's amused muttering.

You entered the room first, stepping calmly inside, hearing the door click shut quietly behind Bucky a few moments later. You glanced back at him casually, watching as he leaned heavily against the door, eyes dark.

"You really enjoy torturing me, don't you?" he murmured dryly, his voice low and rough.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He stepped toward you slowly, expression skeptical. "Really?"

You arched an eyebrow innocently. "Problem?"

"Yeah," he muttered softly, his eyes trailing slowly downward, lingering pointedly on the now-visible lace beneath your shirt. "That’s a problem."

You shrugged casually, turning away from him and starting to pull off your pullover, leaving you standing comfortably in leggings and your white lace bra. "Just a bra, Barnes."

He huffed softly, moving closer until he stood right behind you, hands gently settling on your hips. "It’s more than just a bra, doll."

You tilted your head back slightly against his chest, lips twitching faintly. "Punishment for delaying date night."

He groaned softly, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "You’re cruel."

"Maybe," you conceded calmly, turning slowly in his arms to face him. Your eyes softened slightly as you reached up, gently cupping his jaw. "But you deserve it."

He sighed dramatically, but his mouth curved into a faint smirk as his lips brushed lightly against yours. "Fine. Guilty."

Your lips met again slowly, soft and teasing at first, then gradually deeper. You sighed quietly against his mouth, sliding your hands into his hair, tugging gently. He gripped your hips a little tighter, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together firmly.

You pulled away gently after a few more lingering kisses, smiling faintly at his dazed expression. "I'm taking a shower. Alone."

Bucky groaned softly again, giving you something close to a pout as he reluctantly released you. "Really?"

"Really," you replied firmly, stepping back toward the bathroom. "Consider it payback."

"Sweetheart," he started pleadingly, reaching for your hand, eyes wide and hopeful.

You shook your head, lips twitching slightly with amusement. "My decision stands."

He sighed heavily, dramatically collapsing onto the bed, watching you move toward the bathroom door with exaggerated despair. "You're killing me."

"You'll live," you said dryly, shooting him one final teasing glance before disappearing into the bathroom.

You shut the door quietly, smiling faintly to yourself as you heard him mutter a quiet, resigned curse on the other side.

---

You woke slowly the next morning, blinking sleepily in the muted sunlight filtering through the curtains. Bucky’s steady breathing was warm against your neck, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist. You shifted slightly, feeling him stir behind you.

"Morning," you murmured softly.

He hummed sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss against your shoulder. "Morning, sweetheart."

"Still pouting?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted, voice thick with sleep as he nuzzled gently against your neck. "You’re mean."

"You deserved it," you murmured quietly, shifting back against him slightly.

He hummed softly, lips brushing warmly against your skin. "Maybe. But you enjoy it way too much."

"Maybe," you echoed dryly, feeling his hand slip from your waist down toward your hip, fingers tracing slowly beneath the edge of your shirt.

Bucky’s lips moved lazily over your shoulder, teeth grazing gently as his leg slid slowly between yours, pressing softly until your breath caught. His metal hand drifted lower, fingertips teasing the waistband of your underwear.

"James," you warned quietly, eyes closing slowly.

"Hm?" he murmured innocently, pressing a warm kiss just below your ear.

You sighed softly, relaxing slightly against him. "We should probably—"

A loud knock at the door shattered the quiet moment. Bucky groaned deeply, dropping his forehead heavily onto your shoulder.

"Barnes!" Yelena’s voice called sharply through the door. "Alexei made pancakes. And he’s offended you’re not here."

Bucky sighed dramatically against your skin, hand withdrawing reluctantly. "Tell him I’m busy."

Yelena paused a moment before knocking again, harder. "No. Get up. He’ll mope."

You rolled your eyes, lightly patting Bucky’s thigh. "Duty calls."

"Don’t care," he muttered petulantly, tightening his arm around your waist again. "I want pancakes with you, not them."

"Barnes!" Yelena snapped again, louder now. "Don’t make me break the door."

"Alright, alright," Bucky called back irritably, sighing heavily as he finally released you, rolling onto his back dramatically. "Be right there."

You turned onto your side, watching him quietly, eyebrow raised faintly. "Tragic."

"Very," he agreed solemnly, glaring half-heartedly at the ceiling.

You leaned over, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to his jawline before standing smoothly from the bed. "I'll make it up to you later."

Bucky’s pout softened into a hopeful smirk. "Promise?"

"Maybe," you said dryly, walking to your dresser. "Now get up, Barnes. Can’t keep the kids waiting."

He sighed loudly, reluctantly dragging himself out of bed as you quietly slipped into your leggings. "You sure you don’t want to stay in bed? I’ll fake an injury."

"You’re pathetic," you murmured, lips twitching faintly as you headed toward the door. "Now move."

He groaned softly again, following you toward the door. "Fine. But I reserve the right to sulk."

"You always do," you muttered, stepping out into the hallway without another glance, leaving him shaking his head fondly behind you.

---

Later in the day, you were leaning against the kitchen counter, eating an apple while reading a book. The rest of the team was scattered around—Yelena, Alexei, and Bob chatting animatedly by the fridge, John and Ava lazily lounging on the couch in the living room, TV quietly droning.

You barely looked up when Bucky approached, quietly leaning next to you, close enough for your shoulders to brush. He crossed his arms casually, eyes fixed on your face with a faint smile.

"Got us reservations at Il Mulino tonight," he murmured softly, voice low enough that only you could hear.

You took another bite of your apple, flipping the page. "I don’t want Italian."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes crinkling in amusement. "Since when don’t you want Italian?"

"Since now," you replied evenly, eyes not leaving your page. "I want a burger."

Bucky chuckled softly, bumping your shoulder gently with his. "You’re killin’ me, doll. It’s impossible to get into that burger place of yours last minute."

"Red Hook Tavern," you corrected calmly. "And I have faith in you, Barnes."

He sighed dramatically, nudging you again. "Yeah, yeah, I’ll figure something out. But you owe me."

You finally glanced up at him, eyes narrowed slightly. "For what? You owe me."

He smiled sheepishly, ducking his head. "Fair point."

Across the kitchen, Yelena elbowed Bob discreetly, both watching your quiet exchange with curiosity. "Are they… arguing?" Bob whispered uncertainly, brows furrowing.

Alexei snorted, shaking his head confidently. "No, Bob, this is called flirting. Barnes is flirting badly."

John glanced over from the couch, smirking faintly. "Bucky’s gonna strike out again."

Ava rolled her eyes lightly, voice amused. "Poor guy never learns."

Back at the counter, Bucky leaned in closer, lips nearly brushing your ear. "You know I spoil you, doll."

You hummed softly, voice deadpan. "Burger or nothing."

He huffed a laugh, stepping back slightly, smiling affectionately. "Fine. Burger it is."

"Good." You bit your apple again, returning your attention fully to your book. "Glad that's settled."

He lingered for another moment, watching you quietly with a faint, private smile before finally turning away, walking casually toward the elevator.

The second the doors slid shut behind him, Yelena smirked openly at you from across the kitchen. "Y/N, did Barnes finally work up the courage to ask you out?"

You glanced at her briefly, expression unreadable. "No."

Alexei groaned loudly, slapping his palm dramatically against his forehead. "Pathetic!"

Bob looked genuinely confused, tilting his head slightly. "But they talk all the time."

Yelena shook her head, sighing deeply. "It's complicated, Bob. Barnes pines. Y/N tolerates."

You ignored their chatter, turning quietly away to head down the hall toward your rarely-used room, your expression carefully neutral.

"You're all wrong," John drawled loudly from the couch. "She's just plotting how to murder him."

Ava smiled faintly, eyes still fixed on the TV. "Honestly, who could blame her?"

Yelena sighed dramatically again, leaning her hip against the counter. "Tragic."

You didn't bother responding, closing your bedroom door quietly behind you, a faint, hidden smile touching your lips as you reached for your phone to text Bucky a single word: "Burger?"

His response was almost immediate, playful and warm: "Anything for you, sweetheart."

---

A few hours later, you stepped out of the elevator and into the common area, quietly slipping past the team, who were sprawled out comfortably, watching some mindless action movie.

Yelena glanced up, eyebrows rising curiously. "Whoa. Where you going dressed like that?"

"Out," you replied evenly, adjusting the sleeve of your jacket slightly.

"Out?" John echoed suspiciously, eyes narrowing slightly. "Since when do you go out?"

You shrugged calmly, heading toward the door without looking back. "Since now."

Alexei squinted suspiciously, nudging Bob hard. "You see, Bob? Very mysterious. This one has secret life, I tell you."

Bob blinked slowly, clearly puzzled. "Really?"

Ava rolled her eyes fondly. "Probably just going to scare people for fun."

You didn't respond, stepping smoothly through the doors and disappearing down the hall.

---

Five minutes later, Bucky emerged casually from his room, wearing a dark jacket and looking unusually put together. He adjusted his collar, glancing casually around the room as he headed for the exit.

John's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And where exactly are you headed, Barnes?"

"Got some errands to run," Bucky said easily, not breaking his stride.

"Errands?" Yelena repeated skeptically. "At night?"

He shrugged lightly, shooting her a casual smirk. "I like running errands."

Alexei shook his head, sighing loudly. "Two secret lives under one roof. This team falling apart."

Bob glanced uncertainly between the group. "But—"

"Don't hurt yourself thinking, Bob," Ava interrupted dryly.

Bob sighed softly. "Okay."

"Don't wait up," Bucky called over his shoulder, stepping quickly into the elevator and hitting the button for the ground floor, ignoring the curious stares that followed him.

---

Outside, you stood leaning casually against the side of the building, arms crossed loosely as you waited. The busy Manhattan streets hummed with distant traffic, lights casting a soft glow against the pavement.

When the doors finally opened, Bucky stepped out, immediately breaking into a warm smile as he caught sight of you. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured softly, walking toward you with a playful glint in his eyes. "Fancy meeting you here."

You gave him a deadpan look. "Took you long enough."

He chuckled quietly, leaning down to press a soft, quick kiss against your cheek. "Sorry. Had to shake the interrogation."

You rolled your eyes, stepping smoothly into pace beside him as you both began walking. "They suspicious?"

"Always," he sighed dramatically, sliding an arm comfortably around your waist. "Luckily, they're clueless."

You hummed softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "Good."

Bucky nudged you gently, voice teasing. "You look good."

You glanced at him sideways, eyebrow arching faintly. "Better appreciate it. I don't dress up for just anyone."

He laughed quietly, tugging you a bit closer to him as you walked. "Believe me, doll, I'm honored."

"Gross," you muttered lightly, hiding your smile against his shoulder as he laughed again, the two of you disappearing together into the lively Manhattan evening.

---

The two of you settled comfortably into the subway seats, the train gently rumbling beneath you as it moved toward Brooklyn. Bucky sat close, thigh pressed against yours, arm casually draped over the back of your seat.

"You know," he murmured playfully, eyes fixed on the dark windows flashing by, "we could've taken a car."

You scoffed lightly, leaning back. "And miss watching you navigate public transportation? Never."

He laughed softly, nudging your shoulder with his. "I'm not that bad."

"You still stare suspiciously at the turnstiles."

"They beep at me," he muttered defensively. "Makes me nervous."

You hummed dryly. "Super soldier, war hero—intimidated by a turnstile."

He sighed dramatically, squeezing your shoulder lightly. "You’re mean, sweetheart."

"You married me," you pointed out calmly.

"Must've been temporarily insane," he teased, lips brushing your temple softly. "Lucky for me, the condition’s permanent."

You rolled your eyes faintly, though a hidden smile curled your lips. "You realize you're flirting with your own wife, right?"

"Constantly," he admitted shamelessly. "You complaining?"

"No," you murmured softly, leaning your head onto his shoulder. "But don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," he chuckled softly, kissing the crown of your head.

The train finally slowed, pulling into your stop. You stood easily, Bucky’s hand sliding naturally into yours as you navigated the crowds, stepping onto the platform and heading up toward the Brooklyn streets.

---

Red Hook Tavern was warm, cozy, bustling comfortably with chatter. A low, mellow soundtrack filled the space, the scent of burgers and fries thick in the air. Bucky guided you gently through the small crowd, settling into a quiet booth toward the back.

You leaned back, breathing in contentedly. "See? Better than pasta."

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling faintly. "You win. Happy now?"

"Very," you replied dryly, eyes glinting with faint amusement.

He watched you thoughtfully for a moment, his expression softening. "You're cute when you're smug."

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "Careful, Barnes."

"What?" He smiled innocently, leaning across the table. "Just appreciating my date."

"Again," you muttered fondly, "you're married."

He shrugged casually, glancing down at the menu. "Just means I have exceptional taste."

You hid your smile behind your menu, shaking your head lightly. "Ridiculous."

"You love it."

"Unfortunately," you conceded, setting your menu aside as the waitress approached.

---

An hour later, the two of you wandered quietly through Brooklyn’s quieter streets, fingers intertwined, the glow of streetlights casting soft shadows on the pavement. "Happy?" Bucky asked softly, glancing down at you with a gentle smile.

"Surprisingly," you replied evenly, leaning slightly against his side as you walked.

He nudged you playfully. "I'm sensing a compliment."

"Don't get used to it."

He chuckled quietly, voice warm. "Wouldn't dream of it."

You walked in comfortable silence for a few more blocks, the soft hum of distant traffic and nightlife filling the spaces between you.

"You ever gonna let them know?" Bucky finally asked, tone carefully casual. "The team?"

You sighed quietly, eyes flicking up toward him briefly. "Eventually. Just… not yet."

He squeezed your hand lightly, understanding. "Whatever you want, doll."

"Thank you," you murmured softly, leaning your head against his arm as you continued walking.

Bucky smiled warmly down at you, his voice quiet and teasing. "Don't worry. They’re all still convinced you hate me."

You snorted softly. "Good."

"Harsh," he murmured fondly.

"True," you countered dryly.

He laughed softly again, gently guiding you toward the subway entrance, heading back toward the Watchtower.

---

You stepped back into the Watchtower quietly, slipping from Bucky’s side as the elevator doors opened. He lingered behind a minute, watching as you vanished silently into his room, maintaining the illusion carefully.

The common room was dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of the city through the large windows and the soft overhead lights from the kitchen. It seemed deserted until Yelena suddenly appeared, leaning casually against the fridge with a glass of water in hand.

"Late errands, Barnes?" she asked pointedly, eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Something like that," Bucky replied easily, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the nearest chair.

She hummed, eyes glinting mischievously. "Interesting. Because Y/N just got back too. Coincidence?"

He rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms comfortably. "It’s Manhattan, Lena. Not exactly a small town."

"Right," she drawled sarcastically. "So just an innocent coincidence."

He tilted his head slightly, smirking faintly. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"I don’t," she said mildly, taking a sip of her water. "But Alexei’s invested. He thinks you’re finally making progress."

"Glad he's entertained," Bucky muttered dryly, pushing away from the counter and heading toward his room. "Night, Lena."

"Goodnight, Barnes," she called after him, amusement still evident in her voice. "Sleep well."

---

Bucky stepped quietly into his room, shutting the door behind him softly. The bathroom door was closed, the lights shining from underneath the door. He sighed comfortably, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it casually onto a nearby chair. Moving toward his dresser, he opened a drawer, sifting lazily through shirts and sweatpants.

The bathroom door clicked softly open behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder absently, then froze. His eyes widened, then narrowed appreciatively, gaze sweeping slowly from head to toe. You leaned casually against the doorframe, completely at ease in a two-piece lingerie set—deep emerald green, his favorite color—with a short black silk robe hanging loosely off your shoulders.

Bucky swallowed hard, momentarily speechless. "Jesus," he muttered faintly under his breath.

You arched a single eyebrow, expression carefully neutral. "See something you like, Barnes?"

"God, yes," he admitted shamelessly, turning fully to face you, eyes lingering appreciatively. "Special occasion?"

You shrugged casually, pushing off from the doorframe and walking slowly toward him. "You finally came through on date night. I figured you deserved a reward."

He chuckled softly, his voice low as his eyes tracked every subtle movement. "Remind me to always give you exactly what you want."

You hummed quietly, stopping mere inches from him, tilting your head slightly upward. "Smart man."

He reached out carefully, fingers grazing softly along the smooth silk fabric of your robe. His gaze flicked warmly to yours, playful and heated. "How long have you been hiding this?"

You met his stare evenly, unbothered. "Long enough."

He smiled faintly, tugging you gently closer by the ties of your robe. "Tease."

"Maybe," you conceded quietly, not resisting as he slowly pulled you closer, lips hovering just above yours. "But you're into it."

"Very," he murmured softly, finally capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His hand slipped beneath your robe, gently sliding along your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You sighed softly, pressing closer, fingers tangling lazily into his hair. "Told you I’d make it up to you."

He hummed appreciatively against your lips. "You're definitely forgiven."

"Good," you replied dryly, guiding him backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed, and he sank easily onto it, hands settling firmly on your hips. You stood comfortably between his knees, looking down at him calmly, your fingers drifting slowly along his jawline.

"You’re staring," he teased softly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"You love it," you murmured bluntly.

He chuckled warmly, tilting his head up to kiss your fingertips softly. "Unfortunately."

"Thought so," you replied evenly, finally sliding onto his lap, knees settling easily on either side of him.

His eyes fluttered briefly shut, breath hitching as your weight settled comfortably over him. "You're killing me."

"You’ll live," you said flatly, fingers slowly trailing down his chest, teasing the edges of his shirt. "Now take this off."

He obeyed quickly, tugging his shirt easily over his head, tossing it aside without a glance. His hands returned immediately to your waist, sliding slowly upward, fingertips grazing gently along the lace covering your ribs.

"Beautiful," he murmured softly, eyes warm as he leaned forward, lips brushing gently against your collarbone.

You tilted your head slightly back, eyes closing softly. "I know."

Bucky laughed quietly against your skin, warm breath ghosting along your neck. "And humble."

"Shut up, Barnes," you muttered quietly, pulling his face back up to yours, capturing his lips firmly.

He smiled into the kiss, deepening it slowly, hands tightening gently on your hips, drawing you closer until there was no space left between you. Your breath hitched, body flush to his, silk brushing skin with every shift. You tugged his bottom lip with your teeth before pulling back just enough to murmur:

“Move up.”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, then smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

He shifted up the bed without argument, head brushing the headboard, arms propped behind him. You stayed on his lap the entire time, thighs bracketing his, your robe sliding further open with every slight movement, the soft lace of your bra brushing against his bare chest.

You rolled your hips forward, slow, just enough friction to make his hands fly to your waist again. His breath stuttered.

“Fuck, doll…”

“You’re still overdressed,” you muttered, fingers already working his belt loose, eyes fixed on the buckle like it offended you.

He chuckled low. “Can’t say no when you look at me like that.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you replied flatly, shoving his pants and briefs down far enough to free him, eyes flicking up to catch the way his jaw tensed.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered, gaze locked on the way you curled your fingers around him, stroking just enough to make him hiss.

You didn’t waste time. Just shifted your weight, pushed your underwear to the side, lined him up, and sank down in one slow, steady motion. His head thudded softly against the wall behind him.

“Goddamn—” he hissed between his teeth, hands gripping your hips hard. “You feel—fuck, doll—perfect.”

Your brows knit briefly, jaw clenching as you adjusted to the stretch, but you didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. You lowered until he was fully inside, buried to the hilt, and only then did you pause—just to make sure he felt every inch of you around him.

He reached up, brushing your cheek with one hand, voice low. “You okay?”

You met his gaze, flat and unreadable, but your voice was rough when you replied. “Yeah. Shut up.”

Bucky just laughed, breathless. “Knew you loved me.”

You started to move—slow, controlled rolls of your hips that had him swearing under his breath, fingers twitching against your waist like he was trying not to force your pace. He didn’t have to. You had a rhythm, deliberate and maddening.

“You're tryin’ to kill me,” he groaned, head tilted back.

You leaned forward slightly, hands braced on his chest, spine arching as you rocked against him again. “If I wanted you dead, Barnes, you'd already be a corpse.”

“Shit, that’s hot,” he muttered, grip tightening again.

You smirked faintly, then leaned in, lips brushing his. “Told you I don’t dress up for just anyone.”

“And I told you,” he growled, sitting up to meet you halfway, “I’m honored.”

You reached between you and yanked on his dog tags, jerking him into a hard kiss. He groaned into it, mouth slanted against yours as his hands slid down, one settling firmly on your ass, the other at the small of your back, guiding your rhythm now, hips rising to meet yours on every downstroke.

Your breath hitched when he hit that spot—again. Again. Your fingers twisted tighter in the chain around his neck.

“Fuuuck,” he muttered, biting your bottom lip. “Keep clenching like that and this is gonna be over real fast, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you panted against his mouth, forehead pressed to his. “You’ll last.”

He grinned, voice wrecked. “Bossy. Love that.”

You rocked harder, pace picking up now, sweat starting to bead at your temples. Your robe slid entirely off your shoulders, forgotten.

Bucky looked up at you like you hung the moon. Like the way your brow furrowed in pleasure was something sacred. He reached up, thumb brushing along your jaw, voice barely audible over the wet slap of skin on skin.

“Look at you,” he murmured, utterly gone. “My fuckin’ wife.”

You kissed him again, rougher this time, teeth clacking for a second, neither of you caring. You moaned low in your throat, the sound dragging from your chest when he shifted just slightly and—

“Ohhh—fuck,” you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as you chased it, that tight pull in your stomach threatening to snap. “Right there.”

Bucky grunted, hips snapping up to meet yours harder. “Come on, doll. Let go for me. You’ve been so fuckin’ good.”

You curled your fingers into his shoulder blades and dropped your head to his neck, teeth scraping skin as your entire body shuddered.

He felt it—your pulse pounding where your mouth met his throat, the way you clenched down so tight around him he nearly lost it on the spot.

“That’s it,” he growled, biting back a moan. “That’s my girl.”

You rode it out with a broken gasp, voice cracking on a low, “Shit—fuck—Bucky—”

He thrust up hard twice more and then stilled, buried deep, arms crushing you to his chest as he came with a sharp exhale against your ear, voice rough as gravel.

“Fuck, doll, fuck—you drive me fuckin’ insane—”

You both breathed heavy, bodies slick and tangled, still flush together. You stayed straddled over him, his arms still locked tight around your waist.

Eventually, he muttered against your throat, voice raspy, “am I forgiven?”

You huffed softly, fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. "Provisionally."

"Provisionally?" he echoed, pulling back slightly to give you a playful, offended look. "Sweetheart, after that?"

"Especially after that," you drawled dryly, leaning forward again to kiss him softly. "You delayed date night."

"I got you your burger," he argued lightly, kissing your jaw. "And fries."

"You delayed," you repeated evenly, shifting slightly, making him groan quietly.

He exhaled slowly, leaning his forehead gently against yours. "Fine. How do I make it up to you?"

"Breakfast in bed."

He chuckled softly, tightening his arms gently around your waist. "Done. Anything else?"

"Coffee. Good coffee."

"You drive a hard bargain," he murmured, lips brushing softly against your temple.

You pulled back, leveling him with a serious look. "And you're still talking."

Bucky laughed quietly, eyes bright with affection. "Harsh."

You hummed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "True."

He gently stroked your back, the silence settling comfortably around you both for a moment before he spoke again, voice soft. "You planning on staying tonight?"

You tilted your head slightly, arching a brow. "I always stay."

He smiled warmly, pressing a kiss lightly to your forehead. "Just checking."

You rolled your eyes faintly, voice low. "Barnes, you're needy."

"Only with you," he teased gently, fingers tracing softly along your spine. "Don’t tell anyone."

"Trust me," you muttered dryly, closing your eyes comfortably, "not an issue."

He chuckled quietly again, shifting slightly until you both lay comfortably tangled together, blankets pulled loosely around you. You sighed softly, feeling your body finally relax fully against his.

"Wake me up early and you're dead," you warned softly.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart," he murmured, lips pressing gently to the crown of your head. "Sleep well."

You hummed softly, already half asleep. "You too."

He tightened his hold slightly, breathing slowly evening out as the two of you drifted comfortably into sleep.

---

You stepped quietly into the training room, finding the team already deep into sparring practice. Alexei and John were loudly wrestling on one side, Ava was rhythmically hammering into a punching bag, and Yelena stood by Bob, calmly instructing him through basic defensive stances.

You slipped past them, silently observing from your usual place against the wall.

“Decided to show after all?” Ava asked dryly, pausing briefly to glance at you.

You gave a faint nod, not responding verbally. She shrugged slightly, returning to her bag.

Moments later, Bucky stepped in, quietly catching your eye across the room. He offered you a small, playful smirk. You raised an eyebrow in silent acknowledgment.

John immediately spotted him, stepping away from Alexei with a wide grin. "Hey Barnes, you gonna spar today or you too busy humming?"

Bucky sighed heavily, stepping onto the mats casually. "You really don't let anything go, do you?"

Alexei chuckled, slapping Bucky’s shoulder enthusiastically. "Of course not! Team bonding means constant harassment. Builds character."

"Thanks, Alexei," Bucky muttered sarcastically. He looked around the room, glancing pointedly at John. "Fine. Let's go."

You settled more comfortably against the wall, watching calmly as Bucky circled John easily. He moved fluidly, clearly holding back slightly, amused as John struggled to land any hits.

Across the room, Yelena stepped quietly to your side, voice low. "Barnes is unusually smug today."

You tilted your head slightly, eyes not leaving the match. "He looks the same to me."

Yelena smirked, eyes narrowing slightly. "He’s glancing over here. A lot."

You shrugged lightly. "Maybe he's worried you’ll interrogate him again."

She huffed quietly, eyes fixed suspiciously on your neutral expression. "Or maybe he's trying to impress someone."

You glanced at her calmly, voice flat. "You think Barnes needs to impress anyone?"

She paused, considering, then sighed irritably. "You’re annoyingly good at not answering."

"Thanks," you replied dryly, returning your attention to the mats as John landed heavily on his back, groaning.

Bucky offered him a hand up, smirking faintly. "You good?"

John rolled his eyes, wincing as he stood. "Peachy."

Alexei laughed loudly, clapping dramatically. "Barnes is champion again! Who wants next?"

Bucky glanced briefly your way, raising an eyebrow in silent challenge. You calmly ignored him, sipping water from a nearby bottle.

"Y/N!" Alexei suddenly called cheerfully. "Come, come! You fight Barnes, yes?"

You sighed softly, setting your bottle aside. "Fine."

Bucky smiled slightly, rolling his shoulders. "Try not to hurt me too bad, doll."

Yelena raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You two seem friendly all of a sudden."

Bucky shrugged easily, eyes fixed calmly on you. "She tolerates me."

You stepped onto the mats smoothly, circling slowly. "Barely."

"Careful," he teased gently, lunging forward suddenly. You sidestepped effortlessly, eyes coolly amused as you avoided him again.

"You’re slow today," you murmured dryly, watching his careful movements.

He chuckled softly, voice low. "Maybe I’m distracted."

You scoffed quietly, easily dodging his grasp again. "Focus."

He feigned a pout, attempting to catch your wrist. "Maybe you’re my focus."

Across the room, John glanced skeptically at Yelena. "Are they flirting again?"

Yelena sighed deeply. "Probably. Barnes never learns."

You neatly twisted, ducking beneath Bucky’s arm, and landed a precise hit to his ribs. He laughed softly, barely flinching as he circled you again. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"Maybe," you replied evenly, stepping closer, eyes narrowed playfully. "But you clearly like it."

"Very," he admitted shamelessly, voice low enough only you could hear. "But maybe take it easy—I bruise easily."

"Liar," you muttered softly, moving swiftly again, barely missing him as he slipped neatly out of reach.

He grinned faintly, teasing openly now. "Maybe I just like when you play rough."

"Gross," John muttered dryly from the sidelines.

Alexei nodded gravely. "Agreed."

You finally caught Bucky’s wrist smoothly, twisting lightly until he laughed, yielding dramatically. "Fine, fine, you win."

You released him, stepping calmly back, expression neutral. "Again."

He smiled faintly, shaking his head affectionately. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

Yelena rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically. "You two are exhausting."

Bob tilted his head uncertainly. "Why?"

She shook her head slowly. "Trust me, Bob. Don't worry about it."

You ignored them all, eyes fixed calmly on Bucky as you circled again, the quiet amusement between you both carefully hidden beneath calm, unreadable expressions.

---

A week later, you were quietly pouring yourself coffee when Bob spoke up from the table, his voice uncertain.

"Hey, um... has anyone ever noticed Y/N's room is always spotless?"

John glanced up skeptically. "Why are you even looking at Y/N's room?"

Bob flushed slightly. "I'm not—I just noticed the door's always closed, and... the lights are never on."

Alexei immediately perked up, delighted. "Aha! Suspicious! Perhaps she is vampire. No sleep, no mess."

Yelena rolled her eyes, but her curiosity was clearly piqued. "Bob has a point, though. Have any of you ever actually seen her go into her room?"

The team fell silent, all of them exchanging curious glances. Ava finally shrugged. "Maybe she just likes things clean."

Bob shook his head. "No, like—really clean. Hotel-room clean."

Alexei slammed his hand on the table dramatically, making Bob jump. "Exactly! Vampire. Or spy. Or spy vampire."

Bucky, leaning casually against the counter, swallowed his coffee a little too quickly, coughing quietly.

"You alright, Barnes?" John asked suspiciously.

Bucky nodded, voice rough. "Fine."

Yelena stood suddenly, chair scraping softly against the floor. "I'm checking it out."

"You can't just invade someone's room, Lena," Ava said dryly.

"Watch me," Yelena said easily, already heading down the hall.

Bucky's eyes widened slightly. He glanced quickly toward you, but you merely sipped your coffee calmly, expression utterly neutral.

John watched Yelena go, snorting softly. "She's definitely gonna get herself killed."

Alexei chuckled deeply, clearly entertained. "If vampire Y/N doesn't get her first."

---

Five minutes later, Yelena returned looking oddly disappointed. She dropped back into her chair with a huff, crossing her arms irritably.

"Well?" Alexei demanded eagerly. "Did you find coffin?"

"No coffin," she muttered bitterly. "Just a very boring, very unused bed."

Bob blinked slowly. "Unused?"

"Perfectly made," Yelena confirmed, glaring pointedly at Bucky. "Not a wrinkle. It's like she never sleeps there."

Bucky shrugged lightly, avoiding her stare. "Maybe she just makes the bed."

"Or," John drawled thoughtfully, "she sleeps hanging upside down from the ceiling. Alexei's vampire theory holds up."

Bob furrowed his brow deeply. "Can people actually do that?"

"Bob," Ava sighed gently, "please don’t hurt yourself."

You calmly finished your coffee, setting your mug quietly in the sink. "This is a fascinating discussion."

Yelena turned her sharp gaze directly onto you. "Care to explain your oddly pristine bedroom?"

You raised a single brow calmly, leaning back against the counter. "Not really."

Alexei laughed heartily, slapping the table enthusiastically. "I told you! Vampire!"

Bucky coughed again, barely hiding his smile behind his coffee cup. "Right. Vampire."

Yelena narrowed her eyes suspiciously at you, arms folded. "You realize I’ll figure it out eventually."

"Good luck," you murmured dryly, moving toward the hallway. "Have fun with your theories."

As you disappeared down the hall, Alexei beamed cheerfully, gesturing toward Bucky. "Barnes! You watch your back tonight. Our scary friend might come for your neck!"

Bucky snorted quietly, setting his mug down. "Pretty sure I can handle her."

"Good luck," Ava muttered, eyes amused. "If anyone's a vampire, it's her."

Bucky smiled faintly, following you down the hall calmly, ignoring the curious, skeptical gazes burning into his back.

---

It was past midnight when a sharp knock jolted Bucky awake. He sat up abruptly, eyes immediately darting to you beside him. You were still fast asleep, breathing steady, face relaxed into the pillow.

Another sharp knock came, followed by Yelena’s irritated voice. "Y/N. You awake?"

Bucky muttered a curse under his breath, gently sliding from beneath the covers, careful not to wake you. He pulled on a shirt quickly, quietly stepping into the hallway and closing the bedroom door behind him before Yelena knocked again.

"What the hell, Lena?" he whispered harshly.

Yelena raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Barnes. What are you doing here?"

He gestured vaguely down the hall, trying to look casual. "I was—getting water. What's your excuse?"

She narrowed her eyes skeptically. "I needed Y/N."

"At midnight?" he hissed.

She shrugged unapologetically. "Couldn't sleep. Thought she might be up. Her lights are always off anyway."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing softly. "She’s not in there."

Yelena folded her arms, suspicion spiking immediately. "And how would you know?"

He paused, scrambling for a believable lie. "I saw her leave earlier. Said something about going for a run."

"A run," Yelena echoed flatly. "At midnight."

"Yeah," Bucky muttered, attempting to sound confident. "She does that sometimes."

Yelena stared at him, completely unconvinced. "Really."

"Really," Bucky said firmly, meeting her gaze evenly.

She eyed him carefully, suspicion heavy in her stare. "You’re acting weird, Barnes."

He forced a casual shrug. "You're knocking on people’s doors at midnight. Who's weird?"

Yelena narrowed her eyes further, voice dry. "I’m watching you."

"Great," he muttered sarcastically, stepping past her toward the kitchen. "Have fun with that."

She remained standing by your unused door, eyes tracking him as he moved down the hallway. Eventually, she shook her head, irritation clear, and turned back toward her own room. "Ridiculous," she mumbled softly. "Everyone in this place is losing their minds."

Once the hallway was finally quiet again, Bucky returned quickly to his room, slipping silently inside. He exhaled slowly, relieved, as he quietly shut the door behind him. He turned back toward the bed—and found you wide awake, watching him with a faint, amused expression.

"Enjoy your midnight chat?" you asked dryly.

He sighed heavily, climbing back into bed beside you. "Your friend is getting suspicious."

You rolled your eyes slightly, shifting closer to him again. "She’s your friend."

"Not tonight," he muttered, tugging you gently into his arms. "Tonight she’s a nuisance."

You hummed softly, settling comfortably against his chest. "You handled it?"

"For now," he admitted reluctantly. "Barely."

You smirked faintly, tilting your head up slightly to kiss his jaw. "Good."

Bucky tightened his hold around your waist, dropping a soft kiss onto your forehead. "Next time she knocks, you're answering."

"No," you murmured firmly, eyes already drifting closed again. "You're better at lying."

He chuckled softly, voice warm. "Fair enough."

You settled into silence again, listening to his heartbeat slowly ease back into a calm rhythm. After a moment, you murmured softly, "You're still awake."

He sighed, voice dry with mild irritation. "Yeah. Someone knocking at midnight does that."

You smiled faintly, turning your head gently into his shoulder. "You'll live."

"Maybe," he teased quietly, fingers trailing softly along your spine. "If your friend doesn't kill me first."

"Sleep, Barnes," you murmured flatly.

He chuckled softly, finally relaxing fully into the mattress, eyes slowly closing. "Yes, ma'am."

---

Two days later, you were leaning against the kitchen counter, quietly observing as Ava scrolled through her phone, Yelena perched eagerly next to her.

“No,” Ava muttered. “Not her. Too cheerful.”

John peered over her shoulder skeptically. “Cheerful’s good. Maybe it’ll rub off on him.”

“What are you idiots doing?” Bucky asked warily, pouring himself coffee and shooting a confused glance in their direction.

Ava looked up casually, voice deadpan. “Finding you a date.”

Bucky nearly choked on his coffee. “A what?”

Alexei nodded enthusiastically, grinning. “Yes! Barnes, you mope too much. Need romantic distraction.”

Bucky raised a skeptical brow. “I’m fine.”

“You’re absolutely not fine,” Yelena countered, voice dry. “You need help.”

You remained perfectly silent, casually sipping your own coffee, your expression blank as Bucky shot you a subtle, desperate glance.

“Ah!” Ava suddenly exclaimed triumphantly. “Got it. My friend’s a barista. Cute, funny, tolerates annoying customers. She’s perfect.”

“Perfect!” Alexei echoed loudly, slapping the table with excitement.

Bucky looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Really not necessary.”

Ava ignored him, already texting rapidly. “Too late. It’s done.”

“Fantastic,” Bucky muttered flatly, stealing another quick, pleading glance toward you. You met his gaze evenly, taking another calm sip of coffee. “You could at least pretend to help,” he murmured irritably, just loud enough for you to hear.

You raised a single eyebrow, voice flat. “Looks like you’ve got it covered.”

Ava looked up again, smiling smugly. “Tomorrow night, seven sharp.”

Bucky sighed heavily, clearly defeated. “Great.”

---

Later that evening, Bucky leaned against the bedroom doorway, watching you quietly as you calmly flipped through a book. His arms were crossed over his chest, an amused, questioning expression on his face.

“You jealous, sweetheart?” he finally teased softly.

You didn’t look up from your page, voice utterly flat. “Of watching you struggle to make small talk? No.”

He laughed softly, pushing away from the doorway to step toward you, gently tugging the book from your hands. “So you don’t care if I go?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, voice deceptively casual. “You’re allowed to have friends.”

He smirked faintly, leaning closer until his lips brushed your jaw. “It’s a date, doll. Not a friend.”

You turned slightly, raising a challenging eyebrow. “You’re awfully smug for someone sleeping alone tonight.”

He chuckled softly, gently gripping your chin, tilting your face to his. “You’re awfully possessive for someone who ‘doesn’t care.’”

You sighed deeply, voice low and even. “Barnes.”

“Yes, sweetheart?” he murmured teasingly, lips brushing yours softly.

“Go on your stupid date,” you muttered flatly, pulling back slightly. “Smile at her once and I’ll murder you.”

He laughed warmly, clearly delighted. “Understood.”

You took your book back from his hand calmly, settling against the pillows again. “Glad we’re clear.”

Bucky shook his head fondly, climbing onto the bed beside you, settling comfortably close. “You know, if you don’t want me to go, you could just say so.”

You turned the page calmly, eyes on the text again. “Go.”

“Right,” he teased softly, lips brushing your shoulder. “But no smiling.”

“No smiling,” you confirmed flatly, finally glancing toward him, a faint, hidden smile tugging at your lips. “At least not nicely.”

He chuckled again, relaxing fully beside you. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re needy,” you murmured calmly, gently resting your head against his shoulder.

“Only with you,” he reminded you softly, pressing a tender kiss against your temple.

“Good,” you muttered dryly. “Keep it that way.”

---

You walked into the bedroom as Bucky left the bathroom, freshly showered getting ready for his date. “I changed my mind,” you said firmly, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed.

Bucky turned to face you, a slow, cocky smirk spreading across his lips. “Oh?”

“Don’t get smug, Barnes.”

He held his hands up innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it,” you shot back, eyes narrowed slightly.

He stepped closer, clearly enjoying this. “So you don’t want me to go now?”

“No,” you admitted bluntly, jaw tight.

“Is this you being jealous again?” he teased lightly, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you.

“No,” you repeated flatly. “This is me deciding I don’t feel like hiding your body.”

He laughed quietly, eyes bright. “Sweetheart, it’s just dinner.”

“With another woman.”

“A dinner you approved,” he reminded you playfully.

“I changed my mind,” you said again, voice colder this time. “Cancel it.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “What if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll stab you,” you said, deadpan. “And that’ll solve the problem anyway.”

He laughed softly, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your temple. “God, you’re hot when you’re threatening my life.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing gently against his chest. “Shut up, Barnes. Cancel the date.”

He chuckled again, pulling his phone from his pocket without hesitation, typing quickly. “Fine, fine. It’s canceled.”

“Good.”

“Happy now?” he teased softly.

“Ecstatic,” you muttered sarcastically, turning away and heading toward the bathroom. You paused at the doorway, glancing back briefly. “And wipe that smug look off your face, Barnes.”

Bucky grinned broadly, eyes gleaming. “Yes, ma’am.”

---

Ten minutes later, Bucky wandered casually into the common room, dropping onto the couch beside John. Yelena glanced up from her phone immediately, brows raised. “Shouldn’t you be gone already?” she asked suspiciously.

Bucky shrugged casually, grabbing the remote. “Canceled.”

John snorted. “Got stood up already?”

“Something like that,” Bucky replied mildly.

Alexei shook his head dramatically. “Barnes, terrible luck with romance. Maybe you should become monk.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Bucky muttered dryly. “I’ll think about it.”

Ava raised an eyebrow skeptically. “She canceled or you?”

“It was mutual,” Bucky lied smoothly, flipping through the channels casually.

Across the room, Bob glanced uncertainly toward your closed bedroom door. “Where’s Y/N?”

Bucky didn’t look up. “No idea.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Bucky, clearly unconvinced. “Very convenient timing.”

He met her gaze evenly, unbothered. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Alexei laughed heartily. “Yes, very lucky! Lucky you get rejected!”

“Right,” Bucky sighed flatly. “Thanks.”

John elbowed him lightly. “Want me to text Ava’s friend for you? Try again?”

“Absolutely not,” Bucky replied firmly. “I’m good.”

Yelena frowned thoughtfully, still skeptical. “I’m watching you, Barnes.”

Bucky smiled faintly, unfazed. “You’ve mentioned.”

“You’re suspicious,” she muttered quietly, eyes narrowed. “You’re both suspicious.”

“You’re paranoid,” Bucky countered dryly, turning back to the TV.

Ava sighed heavily, glancing up briefly. “Both can be true.”

Alexei nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely both!”

Bucky rolled his eyes, ignoring their pointed stares. “Whatever you say.”

Across the room, Bob glanced around again uncertainly. “But really, has anyone seen Y/N?”

“She’s probably plotting someone’s murder,” John replied calmly.

Alexei chuckled heartily, nodding. “Likely.”

Bucky fought a faint smile, eyes staying carefully fixed on the screen. “Sounds about right.”

---

The common area was unusually quiet as the team lounged about lazily. Alexei was mindlessly flipping channels, Ava texting on her phone, and Yelena and John bickering quietly over breakfast.

Bob glanced up first, brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "Hey, uh... is Bucky wearing green?"

Yelena's head whipped around immediately, eyes widening dramatically as Bucky entered the kitchen, completely unbothered, in a dark green Henley and grey sweats.

"Whoa," John muttered, mid-bite, clearly shocked. "Did someone die?"

Ava raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Barnes, did you hit your head?"

Bucky sighed deeply, pouring coffee calmly. "What now?"

"Your clothes," Alexei said gravely, as though discussing a great tragedy. "They have color."

Bucky looked down casually, shrugging. "It's just green."

"Exactly," Yelena agreed, nodding sharply. "That's the point. You don't wear green."

"I can wear green," Bucky replied dryly. "There's no rule against green."

John shook his head, feigning seriousness. "Yeah, but you're usually like... Batman."

"Batman?" Bucky echoed flatly, brows rising.

"All black, all brooding," John clarified. "It's your vibe."

Alexei clapped loudly, enthusiastically agreeing. "Yes! Like angry shadow! Very broody!"

Bucky rolled his eyes, clearly amused, but said nothing.

"Maybe he's finally cracking," Ava teased lightly, still focused on her phone.

"Maybe," Yelena muttered suspiciously, eyes narrowed as she watched him carefully. "Or someone's influencing him."

"Conspiracy theory, Lena?" Bucky asked mildly, sipping his coffee.

"Yes," she said immediately, completely serious. "I suspect foul play."

Bob tilted his head thoughtfully. "But he looks good."

Bucky pointed at him appreciatively. "Thank you, Bob."

Bob smiled shyly, clearly pleased with himself. "You're welcome."

The conversation continued, dissolving into pointless bickering. You chose that exact moment to enter quietly, moving casually toward the coffee machine. As you passed behind Bucky, you swiftly and casually slapped his ass, hiding your smirk as he jolted slightly.

His eyes immediately shot to yours, wide and startled.

"Nice color, Barnes," you murmured evenly, calmly grabbing a coffee mug. You moved away without another glance, expression utterly neutral, even as his cheeks reddened faintly. Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, quickly turning back to his coffee.

"Barnes?" Yelena asked sharply, catching the awkward shift. "You good?"

"Fine," he muttered quickly, eyes fixed pointedly on his mug.

John narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Something's up."

"Nothing's up," Bucky replied a little too quickly, clearing his throat again.

Alexei chuckled deeply, nodding knowingly. "Very suspicious."

Ava sighed deeply. "Oh, please don't start another conspiracy theory."

You smirked faintly behind your mug, eyes briefly meeting Bucky's again from across the room. He shot you a small, playful glare, barely suppressing his smile.

Yelena leaned forward, watching him carefully. "Barnes, you're acting weird again."

Bucky huffed quietly, sipping his coffee and trying to look unbothered. "It's literally just a shirt, Lena."

You moved quietly toward the exit, tossing a casual comment over your shoulder. "I think it's his color." The entire room fell silent as you disappeared down the hall, all eyes immediately flicking back to Bucky.

John raised an eyebrow slowly. "Did she just give you a compliment?"

Bucky shrugged lightly, fighting a smirk as he avoided everyone's suspicious gaze. "Guess so."

"She definitely did," Ava confirmed flatly, clearly amused.

Alexei chuckled knowingly, slapping the table enthusiastically. "Ah-ha! Progress!"

Yelena narrowed her eyes suspiciously, leaning back in her chair thoughtfully. "I still don't trust it."

"You trust nothing," John pointed out dryly.

"True," she conceded evenly. "But especially not Barnes and Y/N."

Bucky shook his head, sighing dramatically as he headed for the elevator. "You're all ridiculous."

Bob looked around uncertainly. "But he does look good in green."

"Yes, Bob," Yelena sighed heavily. "That's the problem."

---

You walked quietly into the training room, finding the team spread out, already deep into their routines. John was spotting Bob at the bench press, Ava stretched by the punching bags, and Alexei lounged against the wall, offering unhelpful commentary. You silently moved toward the mats, your necklace catching briefly in the overhead lights.

Yelena immediately paused mid-stretch, staring openly. "You're wearing a necklace."

"So?" you replied evenly, stretching casually.

"So," Yelena echoed slowly, suspiciously. "You don't usually wear accessories."

You raised an eyebrow calmly. "You're paying attention to my jewelry habits now?"

"Someone has to," she muttered flatly. "Something's definitely up."

Across the room, Bucky entered casually, eyes briefly locking onto the necklace, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He hid it quickly, grabbing a water bottle instead.

Alexei pointed enthusiastically toward you. "Barnes! Our scary friend wears mystery necklace."

Bucky feigned mild disinterest. "Good for her."

"You don't care?" Yelena asked skeptically, eyeing him suspiciously. "You’re usually pretty invested.”

"That’s you," he reminded her dryly, calmly taking a sip of water. "I'm fine with it."

"Hmm," she murmured, clearly unconvinced.

You ignored them all, beginning your warm-up calmly, your necklace gleaming softly beneath the lights.

Bob watched curiously, his voice quiet. "Maybe it's important to her."

Alexei chuckled loudly. "Important like secret admirer!"

You exhaled slowly, voice flat. "Maybe it is."

The room fell immediately quiet. Yelena's eyes narrowed sharply, suspicion spiking. "Did you just admit you have a secret admirer?"

You didn't reply, calmly continuing your stretches. Bucky turned his back quickly, clearly trying to hide his faint smirk behind his water bottle.

John shook his head slowly. "There's no way."

Alexei clapped loudly. "There is way! Romance in the tower, very exciting!"

Ava sighed deeply, clearly bored. "Not everything's a conspiracy."

"This definitely is," Yelena muttered darkly, still glaring pointedly at you.

"Leave her alone," Bucky said lightly, stepping calmly onto the mats. "If she wants to keep secrets, let her."

Yelena raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You're suspiciously supportive."

"I'm supportive of privacy," Bucky replied evenly. "Especially when it means fewer interrogations from you."

You stepped forward, tilting your head slightly, eyes coolly amused. "Barnes. Are we talking or training?"

He smirked faintly, eyes glinting with amusement as he dropped into a defensive stance. "Training."

"Good," you murmured flatly, moving fluidly toward him. "Less talking."

"She really scares me," John muttered from the side, watching warily.

Alexei laughed heartily, delighted. "Yes, very terrifying! Especially with jewelry."

You ignored them, focused solely on Bucky as you sparred, both of you carefully hiding your faint smiles each time you moved closer, your necklace gleaming softly between you.

“I swear to God, Barnes. If you grope me, I’ll kill you.”

Bucky chuckled quietly, moving around you smoothly on the mats. “You’re wearing my favorite. Can’t blame a guy for being distracted.”

“You can,” you countered flatly, dodging easily as he reached for your wrist again. “Focus.”

His gaze dropped briefly to your necklace, lips quirking slightly. “And my necklace? You’re spoiling me.”

You sighed softly, carefully shifting your weight to block his next move. “You’re hopeless.”

“Only for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice teasingly warm. His eyes glinted playfully. “How’d you sleep last night?”

“Barnes,” you muttered quietly, tone sharp. “We’re training.”

He smirked faintly, leaning in closer as he passed you again. “You weren’t complaining when you were hogging the sheets.”

Your eyes narrowed, voice dropping lower. “I’ll smother you with those sheets.”

“Promises, promises,” he teased lightly, moving smoothly behind you again. “Maybe later.”

Across the room, Yelena watched suspiciously, eyes narrowed. “Are they arguing again?”

“Probably,” Ava muttered absently, eyes still on her phone.

John shook his head slowly. “It looks kinda… intense.”

Alexei shrugged cheerfully. “They always intense. Like dramatic spy movie.”

Back on the mats, Bucky’s gaze flicked appreciatively again to your bralette, a faint, smug smile appearing. “Seriously, doll, it’s distracting.”

“Good,” you said flatly, quickly twisting your wrist from his grasp. “Means you’ll lose faster.”

He laughed softly, circling you again, eyes playful. “Harsh.”

“True.”

He lunged suddenly, grabbing your waist firmly, pulling you flush against him. You froze briefly, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Barnes,” you growled softly, warning clear. “What did I say?”

He smiled innocently, leaning closer. “I forgot.”

“I’ll remind you later,” you muttered darkly, elbowing him swiftly in the ribs and stepping neatly away.

He winced, laughing quietly, voice low. “Worth it.”

“Gross,” John muttered, shaking his head. “They’re definitely flirting.”

Ava rolled her eyes slightly. “And yet she hasn’t killed him.”

Yelena sighed deeply, irritated. “Yet.”

Bob looked uncertainly toward the mats. “But they fight all the time.”

Alexei chuckled heartily. “Exactly! This called sexual tension, Bob. Very intense.”

You finally stepped back, exhaling slowly, eyes calmly meeting Bucky’s amused gaze. “You’re lucky we have an audience.”

He smiled warmly, eyes softening just for a moment. “I know.”

“Good,” you murmured evenly, stepping smoothly off the mats. “Keep that in mind tonight when you’re begging for mercy.”

Bucky grinned widely, completely unfazed, following casually behind you. “Looking forward to it, sweetheart.”

Yelena glared suspiciously as the two of you passed. “You two have fun?”

You shot her a bland look. “Define fun.”

“Did Barnes survive?”

“For now,” you said flatly, not breaking stride.

Bucky chuckled quietly, nudging you gently. “She’s secretly soft on me.”

“Delusional,” you corrected dryly.

“Right,” Yelena muttered skeptically as you both disappeared down the hall. “Definitely flirting.”

---

“Is that a skirt?” Yelena asked, as you walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

You raised the skirt to reveal the shorts connected underneath. "It's a skort."

Yelena raised her eyebrows, nodding thoughtfully. "Cute."

"Didn't ask," you replied flatly, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

Behind you, John snorted quietly. "Friendly as always."

"Careful," Ava murmured absently. "She might actually kill you this time."

You ignored them, leaning against the counter casually as Bucky stepped quietly into the kitchen, eyes quickly flicking to your skort. He paused briefly, lips curving into a small, smug smile. "Nice outfit," he teased lightly.

You tilted your head calmly, voice utterly neutral. "It was a gift."

Yelena's head whipped toward you suspiciously. "From who?"

You took a sip of water, expression unreadable. "A friend."

"Friend?" John echoed skeptically. "You don't have friends."

"True," Alexei agreed cheerfully. "Scary friend has no friends, only victims."

Bucky chuckled softly, stepping past you and casually leaning in to grab a coffee mug. "Maybe she made an exception."

You glanced sideways at him, voice low. "Don't push it, Barnes."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured softly, barely audible.

Bob furrowed his brow slightly. "Why does Bucky always tease Y/N?"

"Because he has a death wish," Ava replied absently.

"Or," Yelena mused suspiciously, eyes narrowed at you both, "he likes living dangerously."

"Definitely dangerous," Alexei nodded seriously. "Y/N will kill Barnes soon."

"Looking forward to it," you muttered dryly, pushing off from the counter and heading toward the hall. You barely managed two steps before you felt Bucky subtly slide his hand under the skirt, squeezing your ass firmly, hidden perfectly from the team's view.

You shot him a sharp, dangerous glare over your shoulder, voice cold and low. "Barnes."

He grinned smugly, completely unbothered. "Careful, sweetheart."

You huffed irritably, storming away without another word, hearing the team snicker quietly behind you.

"What was that?" Yelena immediately demanded suspiciously.

Bucky shrugged casually, pouring coffee calmly. "No idea."

"She looked pissed," John noted dryly.

"When doesn't she?" Ava muttered flatly.

Alexei laughed cheerfully, shaking his head. "Barnes, one day she'll kill you. Very messy."

Bucky smiled faintly, eyes glinting. "Probably."

Bob tilted his head thoughtfully. "Maybe you should apologize?"

"I'm good," Bucky said lightly, sipping his coffee, smirk still firmly in place.

Yelena sighed dramatically, clearly irritated. "You two are exhausting."

---

Bucky stepped quietly into the bedroom a short while later, closing the door behind him softly. You immediately shot him a sharp look from your spot on the bed, book in hand.

"You're lucky I didn't stab you," you muttered flatly.

He chuckled softly, moving toward you calmly, eyes warm and amused. "Worth the risk."

"Barnes," you warned quietly, gaze narrowed.

He grinned playfully, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "You slapped my ass in front of everyone. Payback was fair."

You scoffed softly, reluctantly relaxing slightly as he settled comfortably beside you. "Barely."

He nudged your shoulder gently, voice teasingly soft. "Admit it. You liked it."

"Keep dreaming," you murmured dryly, turning the page calmly.

Bucky chuckled again, gently pulling your book down to catch your eyes. "Love you too, sweetheart."

"Gross," you muttered quietly, but your voice softened, and your lips twitched faintly.

He smiled warmly, leaning closer to brush his lips against your jawline. "Thanks for wearing the skort."

"You bought it," you reminded him evenly, though your voice lacked its usual edge.

"And it looks perfect," he murmured softly, lips tracing gently along your neck. "Especially on you."

"Bucky," you sighed, eyes falling shut briefly. "Stop."

"You sure?" he teased softly, breath warm against your skin.

You exhaled slowly, head tilting slightly to grant him better access. "No."

He smiled against your skin, fingers sliding gently beneath the hem of the skort again, voice teasing and affectionate. "Didn't think so."

---

The comms crackled softly in your ear as you moved silently through the tree line, keeping low, eyes trained on the compound just up ahead. You and Ava were positioned to sweep the south perimeter while the others flanked the north and secured the intel inside.

"East clear," Yelena’s voice came through. "No movement."

"North entrance is covered," John added. "Alexei’s being loud as usual."

"Strategic loud," Alexei corrected proudly.

“South perimeter’s clear,” Ava said, glancing briefly toward you. “Y/N, you good?”

You gave a silent nod, pressing your back against the stone wall as you signaled for her to hold position. Then the line crackled again—Bucky’s voice came through, strained but still steady. “Contact in the west corridor. I’m good—just grazed.”

There was a pause. Then: “repeat, Barnes is hit,” John confirmed. “Not bad. Just a graze on his side.”

You were already moving. You didn’t say anything—not to Ava, not to the comms. You just moved.

Through the trees, across the clearing, slipping like a shadow through the half-ruined side entrance. You moved fast, but quiet, eyes scanning rapidly for any sign of him.

Behind you, Ava’s voice came faintly through the earpiece. “...Y/N? Where the hell— Y/N, you were supposed to hold south!”

"She’s gone," Yelena muttered over comms. "Of course she’s gone."

Alexei chuckled into the line. "Perhaps vampire instincts. She senses blood."

You ignored them all.

The compound’s west wing was dim and empty, light filtering in through broken windows and high beams. You rounded a corner and spotted him almost immediately—leaning heavily against the wall, one hand pressed to his side, blood staining the fabric of his black combat shirt.

His head snapped up when he saw you. “What are you—?” You crossed the space in seconds, grabbing his wrist and yanking it away to inspect the wound. “It’s fine,” he started.

You pulled a cloth from your pocket, pressing it against the wound firmly, your movements efficient and practiced. “You didn’t call it in yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, breath shallow. “Because it’s not a big deal.”

"Wrong," you said flatly, pulling out a small field med kit.

He chuckled quietly, grimacing slightly as you cleaned the wound. “You ditched your post for me, sweetheart?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

His eyes softened slightly, voice dropping. “You worried?” You didn’t answer, just wrapped the bandage tight and clean, your jaw tense. He tilted his head slightly, voice lower now, just for you. “You know you’re supposed to act normal in front of the others, not go rogue.”

“You got hit,” you muttered, standing and pulling him up carefully. “Don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

He smirked, even as he winced. “That’s my girl.”

"Shut up, Barnes," you muttered, hooking an arm under his. "You’re limping."

He leaned into you slightly, lips brushing your ear. “You know I like it when you go feral for me.”

“Keep talking and I’ll reopen the wound.”

He grinned, despite the pain. “Totally worth it.”

“Let’s go,” you muttered, guiding him back toward the rendezvous point. “Before someone sees.”

Bucky smirked. “Married life suits you.”

“Don’t push it, Barnes.”

He smiled wider. “Love you too.”

---

Back at the Watchtower, the common area was thick with tension. John paced irritably, gesturing wildly as the rest of the team lounged around the room, silently watching the spectacle unfold. "You can't just leave your position, Y/N," John snapped, frustration clear. "You compromised the whole operation!"

You stood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, your gaze coldly indifferent.

Ava sighed softly. "Walker, it wasn't that serious—"

"It was reckless," John interrupted sharply. "She ran off like some amateur because Barnes got a scratch!"

Alexei chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe scratch was deeper than we think."

Yelena's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Still weird for her to lose control like that."

You stayed quiet, expression unchanging.

"Seriously, Y/N," John pressed irritably. "I know you're protective of Barnes for some weird reason, but you can't put the rest of us in danger."

Bucky shifted slightly, opening his mouth to say something, but you shot him a brief, silent look—he shut it again immediately.

Bob blinked, genuinely confused. "Wait, what happened?"

"Y/N ran off," Ava clarified dryly. "Apparently, Barnes got grazed, and she just abandoned everything."

Bob's brow furrowed deeper. "Is that... bad?"

"Yes, Bob," John said flatly. "It's very bad."

Alexei grinned, nudging Bob cheerfully. "Perhaps vampire protective of favorite victim."

Bob's eyes widened uncertainly. "Barnes is a victim?"

Yelena sighed deeply. "Focus, Bob."

"Look," John snapped, turning back toward you again, clearly determined. "All I'm saying is—"

You finally moved—quickly, fluidly—crossing the space between you and Bucky before anyone could even register what was happening. You grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s shirt, yanking him roughly forward. His eyes widened briefly in surprise—then quickly darkened in amusement as your lips crashed firmly onto his.

The room fell utterly silent.

Bucky didn't hesitate, melting immediately into the kiss, his metal hand gently gripping your waist. He smiled faintly against your lips, clearly pleased.

When you finally pulled back, you released him casually, stepping back to your previous spot against the wall. Your expression was cool and completely neutral as your eyes calmly flicked over the stunned faces of the entire team.

"Shit," Alexei finally breathed, breaking the silence. "Did not see that coming."

John just stared, speechless.

Yelena blinked, then slowly nodded. "Okay. That explains... a lot."

Bob smiled faintly, clearly pleased. "That's nice."

Ava raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely impressed. "Well, that’s one way to shut everyone up."

You said nothing, arms crossing again as you leaned back against the wall, expression perfectly indifferent.

Bucky cleared his throat softly, lips curving into a smug grin as he glanced around the room. "Any other questions?"

John opened his mouth—then closed it again, shaking his head. "Nope."

Yelena sighed dramatically. "Finally. About damn time."

Bob glanced around uncertainly. "So... they're dating?"

Alexei chuckled loudly, clearly entertained. "Apparently, Bob."

You sighed quietly, eyes narrowing slightly. "We're married, actually."

Another stunned silence filled the room. Bucky smiled brightly, clearly amused by everyone's shocked expressions. "Surprise."

John rubbed his face tiredly. "You've got to be kidding me."

Alexei beamed proudly. "Knew it. Romance always wins."

Yelena glared pointedly at Bucky. "Barnes. You realize you could've told us earlier, right?"

Bucky shrugged casually, eyes sparkling. "Where's the fun in that?"

You rolled your eyes faintly, settling comfortably next to him, arms still crossed.

Bob smiled again, more warmly this time. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, Bob," Bucky replied cheerfully, sliding an arm comfortably around your waist. "At least someone here is supportive."

Ava raised an eyebrow skeptically. "How long exactly?"

You sighed quietly, voice flat. "Long enough."

John shook his head again, clearly irritated. "You're both impossible."

Bucky laughed softly, pulling you a bit closer. "And you’re welcome."

Alexei clapped enthusiastically. "Tonight, we celebrate! For secret marriage and vampire love story!"

"Please don't," you muttered dryly.

Bucky chuckled warmly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Too late, doll." You shot him a warning glance, but your lips twitched faintly into a hidden smile.

The team was quiet again, watching you both thoughtfully. Finally, Yelena spoke again, voice resigned. "Well," she sighed dramatically, glancing at John. "Guess we were wrong."

"Painfully wrong," John muttered irritably.

You raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Satisfied now?"

John sighed heavily, eyes rolling upward. "Fine. You win."

You relaxed slightly against Bucky’s side, voice calm. "Good."

Bucky leaned in slightly, lips brushing your ear gently. "That was hot."

You glared sideways at him, voice low. "Behave."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured softly, grinning widely.

Across the room, Alexei chuckled again, clearly delighted. "I told you all. Always romance. Very predictable."

Ava shook her head slowly, smiling faintly. "Congratulations, I guess."

Yelena narrowed her eyes at you again, voice dry. "You realize we’ll still tease you mercilessly, right?"

Bucky smiled warmly, completely unbothered. "Wouldn't expect anything less."

You sighed softly, settling more comfortably against him, clearly resigned. "Great."

Bob looked genuinely pleased, smiling warmly at you both. "You guys look good together."

"Thanks, Bob," you muttered dryly, shooting Bucky another pointed look. "At least someone's happy."

"I'm ecstatic," Bucky teased lightly, squeezing your waist affectionately.

You rolled your eyes faintly, but leaned comfortably against his side, silently content.

Yelena sighed dramatically again, leaning back heavily into her chair. "Finally, we can move on with our lives."

Alexei clapped cheerfully again, utterly delighted. "Yes! Celebrate tonight!"

John crossed his arms, staring pointedly at you as he sat down on the chair. “You’re both very annoying.”

You shrugged slightly, unbothered. “And?”

He rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. “Just don’t do anything disgusting in the common areas.”

You stared at him, eyes blinking slowly before you pushed yourself off the wall. “Might not want to sit on that chair then.”

John’s eyes widened dramatically as he immediately stood up, practically leaping from the chair. "Oh, come on!"

Yelena snorted, looking both amused and disgusted. "Please tell me that’s a joke."

You shrugged calmly, expression entirely unreadable. "Believe whatever you want."

Bucky’s lips twitched slightly into a smirk. "She warned you."

Alexei chuckled loudly, clearly delighted. "I told you all—secret romance always most exciting."

Bob glanced uncertainly toward John, clearly confused. "Is the chair dangerous now?"

John shuddered slightly. "You really don’t wanna know, Bob."

Ava shook her head slowly, muttering quietly. "I regret everything."

You turned toward the hall, clearly done with the conversation. "I’m going to my room."

Yelena’s voice called after you suspiciously. "Which room is yours exactly, Y/N?"

You paused briefly, glancing over your shoulder calmly. "The one I sleep in."

John crossed his arms irritably. "So, Barnes’ room."

Bucky smiled brightly, clearly amused. "My door is always open."

"Gross," Yelena muttered flatly.

Alexei laughed loudly, utterly entertained. "Barnes, I like your style."

Bucky gave an exaggerated bow, playful smirk firmly in place. "Appreciate it, Alexei."

You sighed quietly, clearly irritated. "Barnes. Let’s go."

He followed immediately, falling easily into step beside you. As you both disappeared down the hallway, Yelena’s voice carried after you. "You’re welcome for finally outing you, by the way!"

Bucky chuckled quietly, glancing toward you affectionately. "That went well."

"Shut up," you muttered dryly.

"You’re cute when you’re annoyed."

You stopped briefly, leveling him with a cool stare. "You realize I could still stab you?"

Bucky smiled fondly, completely unbothered. "You wouldn’t. You like me too much."

You sighed softly, reluctantly relaxing. "Unfortunately."

He grinned widely, gently nudging you forward again. "Come on, doll. Your room awaits."

"Our room," you corrected flatly.

"Right," he said warmly, clearly pleased. "Our room."

Behind you, the distant sound of Alexei loudly celebrating echoed down the hall.

just a little thing to say: i wrote bob with the intention of him actually knowing they were married, and all the questions he was asking was him trying to get the team to also question bucky and reader's relationship.

i also have a part two in the works!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #thunderbolts fanfic #yelena belova #ava starr #alexei shostakov #john walker #bob reynolds

572 notes · View notes

adelliet · 3 days ago

Text

Bob Reynolds x f!reader

DREAMY VACATION

Summary: You've been sent on vacation to take a break from saving the world, but there's no hiding from your emotions that will eventually take over.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, alcohol consumption, body insecurity, Sentry awakening (just for a second), erection, breast play, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hickeys

A/n: Hii! So uhm this is LONG AS FUCK, like a literal novel so I am warning you. Anyways I wanted to thank you for 1k followers?! How?! You have no idea how much this means to me. I am grateful for each and every one of you and I will try my best to improve my writing. Hopefully you will like my future projects as much as you've liked the ones I have done so far. Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You and the rest of the Thunderbolts had been deployed to Spain on what was supposed to be a critical mission. The briefing was vague but urgent, something about a potential global threat developing near the coast.

On the plane to Alicante, you sat down next to Bob. He looked tense. Really tense. He was gripping the armrest like it might fly off on its own. His face was pale, and his shoulders stiff as stone.

“Hey,” you said gently, nudging him with your elbow as you got settled. “You okay?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. He blinked, clearly trying not to throw up, and then murmured, “Um… do you maybe wanna sit by the window instead?” He didn’t look at you, just stared straight ahead like a man facing death.

Without missing a beat, you nodded. “Sure. Come on.”

You stood up and let him shuffle over into your seat. The second he sat down, he let out a deep belch, followed by a hoarse, “Oh God…”

You were already leaning closer, scanning his face with concern. “You good?”

Your hand found his knee, giving it a comforting rub. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hands now gripping the tray table for dear life.

He nodded slowly, jaw clenched. “I’m okay. Just… hate flying.”

You offered a soft smile and stayed close. “I’ll be right here the whole time, okay? Just breathe.”

He nodded again, and despite how miserable he looked, his posture softened slightly, just enough to tell you that your presence was doing what your words couldn’t.

“I’ll go get some water and a bag, just in case,” you told him gently, already sliding out of your seat. Bob gave a tiny nod, eyes still shut, lips tight as if even opening them would invite disaster. You made your way down the aisle, stopping a flight attendant with a polite smile and a quick explanation.

She gave you a knowing look. “Nervous flyer?”

“Something like that,” you chuckled.

A minute later, you returned to your row, holding a small bottle of water and one of those crinkly, shame-colored paper bags. Bob looked slightly less pale than before—his hands weren’t as white-knuckled on the armrests, and his breathing had calmed a little. But he still had that I-might-hurl-any-second look going on.

“Here,” you said, sitting back down and offering both the water and the bag. “Just in case. Don’t worry, it’s only a few hours.”

The moment the word “hours” left your mouth, Bob visibly tensed. He choked on his own spit and shot you a wide-eyed stare like you’d just told him he’d have to wrestle an alligator.

You raised your hands defensively. “Okay, wrong choice of words—ignore me.”

Before either of you could say more, the engines began to roar and the plane started rolling forward. Bob immediately slumped into his seat like a melting popsicle, shut his mouth and eyes, and gripped the tray table as if it were the only thing anchoring him to this dimension.

You couldn’t help a soft smile. He looked a bit ridiculous and miserable at the same time.

“This is the worst part,” you said soothingly, glancing out the window as the runway sped beneath you. “It gets better after takeoff.”

As the plane began to lift from the ground, your heart fluttered with excitement. A new mission in Europe. A whole new landscape, new memories. Even if you weren’t saving the world, part of you loved the thrill of the unknown.

You inhaled deeply, a soft smile on your lips… until you felt a touch.

You turned your head just in time to see Bob—eyes still closed, jaw clenched—reach out blindly and grab your hand in his. He didn’t say a word, didn’t look at you. He just held on. Tightly.

You looked down at your interlaced fingers. He was basically crushing your hand, but you didn’t pull away. If this helped him even a little, you weren’t going anywhere.

Your thumb brushed over his knuckles in quiet reassurance. You didn’t say anything. He didn’t either. But something in the weight of his grip, the vulnerability of that small action, felt more genuine than a thousand words.

Sure, your hand might be useless for the next few hours, but somehow that didn’t matter. It was Bob. That’s what made it okay.

The flight dragged on peacefully, and at some point, exhaustion won.

By the time the pilot announced the descent, both you and Bob were fast asleep. The flight attendant’s gentle voice over the intercom was what stirred you.

“Excuse me—we’ll be landing shortly.”

You blinked groggily, and as your senses slowly returned, you realized that you and Bob were still holding hands. The entire flight. Neither of you had let go, not even in your sleep.

You turned your head at the same time he did, both of you blinking at each other in a dazed, half-dream state. Then you both released your grips at once, slowly, carefully.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. Bob straightened his seat and adjusted his hoodie like he could hide in it.

“…Feeling better?” you asked softly, keeping your voice low enough so only he could hear. He nodded, and for the first time that day, smiled at you—not the nervous, half-broken kind, but something real.

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.” His voice was quiet, but sincere.

You smiled back before you even realized it, heart tugging in that dangerous, stupid way it did whenever he looked at you like that.

Sometimes you wondered if Bob Reynolds was even real. Maybe he was a highly advanced hologram, or worse, a social experiment where you were the test subject. Because if he was a trap, a trick, or an illusion… well, you’d already fallen in pretty deep.

The moment you landed at the airport in a sunny seaside city called Alicante, your adrenaline was high, ready to face whatever was waiting for you.

But instead of military vehicles or local agents waiting on the tarmac, there was a giant banner reading “SURPRISE!” flapping in the Mediterranean breeze. An agent, smiling way too much for someone who usually briefed on extinction-level events, greeted you all with the bombshell: “There is no mission. You’re here on vacation for one full week. Fully paid. Mandatory.”

Everyone had a different reaction. Some of the team burst out laughing. A few gave each other looks of disbelief. Alexei screamed, “HELL YES, BEACH TIME!” and fist-pumped the air. Yelena already had sunglasses on. But not everyone was thrilled.

Bucky Barnes, for one, looked like someone had just kicked his dog. Twice. He crossed his arms and muttered, “This is ridiculous. I don’t do beaches.”

“Well, now you do,” said Ava with a smirk. “Welcome to bonding camp, grumpy.”

You were all told this wasn’t just a vacation, it was a “team-building retreat.” You were going to be forced to relax together, apparently to grow stronger as a unit. And no one was allowed to bail.

Despite the chaos of your missions and all the tension in the beginning, over the past few months of cohabitating in Stark Tower, you’d all grown… closer. There were still arguments, sure—someone was always stealing snacks, using someone else’s mug, or playing music too loud at 3AM—but you knew each other now. Knew who liked what, who needed quiet mornings, who hogged the bathroom, and who cried during certain movie scenes (spoiler: it’s more of them than you expected).

But the bond between you and Bob Reynolds stood out most.

Everyone saw it. From the moment you helped rescue him, you’d never left his side. You were the first to check if he was injured, the first to speak to him like a human being and not a walking nuclear reactor. You made sure he was okay. Like some stray dog the world had tossed aside—and you just quietly decided he was yours now.

And the team followed your lead. Despite what he’d done, despite nearly destroying the world and ripping open old wounds in everyone’s psyche, they welcomed him with open arms. Because you did.

“Vacation?” Bob raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused.

“Yup,” John said with a grin, giving him a playful nudge. “That’s when you don’t do anything and it’s totally fine. You should try it sometime.”

Bob didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked suspicious of the concept. His whole life had been built around duty, damage control, and trying not to explode. The idea of just… existing with no expectations felt foreign. Maybe even dangerous.

“Alright folks, let’s move out,” Yelena called, hoisting her bag over her shoulder with that bossy tone everyone obeyed without question. She might’ve shared the leadership role with Bucky, but she had the charisma of someone who got things done.

Like a herd of reluctant high schoolers on a mandatory field trip, the team followed—grumbling, joking, dragging their feet, but moving.

The drive wasn’t long.

A sleek black limousine pulled up to your destination within the hour. A row of elegant, private beach cottages spread out before you, nestled in a secluded cove just outside Alicante.

The sand was pale gold, soft as powdered sugar, stretching out toward the turquoise horizon. The sea shimmered beneath the sunlight, waves gentle and lazy. Palm trees lined the perimeter, their leaves rustling with every breeze, casting just enough shade to make the heat feel like a pleasant hug instead of a punishment.

The place felt untouched. Quiet.

Not exactly deserted—but exclusive. You could see why no ordinary tourists were lounging here. It wasn’t just the off-hour, it was the price. This was the kind of luxury reserved for diplomats and billionaires. For people who’d seen too much, done too much, and needed the world to shut up for five minutes.

For the first time, you felt the weight of silence around the team. Not the awkward kind—just a collective breath being held, like everyone was realizing at once how damn beautiful it was here.

The agent who’d escorted you out of the airport handed over two keycards with a charming smile. “One cabin for four men, and one for three ladies,” he said, giving them to Bucky and Yelena respectively.

“Enjoy yourselves.”

And just like that, he was gone, limousine and all, leaving you standing under the cloudless sky, surrounded by the scent of salt and coconut sunscreen.

You glanced around, soaking it all in. Then your gaze shifted to Bob. He was already looking at you. The moment your eyes met, he flinched and immediately turned his head, pretending to be very interested in a nearby bush.

You snorted quietly to yourself, lips twitching with amusement.

“This one’s ours, I guess,” Yelena said, pointing toward the cottage just a few steps away. Even from a distance, the place looked like it belonged in a luxury travel magazine. Creamy-white walls, light wooden trim, huge windows, and a little porch with hanging hammocks swaying lazily in the breeze. A dream come true.

You, Yelena and Ava made your way over with your bags. Yelena slid the keycard, and the door clicked open. The inside was even more stunning.

It was like stepping into a Pinterest board. The walls were painted in soft seafoam greens and sun-washed whites. Rattan furniture, pastel cushions, and airy curtains gave the space a coastal, boho vibe. There was a faint scent of lavender and driftwood in the air—relaxing, expensive, comforting.

Sunlight poured through the huge windows, illuminating a common area with plush couches, a breakfast bar stocked with fruits and snacks, and wide glass doors that opened directly onto the beach. You could hear the waves as if the ocean was whispering, You’re safe here.

“Holy shit,” Ava breathed out, spinning in a slow circle like she couldn’t believe this wasn’t CGI. “This is nicer than my actual apartment.”

Yelena dropped her bag on the nearest bed with a satisfied smirk. “This is acceptable.”

You couldn’t help but smile. A real, easy smile, the kind that felt rare lately. Everything about this place felt… right and peaceful.

And as you peeked out the back window and saw the boys dragging their bags toward their own cottage, you knew this week was going to be something different. Maybe even healing.

A few hours had passed since you arrived. You’d unpacked, showered, explored the fridge, which was magically stocked with mouthwatering, chef-level food, and finally settled into that post-travel stillness.

The late afternoon sun blanketed everything in golden light as you lounged on the front veranda of your cottage. Yelena had claimed the hammock and was swinging gently, sunglasses on, arms behind her head, looking like a war-hardened goddess pretending to be chill.

You and Ava had claimed two of the hanging lounge chairs, gently swaying as you soaked in the sun. Both of you had sunglasses perched on your noses, and the soft breeze kept the heat from being overwhelming.

“What are we even supposed to do here?” Ava asked, not bothering to open her eyes. Her voice was lazy, relaxed, a perfect match for the quiet waves in the distance.

It was a simple question. One you should’ve been able to answer. But you paused. Because… you honestly didn’t know.

Before you could respond with something vague, Yelena chimed in with a deadpan comment that made both you and Ava snort with laughter. It was something about team bonding meaning “not-murdering each other in close quarters,” and that this counted.

Then you added, perfectly flat, “I didn’t even bring a swimsuit.”

Ava blinked, then looked over at you. “Wait, me neither.”

“Didn’t expect this,” you muttered. “Was packing for death, not tanning.”

Yelena groaned. “Okay great. Let’s go buy swimsuits now. Or we’ll end up stuck here melting like idiots on a porch for the rest of the week.”

She was right, so without much debate, the three of you grabbed your canvas totes, wallets, and phones. None of you were wearing anything particularly beach-shopping-appropriate, but it didn’t matter. The streets near the coast would be casual, laid-back—just like the air already felt.

Of course, this wasn’t just a swimsuit run.

You were three women, unsupervised, in a beach town, surrounded by potential sales racks, accessory stands, cafés, and tourist traps. There was no way you were only coming back with swimwear.

As you walked past the guys’ cabin, Yelena suddenly veered off toward the door.

“I’m gonna see if any of the boys want to come with us,” she said casually.

You and Ava paused, hanging back by the path and watching her disappear into the house. After a beat of silence, Ava tilted her head toward you, voice sly behind her shades.

“So… are you two dating?”

You frowned, confused. “What?”

She shifted her sunglasses down her nose just enough to raise her brows. “You and Bob.”

Your eyes went wide. Your mouth dropped into a dramatic, perfect “O.”

“What— no, pffft, no! We’re just… friends. Like you and me.”

Ava laughed softly, but her gaze stayed locked on you, way too perceptive for your comfort.

“Then why don’t you look at me the way you look at him?”

The question hit harder than expected. You froze. Your heart did that thing where it picked up speed, like it was trying to run away before your brain could even catch up.

You opened your mouth to respond—but didn’t get the chance. Yelena reappeared, walking toward you like she owned the world, flanked by Johnny and Alexei, who looked far too amused to be joining a swimsuit shopping trip.

“They’re coming,” she said with a smirk. “Apparently the boys need suits too. And they want to pick out something ridiculous for Bucky.” That got a laugh out of all of you.

You glanced past them, half-hoping Bob would be in the group.

He wasn’t.

A tiny sting settled in your chest—nothing sharp, just that quiet flicker of disappointment. Maybe he needed rest. Maybe he didn’t feel like going out. Maybe… you were overthinking again.

You shook the thought away and caught up with the group, quickly weaving yourself into the casual chatter about the town, the ocean, and just how absurdly gorgeous these beach houses were.

Still… you couldn’t help but glance back, just once, at the boys’ cabin. Maybe he was watching. Maybe he wasn’t. But part of you hoped he’d noticed you were gone.

The shop you found wasn’t some cheap tourist trap. It was small, chic, and clearly catered to high-end beachgoers with taste. White walls, light wood floors, soft acoustic music playing in the background, and racks of curated swimsuits arranged by style, not size. It even smelled nice, like sunscreen and coconuts and fresh linen.

You, Yelena, and Ava wandered through the racks like hunters in the wild, each with your own goal. Ava leaned toward white or black prints. Yelena made a beeline for anything tactical-looking or black. You? You didn’t know what you were looking for, until you saw it.

A white two-piece bikini, delicate but bold.

The top had thin, adjustable straps and a soft triangle cut that showed just enough while still keeping you comfortable. The fabric was smooth, almost pearly under the light, and hugged your shape in a way that felt way too flattering. The bottoms were high-cut at the hips, elongating your legs, and dipped just enough in the front to make you feel sexy.

You held it up, biting your lip.

The fitting rooms were individual little cabins with thick curtains and full mirrors, and for a moment, you just stood inside yours, staring at yourself.

The bikini really did fit, almost suspiciously well. The white stood out against your skin like it was made for you. It hugged your waist, shaped your chest, gave just enough curve to make you hesitate. You adjusted the straps, turned sideways, checked again.

You weren’t sure if you felt powerful or exposed.

Still undecided, you pulled the curtain back and stepped out barefoot onto the cool wooden floor. Yelena was standing just outside, holding a one-piece camo-pattern swimsuit that looked like it belonged in some military-themed Sports Illustrated shoot.

When she turned to look at you, her face froze for a second. And then she blinked. Twice.

“Oh my god,” she said loudly. “Bob’s going to get an erection so hard he’s gonna pass out.”

You stared at her, completely stunned. “Yelena!”

She shrugged, utterly unbothered. “What? It’s true. That bikini is illegal. You look like someone who knows how hot she is.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. That loud, shocked kind of laugh that felt like it echoed off your ribs.

“I’m not getting it just because of Bob!” you protested.

“Sure. Of course,” Yelena said, already turning to hang her swimsuit back on a rack. “You’re getting it because of you. Which happens to be the same you that wants Bob to think about you every time he blinks.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because maybe she wasn’t totally wrong.

You looked back at yourself in the big mirror. Your fingers lightly touched the strap on your hip. Yeah, part of you wanted Bob to notice. And part of you was absolutely terrified he would.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll take it.”

The walk back from town was filled with laughter and light teasing. John and Alexei were leading the way, both proudly swinging shopping bags, one of which contained a ridiculous pair of swim trunks Alexei had picked for Bucky, covered in pineapples and flamingos, while Bob’s were thankfully simple and classic.

You held a bag in one hand and kept your eyes on your feet, but no matter what, you couldn’t stop your thoughts from drifting.

What’s Bob gonna do when he sees you in this bikini?

You hadn’t meant to obsess over it. The idea had just settled in your mind. Naturally. Like it belonged there. And now it was stuck. Even as Ava was telling a story about how she accidentally bought three identical sarongs, your mind wandered right back to Bob.

The moment you and Ava set the bags down on the porch with a thud, Yelena clapped her hands like a general calling her troops.

“Alright, troops! Try on your swimsuits, we’re playing beach volleyball in ten!”

You exchanged an amused glance with Ava. You were all tired, even Yelena was complaining on the way back how well she'll be sleeping. Guess that thought was gone now.

Still, the energy in the air was contagious and none of you had the heart to say no, so Yelena texted the guys while the rest of you headed to change.

When you stepped outside, the sun was warm on your skin and the sound of the ocean made everything feel like a dream. Bucky and Alexei were already out there, stretching and tying up the net between two poles. John stood nearby, casually tossing the volleyball between his hands.

But Bob wasn’t there.

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could spiral, Ava appeared behind you and gave you a sharp slap on the butt.

“Relax, your loverboy probably just got distracted picking the perfect outfit,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes with a groan, but your heart was beating just a little faster. You walked over to the group, the sand soft under your feet.

Bucky noticed you first. His eyes lingered for a second longer than they probably should have, but he kept his expression locked down – soldier mode. Alexei, on the other hand, had zero filters.

“WOW, GIRL, LOOK AT YOU!” he shouted across the beach. “YOU LOOK LIKE A GODDESS! AND YOU TOO! AND YOU TOO!!”

He even stumbled into the net and collapsed dramatically, like your beauty had physically floored him. All of you burst out laughing. It was ridiculous, but sweet.

Walker stood back, saying nothing, just calmly observing like always, the ball still rotating between his palms.

“Let me help you with this,” you offered, moving to Bucky’s side and helping him secure the net to the post. You worked silently for a moment until he glanced at you and said, in his typical stern voice: “You look good.”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

Then, behind you, you heard the soft click of the cabin door opening. Your head instantly turned.

Bob stepped out. He wore a plain green T-shirt and simple black swim shorts. His hair was a little tousled from the wind, and the second his eyes landed on you, he froze.

You gave him a small, friendly wave.

He just stood there. His brows twitched. His jaw tensed. Then, as if his legs had remembered how to move, he took a step forward and tripped a little in the sand. Your heart did a backflip.

“See?” Yelena appeared beside you, slapping your shoulder. “Told you he’d be wrecked when he saw you.”

You laughed, half in embarrassment, half in disbelief, and shook your head. “Shut up.”

“Alright, LET’S GOOO!” Alexei yelled, clapping loudly before peeling off his shirt in one dramatic motion. The dude was built like a Greek statue.

Then Bucky followed suit, revealing defined abs and a torso clearly sculpted through years of combat training. All of you fell into stunned silence for a moment.

Even Walker, who hadn’t said a word, took off his shirt and casually joined the group. His body was lean, defined, quiet strength. Bob arrived near the group, awkwardly raising a hand.

“Hey,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. All eyes slowly turned to him waiting. Expectant.

He looked around nervously. “What? Did I—?”

And then he realized. He looked down at his own shirt, then back up at the group.

“Oh! Uh… I think I’ll keep the shirt on. I’m kinda cold,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blinked. Cold? You didn’t believe him for a second, and you were pretty sure no one else did either. Still, no one pushed him. It was Bob. If he needed to keep his shirt on, he could.

Yelena turned to split the teams. “Alright, someone from the guys can join us, but anyone except Ale—”

“GOING WITH MY GORGEOUS LADIES!” Alexei yelled, cutting her off and dashing over to your side like a golden retriever on espresso.

Yelena let out the longest, most defeated sigh and rubbed her temples.

Teams were decided, and as fate would have it, you and Bob ended up on opposing sides. The game was lighthearted at first, filled with laughter and playful banter. But then John raised the stakes.

“How about this? Winning team gets treated to a round of rum by the losers!”

A collective cheer erupted, and the game intensified. The air buzzed with laughter, the sounds of sneakers shuffling and palms slapping against the volleyball echoing across the beach.

You were focused, at least, you were trying to be. But every time your eyes met Bob’s across the court, something fluttered in your chest. It wasn’t just the look he gave you, it was everything about him.

The way his green shirt clung to his chest, damp from sweat, outlining the gentle definition of his torso; the way his dark hair was slightly tousled, sticking to his forehead; the way he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

And he was looking.

Almost every single time you looked over at him, his eyes were already on you. And every single time, without fail, he’d catch himself and look away. Fast. Like a startled animal. His Adam’s apple would bob slightly as he swallowed hard, clearly rattled by something—by you, maybe.

But then came the moment he didn’t look away.

You looked across the net, searching for Bob again, and there he was, watching you. He didn’t flinch this time. He didn’t look down or pretend to scratch his face. He stared. And you, feeling just a little bold, gave him a playful wink.

That did it.

Even from across the sand, you saw the way his face lit up red. Not just a hint of blush, but full-on, ear-to-ear crimson. His lips curved upward in a tiny, embarrassed smile—so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching for it.

And of course you were watching. The next serve came. Fast. Too fast. You turned just a moment too late, the ball whizzing past your shoulder and hitting the sand behind you.

Point lost.

Your teammates groaned in playful frustration, and you raised your hand apologetically. “My bad,” you laughed, even though inside, your stomach was doing backflips. Bob was still watching. Except now, he looked like he was having a different kind of crisis.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt nervously. His jaw clenched. His chest was visibly rising and falling faster than it should. His arms were tense. His fingers curled into fist, his knuckles white. His eyes were definitely not on the ball.

They were on you.

Suddenly, he took a deep breath and bent slightly forward. “Uh—sorry! I just need a… quick break!” he blurted out, turning so fast he almost tripped on his own foot. Without another word, he jogged off the court and toward the cabins, his shirt bunched up slightly at the back and clinging tighter at the front than before.

Everyone kind of paused.

“Everything alright?” John called after him, spinning the ball on his finger.

“Yeah! Yeah, all good!” Bob replied quickly, too quickly, his voice cracking slightly as he disappeared around the corner.

The group exchanged glances, some shrugged, some laughed. Yelena rolled her eyes. “He probably has bad stamina.”

But your heart dropped just a bit. Something felt off. You didn’t even think, you tossed the ball aside, murmured a quick, “I’ll go check on him,” and broke into a quick jog, sand kicking up around your ankles as you made your way toward the cabins.

Bob barely made it into the room before slamming the door shut behind him, chest heaving, face flushed and mind spinning. He pressed his back to the wood as if trying to barricade himself from the outside world, from you. His breathing was erratic. He glanced down.

“Oh no no no…”

The situation in his swim trunks was unignorable. His erection was pushing painfully against the fabric, a direct result of the way you looked—sweaty, flushed from the game, laughing with your hair a mess, skin kissed by sunlight. The way your bikini hugged your curves. The way your chest rose and fell when you ran. The way you winked at him.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. This was not supposed to happen.

He tried to steady his breath and think about anything else, but it was useless. All he could think about was you. How close you’d gotten. How dangerous it felt to even have you in the same game, let alone within touching distance.

Then came the knock.

“Bob?” Your voice was gentle, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He froze. Your voice was the last thing he needed right now. It sent a fresh wave of heat through him. His hands curled into fists.

“Yeah! I’m—uh—I’m fine. Just a headache,” he called out quickly, praying you’d leave.

But you didn’t.

“I can come in, I’ll bring you water or—”

“NO!” he shouted. Too loud, too harsh. The silence that followed was gutting. You stood on the other side of the door, frozen in place. “…Bob?”

He could hear it. The confusion in your voice. The hesitation. He hated himself instantly.

“I just—I need to be alone, okay?” His voice was muffled now, pressed into the crook of his elbow as he paced the room. He could feel his heart pounding, his frustration mounting—not just with the situation, but with himself. “Just leave. Please.”

You didn’t speak. He imagined your face, how hurt you probably looked, how your brows might have creased, how your mouth might’ve opened to argue before you stopped yourself.

Then… footsteps. Soft. Fading. Gone.

He felt the loss immediately. Like something had been torn out of him. He let out a heavy breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, too late. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to yell.”

No answer.

“Please don’t be mad… I just—I didn’t know what to do, okay? You—you do things to me, and I panicked. Please, come back.” But the hallway was empty and the only response was silence.

As you stepped out of the cabin, your eyes burned with unshed tears. You quickly wiped them away with the back of your hand, forcing a shaky breath through your nose.

“Hey, is Bob okay?” Ava asked, glancing toward the cabin you’d just exited.

You hesitated for a second, then nodded with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “He just said he had a headache,” you replied, your voice carefully even.

You walked toward the volleyball net and joined the opposite team—the one now short a player with Bob gone. “Let’s keep playing,” you added cheerfully, hoping no one would question it further.

To your surprise, the game was good. Fast-paced. Fun.

Even with the ache in your chest, you gave it your all. Maybe even because of it. Every hit, every run across the sand, every cheer was your way of forcing yourself to focus on something else—anything else.

And in the end, your team won.

Yelena, Ava, and Alexei groaned in dramatic defeat while you, John, and Bucky raised your arms in victory. “Winners get the drinks!” Walker grinned.

“Fine,” Yelena rolled her eyes. “But we’re picking the place.”

The sun had dipped lower in the sky now, casting a soft golden glow over the beach. The heat lingered though, a warm comfort against your skin. Everyone decided to freshen up a bit before heading out, and you slipped into something light—a black fishnet-style dress over your swimsuit, barely-there but airy enough to keep cool.

The girls whistled playfully at you as you walked out, and you returned their teasing with a twirl and a wink. But your heart still felt heavy.

The bar you ended up in was cozy, loud with laughter, music humming low in the background. The lights were warm and soft, casting shadows across everyone’s faces. You weren’t drunk—just a little lightheaded from the rum, the kind that made your thoughts buzz and your limbs a bit too loose.

Yelena stuck by your side most of the evening. She laughed with you, poked fun at Walker, and even made a show of challenging Alexei to a drinking contest. But at one point, she leaned in, her gaze a little too knowing.

“You’re smiling,” she said gently, “but your eyes are somewhere else.” You blinked and looked away, sipping from your drink.

“I’m fine,” you murmured.

Yelena sighed and gave you a long look. “I’m gonna go talk to Ava for a bit, okay? You good here?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I need some time alone anyway.” She gave your hand a light squeeze, then disappeared into the crowd.

You sat in silence for a while, swirling your drink, the taste of sugar and burn lingering on your tongue. Your gaze drifted around the room, but you weren’t really seeing anyone. The voices blended together. The laughter felt far away. Until one voice didn’t.

“Hey…”

You froze. Slowly, your eyes shifted to the side.

Bob.

He stood just beside you, looking awkward, guilty, and entirely out of place. His hair was a little messy, his green shirt slightly wrinkled like he’d been sitting in one place too long before deciding to come. His voice was soft. Tentative.

“…Can I sit?”

You just nodded faintly and let out a small, wordless hum of agreement.

He took the seat next to you, cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he really had the right to be there. You could feel his nervous energy radiating off him. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. His leg bounced subtly beneath the bar. It was obvious he’d been overthinking every second since earlier.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice strained but sincere. “About before. I didn’t mean to—” He hesitated, sighed. “I panicked. That’s all. I didn’t want to shout at you like that. I don’t even know why I did. I just… freaked out.”

You were still leaning against the bar, your head tilted slightly sideways, cheek resting on your folded arm. With your other hand, you absently played with the rim of your empty glass, turning it slowly between your fingers. You didn’t look at him, but your shoulders rose in a small shrug. It wasn’t cold—it just said I hear you. But I’m still processing.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly frustrated with himself, then tried again.

“I really am sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Can I… can I buy you another drink? Something strong, maybe? Vodka?”

That finally got a soft sound out of you—a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. You sat up properly, brushing your hair back and meeting his eyes, just briefly.

“No thanks,” you murmured. “I don’t wanna get drunk.”

He nodded, looking down at his hands, embarrassed. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

The quiet between you stretched again, but it didn’t feel quite so heavy now. Just… tentative. Cautious. Slowly, your expression softened, even though the sadness still lingered. You could see how hard he was trying—how guilty he looked, how much he regretted that brief flash of temper. And even if it still hurt, you knew it hadn’t come from a place of cruelty. Just fear.

You sighed gently, then gave him a tiny nod. “It’s okay,” you said at last. “I get it.”

His eyes flicked up to you in relief, and he nodded eagerly. A beat passed before you tilted your head slightly. “Are you having anything?”

He blinked. “Uh… no. Acohol— I don’t really— It doesn’t go well with me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, a little shyly. “I’m not exactly the fun drunk type. More like the ‘embarrass myself and then cry about it later’ type.”

That finally earned a genuine smile from you. A small, honest one. “Alright,” you said.

“What if we uh…drink something sweet? Like juice?” Bob suggested cautiously and you nodded with a hum.

Bob grinned sheepishly and waved at the bartender, ordering two fruity, alcohol-free drinks. When he slid yours toward you and caught the way you looked at him, smile soft, eyes warm, his ears turned a little pink. You raised your glass and clinked it gently against his.

As the conversation carried on, whatever tension had existed between the two of you earlier slowly dissolved, like mist in the morning sun. You laughed together, genuine, unguarded laughter, and it felt easy again. Comfortable.

Before long, you completely forgot why you’d been upset in the first place. Bob was being his awkward, charming self, and it was disarming in the best way. He made a silly comment about the drink being too fruity for a “manly guy like him,” and you rolled your eyes so hard it made him laugh. You teased him back, and time began to slip by, unnoticed and unchecked.

Eventually, Bucky appeared at the entrance of the bar, a little sweaty, clearly ready to call it a night. “We’re heading out,” he called over the soft hum of music and clinking glasses. “You two coming?”

You glanced at Bob and then shook your head with a smile. “We’ll stay a little longer.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow knowingly, gave a short wave, and disappeared with the rest of the group. That “little longer” quickly became several hours. The sky outside deepened into full night, the noise of the bar gradually quieted as the crowd thinned out, and you and Bob were still there, talking and laughing like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Then, suddenly, a voice broke through the moment, gentle but firm. The bartender leaned over and said something in Spanish, “Cerramos.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out a soft gasp. “Oh! They're closing.” You jumped off the barstool with a flurry of movement, grabbing your things quickly and tossing an apologetic smile toward the bartender. You replied: “Lo siento!” then turned to Bob.

He was still sitting there, watching you with a puzzled look on his face. Then he glanced at the bartender, and back to you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You speak Spanish?” he asked, a bit of awe in his voice.

You laughed and shook your head. “Nooo,” you admitted, grinning. “But it’s not that hard to guess what he said.”

Bob smiled as the realization hit him. “Right… yeah. That makes sense.” He stood up, stretching a little, and pulled a few bills from his wallet to leave on the counter for the drinks. Together, the two of you stepped out into the warm night.

Outside, the air was rich with the scent of saltwater and distant blossoms. The sky was a canvas of stars, crisp and clear, glittering like tiny diamonds. The moon hung low, casting a soft silver glow over the beach. The waves rolled in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, their gentle crash against the shore creating a peaceful, natural soundtrack that filled the quiet spaces between your laughter.

You walked side by side along the sand, your bare feet leaving prints behind you that the tide would soon claim. Every so often you’d bump shoulders slightly, accidentally-on-purpose, and Bob would smile that sweet, crooked smile of his. Conversation flowed as effortlessly as the breeze around you.

Then, your tone shifted—just a little softer, more curious. “Can I ask you something?”

Bob glanced over at you and gave a small nod, already bracing himself for whatever was coming.

“Why didn’t you take off your shirt?” you asked gently. “Back when we played volleyball?”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, then scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncomfortable. His fingers tugged slightly at the fabric of his shirt. When he finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice, and he avoided your gaze.

“I guess I’m just… not that confident. About my body, I mean.”

He let out a soft, nervous snort through his lips, something between a sigh and the sound horses make when they’re annoyed, and looked down at the sand as if it had the answers.

He paused, then looked up at you, his eyes full of something vulnerable, raw, and honest. “But I’ll get there. One day.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Just… not yet.”

You nodded slowly, not saying anything at first. You looked down, watching the way your feet pressed into the sand, how your steps left soft imprints that trailed behind. You understood. Completely. And more importantly, you respected it.

Your silence wasn’t judgment, it was empathy. And as the two of you walked on, bathed in moonlight and ocean air, it was clear that even unspoken things had a way of being heard between you.

Bob walked you back to your cabin, the two of you moving a little slower than before, as if neither of you truly wanted the night to end. When you reached the steps, there was that moment, an awkward little giggle shared between you as your eyes both dropped to the ground, trying to avoid the tension hanging in the air. But it was there, unspoken and electric. You felt it in your chest, and judging by the way Bob was fiddling with his fingers and nervously rocking on his heels, he did too.

Maybe it was the rum still lingering in your system, or maybe it was the feeling of confidence bubbling up from the hours of honest conversation and gentle laughter. Either way, you found yourself standing a little taller, just bold enough to speak your mind.

“I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” you said, your voice soft but sure, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked at him. Bob lifted his gaze, eyes wide with something between surprise and fragile hope, like a puppy waiting to be told it’s a good boy.

“I think you have a beautiful body,” you added gently.

The moment the words landed, his eyes locked with yours, and the connection was intense. Warm. Heavy. It hung in the air between you like a string pulled tight.

You could see it in his face that he felt it too. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then his nervousness took over again. He let out a small, breathy laugh, looked to the side, and scratched the back of his head. His cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red, and his voice came out unsure and stammered.

“You too… you have a nice body. Not like—in a creepy way or anything! Just, uh… like, you know…”

He was tangling himself in his own compliment, flailing to land it gracefully, and it made your heart melt just a little more. Smiling softly, you lifted both hands in a surrendering gesture, giving a single nod with a calming expression.

“I get it,” you assured him gently. “Thank you.”

Relief washed over his face, and both of you started to laugh again, this time more naturally, more connected. The night felt sweet, even a little magical. You didn’t want to go inside. You didn’t want this to be the part where he left, where things faded into goodnights and what-ifs.

Something in you, maybe the remnants of courage, maybe the warmth still blooming from that last drink, refused to let him go. So, you decided to take a risk. A brave one.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words came out direct, sincere, without apology or hesitation. They hit Bob like a thunderclap. His eyes went wide and fractured with shock. You could see his heart stop and start again just by the way his chest moved. Goosebumps appeared along his arms, his breath caught in his throat, and his entire face flushed deeper than ever before.

“I-I… I mean—I… um,” he stumbled, blinking rapidly, completely overwhelmed.

You didn’t push, but you did move closer, stepping into the space between you, your hands slowly, carefully, rising to his chest. You placed them there gently, barely a touch, more of a whisper than a grip, and you could feel his heartbeat fluttering beneath your fingertips, pounding like a wild drum. The moment you touched him, he froze. His whole body stiffened, eyes locked on you, his lips slightly parted in stunned silence.

You tilted your head up, catching his gaze with a bold, flirtatious glint in your eye. Then you bit your lip, slowly and deliberately, giving him that look—the kind that stripped away all doubt.

“May I?” you whispered again, your voice lower, breathier, your fingertips brushing against his shirt as your palms moved slightly over his chest.

He inhaled sharply, the sound trembling through his lips, and after a second that felt like forever, he nodded—quickly, wordlessly, his entire body trembling with anticipation.

A sly, satisfied smile crept onto your face at his permission. You rose onto your toes as he instinctively leaned down to meet you halfway. And when your lips finally met his, it was as though the world simply fell away.

The background noise, the wind, the waves, the sound of cicadas, melted into silence. There was only warmth, only him.

His lips were soft, tinged with sweetness from the drinks you’d shared, and you felt a wave of heat roll through your body.

At first, he kissed you carefully, cautiously, almost as if he wasn’t sure if this was real. But the moment you leaned in hungrily for another kiss, something shifted in him, he melted into you completely.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him in closer, anchoring him to you. He responded instinctively, his hands finding your waist with gentle hesitance, holding you like you were delicate and precious, like the wrong touch might break the spell. His fingers traced small circles against your back, sliding slightly higher as he began to kiss you deeper, more surely.

And then you started to sigh—soft, involuntary little sounds escaping your lips, muffled between kisses. That was it. That was all it took to make Bob shudder slightly against you, his grip tightening just a little as he buried himself more completely in the moment.

For a man so shy, so careful with his words, his body was now telling you everything you needed to know. Your lips danced together under the stars, wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies.

The kiss between you and Bob deepened quickly, the heat building with every brush of lips, every inhale that seemed too sharp, too needy.

Bob began to let out these quiet, helpless little moans—soft, desperate sounds that made your heart stutter and your core clench with hunger. His breath was hot, uneven, as if he couldn’t quite keep up with what he was feeling.

But then, just when things began to slip into something hotter, more dangerous, you pulled away.

Your lips left his with a quiet, breathy pop, and Bob’s eyes fluttered open in confusion, his brows furrowing as you took a small step back. You reached into your bag, rummaging clumsily, fingers searching for your keys. His expression was adorably baffled—eyes wide, lips parted, his chest still rising and falling too fast.

He didn’t even get the chance to ask what you were doing. Before he could speak, you found the keys, turned, and unlocked the door with a soft grunt of effort. The handle resisted for a moment—just long enough to make you curse under your breath. But then it gave way, and without a word, you grabbed a handful of Bob’s shirt and yanked him inside with you.

The door slammed shut behind you.

And then you were on him again.

You pushed him up against the wall before he could even blink, your lips crashing onto his like you’d been starved of him for hours instead of minutes. He let out a muffled gasp, taken completely off guard, but your mouth, your touch, the fire burning through you, it overwhelmed him. It shut off whatever part of his brain had been trying to stay grounded.

He melted into you, hands clinging to your waist like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. But you weren’t slowing down.

You pressed your body hard against his, clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart, pinning him to the wall with a surprising strength, despite your smaller frame. Your kiss was ravenous, unrelenting. Every time his breath hitched, it only drove you more.

But Bob still had some part of him trying to be responsible.

“Wait—wait, what about the others?” he asked, panting between kisses, his voice shaky, his lips still brushing yours. His hands remained at your hips, uncertain but not resisting.

“They’re asleep,” you breathed without hesitation, already leaning in again.

You kissed him hard, and he let out a startled noise in the back of his throat, half protest, half surrender. But just as your hands started trailing lower down his sides, he gently pulled back again, his eyes wide, his whole body trembling like he was barely holding on.

“I-I mean, I—” he stammered, clearly overwhelmed, caught in the tug-of-war between nerves and need.

But you were on fire. Every pulse in your body throbbed with want, and the heat between your thighs was unmistakable, impossible to ignore. You leaned in closer, placing a hand flat against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. Your eyes locked on his and your voice dropped into something sultry, something that made his breath hitch.

“Do you want me?” you whispered, your words low, teasing, soaked in longing.

Bob’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He was frozen, wide-eyed, staring at you like you were made of fire and he couldn’t decide whether to run or let himself burn.

So you stepped in closer. Your bodies were touching now, pressed chest to chest, and your mouth hovered barely a breath from his. You tilted your head, eyes fluttering half-shut, your voice dipping into a softer, flirtier murmur.

“Do you want me, Bob?”

This time he nodded. Hard. His breath caught in his throat, and a deep, shaky sound escaped him. His hands clutched tighter at your waist like he was afraid you might vanish.

Then you gave him the final push—the one that made everything else fall away.

“Do you want me… right now?”

His answer wasn’t words. It was a low, desperate sound from deep in his chest and another frantic nod, his eyes burning with need. That was all the answer you needed. All the answer he could give.

And then your lips were on his again, fiercer this time, hungry and hot, and whatever doubts had been in his head melted away with each breathless kiss.

But the kisses between you and Bob grew messier, deeper, more desperate. There was no longer any hesitation, only raw, breathless need. Soft, pleading moans slipped from both your lips between every frantic brush of your mouths, and each sound only made the other crave more.

Bob’s hands fumbled at your waist, your neck, your hips, trying to be everywhere at once but still so careful. His swim trunks were starting to grow tight again, and the heat in your own body was unbearable. Your swimsuit clung to you, soaked through with arousal, even tho all you had done was kiss.

Stumbling into your room was chaotic, clumsy. Bob bumped into the wall, you tripped on your own feet, giggles and gasps filling the space between frantic kisses. But somehow, with limbs tangled and hearts racing, you made it to your room. You barely managed to shut the door behind you before dragging both of you toward the bed.

With one firm but gentle push, you toppled Bob onto the mattress and let yourself fall with him. You landed on his chest with a bounce, both of you breathless and grinning, and then, before he could even process it, you rolled off and stood quickly. You turned back toward the door, locking it with a soft click. Then, you turned around again and froze for a beat.

Bob was sitting at the edge of your bed, completely still, his chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths. His hair was messy from your fingers, his lips red and swollen from your kisses and his eyes were glassy with lust, with longing. His pupils were huge. His face was flushed. And lower down, his erection was unmistakably visible.

You had never felt like this about any man before. Not like this.

You let your purse fall to the floor without a second thought, fingers slipping under the hem of your fishnet dress. With a slow, deliberate tug, you pulled it up and over your head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor.

Now, standing there in only your swimsuit, you began to approach him. Slowly, like a predator circling prey. The hunger in your eyes was impossible to miss.

Bob didn’t move. He couldn’t. He watched you the entire time, mouth slightly open, hands resting on the bed like he needed the mattress to ground himself.

You stopped in front of him and brought your hands up to cup his face, leaning in to kiss him again—but this time it was slower. Gentler. A soft, intimate prelude.

His hands found your cheeks too, fingers stroking your skin, and he tried to pull you back down onto him. But you resisted. You pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“Can we… get rid of this?” you asked with a playful smile, tapping a finger against the center of his chest.

His eyes dropped to your finger, then flicked back up to your face. He swallowed hard, clearly nervous.

“We don’t have to,” you whispered, your tone low and teasing. “But how about a deal?”

You licked your lips slowly, letting your gaze drop to his mouth before lifting it back to his eyes.

“If we take this off,” you said, finger still resting on his chest, “then we also take this off…” Your hand drifted up, motioning briefly toward the top of your swimsuit.

That was all it took.

Whatever fear had still lingered in him melted away instantly. His fingers gripped the hem of his shirt and, without a single pause, he pulled it over his head in one swift, fluid movement and tossed it aside. No hesitation. No second-guessing. He wanted this. He wanted you. Badly enough to show you a part of himself he’d just admitted he was ashamed of.

But the moment your eyes dropped to his now bare torso… your jaw practically hit the floor.

He was stunning. Broad chest, strong shoulders, abs like something sculpted by a god, toned arms with just the right amount of muscle, exactly how you liked it. Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected this. Not from someone as shy and self-conscious as him.

You looked back up at him, wide-eyed with a mix of disbelief and awe. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Bob sat there, half-nervous, half-burning, unsure how you’d react—until he saw your expression. And even though your reaction was silent, it told him everything. The look on your face said it all.

You knelt down slowly, your eyes still locked onto his body as if mesmerized, and began showering him with a cascade of kisses. They rained down over his skin, his chest, his stomach, his sides, each kiss playful, some lingering, others accompanied by soft, teasing licks or the occasional gentle bite.

It tickled him a little, making him laugh under his breath, his abs tightening instinctively. He wanted to reach out, to touch your hair, cradle your face, pull you close—but he hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to break the moment or push too far. So he kept his hands behind him, gripping the mattress like an anchor.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured in between kisses, your lips brushing against his skin with every word. Your hands rested firmly on his thighs, fingers splayed out, grounding yourself as you explored him with both touch and mouth.

“So beautiful,” you repeated, almost breathless with admiration. You couldn’t get enough of him. You kissed every inch of skin you could reach, tasting the warmth of his sun-kissed body, losing yourself in the way he squirmed slightly beneath your lips.

Eventually, the hunger in you built beyond just kisses.

You looked up at Bob, meeting his eyes. He looked dazed, utterly blissed out, but beneath the surface, there was something else. He was waiting. For your part of the deal.

A mischievous smile curled on your lips.

Still on your knees, you slowly straightened up and reached behind your back, fingers deftly untying the knot of your bikini top. With a small motion, you let it slip off your shoulders, revealing your bare breasts to him.

Bob’s jaw literally dropped. His eyes widened and locked on you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His hands dug into the mattress, and through his swim trunks, you could see the very visible twitch of his hard-on as it reacted to the sight.

He wanted to touch you so badly. You could see it. The craving in his eyes. But he still held back, being a gentleman, respecting your pace, refusing to make a move without permission.

“Wanna touch?” you asked, tilting your head and giving him a knowing smirk.

His face lit up like you’d just handed him the keys to heaven. He nodded eagerly, licking his lips, his hands already twitching to move. He slowly reached out but paused again, eyes flicking to yours, searching for that last bit of reassurance.

You gave him a small nod.

And then he touched you.

Gently, reverently, like you were something sacred. His hands cupped your breasts with a mixture of awe and need, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. His touch was warm, tender—curious yet careful.

He didn’t grope. He explored. Played. Worshipped. One hand cradled the underside while the other traced slow circles around your nipple, sending delicious shivers down your spine. He was in heaven, and judging by the way his breath caught every time you so much as sighed, he wanted you to feel that same bliss too.

Bob looked up at you, his hands still cradling your breasts as if he were holding something fragile and precious. Then his gaze flicked to your face, a bit hesitant.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, voice low and tender.

You smiled, nodding, and that smile alone seemed to ease something in him. You weren’t just okay—you were glowing. It felt good, the way his fingers explored you with such care, and the look in his eyes made it all the more intense.

And it definitely did something to him. You could tell from the way his chest rose with every breath, how his eyes occasionally fluttered shut like he was overwhelmed. Still, after a moment, he pulled his hands away, clearly not wanting to get too carried away without your lead.

You leaned in again and kissed him.

It was slower, deeper. Your hands roamed his body, savoring the shape of him, the tension in his muscles, the way he melted under your touch. His hands were verywhere. Moving over your back, your hips, your sides, as if trying to memorize every inch of your body.

But you remained on your knees, just slightly lower than him, even as the kiss grew hotter.

Then one of your hands started to travel—leaving his neck, gliding down over his chest, his stomach, until it reached the waistband of his swim trunks. You paused there. Not moving or rushing. You stopped kissing him and looked up at his face.

Bob’s eyes followed your hand, then quickly returned to yours. There was a storm behind those eyes—desire, definitely, but also uncertainty.

You gave him a slow, sultry smile, tilting your head ever so slightly as if to say, It’s okay. I want this too. He exhaled shakily, his lips parting, and after a moment, he nodded.

With the same care he’d shown you earlier, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and began to pull them down. Painfully slow. Your eyes never left his face, watching his expression shift—excitement, nervousness, and that unmistakable tension of anticipation.

As the fabric slid down his thighs and hit the ground, your breath caught audibly. You gasped so loud that even Bob flinched a little, startled. You hadn’t expected… that.

There it was—thick, veined, heavy, and already so hard it twitched in the cool air. The way it stood against his toned stomach, pulsing gently, made your pulse echo right along with it.

You couldn’t help but whisper in disbelief, “And you’ve been hiding this the whole time?”

Bob let out an awkward little laugh, clearly flustered. His cheeks flushed deep red, not just from arousal, but from your stunned compliment. He looked away for a second, bashful, and mumbled something incoherent.

Carefully, you reached out and brushed your fingers against him. The moment your skin made contact, his body jolted, just a little, and he let out the softest whimper, almost a sigh.

You looked up again, eyes wide and a little wicked, and bit your bottom lip.

Slowly, your hand began to move, gentle at first, as though you were still getting to know this part of him. He trembled beneath your touch, trying to stay quiet, but his hips shifted involuntarily, betraying how sensitive he was.

His hand gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles pale. He was trying so hard not to make a sound—to keep still so he wouldn’t wake the girls in the next room—but you weren’t making that easy.

The pressure, the rhythm… it was enough to undo him. But then, before he could fully process what was happening, you leaned forward and kissed the tip. Bob let out a strangled sound and tensed, as if his whole body was about to short-circuit.

You looked up at him, holding eye contact the entire time. At first, you were teasing—pressing soft kisses to the sensitive head, letting your tongue glide around it lazily, deliberately. His thighs trembled. He bit down on his lip so hard it turned white.

Then you got more serious.

You took him in slowly, still holding his gaze. Bob’s lips parted, his eyes fluttering half-shut, and a shaky breath escaped him like it had been trapped in his chest for hours. His entire body tensed as if overwhelmed by the sensation.

He tried to stay quiet, tried to keep his hips still, but sometimes his body moved on its own, bucking up just slightly, and he immediately muttered a breathless apology every time it happened.

You didn’t rush. You let the anticipation burn slowly, letting him feel everything.

“God—” he whispered under his breath, hips twitching slightly, and then—“I’m sorry,” he added instantly, as if ashamed of reacting too strongly. You didn’t mind. In fact, it made your heart race.

The way he melted for you, how his body surrendered so easily, he wasn’t trying to be dominant or in control. He wasn’t trying to hide how much it affected him. And that vulnerability? It was intoxicating.

You could hear how much it meant to him in every breathy sound, every shaky exhale, every stifled moan. He whimpered again, high and desperate, and the sound echoed in your mind like a reward.

His fingers were digging into the mattress, every muscle tight with restraint. He whimpered again, soft and broken, and your innocent gaze stayed locked on his, only intensifying everything he felt.

Then slowly, deliberately, you reached up and took his hand—guiding it to your head. He hesitated at first, breath shaky, eyes wide with uncertainty. But you gave him a sweet calm look that said it’s okay. That you trusted him. That he could touch.

His hand accidentally tangled in your hair, gripping a bit too tight, and when he realized, he gasped and immediately loosened his fingers.

“Shit—I’m sorry—are you okay?” he stammered, guilt flashing in his eyes.

You looked up at him again, lips still wrapped around him, and gave the tiniest nod, reassuring him you were fine. More than fine. You loved seeing him like this. Raw, undone, his tough exterior peeling away one soft moan at a time.

And it hit you, too. That fluttering heat in your chest. That ache between your legs. The feeling of being wanted this much. Of making someone feel this good. His reactions lit a fire inside you. Every twitch of his thighs, every tremor in his voice—it all made you feel powerful and delicate at the same time.

Bob’s hands were restless now. One gripped the sheets, the other hovered near your head again, as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch. You leaned into it, and he gently threaded his fingers through your hair, this time softer, more reverent. But his voice was breaking. Little, helpless gasps.

Whispers of your name.

And once or twice—a shaky, choked-off moan that sounded like he might cry if you kept going. But you didn’t stop. Not yet.

Because the way he trembled under you, the way his stomach clenched and his legs shifted, the way he sounded like he was falling apart, that was everything.

Bob was right on the edge, his whole body was trembling, his hands clenching the sheets like he was holding on for dear life. And when he finally came, gasping your name like a whispered prayer, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed with him. Took everything he gave you.

He let out a sound somewhere between a cry and a moan, overwhelmed beyond words, his hips twitching from overstimulation as you gently helped him through the last waves. You even cleaned the rest of him up with soft, careful kisses, and that alone nearly made him whimper again.

“Jesus…” he breathed out, barely able to speak, a hand running through his tousled hair as he looked down at you with wide, dazed eyes. “I– I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head slightly, surprised. “What for?”

His voice was small. Fragile. “For… everything? For that being too fast? For—” he swallowed, looking embarrassed, “—for not lasting longer. I didn’t mean to be so…”

You climbed up to him and silenced him with a kiss. Not hurried, not demanding, just soft. Tender. Full of comfort.

Your hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs stroking his flushed skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling good,” you whispered against his lips. “That was perfect.”

His eyes closed, his breath catching. He looked like he might cry for a whole different reason now.

You gently straddled his waist, not quite there yet, but close enough that the shift in energy was obvious. Your thighs pressing lightly against his sides, his hands flew instinctively to your hips. Not in a needy grip, but gentle, hesitant. Your body was warm and ready, and you were preparing to fully connect, but before you could guide him further, Bob stopped you.

“Wait,” he whispered, voice still hoarse.

You paused, blinking down at him, your brows gently furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes met yours, and something was different. The nervousness that had clouded his gaze earlier was gone. What replaced it was soft but firm, confidence built not from ego, but devotion.

“I want to take care of you now,” he said.

A small smile curved your lips, your heart skipping a beat at how genuine he sounded. “You don’t have to, really—”

But Bob shook his head. “No. I want to. I need to.”

There was something so deeply sincere in his voice it made your chest ache.

You gave him a soft nod, and he smiled, one of those rare, crooked, bashful smiles that melted you inside. Then, with gentle hands, he shifted you. Slowly, carefully, he rolled your body so you lay on your back in the center of the bed, like he was positioning you at the heart of a sacred space. His arms hovered around you, cradling your movement so you never felt dropped, never out of control.

He knelt between your legs, just watching you for a moment. You were laid out beneath him, chest rising and falling, hair fanned out across the pillow. He looked awestruck.

His hand came to your side. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, lips parted, your voice caught somewhere between breath and heartbeat. “Yes.”

His hand slid up along your ribcage, following the natural shape of you with reverence. He wasn’t just touching—he was memorizing. Like every inch of your skin mattered. Like you were art.

He kissed you again, slow, coaxing, warm. And as the kiss deepened, he murmured against your lips: “Can I take these off?”

His fingers were resting lightly at the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms.

You nodded. “Please.”

Bob peeled the fabric down slowly, as if every inch was a treasure to be revealed, not a secret to be rushed. His eyes never left your body, and his hands trembled just a little.

Once the swimsuit was off, he let his fingers trace lightly along your inner thighs, but never without looking up at you first.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his breath brushing over your bare skin.

You nodded again, heart pounding. “Yes.”

And then he lowered his mouth to you.

The moment his lips met your most sensitive spot, your whole body arched. But it wasn’t just the touch—it was the tenderness, the intention. Bob wasn’t careless or clumsy. He listened. He adjusted every motion based on how you sighed, how your breath caught, how your fingers curled in the sheets.

His movements were soft, exploring. He let his tongue move in long, unhurried strokes, drawing out your reactions—your sighs, your tiny gasps, the way your fingers curled into the sheets. You felt your body start to unravel under the attention, your hips shifting instinctively, needing more.

His hands held your thighs, steadying you but never trapping you. He let you move against him. Let you guide him with nothing more than the sound of your breath. His tongue moved slow, experimental, reverent. And as he began to read your body, he grew more confident.

Every flick, every gentle suck, was delivered with the knowledge that he was giving you pleasure, not taking it. He wasn’t doing this to prove something. He was doing it because he wanted to worship you.

“God, Bob…” you whispered, voice cracking as your fingers found his hair.

He hummed at the sound, and the vibration sent another shiver racing through you.

He learned quickly. How you liked it slower, how a certain flick of his tongue made your whole body twitch. How your voice caught every time he sucked softly at just the right spot.

“Yes… yes—so good,” you breathed, your hips moving almost without permission.

The way he reacted to your pleasure, how eager he was to see you fall apart, made everything more intense. He was moaning softly too, like just tasting you made him dizzy with need. He liked knowing you wanted him there. That you trusted him there. He never once looked away from you, not even when he grew bolder, more confident.

He explored every inch of you with his mouth like you were something to be adored, not conquered. And every sound you made, every shiver in your body, only spurred him on.

Your breath started to catch, your thighs tightening around his shoulders as the pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter. He felt it. Saw it. Knew it.

And he didn’t let up.

His hands squeezed your hips gently, anchoring you as he focused entirely on giving you what you needed. He stayed right there, lips and tongue working with delicious rhythm, sending shockwaves through you with every stroke.

You were close. So close it scared you.

“Bob,” you gasped, voice breaking. “I’m— I’m gonna—”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate. He wanted this for you.

The wave crashed over you so suddenly, so completely, it stole the breath from your lungs. Your back arched, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you came—shaking, pulsing, everything unraveling under his touch.

Bob held you through it. Never pulling away, never letting you feel alone. Even as you trembled and gasped and whimpered his name, he stayed with you, riding the waves with the same quiet patience he always gave you.

And only when your body finally relaxed, chest heaving and limbs limp, did he slowly lift his head.

His mouth was glistening, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and shining. And when he saw you looking at him, completely undone and breathless, he smiled the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing along your thigh. You nodded, dazed and glowing, trying to catch your breath.

Bob slowly crawled back up your body, leaving a warm trail of kisses across your skin. He moved as if afraid to disturb the peace settling over you, like he was returning to you from a place of worship. When his face hovered above yours, he looked into your eyes for a long, quiet moment.

Then he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

His hand came up to your hair, brushing it back with slow fingers, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Your heart squeezed.

You reached up to cup his face and pulled him into a soft, lingering kiss—sweet at first, but quickly deepening. The electricity between you hadn’t faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger now that there was nothing between you but skin and trust.

Still breathless, you moved, shifting your hips just enough to push him onto his back. He let out a surprised little laugh as you rolled with him, your bodies twisting together until you were on top of him, straddling his hips. The heat between you flared instantly.

He looked up at you with wide, reverent eyes, his hands resting gently on your waist as if asking silently for permission to hold you there.

You leaned down and kissed him again—slow, deep, melting into each other with every heartbeat. Your fingers ran along his chest, down his sides, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his body. You could feel him against you, hard and throbbing, and it sent shivers down your spine.

This was it. The moment you’d both been tiptoeing toward.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Are you ready?” you whispered.

Bob nodded, cheeks flushed, his eyes glassy with emotion. “Only if you are.”

“I am,” you said softly, and meant every word.

Your hand found him again, guiding him with care, your breath hitching as the tip pressed against you. You moved slowly, lowering yourself with a careful rhythm, taking him in inch by inch. Both of you gasped—Bob’s hands gripped your hips tightly, trying not to buck up into you.

The stretch made your whole body burn, but it was a sweet, full ache, one that had been building from the first time he looked at you like you were the sun.

Once he was fully inside, you stilled, letting your body adjust, both of you panting softly. Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his jaw clenched, as if overwhelmed by how deep it all felt—emotionally and physically.

“You okay?” he asked, breathless, voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, your hands braced against his chest, your body trembling slightly. “You feel… amazing.”

A shaky laugh left his throat. “So do you. God, so do you.”

You started to move—slow, steady, your bodies learning each other. Every thrust, every sigh, every soft gasp between kisses told its own story. It wasn’t just sex. It was connection. It was trust. It was two people baring everything, souls and skin, just to be close.

You moved together in perfect rhythm, hips rising and falling in sync, his hands mapping your body like he never wanted to forget a single inch. And with every moan, every whispered name, every breath you shared, love wrapped tighter and tighter around you both.

Your rhythm picked up—slow and deep giving way to something needier, hungrier. The friction between your bodies grew more intense, breaths turning to gasps, gasps to moans. The sounds of skin against skin, the creaking of the mattress beneath you, the soft rustle of sheets, it all blended into a symphony of desire that filled the space around you like firelight.

Bob’s hands roamed your back, your hips, your thighs—desperate to hold you, ground you, memorize you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were glowing. You were everything.

And then he sat up, his arms wrapping around you as you stayed straddled on his lap. Your chest pressed tightly against his, your lips meeting his in a fevered kiss. He held you there, anchored you to him like he was terrified of letting you go.

You clung to him just as tightly.

Your mouths moved together like you were breathing the same air. His tongue tangled with yours, his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you even closer. But then his grip on your waist tightened.

Hard.

You gasped softly at the pressure, your hips pausing. You pulled back just slightly, your forehead still resting against his, trying to catch your breath. And that’s when you saw it.

For a split second, just a flash, his eyes glowed. Golden. Not metaphorically, a actually glowing. And then it was gone. Blink, and you might’ve thought you imagined it. But you didn’t.

Bob froze. His arms loosened immediately, and panic flooded his face. “Shit—did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I just—”

“Hey,” you said gently, your hands coming to rest on either side of his face. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He was breathing fast, his brows drawn tight, clearly shaken by the moment. “I felt something… I didn’t mean to grip you that hard.”

You nodded slowly. “It's okay.”

He winced. “I- I'm sorry, I don’t want to scare you, or—God—I don’t want to lose control around you.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his again. “You didn’t scare me, Bob. You trusting me with that… it means more than I can say.”

His breath hitched and before he could say anything else, you kissed him again, before guiding his hands back to your waist. This time, his grip was steady. Gentle. Confident.

And then you moved again.

The pleasure hit like a wave crashing into shore, harder than before, deeper. His hands gripped you tighter, not in fear this time, but in raw need, in love, in reverence.

You kissed his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, whispering his name like a prayer.

You rocked against him, and he met every motion, your bodies tangled in something that went beyond skin and muscle, it was soul-deep. The sounds coming from him, breathy moans, quiet whimpers, your name, drove you wild.

And then it happened. You felt your climax building again, hot and fast and unstoppable.

“Bob,” you gasped, nails digging gently into his back.

He was right there with you, sweat beading at his brow, jaw tight, voice strained. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” you breathed.

You crashed into release together—messy, overwhelming. You held each other through it, limbs trembling, lips finding each other again and again, clinging to the moment like it was all you’d ever need.

You collapsed against his chest, your limbs heavy and warm, your cheek pressing into the sweat-slick skin of his shoulder. Both of you were still catching your breath, chests rising and falling rapidly in sync. His arms wrapped around you protectively, and you let yourself sink into him, feeling completely safe and full.

There was a moment of perfect silence, just the sound of breathing, soft and human and real.

Then you shifted slightly, curling up beside him and resting your head against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, still racing, but slowly calming beneath your ear.

You smiled lazily. “Okay… serious question.”

Bob tilted his head to look at you, already smiling like a complete goof. “Shoot.”

You looked up at him with narrowed, mock-suspicious eyes. “Where did you learn to do that with your tongue?”

Immediately, Bob’s face flushed. He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked. “I—uh—I watched a couple things.”

You squinted. “What kind of ‘things,’ Bob?”

He swallowed hard. “Just like—like, y’know. Tutorials.”

You pulled back, eyebrows rising. “You watched porn?!”

Bob’s entire face turned bright red. “No! I mean—it was educational! There were diagrams!”

You blinked. “There were diagrams in your porn?”

He let out a strangled sound and covered his face with his hands. “Okay, I regret everything.”

You burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet room. “Bob Reynolds, you little nerd.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, totally mortified but smiling. “I just wanted to be good at it. For you.”

You leaned in and kissed him sweetly. “You were.”

A comfortable silence settled over you again, warm and soft like a blanket. You traced idle shapes on his chest with your fingertips, still smiling, still glowing.

Then Bob’s voice broke the quiet, a little more cautious this time. “Hey… do you… remember the volleyball game? When I kinda bailed and told you not to come?”

You glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, biting his lip. “Well… I sorta… had a situation. In my swim trunks.” He exhaled, long and painful.

Your mouth fell open slightly. “You got a boner?!”

Bob winced, covering his face again. “I’m sorry! It just—happened! You were in that swimsuit and laughing and I don’t know, my brain just… betrayed me!”

You were quiet for a moment. Not judging. Not laughing. Just watching him squirm. Then you reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Bob.”

He looked at you through his fingers again, completely sheepish.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That’s totally normal.”

His eyes widened a little. “It is?”

You nodded. “Yeah…and honestly, kind of sweet.“ You smiled teasingly. He laughed, relieved, and pulled you close again, resting his chin on top of your head. “God, I like you so much.”

You nestled into him, your fingers laced together on his chest. “Good. Because I really, really like you back.”

The two of you lay there for a long time, tangled together, breathing slower now, hearts lighter. The night was quiet, soft, and full of something that felt a lot like the start of forever.

The golden morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, dancing lazily over tangled limbs and a rumpled blanket. You and Bob were still wrapped around each other—bare skin against bare skin, your head on his chest, his arm draped protectively over you. Your legs tangled, breaths slow, hearts steady.

A knock. Sharp. Three times.

“Hey, you coming to breakfast or are you dead?” Yelena’s voice chirped from behind the door.

Your eyes snapped open in panic. You bolted upright under the blanket, your heart immediately in your throat. Bob groaned quietly, still groggy, eyes not fully open yet.

You whispered, “What time is it?!” your voice barely audible and full of dread.

Bob blinked, looked around helplessly, and shrugged. “I—uh… no clue.”

You covered your face with both hands. “We’re dead. We’re actually dead.”

Yelena knocked again, softer this time. “We're going now, just letting you know.”

You scrambled to respond, “Yeah! I’ll be there! In a sec!”

Bob turned to you, now slowly realizing the situation. The blanket slid down his chest, revealing faint marks from your mouth the night before.

You stared at him. “We need to get dressed. Now.”

It was mayhem. You both jumped out of bed, frantically looking for clothes. You grabbed your swimsuit top, which had ended up halfway across the room, and pulled on a hoodie over it. Bob, on the other hand, was still stumbling, holding only his swim trunks in one hand, his shirt nowhere to be found.

“You can’t go out the door!” you hissed. “Someone could see you!”

“Then what do I do?!”

You gestured to the window. “Jump out.”

“Are you serious?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. You’re a superhero. I think you can survive this.”

He groaned dramatically, pulled on his swim trunks and shirt, then paused before the window. You rushed over, stood on your tiptoes, and gave him a rushed, smiling kiss. “Go. Before someone sees you.”

He opened the window, one leg already out, then looked back with a crooked grin. “You’re chaos.”

You grinned. “You love it.”

With that, he slipped out and disappeared into the early morning light.

Later that morning, everyone gathered at a nearby rustic café for breakfast. You sat at a corner table, sipping coffee, trying not to look suspicious. Yelena sat beside you. Bob was diagonally across, seated next to John. The chatter around the table was casual—about the lake, someone’s forgotten towel, who burned marshmallows last night.

You and Bob exchanged occasional, brief glances. Not long. Just enough to pass a message between you. A silent, thrilling electricity. You could still feel the echo of last night under your skin, and judging by the way Bob nervously rubbed the back of his neck, so could he.

“Dude…” John leaned closer to Bob, squinting. “What the hell happened to your neck?”

Bob blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve got like, bruises or something. All over here.” He pointed.

Bob’s brows furrowed and instinctively reached for the spot. “What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head, clearly unaware. Your fork froze mid-air. You looked straight down at your plate. Yelena turned to you. Her eyes widened slowly. Then, lips barely moving, she mouthed with a dramatic grin:

“You. Fucked. Bob.”

You nearly inhaled your scrambled eggs. Your face heated like wildfire. You avoided everyone’s eyes, especially Bob’s. Meanwhile, Bob was trying to deflect. “Maybe I slept weird or—uh—bug bites?”

“Mmhmm,” John muttered, unconvinced.

You dared a glance at Bob. And that was it—your eyes met, and he knew. His brows lifted just slightly. His lips parted. You both quickly looked away.

Yelena leaned into closer to you and whispered, “I knew it. I heard really weird noises last night.” “Yelena, shut up.” She just chuckled into her cup of tea.

As the conversation drifted elsewhere, your face still radiated heat. Across the table, Bob leaned his elbow against the table and rested his cheek on his hand, sneaking one last look at you. You caught it—and gave him the tiniest smile.

This week was going to be… very interesting.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY,

BYEEE📙🦋

599 notes · View notes

farfromharry · 2 days ago

Text

Years in the making | Lando Norris

Summary: Lando has been in love with you since his brother introduced you to the family when he was 6, but he’s never had the guts nor opportunity to make a move. What about when he finally does almost 2 decades later?

w/c 3489

warnings - a shitty bf i guess, the name jack

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

The Norris family had been in her life for as long as she could remember. She and Ollie had met in Primary school and been inseparable ever since. She was close with the whole family, having spent most of her childhood in their home, but there had always been something different about Lando.

Lando was convinced he’d been in love with her since before he even knew what love was. He vividly remembered the day he saw her for the first time. He was 6, she and Ollie were 8. She was coming over to play and from the second she had climbed into the car beside Lando, he was starstruck. He thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

That admiration he had with her never went away. There had just never been an opportunity for him to act on his feelings.

Life got busy when Lando made it to Formula 1. His time at home decreased, he wasn’t seeing his family as much and he couldn’t remember the last time he saw her. On the lonely days he still longed for her, thought about opening Instagram and shooting her a quick message to ask how she was doing. But he never had the guts. Instead he lurked, liked her posts and lit up at every brief mention of her he got from his brother.

So when it got to the final race of the 2024 season and he saw a familiar figure standing with his brother just outside the garage, he thought he was dreaming.

The sight of her standing there, flowery orange dress clinging to her skin, hair curled and smile as radiant as the day he met her, it all came flooding back. He remembered everything. All the times he’d dreamed about, every time his heart had raced when she touched him or flashed him a smile. Every feeling he had ever felt towards her was carving out a place in his chest again. They weren’t new feelings– they were ones that had never gone away.

The smile on his face was nothing short of dopey. Who could blame a guy when seeing his first love again?

He came bounding over to the duo, practically throwing his arms around her when he was close enough. She laughed loudly, a sound he could only describe as angelic. He wanted to hear it again and again for the rest of his life.

He was the first to pull back, feeling like he had gone too long without seeing her face. Now that he had got her back, he didn’t ever want to stop seeing her. “Hi.”

She smiled brightly. “Hi. That was quite the greeting.”

His cheeks flushed, the skin tinting a light pink. “Missed you,” he shrugged. “It’s been a while.” Far too long in his opinion. He was finding it a little hard to believe she was here now if he was being honest. When he got time he would have to thank Ollie for bringing her.

“It has, hasn’t it. Last time I saw you, you were like this-” She held her hand beside her waist, exaggerating his height just a little, “tall.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, no I wasn’t.”

Y/N’s eyes shifted to Ollie, asking for backup. “It is kind of true.” Lando couldn’t believe his brother, his own flesh and blood wasn’t taking his side in this. “You were a baby.”

“I was 18!”

She chuckled. The moment was cut short by someone else joining them. Lando hadn’t ever met him, but he’d seen him in the occasional post or story. Jack. The boyfriend. They had been together almost a year. Not too long, but long enough that Lando felt threatened by him. It was probably weird considering Y/N had only ever seen him as her friend’s little brother, but he always hoped he could be more. Jack was getting in the way of that.

The atmosphere visibly shifted when he fell into place beside Y/N, his arm nudging hers. No longer was it just 3 old friends catching up, now it was awkward.

She felt the need to try and make it a little less awkward. “Oh, Lan, this is Jack. Jack, this is Lando.” The 2 men nodded at each other. There was something clearly underlying between them. He didn’t trust the F1 driver and the F1 driver didn’t like him. But only one of them was going to make the effort to keep Y/N happy.

“Well, I better head back. Nice meeting you, mate.”

He didn’t spare another glance at the man before he walked away. For Y/N’s sake, Lando would be civil, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be happy about it. Just as he thought his weekend was about to be brilliant, he had to show up and ruin everything.

He was able to take his mind off it given his focus needed to be on the race. For 2 hours he was thinking of nothing but how to take corners and how to stop Max Verstappen from overtaking him. As soon as he pulled into Parc Ferme in 2nd place, his mind was back on her. He hoped she was proud of him.

His family were all standing together when he climbed out of the car. Lando congratulated his teammate and Max on their finishing positions, then made a beeline for them. His parents pulled him into a hug first and he could never put into words the joy that bloomed in his chest. His siblings ruffled his hair and offered their congrats. Then there was her.

She was grinning and he swore there were tears in her eyes. She had attended a couple Formula One races in the past, but never one where he’d finished so high up. A win would have been nice, but he was glad she got to see him do well regardless. Clearly she was full of pride for him. She knew this was everything he’d ever worked for and his dreams were really coming true.

“Well done,” she squealed, tugging him into an embrace.

Having her in his arms just felt right. It was a natural instinct for him to tuck his head into the neck of the person he was hugging, he didn’t do it maliciously because he knew her boyfriend was right there. Jack didn’t see it that way. He glared at the side of Lando’s head, up until the man pulled away from Y/N. Then he slid his arm around her, like he was staking his claim. Deep inside, Lando rolled his eyes. How could a grown man be so childish?

“Proud of you, kid.”

She looked so happy that he was struggling to tear his eyes away from her. “You must be my lucky charm.” This wasn’t his best finish of the season, but that wasn’t important right now. He just wanted her to feel special. And if it made him a bad guy for doing so while her boyfriend was right there, then so be it.

Her cheeks burned. “Nope, it’s all you. You’re so talented, Lan and I’m glad everyone’s finally getting to see it.”

They held eye contact for longer than necessary, the tension clear in the air. Jake cleared his throat, which finally burst the bubble they’d found themselves in. He wasn’t a fan of whatever the hell they were doing. Now that it was incredibly awkward, Lando moved away, heading for his team. If he caught the way Y/N’s face hardened right after Jake whispered something into her ear, he didn’t bring it up.

Lando wouldn’t have had much time to argue it anyway. He was being whisked away for post race interviews and then the podium ceremony.

Standing on the podium was always a rewarding feeling, but standing there with the knowledge his family was watching made it all that more special. He looked out into the crowd as the winning anthems played, his eyes locking with hers. She was smiling, her hands clasped in front of her face like she couldn’t believe this was real life. His face unknowingly lit up with joy.

The cheers when he lifted his 2nd place trophy were loud. Shouts of his name like music to his ears. Her voice was the loudest.

The pit lane was much quieter once the celebrations died down. Fans had gone home, engineers were packing things up. There was nothing left to do. That was why he heard the raised voices, it was too quiet. One voice in particular was familiar. He felt the need to check in.

“Grow up, Y/N, this is real life not some childhood fantasy!”

Lando felt a burst of anger in his chest. “Everything okay over here?”

Jack scoffed and she quickly shot him a glare. It was obvious that they were fighting, but the last thing Y/N needed was for him to know what they were fighting about. It was embarrassing. “It’s fine, Lando. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” She tried to smile.

He was still tense, looking between them like he was waiting for something to happen. He was testing Jack, silently begging him to make 1 wrong move. “Yeah, was looking for you. You’re coming, right?” He hoped she didn’t let him down.

The look on her face was one he couldn’t place. She looked unsure, uncomfortable, but he didn’t think it was to do with him. “Of course I am. Wouldn’t miss it.” Jack rolled his eyes, something that didn’t go unseen by the other male. “We’ll meet you there, okay?” She was trying to get him to leave in the most respectful way possible. She loves Lando, but this spat was something that needed to play out in private and his presence was only feeding it.

Luckily for her, he could tell where he wasn’t wanted. So he smiled, nodding his head. “Okay. I’ll see you later.” He shot the couple one more look and then turned on his heel to begin walking away. He had merely rounded the corner by the time they started arguing again. This time he could hear everything. Maybe he shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but he would call it being protective. The last thing he wanted was for Y/N to get hurt.

“That is exactly what I’m talking about!”

He could picture her messing with her hair like she did when she got stressed. “You’re being ridiculous! He is a friend. I’ve known him for years.” They were talking about him. If he wasn’t intrigued before, he was now.

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t in love with you.”

“He isn’t. And who says I’m in love with him?”

He laughed, cruelly. “Open your fucking eyes, Y/N.”

Lando couldn’t listen any longer. He didn’t think he wanted to hear her response. He headed back to the hospitality, intending on grabbing his bag and finding his family. Inside he got caught up talking to some of his engineers for longer than he anticipated. By the time he grabbed his stuff and headed outside, it seemed he had missed everything.

Y/N was standing in his sister’s arms, crying into her shoulder. He could hear her sobs the moment he stepped outside the door and his heart cracked. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Usually he would think that was a good thing, but right now he had a feeling that might be the root of the problem.

He approached his brother, fear settling in his gut. He hoped whatever happened hadn’t been too serious. “What’s going on?” His eyes darted between Y/N and his sister, to his older sibling. The tears on her face made him panic.

Ollie placed his hand on his brother’s chest, keeping him from heading over to you. “Mate, now isn’t the time, alright?” His tone worried him. “Her and Jack just broke up.”

He tried to hide his excitement, but he hadn’t been quick enough. The older man saw the flash of joy in his eyes just before he furrowed his brow and pretended to act concerned. “I’m not a total dickhead, mate. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

For years the elder of the two had tried to prevent this from happening. Ollie cherished his friendship with Y/N, just as he cherished his brother, but he knew Lando could be reckless. He wasn’t always the most mature and the last thing he needed was him hurting her and making things awkward for everyone. But maybe keeping them apart has hurt them in other ways. It meant Y/N kept getting into relationships that ended in disaster and a broken heart, and Lando continued his damaging ways.

Oliver sighed. He needed to let this run its course. Maybe it could be something beautiful. “Fine, just… Don’t fuck this one up, okay?”

He was giving him his blessing and Lando wasn’t going to take advantage of that. For once, he was going to take this seriously. This meant a lot to him.

Flo saw him coming and excused herself.

He approached her with a small smile, worried he might be overstepping. If the argument really was about him then he worried he’d be rubbing salt in the wound. The last thing he wanted was to upset her any more than she already was. When she smiled back he knew he was in the clear. Still, Ollie was probably watching him like a hawk. He sat beside her, rubbing his hands together nervously. What was he even supposed to say?

“He was an arsehole.” That was a risky start.

Luckily she laughed. “Yeah.” She sighed deeply. The guilt was eating her alive. She didn’t know he was going to be so blatantly rude to Lando. She felt responsible for his behaviour. “I’m sorry about him. This had nothing to do with you, he’s just an insecure prick.”

Lando was weighing up his options. She likely knew already that he was in love with her given the fact he had never been subtle, but confessing it to her face was a whole other thing. When was he ever going to get this chance again? It was now or never. “He wasn’t entirely wrong.” He couldn’t go back now. He was going to have to own it.

“What?”

The man sighed. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since I was 6.”

She thought he might be kidding her. For years she had thought his feelings were nothing more than a silly childhood crush. She had expected it to have fizzled out by now. He was Lando Norris, big time F1 driver, rich and famous– he probably had girls throwing themselves at him everywhere he went. What would he want with her? The surprise on her face was obvious.

“I guess I’ve always been looking for the right moment. Either I was busy or you had a boyfriend, or… I don’t even know. It just felt like we were always gonna clash.” He reached over and took her hand, cradling it in his. “But right now, what’s stopping us?”

She was quiet. Too quiet. He hadn’t addressed the fact she had literally just broken up with her boyfriend, he had gone straight in to telling her he loved her. Maybe this was a horrible idea. His heart was racing and his hands were trembling.

“Please say something.”

“I just-“ She sighed. “I don’t understand why you’d want me. There’s so many younger, prettier, more successful women throwing themselves at you. I’m just… me.”

He seemed genuinely upset with the way she was talking about herself, or maybe with the way she was portraying him. Lando had never really been one for the glitz and glamour of F1. Sure he had his fair share of flings, usually with some kind of model who’d had a paddock pass, but did she really think so little of him? That was having fun, convenience, this was everything. She was everything.

He sighed. “Y/N, you…” Where did he even begin? “You’re the one that got away.”

Her face softened.

“You’re my dream girl. I used to think you were perfect, as in hand crafted, inch by inch, sent to show me what I could never have. You don’t know what seeing a girl as cool as you at a young age does to a guy.” They laughed together. She was touched. “I always thought you were too out of my reach, that you could never want a guy like me. You know, you’re older, hot, so ridiculously smart and Ollie was always getting in the way. I think how I feel about you is part of the reason I’m so hard on myself. I want to impress you all the time, I’ve always wanted to.”

She didn’t know what to say. Having Lando confess his feelings to her after the last race of the season was the last thing she thought was going to happen. This whole day had been one crazy event after another. She didn’t know how much more madness her heart could take. “So, why have you never said anything?”

“Ollie, mainly. I didn’t think he would be too happy if I made a move.” That made sense. Oliver was her best friend. He was very protective over her and the chances of Lando being the ‘right guy’ for her in his eyes was slim. “But also, I thought you knew how I felt and just weren’t saying anything. I thought you were rejecting me by avoiding it altogether.”

“I thought it was a silly crush, or convenient. We spent a lot of time together as kids, sometimes you develop feelings because of the situation, not because of the person.” For years she had thought he liked her purely because she was his brother’s friend. He knew her, but he hadn’t made an effort to get to know her deeply like one would if they were trying to pursue a relationship. She had shrugged it off as unimportant. “I didn’t mean to ignore how you felt. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. If anything I’m sorry for not just admitting how I felt. Could have saved you a lot of shitty relationships.”

She laughed at that. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

A comfortable silence enveloped them. They sat side by side, shoulders touching and barely an inch of space between them. Her eyes roamed the paddock, watching some engineers chat in a group, probably about how wild the season just gone had been. Lando couldn’t take his eyes off her though. This moment was one he had been waiting for for years. He had dreamed about this countless times, especially during his teenage years. It didn’t feel real, at least not yet.

He placed his hand on the side of her face, guiding her to look at him. She went easily. Their eyes met and somewhere somehow, everything fell into place. He let out a breath, one full of nerves. He didn’t want to mess this up, he had waited far too long to ruin it now.

“Can I?”

She didn’t respond verbally, just took the initiative to close the gap for him. For the first time since they’d known each other, they properly crossed that line of friendship. Their lips met and things felt right. The kiss had been building for 19 years and was just as magical as they expected. People often talked about feeling sparks with the right person. Lando was experiencing an entire firework display.

She never wanted it to end. Kissing Lando was like oxygen— she needed it to breathe.

He was the first one to pull away, but she wasn’t letting him go that easily. She chased his lips, nearly on top of him. It caught him off guard, his hands shooting to her hips to keep her steady.

Clearly he had unleashed something in her that had been suppressed for so long.

Unfortunately at some point he needed to breathe. He couldn’t contain his laughter though. “Y/N, slow down.” His hands found themselves tangled in her hair, his thumb stretching to trace her lips that were now slightly swollen. “We’ll have all the time in the world for that.”

Her lips curved into a smile. He had always thought she was beautiful, but right now, the way the breeze was blowing her hair, the way she was smiling down at him— the way her eyes sparkled. She had never been so gorgeous. He was even more in love now if that was possible.

The way her fingers were rubbing against his cheekbones was incredibly distracting. “You promise?” Her words came out so quiet that he really had to be listening to hear her.

He had finally gotten everything he wanted. He would give her anything she asked for. There was no risking this. “I promise.”

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

tags: @esposa-do-harry

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #formula one #formula 1 x reader #lando norris x you #mclaren #lando norris fluff #mclaren x reader

438 notes · View notes

sluttywonwoo · 2 days ago

Text

bad influence(s): s.coups | the bouncer

pairing: bouncer!s.coups x f reader

summary: a game, a bet, a target.

warnings: smut (18+; mdni), swearing, strangers, kind of morally questionable behavior on reader's part....

smut warnings: oral (f&m receiving), dry humping, 69ing, protected sex, car sex, semi-public sex, sex as a bet

word count: 2.5k

“Him?” you balk, pointing across the room at the man your friend had selected as a candidate for your little game.

She nods, sipping her cocktail nonchalantly. “Yeah, he’s hot.”

“That’s one of the bouncers. He’s an employee.”

“So? You said you could land any man. He’s a man.”

“But he’s like, working. I don’t want to bother him while he’s on the job.”

“If you don’t think you can get him to bite, just say so.”

You scowl. “You are such a bitch.”

She grins. “I know. But I bet you’ll be thanking me tomorrow morning. He looks like he can throw you around.”

“At least the guy I picked for you is a patron,” you complain. “Next time I’m going to pick the DJ or something.”

“You’re the one who was bragging about your winning streak. Maybe I just wanted to even the playing field.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s cheating.”

“I mean if you’re as good as you say you are, it should be easy, right?”

You curse her again, under your breath this time, and snatch her drink from her hand. “Give me this.” She watches with amusement in her eyes as you chug the rest of it.

You already have a couple drinks in you but you figure you’ll need even more alcohol in your bloodstream in order to even attempt to approach the guy. Liquid courage and all that.

“Good luck,” she sings as she takes her glass back.

“You too,” you mutter. “You have your pocket knife on you?”

“Yep, you?”

You pat your pocket. “Always. Call me if you need anything.”

“Ditto. Love you.” She blows you a kiss, her expression souring when you don’t reciprocate. “Say it back, slut!”

“Love you too,” you grumble.

“Now go get some dick!”

You wish she hadn’t shouted that across the room but the music is blaring so loud you doubt he heard it. It still gets you a few sideways looks from other people on the dance floor, though.

The bouncer is standing on a raised platform that runs along the outside wall. He’s one of several stationed at different spots on it so that they’re able to get a good vantage point of the entire club. Easier to sniff out trouble from above, you suppose.

You make your way over to him slowly, trying to suss out his vibe as you get closer. You’re largely unsuccessful, seeing as it’s dark and loud and you’re more than a little tipsy. The only light in the entire place comes from neon beer signs, strobe lights, and black lights hanging above the dj booth.

Luckily, his features are sharp enough to discern through the dark— strong eyebrows, stronger shoulders. God, he’s broad.

Eventually, you’re able to make out the lettering on his name tag which reads: CHOI, S. If only you knew what the S stood for, then you could call his name to get his attention. Instead, you’ll have to resort to Plan B.

“So, you come here often?”

He glances at you without turning his head, almost like he isn’t fully sure if you’re talking to him. When he sees that you are in fact looking at him, he answers, albeit still with an air of confusion.

“To… my job?”

“Yeah, like are you here every night?”

“Most nights, yeah. I’m a grad student though so when I have late classes I don’t work. Why, do you come here often?”

You shrug. “Only sometimes.”

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

You snort. “Do you remember all the regulars’ faces?”

“I do when their faces are as pretty as yours.”

Oh. Maybe this would be easy.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.”

“How many times has that line worked on girls before?”

“Well, does it count as a line if you’re the one that approached me?”

He had you there.

“I guess this is the part where I ask if I can buy you a drink,” you say, deciding to keep the bit running, “but seeing as you’re still on the clock…”

He checks his watch. “Only for about thirty more minutes. Can I take you up on your offer then?”

Your heart skips a beat. “I’ll be here.”

“But let me be the one to buy you a drink,” he clarifies.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you buy the drink?” you joke.

“I get a discount.”

“Ok fine, you win.”

“Perfect, I get off at midnight.”

So do I, you think to yourself.

You’re only half-convinced the bouncer will actually show when midnight rolls around. You keep him in your periphery as the minutes tick by, occasionally making eye contact with him when he catches your attention, but then he leaves his post and disappears into one of the backrooms, leaving you to wait and see if he’ll follow through.

You don’t see your friend anywhere so you assume she must have already sealed the deal with her mark. A quick check of her location confirms that she’s moving in the direction of her apartment. Damn, she works fast.

You’re still scrolling through your phone when someone slides onto the bar stool next to you. It’s him. He’s still wearing his uniform, a fitted black tee and slacks, but he’s lost the earpiece. What he’s got on could pass for street clothes if you didn’t know better.

“Still thirsty?” he asks.

“Always.”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re gonna have.”

He waves the bartender over and orders two green tea shots. Something quick that goes down easy. You’re not the only eager one.

“By the way, what’s your name?” you ask, closing some of the distance between you by reaching over and fiddling with his name tag.

“Seungcheol, but my friends call me Coups.”

“What should I call you?”

Seungcheol laughs. Clearly you’re not there to be his friend.

“You can call me Cheol,” he decides. “What should I call you?”

You follow Seungcheol out to the parking lot behind the building after he closes the tab. The club is still very much alive and kicking this time of night but outside it’s deafeningly quiet. The thrum of the music through the brick walls is barely noticeable after being in the thick of it for so long.

“You didn’t drive, did you?” Seungcheol asks as he clicks a button on his keys.

“No, we Ubered.”

“We?”

“My friend and I. She already left with someone.”

“Ah, does that mean I’m the backup plan?”

“Not at all.”

“It wouldn’t change anything for me if I was, by the way,” he says, winking as he opens the passenger side door for you.

You wait to respond until he slides into the driver’s seat beside you.

“Are you sure? It wouldn't change things even a little bit?”

“Well, it might hurt my feelings a tiny bit,” he concedes. “But you’re hot enough that I’d be able to get over it pretty fast.”

“I’m flattered.”

“So, how should we do this? Do you want to go back to my place or climb into the backseat?”

“Wow, forward.”

“Says the woman that hit me with a pickup line while I was working.”

“Fair enough, let’s get in the back.”

Seungcheol gestures for you to go first like the gentleman he is, definitely not with the ulterior motive of smacking your ass when you climb over the center console. He joins you a second later, clumsily repeating the same maneuvers and landing next to you.

You laugh. “You ok?”

He pushes his hair out of his eyes, grinning wickedly. “Never better.”

He leans forward, bringing a hand to your cheek. It’s surprisingly gentle for the circumstances. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

His lips are warm, just like the hand on your face. They’re a little rough too, like the calluses on his palms. It escalates quickly. He slips his tongue into your mouth as soon as your lips part in a moan. It isn’t long before he’s kissing his way down your neck and nipping at your collarbone.

His fingers play with the hem of your skirt. “Here, get on my lap.”

You straddle him, knees touching the leather on either side of his waist. You can feel how hard he is through his pants. The material is thin enough that you can feel him throbbing already and it takes a good amount of restraint not to tease him for it. It’s not like you’re faring any better. You’re sure your panties are soaked through by now. It’ll be a miracle if there’s not a wet spot on his pants when you get up.

“Wanna try sitting on my face?”

You glance up at the roof. Seungcheol’s car is a sedan, not an SUV. “Is there enough room?”

“Why don’t we find out?”

He shifts to lay on his back with you still on top of him, urging you to turn around so that you can ride his face. You start to unbutton your skirt but he stops you.

“Wait, leave it on. Your panties too, just move them to the side.”

“Are you afraid someone will see?”

“Nah, no one ever comes out here,” he assures you. “Unless it’s to do this. I just think it’s hot.”

It is kind of hot. Your skirt essentially turns into a blindfold as you lower yourself onto his face. He kisses your pussy through your panties first before he pulls them aside with his teeth and begins to devour you.

It feels good but you can’t move your hips very well like this. You’re sort of forced to be hunched over due to the lack of space but the position does give you an interesting idea.

Your hands move to his belt on instinct, making fast work of the buckle and then the zipper.

“Is this o-ok?” you ask between breaths.

He mumbles something in affirmation, giving you the green light to keep going. You feel him sigh against you in relief when you release him from his briefs and he straight up moans when you press your tongue to the tip. You try to match the pace of his mouth on you with your own, taking him deeper and deeper the more he teases you with his tongue.

You swallow around him once, then again when you feel him shudder underneath you. It isn’t long until it turns into a competition, both of you trying to pull bigger reactions from the other. He’s winning, you think, because you’re about to cum on his tongue but he taps your thigh to signal you to stop before you can.

“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t want to cum in your mouth,” Seungcheol huffs. His lips are glistening with you. It looks like lip gloss in the dim moonlight. Pretty.

You pout. “I did.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you close?” He doesn’t look sorry at all.

You nod, still pouting.

“Poor baby,” he coos, stroking your face. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

“You can try.”

He laughs and reaches into his pocket for a condom, producing one almost immediately.

“Do you always have those on you?” you ask incredulously.

“We keep them in the back,” he scoffs. “I grabbed one when I clocked out. But don’t act like you don’t keep any in that tiny purse of yours.”

“Can neither confirm nor deny,” you chirp.

“Mhm, I just beat you to it.”

You watch as Seungcheol shimmies his pants further down so that he can roll the condom on properly.

He looks back up at you once it’s on. “What are you waiting for?”

You grin and hoist yourself back onto his lap, hovering shakily. “An invitation.”

He kisses you instead of extending one, causing your knees to tremble. Seungcheol uses the opportunity to guide you down onto him and you’re all too glad to let him. The stretch is divine. You knew it would be. His cock is thick, just like he is, and it feels like he’ll split you in half if you aren’t careful.

You moan the nickname he told you to call him into his mouth and feel him twitch inside you. You can tell he’s trying to give you time to adjust to his size but you can also tell that his patience is fraying at the edges.

“Can I push your shirt up?” he asks, evidently trying to distract himself.

“Yeah, go ahead. But if we get caught with my tits out I’ll kill you.”

“I’d die doing what I love.”

You’d smack him if you didn’t think it’d turn him on even more.

When you do start to rock your hips, you’re careful not to rock the car with you. It might be dark out but a swaying car would definitely draw some attention if anyone were to walk by.

Seungcheol alternates between sucking on your tits and sucking on your bottom lip as you fuck him. You can still taste yourself on him when he kisses you. You wonder if he can taste himself on you too.

“This is kind of embarrassing,” he stammers, hiding his face in the crook of your shoulder, “but I’m already getting close.”

“What happened to making it up to me?” you taunt.

“I’m sorry. You feel so fucking good.”

“Do you want me to slow down?”

He muffles a whine against you. “I don’t want you to but if you don’t I’m not going to last much longer.”

“I can probably get there too if you rub my-”

“Like this?”

“Shit, yes, just like that.”

“Faster? Or-”

“No, no, what you’re doing is perfect. Oh god, I’m going to cum if you keep doing that. Please don’t stop.”

A touch of smugness returns to Seungcheol’s expression. He’d chide you for your hypocrisy if he could but he’s right on the edge too and all he can do is help you both ride out your orgasms as you cum all over his cock.

It takes a while for the aftershocks to subside but he holds you until they do. You sit there tangled together, catching your breath before he finally breaks the silence.

“So do you win money or...?”

You scrunch your nose in confusion and tilt your head up to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“From the bet with your friend.”

You bolt upright, nearly hitting your head on the roof. “What? You knew?!”

“Of course I knew. You two were pointing and staring at me for like ten minutes. You were obviously plotting something.”

“I-”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs. “I feel like I kind of won too, in a way.”

“You’re not mad?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not mad.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” He even offers you his pinky to link with yours. “You don’t win money, though?”

You sigh. “No, I wish. It’s just for fun.”

“It is fun,” he agrees as he starts to untangle himself from you. “It’s pretty late. Do you want to come back to mine and clean up?”

“Is that code for shower sex?”

“It might be.”

“I’m not opposed to that.”

“Perfect. I live just around the corner. Oh, and before I forget,” he pauses to hand you his phone. “Text yourself. That way you have my number in case you ever need to win any more ‘bets’.”

lmk what you think! i always appreciate feedback!!

#lol i said these would be short #bad influence(s)#s.coups | the bouncer #seventeen smut #svt smut #s.coups smut #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol smut #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #s.coups x reader #scoups x reader #s.coups x female reader #flashing tw

410 notes · View notes

starboye · 1 day ago

Text

everybody knows im a good boy officer

never did you think you'd be talking to a police officer this fine when you woke up this morning but here you are sat in front of what appears to be named officer bradford "im telling you i didnt see or hear anything" you sat across from him arms folded with a stubborn attitude

"really, you're telling me you hear gunshots outside your apartment and you dont check it out" he leans forward trying to intimidate you but it only made him look hotter "you're kinda hot" you randomly say throwing him off a little "like the whole tough guy act really works for you" you bite your lip a little trying to flirt

"sir lets keep this professional please" tim tries to get back to the investigation at hand but you jeep going with light flirting "what's you name mr officer" you ask "officer tim bradford" he sternly replies "that has a nice ring to it of you're moaning it" you smirk at the blush forming on his cheeks

"and i think that concludes this questioning, you can go now" tim was quick to get up and walk out of the room, he could feel you staring at him as he left, as you walked out the police station you saw the one and only officer bradford sitting in his cruiser and walked up to the window

"hi officer, do you think you can give nice man a ride home" you asks with a seductive voice, and to be fair tim hadn't had any sexual action in a while other than his own hand and a phone screen of porn so he had only a little hesitation to letting you in

you didnt even make it two blocks away from the police station before you were both making out in the backseat in some empty alley "is this very officer like of you mr bradford" you teased him grinding yourself on his clothed crotch before trying to pull his pants down hume stopped you "mm mm i cant take the uniform off" he grips both of you wrists with one hand

"well i do love a man in uniform" you unzip his fly to let his hard cock out, already dripping precum from the tip, tim smack your ass a little before using some of his spit as lube to slide his cock in you, letting out a breathy fuck as he bounces you up and down on his cock, his fingers digging into your waist more and more

"fuck you're so tight" he grunts while his hips start moving on their own, thrusting upward unto you for more friction "yeah fuck me harder officer im your good boy" you moan, tim lifting up your shirt to kiss all over your chest, pinching his nipples with his teeth making you twitch in his touch

"im gonna cum fuck im gonna cum" you moan out moving to jerk your cock before spurting it all over tims shirt "my turn" he smirks lifting you off his dick and pushing you on your knees to shove your mouth onto his cock again, gripping both side of your head to face fuck your mouth "fuckkkkk" he throws his head back with a loud groan

"take it all like a good boy" he shoots his load in your mouth and making sure to fuck it down your throat, listening to how you gagged around him as you swallowed his cum, after a couple minutes of silence you speak up "sorry for the mess on your uniform" you chuckle climbing up to sit on the seat "oh no problem ill just get it cleaned" he reassured "so what number should i call if i wanna see you again tim" you ask "911" he smirks

xoxo, starboye💋

taglist: @mailmango @boypied @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac @r0mcom-8ngel

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x male reader #x male reader #x male y/n #x male #gay #male reader #gay smut #x male smut #bottom male reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #the rookie

354 notes · View notes

rafesangelita · 1 day ago

Note

puppy having a total meltdown during a lockaway punishment and using her safeword (i live for angst, im sorry)

warnings: pet play, slight separation anxiety, angst, crying, very light dumbification, mentions of rafe x reader, use of the name ‘daddy’ (don’t read if that’s not your thing!), light fluff

a/n: read more about dad!johnb and puppy!reader here ♡

john b couldn’t sleep, the sounds of your restless movements and your little sniffles keeping him up at this ungodly hour of the night. “why are you awake?” his voice came out groggily, the deep bass of his tone making your ears perk up. “i can’t go to sleep..” you whimpered, “i need to be next to you, please just let me out!” john b sighed, his eyes screwing shut as the defeated sound of your cries pulled at his heartstrings. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t having a hard time getting some rest himself without having you tucked into his side. his anger, however, prevailed over any kind of forgiveness right now.

“you should’ve thought about that before letting rafe fuckin’ cameron get into that dumb puppy brain of yours.” he grumbled, his jaw clenching as he recalled the day’s earlier events. he should’ve known that you weren’t up to any good when you wandered off and neither pope or jj had a single clue where you were. while he didn’t expect you to be somewhere you weren’t supposed to, nothing could’ve ever prepared him for seeing you messily eat an icecream cone in front of rafe and his friends, all of them looking at you in a way that had john b shoving them off of their feet and dragging you away by the belt loop of your denim skirt.

“it was just an icecream cone!” you threw your head back in frustration, your hands coming up to rattle the metal door. john b immediately corrected your behavior, his shirtless form making you wish you could feel him skin to skin. “it wasn’t just an icecream cone, dummy, he baited you into putting on a little show for him and his pervert friends and you fell for it.” you shook your head as if to say it wasn’t true, but after he lectured you about the whole thing on the way home, you realized that you had indeed been tricked. “it doesn’t matter, i’ve warned you about them— specifically rafe, and you still didn’t listen.”

the pink, fluffy throw blankets lining the bottom of your cage weren’t providing you comfort anymore, your chest tightening as you grew more and more anxious to get out. “i’ve been in here since we got home, please let me out daddy..” john b studied you for a moment, really debating if whether or not you learned your lesson already. images of you giggling with icecream dripping down your chin and rafe ‘cleaning’ you up by gathering the sticky sweetness on his thumb and slipping the digit between your lips where you licked it clean flashed through his head and he found himself back at square one; pissed off and irritated.

“no.” he turned out the light, leaving both of you in pitch black darkness. you whimpered, tears still rolling down your cheeks as you felt yourself getting impatient. “let me out!” you screamed, rattling the cage as john b attempted to ignore you. “i don’t want to be in here anymore, i want to sleep with you!” you cried helplessly, that weird panicked feeling creeping up on you as the cage started feeling smaller than what it was. “i’m serious, john, i don’t feel good.” at the mention of his name, john b swallowed thickly, cursing under his breath as he walked over and opened it, his hand taking yours as he helped you crawl out.

standing to your feet, you reached up on your tippy toes and threw your arms around him, wasting no time in nuzzling your face into his warm chest. “i won’t do that ever again, i promise.” you wiped your tears against his skin, allowing him to carry you back over to his bed. “you know i hate punishing you like that.” he laid you down, both of his arms swallowing you whole. with john b rubbing your back soothingly, you felt your eyelids grow heavy with sleep with each second that passed. “i’m letting you sleep out here tonight, but tomorrow you’re still going to get a spanking.” he warned, his threats falling on deaf ears as little snores escaped your lips.

293 notes · View notes

pitlanepeach · 15 hours ago

Text

The Long Way Home I Chapter Eight

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — The sports day scene really had me in my feels omg.

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

The grass on the main field had been freshly mowed into lines, each one crooked enough to be noticeable. A cluster of teachers stood around with clipboards and stopwatches like they were auditioning for the Olympics, and the school's ancient PA system was making increasingly desperate attempts to stay audible over the wind.

Sports Day at Haileybury was not, as Harper had once assumed, a low-stakes afternoon of novelty races and post-Pimm's bruises. It was a full-scale military operation.

There were tents — tents, plural — each year had their own, flapping slightly in the breeze like they were preparing for battle. Some parents had actually brought champagne in coolers. A drone buzzed overhead. There was a pony somewhere. No one knew why.

Harper stood on the sidelines. It was March now, and at twenty-weeks, there was no hiding the fact that she was pregnant. Unlike the others, who were in their P.E kits, she was in her usual uniform. Blazer, white shirt, plaid skirt, white knee-socks, and black Mary Jane shoes.

She had a whistle on a string around her neck, which she kept fiddling with.

Oscar had insisted she be starter for the boys' 400m. "You'll get the best view," he'd said with a grin, "and you don't even have to run."

Which was, frankly, ideal.

Sam was already moaning. He'd been forcibly signed up for hurdles after one of the Year 11s sprained their ankle falling off a climbing wall during warm-up.

"I'm gonna clip every single one," he declared, stretching dramatically. "I'm gonna eat turf in front of all these people. You're all going to laugh. I'm going to die. This is my legacy."

"Can't be worse than last year," Alfie said, lying facedown on a picnic blanket. "Remember when Jane bit it in the egg-and-spoon and still won?"

"I tripped!" Jane snapped. "And I powered through."

"You ate half the grass on the pitch," Matt said cheerfully.

"Whatever," she muttered. "Still beat all of your times, didn't I? Fucking idiots."

Oscar was off stretching with the other Year 11 and 12 boys, already wearing his signature smug-athlete expression. He lived for this day. Being good at things in front of a crowd was practically his love language.

Harper watched him jog past, the back of his shirt clinging to him just slightly, and felt her cheeks warm. He caught her eye and winked.

"God, you're pathetic," Jane muttered beside her. "You've got that face."

"What face?"

"The 'my super hot Australian boyfriend is about to lap the entire field and I'm sooo going to kiss him afterwards' face."

Harper smirked. "It's a good face."

"I'm revolted."

The PA system crackled again. "Year Eleven boys, to the starting line for the 400 metres, please. Starter, take your position."

Harper shuffled over to the line, earning a round of polite applause just for existing — or possibly because someone mistook her for a teacher.

"Is she blowing the whistle?" A parent whispered nearby.

"She's pregnant, darling. That doesn't make her a criminal," the other replied. "Besides, didn't your Francesca have her little boy when she was here? Fourteen, wasn't she?"

Oscar and the other boys lined up — all long legs, cocky grins, tracksuit bottoms in various stages of removal. One of them started doing the Mobot ironically.

Alfie was muttering what sounded like a prayer. Sam just looked like he was going to throw up.

Harper raised the whistle to her lips and gave Oscar one last lingering look. He gave her a thumbs up. She rolled her eyes, but smiled.

Then she blew the whistle as hard as she could.

And they were off.

Oscar tore down the lane like he'd been fired out of a cannon. Jane whooped. Someone else shouted, "Go on, Whitaker!" and Alfie immediately collapsed onto Harper's chair, dramatically fanning himself.

"G'won Piastri! Bloody run!" Jane screamed.

"Thank Christ I wasn't signed up for that," he said. "Look at your boyfriend's calves. They're like weapons. I'm not built for violence. Or physical exercise.

Harper didn't answer. She was too busy watching Oscar absolutely demolish the field.

He was three body-lengths ahead by the final curve. By the time he crossed the finish line, the next closest runner was still negotiating the last 50 metres.

Oscar skidded to a stop, hands on his head, chest heaving — and then pointed straight at her like a footballer scoring a goal.

Jane stopped cheering in order to gag. "He's so in love with you, it's disgusting," she said. "Please don't shag him behind the scoreboard. This is a family event."

"I'm pregnant," Harper said with a grin. "That makes us a family, doesn't it?"

Jane laughed.

Sam limped over, trailing after Oscar. "Did you see me trip?" He asked. "We're not talking about it. Okay? I'm just putting it out there that the field obviously wasn't flattened enough."

Oscar came jogging back over, red-faced and sweaty. He didn't even pause — just leaned in and kissed Harper full on the mouth like it was the finish line itself.

A few teachers grumbled unhappily. Parents whispered. Their mates hollered and whistled.

"You blew the whistle beautifully," he told her solemnly.

"I'm a natural," she replied, breathless with laughter.

"And I smoked all of them."

"You're a show-off."

"I'm a winner."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that, Piastri. I've seen your trophies."

"I'm gonna kiss you again."

"You're sweaty." She complained.

"Don't care."

And then he kissed her again.

Behind them, the sack race began with someone falling over immediately and landing in a cone. A boy from Year 9 started crying when he got hit by a flying beanbag. There was a faint chant building by the Year 8 tent involving someone's mum and the pony.

Harper just shook her head, leaned into Oscar, and thought, weirdly, that she might actually miss this place when they were gone.

—

The maths revision group (not to be confused with the Harper's Tutors group) had been Alfie's idea. Which was insane, really, because Alfie was objectively the worst at maths after Harper. But apparently he felt that gave him some sort of authority.

"It's all about teamwork," he'd said, dragging desks into a semi-circle like they were in some sort of low-budget TED Talk. "If we all suck, no one feels bad."

"That's not how GCSEs work," Jane said, already bored, perched on the edge of a desk with a highlighter in her mouth.

Oscar sat beside Harper, chewing the lid of his pen and pretending not to glance every three seconds at her workbook like he might be able to absorb her stress through osmosis.

Harper had her revision guide open but had spent the last ten minutes underlining the same heading: Foundation Paper — Non-Calculator Section.

The numbers swam a bit. They always did. Like they had a personal vendetta against her.

"Okay," Sam said, flipping a page in his own workbook. "Let's go over fractions again."

"I will literally walk into traffic," Harper muttered.

"No, you won't," Jane said without looking up. "You'd just miscalculate the angle and the car would miss you."

Alfie howled. "Oi. That's harsh."

Harper gave Jane a glare. Jane gave her a bored thumbs-up.

Oscar nudged her thigh with his knee. "Stop stressing."

"I'm not," she muttered. "My brains just broken."

"Mate," Sam cut in, "if your brain was broken, you'd be one of those people who claps when a plane lands. You're not. You're just maths-thick. It's a very specific kind of issue."

Harper stuck her middle finger up at him.

"This is supposed to be a supportive space." Oscar said, unimpressed.

Alfie was already drawing a diagram on the whiteboard someone had dragged in from the art room. "Right. Improper fractions. They're just fractions that think they're better than you. Like, calm down, you're literally top-heavy."

"I happen to like top-heavy." Jamie, one of the year 11's in her foundation maths class, said.

Sam threw a highlighter at him.

Matt, who'd somehow ended up being the quiet brains of the operation, raised his hand like they were in an actual classroom. "Can I please just explain it properly before Alfie confuses everyone again?"

Oscar nodded. "Please do."

Matt sighed. "Okay. Harper — look. You've got seven halves. That's just three wholes and a half. You already know that. You could do that in your sleep."

"Yeah, but ask me to write it down and I panic," she said. "It's like I know it in my head, but the second I see numbers on a page, it's like they're in a different language."

"That's 'cause school maths is designed by sadists," Sam said. "Don't let it get to you."

Jane reached into her bag and handed Harper a mini packet of Haribo. "Sugar for the brain," she said.

"Thanks," Harper said, taking it. She rested her head on Oscar's shoulder for a second, and he leaned into her just slightly. Just enough to be reassuring, not PDA.

Alfie pointed at the whiteboard. "Okay. Here's the deal. We go over ten problems tonight. If Harper gets through them all without throwing a chair or crying, we reward her with cake from the machine."

"I like that plan," Harper said. She'd perked up a bit at the mention of cake. Oscar laughed when he felt movement beneath his hand. Baby liked the idea of cake too.

"You get cake either way," Jane muttered. "So please throw a chair at him."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Can we just start?"

Later, they were on their way down to the astro for some fresh air. "You're doing better than you think," Oscar said.

Harper didn't say anything. Just unwrapped the cake, tore off a piece, and stuffed it in his mouth before he could keep talking.

"Shut up," she said.

He grinned. "Okay."

—

Oscar had been weird all day.

Not, like, noticeably weird to most people — but Harper could tell. He kept checking his phone and tapping his fingers like his body had extra electricity to burn.

At lunch, he barely touched his chips, which was criminal, and when she asked him if he was alright, he'd just muttered, "Yeah, fine," and went back to staring at his phone.

Now, in the common room, he was pacing.

Actually pacing. Back and forth across the threadbare carpet.

"Osc, what's up with you?" Harper asked finally, closing her science book and watching him with raised eyebrows. "You're making me dizzy." She sighed.

Oscar stopped pacing, spun around, then walked over and just—held his phone out to her.

She blinked at it. "What am I looking at?"

He shoved it closer.

It was an email. Official, professional, with a logo that looked like speed and money and adult careers.

Subject line: BRITISH FORMULA 4 – DRIVER PLACEMENT OFFER (CONFIDENTIAL)

She blinked again. Then looked up at him.

"No way."

Oscar ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "Mark wants me in for trials next month. If I do well, they'll sign me for the junior seat. Full kit. Sponsorship. Real team. Single seater."

Harper's eyes widened. "With TV coverage and contracts and all the posh helmets?"

"Yeah," he said, breathless. "Yeah."

She stood slowly, the email still glowing on his phone in her hand. "Oh my god. That's... huge."

"I know." He stared at her, eyes wild and overwhelmed. "It's insane. I didn't think they were even watching me this season. I thought they were going with the kid from Sheffield."

"Well, apparently not," she said, handing the phone back. "Osc..."

He let out a stunned, choked sort of laugh.

Sam, who had been half-asleep on the sofa under a textbook, sat up and said, "Wait, what? What's happening?"

"Oscar got scouted," Harper said. "British F4."

"No way," Sam said, eyes wide. "Holy shit, that's—wait, do you get free jackets? I want a jacket."

"Mate," Oscar said, sitting down on the arm of the chair like his legs had just remembered they were fifteen and overwhelmed, "I'm going to be a dad. In like... four months. And now I'm getting offered a chance to race across the country every other weekend."

Harper sat next to him. She was quiet for a second. "You want to do it?"

His eyes snapped to hers. "Of course I want to do it."

"Then you should."

"But what about—?"

"You're allowed to have something," she said, before he could even finish the sentence. "We knew that going into this, didn't we? That there'd have to be sacrifices. I want you to do this."

He stared at her like he didn't believe it. "Harper," he said quietly. "I'm not leaving you."

"I know," she replied. "This isn't leaving. This is just... adding something. You don't have to pick between the baby and racing. We'll figure it out. We always do."

Sam clapped dramatically. "Right, well, now that we've sorted your future — someone tell me what the actual fuck simultaneous equations are."

Oscar looked back at his phone. His hands were shaking slightly.

Harper nudged his shoulder. "You're going to be amazing," she said. "And I'm going to be there to watch you win, Osc. As often as I possibly can."

"No promises on the wins," he muttered, but he was smiling now, in that quiet, stunned way that said maybe—for a second—he actually believed he could do both. "But I'll try. For you."

—

There were five of them crammed onto the threadbare rug in front of the common room sofa, surrounded by empty crisp packets, half-finished smoothies, and someone's maths textbook that had been repurposed as a coaster.

"Okay," Jane said, flipping her notebook open like she was taking official minutes. "We've ruled out anything weird and American-sounding, and Alfie's last suggestion was 'Rogue,' so he's on name probation."

"Oi," Alfie muttered, mouth full of Pom-Bears. "It's gender neutral."

"It's also the name of an X-Man," Jane deadpanned. "Not happening."

Harper was lying on her side, head in Oscar's lap, one socked foot lazily nudging Matt's leg every time he got too lost in his book.

"We don't have to pick one today," she said, though she was smiling. "We've got plenty of time."

"No, because if you don't decide soon, Alfie's going to campaign for something unhinged like 'Peach' and convince you that it's cute," Matt said.

"'Peach' is adorable," Alfie said, utterly unbothered.

"Peach Whiatt-Piastri sounds like a cocktail you order by accident in Ibiza," Sam added.

Oscar was quiet. He was playing with the ends of Harper's hair, twisting the red strands absently around his fingers. He hadn't said much since they started this conversation — which, to be fair, had started because Jane had walked in and said, "Right, I've been thinking. If it's a boy, you can't call it anything that rhymes with 'fart.'"

Harper had gone pink and said, "We don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet," and then they'd all gone down a rabbit hole of neutral names, none of which had made it past the group vote.

Now, Sam said, "We could do something badass, like River. Or Ash. That sounds like someone who'd wear leather and be in a boy band."

"I veto both of those names," Jane said.

Oscar let out a soft, distracted, "Yeah. I don't like those either."

Harper shifted slightly and said, "What about something literary? Like a cool author name?"

"Like what?" Matt asked.

"I don't know... Eliot? Or Austen?"

"Isn't Austen a bit on-the-nose?" Sam said. "With you being fancy and everything."

Harper threw a crisp at him.

They went back and forth for another ten minutes. Names got weirder. At one point, Jane suggested 'Moss'. Alfie floated the idea of 'Jelly'. Someone genuinely said 'Cricket'.

Eventually, Harper sighed, turned over to lie on her back and looked up at Oscar.

"You haven't said anything. What do you like?"

Oscar blinked. "I... dunno."

"Well, do you want something traditional or weird?"

"Just something nice, I guess. Something that suits her."

Silence.

Complete, stunned silence.

Matt dropped his can of Pepsi on the floor.

Jane gasped. "Wait. Her?"

Oscar blinked. "Oh. Shit."

Harper slapped a hand over her eyes. "Oscar, oh my God."

"You know the gender?" Sam practically shouted, scrambling to sit up straighter.

"We just found out at the scan on Thursday," Harper said, her face now redder than the KitKat wrapper on the table.

"I can't believe you didn't tell us!" Jane shrieked, half-laughing, half-scandalised.

"You're all so dramatic," Oscar muttered, clearly trying not to laugh. "It's normal not to tell people. We just wanted it to be a secret between us for a while."

"Mate, you're going to have a daughter," Alfie said, eyes wide. "That's so crazy."

"It's not that crazy," Harper argued, sitting up now.

"Oh my God," Jane whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. "We're going to be aunties and uncles to a tiny little baby girl. We have to buy her tiny Converse. Pink ones!"

"Do babies even wear shoes?" Sam asked.

"I think so," Jane said.

Oscar wrapped an arm around Harper and pulled her in a bit closer, his cheeks still pink. "Sorry. I didn't mean to say it. It just came out."

"I'm not mad," she said softly. "They'd find out eventually. And... it's kind of nice."

Matt was still staring at them. "A girl," he said again.

—

It was a Friday. The sky was low and grey, and Haileybury's quad looked like it had been dunked in dishwater. A breeze kept snapping at the blazers of students crossing between buildings. Harper was halfway through a very dull lunch of jacket potato and beans when the message came down from reception.

Someone was here to see her.

Not her mother. That had been her first question when the note from the admin office arrived.

No — it was a man. Mid-sixties, they said. Said he was her uncle.

"Is he angry?" Harper asked, standing beside the reception desk in her cardigan and too-small school skirt, her satchel cutting into her shoulder. The woman behind the desk — Mrs. Keller, who always looked like she was two sneezes away from retirement — blinked at her.

"Seemed... posh," she said, like it might be a warning. "Said he was your father's brother. Waitin' in the front hall."

Oscar was already there when she arrived — clearly having run the whole way from the library. His tie was half-askew and his hair was sticking up.

"You okay?" He asked. She'd texted him and asked him to meet her there.

"I don't know," she said honestly.

Then they stepped inside.

He was waiting by the mantelpiece, spine straight as a gatepost, coat over one arm. His suit was cashmere. His shoes shone like piano keys. His face — older than she remembered, thinner — broke into a polite, somewhat startled smile when he saw her.

"Harper," he said, approaching.

She blinked. "Uncle Thomas?"

He took her hand, briefly. Warm palm, dry fingers. "It's been years. My God. You look so much like your father."

She swallowed.

"This is Oscar," she said stiffly, stepping aside.

Thomas gave a cordial nod, but didn't hold out his hand. "I know who he is. I've spoken to your mother once or twice recently."

Oscar flushed. Harper tensed.

"I haven't," she said flatly.

"Well," said Thomas. "Then I envy you."

"Why are you here?" She asked. "I haven't seen you in years. Since the funeral, probably."

He exhaled, then reached into his coat. Produced a leather folder, worn but clearly expensive. "I'm here," he said, "because there are some things you weren't told after your father passed away. Things your mother, I suspect, ensured stayed buried. But you're nearly sixteen now, and legally—well, let's just say, some things are coming due."

He opened the folder and pulled out a few pages, slid them into her hands. Old estate paperwork. Land registry documents. Bank account details. And her name — "Lady Harper Grace Whiatt" — right there, typed in thin, haughty letters.

She stared at it. "What is..."

"It is all yours," he said gently. "Left to you by your father. It was meant to become accessible upon your sixteenth birthday, barring any specific contest. Your mother..." He trailed off. "She was aware of your main trust-fund, but your father was worried that she might— well, I'm sure you understand."

Oscar leaned over to glance at the documents. His mouth opened, then shut again.

Harper still hadn't spoken. Her throat felt dry.

"She loved him," she said finally. "My mum. But she hated everything about his family."

Thomas gave a sharp little smile. "Yes, well. She made that abundantly clear. But hate does not negate legal reality."

There was a long pause. Outside, the wind rattled the old glass panes.

"And your, um, baby?" Thomas asked carefully, glancing at her belly, still small but no longer invisible. "Healthy?"

"Yes. Why?" Harper said, eyes narrowing.

"It could complicates things. The trust wasn't written with a... continuation clause. We may need to involve a solicitor."

Oscar stepped forward. "You don't get to use legal language to scare her."

"I'm not trying to scare anyone," Thomas said calmly. "I'm trying to be honest. Your child, Harper, will be entitled to things too. In time."

Harper looked down at the paper again. Her father's name. Her own. Words like "estate" and "trustee" and "inheritance".

Then, in a whisper, "Why didn't you come before now?"

Thomas blinked. His expression cracked slightly. "I was asked not to."

"By my mum?"

He nodded once.

Harper swallowed. Then she folded the paper back into the folder, held it tight to her chest like a shield. "I'm not a Lady. I'm just... I'm just a girl trying to get through her GCSEs. I live in a dorm with a bunch of boys who eat cereal out of mugs. I'm fifteen and pregnant. And now you're telling me that I've inherited... all of this?"

Thomas looked like he didn't quite know what to say.

Oscar put a hand on her back.

Harper looked up at him. She didn't say anything.

"I'll leave the documents with you," Thomas said finally. "And if you need help... I'm not your father, Harper. But I did love him. And I'd like to know you. If you'll let me."

He gave her a shallow bow, then turned and left — expensive shoes echoing off the flagstone floor.

Silence dropped in his wake.

"Did that actually just happen?" Oscar asked.

"I don't know," Harper said, staring down at the folder in her hands. "But I think I just inherited two million pounds and an estate."

Oscar blinked. "That's mental."

"Completely," she muttered. "Absolutely mental."

Then she looked at him and added, "It might... it might make things easier, though. Won't it? You won't have to rely on your parents to keep paying for you to race, Osc." She breathed.

He frowned at her. "It's your money."

"We're a family now. We made that decision together." She said, quietly. "I don't need that much money, Osc. We'll be smart with it. Invest it in your career. Doesn't that make sense?"

She was starting at him so earnestly.

He held her. Leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. "Think about it."

"I've thought about it." She said. "It's ours. We'll use it to make sure our baby gets the best of everything, and that you get the opportunity to get to the top. Yeah?"

"Yeah. Okay." He whispered. "Okay. This is insane, but... okay."

"We do this together, Osc. Everything." She told him. "The exams. The baby. Your career. My career. I'll be able to pay for a coding course and invest in my own projects." She said. Her eyes were sparkling. "I love you. And we're going to do this together, or not at all."

"Marry me." Was all he said.

She jerked away and laughed. "Shut up. We're fifteen!"

"Marry me." He said again.

She rolled her eyes. "We've got Chemistry in ten minutes, Piastri."

"Okay." He said. He was staring at her and smiling. "Okay, babe. Let's go to Chemistry."

NEXT CHAPTER

360 notes · View notes